Sweet Revenge

by Rebecca Zanetti

  “We also found your prints,” the sheriff said, shutting the manila file and smiling.

  Excellent—the cop was lying in order to trap Matt. For a brief moment, Matt had wondered if a witness could identify him as leaving Greg’s. Sure, he’d been cautious. But a soldier never knew who was hanging out on roof watching a neighborhood. Of course, he would’ve heard a heartbeat. “That’s impossible, because I’ve never been to Greg’s house.” Or rather, he’d been wearing gloves while at Greg’s house.

  The sheriff narrowed shrewd eyes. “How did your prints end up in his house?”

  Matt leaned forward. “I understand you’re doing your job, but lying to me won’t work. There are no prints because I’ve never been to Greg’s.” More important, he hadn’t been arrested. The cuffs were for show. “Now either arrest me, or uncuff me.”

  “Know the law, do you?”

  “Yes, and I also figure you’re trying to get a warrant right now to arrest me, which you won’t get, because you have no probable cause.” If everyone follows the law. “I’d bet you’re also trying to get a search warrant for my place. Again, no probable cause.” Matt sat back.

  “I don’t like you.”

  “Why would you?” Matt asked. “I’m a new guy in town, and you don’t know me. But I had no reason to kill either Claire or Greg.”

  “You know what I think?” The sheriff tapped his fingers on the table. “I think you’re a whack-job who sends creepy notes to women, stalks them, and later kills them. Claire was victim number one in my town.”

  “And Greg?” Matt asked.

  “Greg probably saw something he shouldn’t have. He was infatuated with Laney and everybody knew it. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was a bit of a stalker. So, what did he see? You leaving notes for Laney? For Claire?”

  Not a bad interpretation, actually. Of course, since the killer wasn’t Matt, that left a problem for the sheriff. Unless the sheriff obtained the search warrant, because then Matt was screwed. He hadn’t had a chance yet to dispose of the photographs he’d stolen from the crime scene at Greg’s. He’d planned to take care of them during the carnival, but everything had gone to shit too quickly. “I didn’t even know Greg had been killed until you faked my arrest earlier.”

  “There was nothing fake about your arrest. I felt you were dangerous to those around you, and I took precautions.” The sheriff tossed bullshit with the best of them. “If you didn’t kill Greg and stalk Laney, then who did? You’ve been around Laney all week. Who else besides Greg has been watching her?”

  “Nobody I noticed.” Matt would’ve felt if something was off. Well, probably. He’d definitely been off his game since meeting Laney, and he deserved the shock he’d gotten. The woman had been lying from day one, and yet he’d never suspected her of being the commander’s surgeon.

  The faint that first night had thrown him completely off. It had been real, and the blood across his chest had caused it. Was that why she’d fled the commander and his organization? A doctor afraid of blood wouldn’t have been useful to them. What had caused her fear?

  Matt allowed the chains to clank together. “Look me in the eye, sheriff. Can you tell when a guy is lying?”

  “Yes.” The sheriff leaned forward. “You’re full of shit and have more secrets than a guy running for office.”

  “Perhaps, but do you really think I killed either Claire or Greg?” Matt asked.

  “I don’t know. My gut tells me you’d have no problem killing.”

  Matt nodded. “I’ve done plenty of things to answer for—mostly under orders. But killing an innocent woman? Never.” He let the truth show in his eyes. “Claire was a sweet, helpless woman, and I wouldn’t have hurt her.”

  “What about Laney?” the sheriff asked.

  Matt forced a fond smile, when all he wanted to do was growl. Of course, he’d thought Laney innocent and helpless, too. Turned out the ex-doctor was anything but sweet. For the first time since meeting her, Matt’s world centered and refocused. No emotion existed—only the mission. Whatever it took, he’d make her talk. “I’m hoping Laney and I have a future.” They damn well had a future—one that consisted of her saving his brothers’ lives. Whether she wanted to or not.

  “A future?”

  “Sure.” Matt lifted a shoulder. “I’ve been looking for somebody like her for a very long time.”

