Hide the Child

by Janice Kay Johnson

  “None of them had any serious military training,” Leon said.

  “No,” Gabe agreed, “and I doubt any of them were law enforcement, either. They do roadblocks themselves, would think better under pressure.”

  “Did you expect them to be cops?” Boyd asked, obviously surprised. “That detective is a nuisance, from the sound of it, but why would he go to these lengths when he could get a subpoena?”

  “Because he isn’t sure he can? Trina has probably appeared in front of most judges in these parts, her opinion respected. What judge is going to say, ‘The woman is trying to protect this kid? Ridiculous! We’ve got to hurry on this. You go ahead and crack her open.’” He added as an aside, “She heard one of the detectives say that about Chloe. Risvold, especially, is trying hard not to see her as an individual. He wanted to know where Trina had ‘stashed’ Chloe.”

  Both the other men were shaking their heads. Leon, he knew, had two kids of his own.

  Gabe decided not to say anything about what he’d learned from the Keifs’ next-door neighbor last week. The information had been frustrating; the woman had almost certainly seen the killer’s car but hadn’t paid enough attention to give him much to work with.

  It was a sedan, she knew that. Maybe a Lexus? Or a Genesis, or an Acura. It could have been a Cadillac, she’d added. He had later checked online, and could have added to that list. The contours of a number of the big luxury cars were similar, as were grills. “Sort of gray or silver” wasn’t real helpful, either. What happened to the days when cars came in real colors?

  Having reached Boyd’s pickup, Gabe dismissed his frustration and contemplated the out-of-state license plate. “Doesn’t look like they so much as tapped your truck.”

  Boyd laughed. “Not a chance.” He sobered. “That gun of yours isn’t traceable, is it?”

  Gabe pretended indignation. “All those crime sprees I go on, how can I be sure? No. It won’t be in any databases.”

  “Good, we’re clear, then. You dig that bullet out and tuck it away.” He opened his door. “Let’s stay in close touch. Do you have Leon’s number, in case I’m unavailable?”

  Gabe didn’t but entered it in his phone, after which he held out a hand to Leon. “Thanks.”

  “No problem.” The two men shook, and Leon grinned. “A little adrenaline now and again is good for the heart.”

  Gabe laughed, even though he felt more sick than energized. He didn’t go back into the cabin immediately, instead inspecting the damage to his truck.

  If Trina had still been sitting up, the bullet that came through the back window might well have hit her in the head. Dead-on. He had a hard time tearing his gaze away from the hole in the front seat headrest.

  No, he hadn’t gotten any charge out of today’s live-round exercise. Protecting Trina and Chloe wasn’t a job anymore, or a favor to her brother. It was deeply personal.

  Which meant that rage simmered—and he was afraid in a way he hadn’t been since he was a boy.

  * * *

  TRINA WAITED UNTIL Chloe was asleep that evening to tell Gabe what little she’d learned today and find out what had happened with the surveillance on Russell Stearns, the fired vice president who’d worked under Michael Keif. Gabe was clearly bothered by Stearns, with good reason. Given how limited opportunities for an executive at his level were in the area, why had he stuck around after he got fired? Had he even interviewed elsewhere? What was he doing with his days?

  They’d agreed, too, that between patients she should make some calls, find out what she could about Keif, his partner, Pearson, and Stearns.

  As usual, they sat at the kitchen table, both with cups of coffee.

  She went first. “I called the mother of a boy I worked with for almost a year. Vanessa’s job is actually at city hall, in planning, but her husband is an engineer at O.R.E. I was pretty up-front with her, told her about Chloe being too freaked to tell us what she saw, and my worry that’s because the ‘bad man’ is someone she knows.”

  “And?”

  “She was more open than she should have been, really. Vanessa admitted her husband liked Chloe’s dad but has problems with Ronald Pearson. Apparently, he pushes to get products out on the market before they’ve been perfected, and Vanessa’s husband, Bob, thinks too many of the company’s resources go to maintaining a fleet of trucks. He’d argued to Michael Keif that they should outsource shipping, concentrate on development and manufacturing. Oh, and he’d heard some of the gossip about Russell Stearns but didn’t really know him.”