  “I see.” Someone knocked on the door, and Todd hitched his way to poke his head out the door.

  Matt could clearly hear the deputy whisper that the judge had refused both warrants based on lack of probable cause. Well, chalk one up for a judge who followed the Constitution.

  The sheriff loped back around the table and took out a cell phone, snapping Matt’s photograph.

  Damn it. “What the hell was that for?”

  “Just in case.” The sheriff stretched across the table and unlocked the cuffs. “Don’t leave town, or I’ll plaster your picture all over the news in order to get you back here.”

  “I have places to be.” He had to get the phone away from the cop.

  “Not until I wrap up this investigation. Besides, you have a future to plan with the bar owner, right?”

  Matt stood and stretched his neck. “I’m not going anywhere. If you need me, I’ll be with Laney.” The truth of the words had an ominous ring to them, so he tried for a disarming smile. “I’ll need a ride back to the bar.”

  The sheriff yanked keys from his pockets. “I’d be more than happy to take you back. Any chance you’ll invite me in for coffee?”

  “You’re not my type.” Matt had to get to those pictures and destroy them before the sheriff managed to wrangle a warrant. It was probably a matter of time. He gestured the sheriff in front of him and ignored the pointed looks from deputies as they maneuvered through the station and out to the car. He chose to sit in the front seat.

  The sheriff sighed and twisted the ignition. He drove quickly and with sharp movements down the street. “Why do I get the feeling you know more than you’re saying?”

  Matt glanced out the window at the passing storefronts. “You’ll want to drive into the alley to avoid the carnival.”

  “No shit, Sherlock. I’ve lived here since birth.”

  Speaking of which. “The coroner said you’re old friends—that you’ve known her forever.” While Matt had found the surgeon he hunted, he still wondered at Tasha’s false background.

  “I have.” The sheriff’s consonants lifted as he told a lie.

  Matt turned toward him. “You’re not a very good liar.”

  “Sure I am.” The sheriff turned down the alley. “Why are you asking about Dr. Friedan?”

  Matt shrugged. “Laney met with her about Claire’s death, considering Laney is getting notes, and I could tell the woman was lying about her background. Curiosity had me asking.”

  “You’re a human lie detector, are you?”

  Hell, no. Nathan was the human lie detector. “I’m trained, Sheriff.”

  Todd pulled to a stop. “Well, in this case you’re wrong. Stay where I can find you, Dean.”

  “No problem.” Matt unfolded from the car and didn’t look back as he headed through the bar, where Smitty was finishing setting out another plate of hamburgers.

  The bartender lifted bushy eyebrows. “You break out of jail?”

  Matt snorted. “No. They didn’t actually arrest me… just wanted to rattle my cage. Where’s Laney?”

  Smitty rubbed his forehead. “She headed up with a migraine after you were taken to the pokey. Haven’t seen her since.”

  “I’ll go check on her.” The woman had run. He’d told her not to flee, and she’d done it anyway. Damn it. He took the stairs three at a time and stopped at her open doorway. A cursory glance around her apartment showed nothing out of place. She’d probably already had a bag ready to go.

  Straightening his shoulders, he stalked toward the nearest photograph of Laney and her brother. He ripped off the back and studied more closely
. Manipulated. The picture had been altered. All of the pictures had been manipulated. Laney probably didn’t even know the guy in the pics.

  Matt should’ve looked closer.

  Yanking his phone from his pocket, he dialed Shane.

  “Hi, Matt. I have news,” Shane said.

  “What?”

  “Nate called in, and the postmarks from the payoff for your friend’s loan were sent from Charmed. Somebody in town helped her out.”

  Matt closed his eyes briefly. “She helped herself out. Laney Jacobs is the surgeon.” Matt yanked open drawers in a systematic search of the apartment. He found her phone crumpled and smashed in the garbage. “She’s on the run now.”

  Quiet cascaded over the line for several beats. “Laney is the doctor? Are you sure?”