  She went on to tell him the rest of what she’d gleaned: a female county commissioner whose granddaughter was a current patient had hinted at her dislike of Pearson, calling him “bullish.” She didn’t think he did his research or had any interest in huge swaths of what the commissioners handled. She’d finished by saying, “He’s serving on the board—and I use the word serving loosely—to protect his interests. And yes, Michael probably was, too, but he at least did his part. He said he was raising kids here, which made Granger County home.” Grief tinged her tone. “I’m sorry he wasn’t willing to do another term.”

  Gabe listened intently, his ability to concentrate without so much as fidgeting out of the ordinary and sometimes a little unsettling.

  “None of that is very helpful.” She made a face.

  “I wouldn’t say that. I wonder what ‘interests’ he’s protecting. Is the company polluting? Doesn’t seem like manufacturing electronic components would lead to that kind of problem, but you never know. Or is he concerned O.R.E. might be expected to come through for additional traffic mitigation? Taxes? They’re mostly state and federal.” He seemed to shake himself. “Stearns played a round of golf this morning. I took some photos so I can try to identify the others in the foursome. He had lunch with a woman—” Gabe named the fanciest restaurant in Sadler “—escorted her to her car and then followed her out to O.R.E. She went into the executive offices on her own, never glanced back. Couldn’t tell if she was pretending she didn’t know him, or whether she hadn’t realized he was behind her. He gave her a couple of minutes, then went into the office building, too, stayed for about an hour, strolled out looking unconcerned.”

  “They’re really going to hire him back.”

  “Probably. But I wonder about the woman. I haven’t had a chance to identify her yet, either. Is he seeing her because he thinks she can help his cause?”

  “Hmm. I bet Vanessa could find out—”

  “You don’t have your phone, remember?”

  She mumbled a swear word. Except for when she’d been at work, she hadn’t had her phone for nearly two weeks, so why did the reminder make her feel so isolated now? So she’d lost some independence. It was temporary, and Joseph would probably be making the same decisions Gabe was.

  Suck it up, she told herself.

  “Are you going to call Detective Risvold tomorrow?” she asked. Gabe had already asked if they needed any groceries, so she knew he was planning a trip to Bend in the morning.

  “I don’t like it that Risvold was the one who talked to the Keifs’ neighbor and apparently didn’t ask if she’d been home, and if so, taken a look in the direction of their house around about the time of the murders. That feels off.”

  It felt “off” to her, too, but then she’d despised Risvold almost from their first meeting. That didn’t mean he’d gone to the dark side.

  “His style is brisk,” she pointed out. “He might have assumed she’d be eager to tell him if she’d seen anything.”

  Gabe grimaced. “Yeah, okay. I’ll call him.”

  Trina nodded, realizing that, for the first time in her life, she couldn’t begin to identify everything she felt. Terror was easy—all she had to do was remember the fire—or, nice addition, lying nose down on the rubber mat on the floor behind Gabe’s seat while the truck rocked violently, the back window disso
lved and bullets pinged on metal. Intense gratitude was in the mix, as was resentment because she was having to depend so utterly on another person, when she’d taken care of herself for a long time.

  But now, looking across the table at his hard face and the blue eyes that never wavered from her, she untangled another thread of her emotions. Trust. She didn’t believe Gabe Decker would ever let her down.

  And that made her wonder if what he’d said the one night—You have to know I’m feeling things for you—didn’t have a lot deeper meaning than she’d read into it. It wasn’t as if she’d expected him to tell her he was madly in love with her, not so soon. That awkward admission might have been his equivalent of passionate declaration.

  Which meant maybe she ought to trust him in every way.

  She took a deep breath, saw a flicker in his eyes and nerved herself to ask, “Will you kiss me?”

  Chapter Nine

  Trina had a bad feeling Gabe would think she was a flake. Yes, no, yes, no. Bungee cord bounces in the messages she had been sending.

  But he didn’t even hesitate. He exploded into motion, his chair clattering back, and he reached her in two strides. She expected to be grabbed, for him to take powerful, sensual control immediately.

  Instead, he cupped her face in his broad palms and bent his head slowly. His gentle kiss came as a surprise. His mouth brushed hers. He nibbled a little. His tongue stroked the seam of her lips.

  Through the fog in her head, Trina realized he was giving her time. Waiting for an answer.

  What do you really want? Why did you change your mind?

  She’d changed it because she didn’t want to miss something amazing out of fear.

  She pushed herself up on tiptoe, wrapped her arms around his neck and nipped his lower lip sharply.

  A groan rumbled out of his chest, and yes, he took charge, because that’s who he was. Didn’t mean she couldn’t kiss him back with everything in her. One of his hands gripped her hip while the other wrapped the back of her head so he could angle her to find the best fit.

  And the fit was amazing. Perfect. His neck was thick and strong, his entire body powerful. That body was so close she could feel the vibration of his heartbeat. When he breathed, her nipples tightened.

  The kiss went on and on, until the rest of the world might as well not have existed. He was everything. Trina heard odd sounds, and distantly knew they came from her. She wanted to climb his body, and was practically en pointe in her effort to get higher. She must have raised one of her legs, because he made a guttural sound, shifted so that he could grip both of her thighs and lifted her. She squeaked, wrapped her legs around his waist and held on.

  Somehow he walked and kissed her at the same time. And they said men didn’t multitask as well as women. Here was an exception. The way she felt, Trina wasn’t sure she’d have cared if he had banged her into a wall or the staircase banister, but that never happened. At the foot of the stairs, though, he stopped. When his mouth left hers, she rubbed her cheek against his rough jaw, then did some experimental nibbling.

  “Trina.” That deep, dark voice felt as good as his hands on her.

  She licked his neck, tasting soap and salt.

  “Trina.” This time he shook her.

  Dazed, she tipped her head back to see a look of pure desperation on his face.

  “Do you want this?”

  Want this? She was on fire. No, bad analogy. Fire hurt. This was...hunger. An aching kind of pleasure. She tried to rub herself against him.

  “To hell with it,” he muttered, and started up the stairs. Once he stopped to kiss her, swore when they swayed and wrenched his mouth away. Reaching the top, he strode down the hall.

  Trina felt a momentary jolt at the sight of the guest room door, standing open the requisite four inches. What if Chloe saw...? But Trina didn’t hear anything from within. Or without. Gabe had the ability to walk silently, even carrying her. He got her through his bedroom doorway without a single bump. He must have nudged the door with his booted foot, because it closed quietly behind them.

  Enough light from the hall reached into his bedroom for her to be able to see fierce need on his face, so far from his usual, carefully assumed lack of expression that her meltdown accelerated.

  Beside the bed, he lowered her slowly to her feet. After sliding down his body, she wasn’t so sure she could stand, but she managed. Lucky, because he used the opportunity to first rip the bedcoverings back and then strip her with astonishing speed.

  “You, too,” she whispered, and he paused long enough to let her pull his shirt over his head, baring that broad, muscular chest.

  He knelt to take off her shoes and pull her jeans off. Trina braced herself by resting her hands on his shoulders. Except that wasn’t enough. She kneaded, felt the ripples of reaction quiver through his strong body. And then he surged up, laid her back on the bed and planted a knee between her thighs.

  He reached out a long arm and flicked on the bedside lamp. Trina blinked in the sudden light, not sure she liked being so exposed...except the look in his eyes was reverential.

  “You’re as beautiful as I thought you’d be,” he murmured in the voice that reminded her of her first impression: the rumbling purr of a big cat.