  “Positive.” The woman had hidden her tracks well. There was nothing left to find in the apartment. He hurried out the door and into his own place to fetch supplies. “I need to find where she’s gone.”

  “Let me bring up the satellite I hacked into a few days ago,” Shane murmured.

  “Call me when you find her.” Matt clicked off.

  Striding through the apartment, he threw clothes and necessities into his backpack. Finally, he hurried toward the hidey-hole he’d created under a cupboard in the sink. He might as well destroy those pictures on the way to find Laney. He reached in… and stilled.

  The photographs were gone.

  Chapter 15

  Laney double-checked the lock on the front door of the rustic cabin. An owl hooted at the moon outside, and a fire crackled quietly inside.

  He’d find her. Without a doubt, Matt would find her.

  But not tonight.

  She’d prepared her getaway from the first day she’d arrived in town and even paid cash for the remote cabin from an old trapper who had no intention of recording the sale or exchanging deeds. Who knew if he had even really owned the land? But he’d built the cabin, and now it was her temporary shelter. A weathered tarp outside safely hid her car as she gathered her wits. Sure, she’d have to move soon.

  She’d spent precious moments calling the hospital to check on Phillip, but the peace of mind was worth the risk. The child had broken his second rib and would be fine.

  Thank goodness.

  Smitty would take care of Eugene when Laney didn’t return. She’d have to drop him a line once she reached safety.

  Thunder echoed through the mountains, and lightning lit up the forest outside. She shivered and drew a blanket around her shoulders before sitting near the fire, careful not to jostle the knife she’d tucked at the back of her waist. The one-bedroom place held a bed, sofa, fireplace, and makeshift kitchen. But it was off the map for now.

  Midnight drew near, and her eyelids grew heavy. Sawdust dried her eyes. She was so tired.

  She understood a little of the training Matt had as a soldier, and she knew his body as a specimen. Created in test tubes with the finest genetic splicing available, he had skills beyond a human man’s. As did his brothers. How had she not recognized him? He was beyond real with that body—and his mind was incredibly sharp.

  Thus she truly had a small chance of outrunning him. But she only needed another six weeks, now, didn’t she? Those chips would activate at that time.

  Her breath caught, and nausea spiraled into her stomach. God. The horrific chips.

  Thunder bellowed outside, and she jumped.

  Maybe she should’ve stayed and faced Matt. But he’d been trained to kill any threat, and once he learned she had nothing to help him with, she’d just be a liability. Would he really kill her?

  A stick cracked outside the window. She jumped up and clutched the blanket to her chest. Taking a deep breath, she shook her head, peering over the couch and out the window. The storm slashed rain against the glass and stirred pine needles in a mini-tornado. It was just the storm. When she turned back around, the door stood open.

  “Matt,” she murmured, dropping down to sit.

  A formidable man backed by a dangerous storm, he stood in the doorway, legs braced. Wet hair curled at his nape, and droplets fell from his leather jacket to plop on the rough floor. He closed the door and engaged the lock before tossing his bag on the table. His ominous gaze never left her face.

  She swallowed. Fear seized her lungs.

  He shrugged out of his jacket and draped the leather over one of two chairs bracketing the tiny table. Then he shoved up his sleeves. “What weapons did you bring?”

  Although his voice remained low and controlled, she jumped. The knife she’d hidden pressed against her skin in a deadly reminder of the danger now surrounding her. “Weapons?”

  His gaze ran over her form as he strode toward her.

  Her heart may have stopped, and fear tingled through her veins. She pressed back into the worn cushions.

  Arriving within her space, he glanced around her immediate area and finally dropped to his haunches. A quick search, and he pulled the nine-millimeter out from under the sofa. She’d purchased the gun several years previous—from a back room. No records. Quick, economical movements had the weapon dismantled within seconds. “What else?” he asked, tossing the useless pieces onto the other end of the couch.

  “Just the gun,” she managed to say as her breathing sped up. She had to control her lungs, or she’d hyperventilate.

  His chin lifted slightly. “Do you want me to search you?”