  “You are, too.” She flattened her hands on his chest, then moved them in circles. The dark hair beneath her palms was surprisingly soft. He jerked when she found his small nipples. Swore when her hands stroked downward, following the line of hair to the waistband of his jeans.

  When she lifted a hand to cover the hard ridge beneath the fly, he straightened away from her. “Damn. Give me a minute.”

  He had to sit on the side of the bed to remove his boots. She happily explored the contours of muscle on his back, flexing with his every movement. Socks went flying. He stood and shed jeans and shorts. And then, finally, he came down on top of her and went for her mouth again.

  They discovered each other’s tastes and textures. He sucked on her breasts until her hips rose and fell. The frustration of being able to feel him between her thighs drove her crazy.

  Trina moaned and dug her fingernails into his sides. “Now. Please, now.”

  He swore some more, and for the first time displayed clumsiness as he fumbled for the drawer of his bedside stand and found some packets. He tore one with his teeth, covered himself and without an instant of hesitation, pressed into her.

  She pushed herself up to meet him. Gabe muttered something under his breath, covered her mouth with his again and set a hard, fast rhythm that was exactly what she needed.

  Not until she imploded and cried out did he let himself go.

  * * *

  IN THE AFTERMATH, Gabe didn’t want to move. Ever again. But damn, he must be crushing her. Reluctantly, he rolled, taking her with him. She ended up with her head on his chest, her hand splayed over his heart and one leg draped over his.

  Holy hell, he thought dazedly. He liked sex, missed it during intervals when it wasn’t possible. But what he and Trina had just done? The equivalent of an explosion versus him stubbing his toe.

  Of course, he knew why that was. He’d never before felt more than attraction and mild liking for a woman he took to bed. Trina was different. So many unfamiliar emotions churned in his chest, he envisioned those pictures he’d seen of hurricanes taken from the space station. The relentless force spinning, unstoppable by human hands. The layers upon layers that made up the monstrous power unleashed by nature. The still, quiet eye at the center.

  He clenched his teeth together. Man, what was getting into him? This was ridiculous. Okay, he felt more for her than he’d ever let himself feel for any woman. After struggling to come up with a label for one component, he finally did. Tenderness. That was something he’d lived his entire life without.

  The respect...that was what he had for his teammates. Men who had proved them
selves, who had his unshakable trust.

  He lifted his head from the mattress so he could see her face, but he discovered hair that looked more than ever like melted caramel blocked his view.

  Trina Marr, he thought, suddenly uneasy, could be trusted. She’d committed herself to Chloe, and would do anything for her. She wasn’t the kid’s mother, but she acted as if she was.

  Except he, of all people, knew mothers weren’t always trustworthy.

  With no inner debate at all, he realized there wasn’t any chance this woman had that flaw.

  In fact, she was unnervingly like her brother in some respects. The steady gaze that saw deeper than he liked. The stubbornness, the courage, the determination that kept her going no matter what flew her way.

  Damn. He was scaring himself. This thing with her couldn’t go anywhere. He’d be back at Fort Benning in no time, training for the next operation in some hellhole. She’d...fade in his memory. She had to, or he’d be in deep trouble.

  She stirred, puffed out a breath that fluttered her hair and reached up to push it away from her face. “Wow,” she mumbled.

  A smile tugged at his mouth. He liked that he’d left her befuddled. It almost made up for his confusion.

  He let his hand wander now, exploring the long, taut line of her back and the delicate string of vertebrae. All of her bones felt fine to him, almost fragile compared to his.

  Hard not to remember how easily his had shattered. Hers...no. He wouldn’t let anyone hurt her.

  “How do you stay in such good shape?” Probably not the most romantic thing to have said, but he was curious.

  Her nose scrunched up. “Gym. Self-torture.”

  He laughed. “You could find a sport you enjoy, you know.”

  “Oh, I have. I do. I love riding, and swimming is okay, but the most effective is the elliptical and the treadmill. I’d probably run outside, but around here it’s either too hot or too miserably cold. Not much in between.”