  The deep timber of his voice rolled over her skin, igniting nerves. It was the same tone he’d used in bed, and her body reacted instantly. Sure, she was scared. Even so, a very unwelcome desire awakened in her abdomen. “No.”

  He stood and held out a hand. “Weapons.”

  She drew in air for courage. “Where are your weapons?”

  “In my bag. I don’t need them for you.” His face remained expressionless, which was so much more frightening than if he’d been angry.

  However, deep down, she couldn’t believe he’d harm her. “I’m not afraid of you.”

  “Liar,” he said softly. “Stand up, Laney.”

  She should’ve brought her phone so she could call for help. “How did you find me?”

  “Now.”

  There was no choice. She stood and reached for the knife.

  Without seeming to move, he pinned her arms against her sides with broad hands around her biceps. “Knife or gun?”

  “Knife.” Lying to him seemed pointless.

  His palm skimmed down her arm in almost a caress. He drew the knife away from her, and the steel glinted yellow in the firelight. “You ever stab anybody?” he asked.

  “No,” she whispered.

  “It’s not as easy as you’d think.” He casually threw the knife, and the blade embedded in the wall across the room.

  She flinched as wood sprayed. “I don’t think it’d be easy.”

  “Turn around.”

  Her shoulders went back. “I’d rather see it coming, thanks.”

  For the first time, emotion filtered into his eyes. Anger and something darker. Hurt.

  She opened her mouth to say something, anything, when he jerked her around to face the couch. She caught her balance by grabbing the armrest. Heat rushed down her spine. This was the same position he’d put her in when he’d taken her by the couch in her apartment. “Matt—”

  His hands along her flanks stopped her. Firm and knowing, he slid his hands over her hips and along her buttocks. Heat cascaded from his calloused palms. Fire licked along her skin. Oh. He was frisking her. Her muscles tensed as he touched her.

  His hands enveloped her thighs, patting down to her boots. While short and businesslike, his search nevertheless awakened every pulse point she had. Warmth settled in her abdomen with claws. This was so wrong. Her body was well accustomed to his touch and didn’t care. She had to get control of her libido and her brain.

  He turned her back around. “Sit.”

  The movement didn’t hurt her, but the hint of underlying violence caught her u
naware. Her knees buckled before she even thought about refusing.

  The rough floor protested when he dragged a chair across it and settled down, his knees bracketing hers. “Now we talk.”

  She clasped her hands together on the blanket, grateful to have even the thin cotton shielding her. “When did you know?”

  “When you saved Phillip. When did you know?”

  “When I saw your back this morning. I’d felt the scars, but there were so many, so I didn’t…” She wanted to look away, but his hard gaze held her captive.

  “Right,” he said. “Did you know who I was before I fucked you?”

  She barely kept from flinching at the harsh question. “I don’t even know who you are right now.”

  “Answer me.”

  The desire flowing through her chilled. “I didn’t realize until this morning, when I saw the scar adjacent to your 4C vertebra. What are you going to do with me?”

  “That depends on you.” Firelight flickered across his angled face, leaving deadly shadows. He turned and glanced at the still burning pictures in the flames. “You went through my apartment.”

  “Yes. Where did you get the pictures?” She’d stolen them to destroy immediately.

  “I found them at Greg’s.”

  She gasped and leaned back. “You killed Greg?”

  “Of course not.” Matt frowned. “The guy was a stalker, I think. Whoever killed him left the pictures scattered across Greg’s bed. I found Greg and took the pictures, not needing any more police scrutiny.”

  Sounded like a decent explanation. Maybe. Perhaps Matt had killed Greg, but she doubted it. “Why keep them?” she asked.

  “I hadn’t had a chance to destroy them.” Matt turned his formidable focus back on her. “What was your name before you went to work for the group?”

  “Eleanor Roberts.”

  “When you were with the group?”

  “Dr. Peters.” She shrugged. “The missions were top secret, and nobody was supposed to learn our real identities… which had been scrubbed anyway.”

  “I know. How do I deactivate the chips?”