True Vision

by Joyce Lamb

  “You’re welcome.”

  He faced her just as the elevator started to rise. “I’m curious about something.”

  Great, now what? “Yes?”

  Instead of responding, he stepped toward her and bent his head. His lips closed over hers before she could take a breath. The shock of the kiss shook her, loosened her knees, and she automatically clutched at his biceps for balance. His arm went around her waist, lending support as his free hand came up to gently cup the back of her head. His tongue grazed the insides of her lips before glancing off of her tongue. He tasted like mocha, rich and dark and sweet. Which was impossible, because he’d just been drinking beer.

  Her head started to spin, lazy and sensual, and she felt her body relax against him, safe and secure in his arms as his lips trailed over her jaw.

  “I love the way you smell,” he murmured. “Like coconut and citrus.”

  Her breath hitched as it registered that she’d only recently met this man. But her head was whirling, her heart beating so hard it seemed to knock against her ribs. She couldn’t breathe and she didn’t care. As long as he kept holding her like this.

  She must have made a sound of encouragement, because suddenly he was backing her against the wall, kissing her again, more insistent this time, almost desperate. She knew the feeling as she worked a hand under his shirt and slid her palm over the six-pack abs she’d longed to touch. Oh, God, they were so firm and ridged, his skin silky smooth and hot. She could have explored them all day, mapping the terrain with her fingertips.

  His stomach sucked in as she stroked her fingers above his hip. Ah, she’d found a sweet spot. Pressing against him, she threaded the fingers of her free hand into the soft hair at the nape of his neck and kissed him back, tangling her tongue with his. She felt the thud of his heart against her breasts, and then she felt his stiffening arousal just before he angled his hips away from her.

  He broke off the kiss and took a quick step back before jamming a hand through his hair. “Whoa, wow, that was . . . hmm, well, I guess that answers that question.”

  The elevator door slid open, and he all but ran out. “Uh, my room is this way,” he said, gesturing vaguely.

  Charlie watched him retreat, feeling lost and abandoned, her heart racing and her insides clutching with desire. She wanted more than a few heated kisses. She wanted all of him—how much shocked her. It was unlike her to be so overwhelmed by the sensations, and desires, of her body. She thought with her head. Always. Well, almost always.

  Shaking her head, she went to her own room and let herself in. In the bathroom, she braced her hands on the vanity and peered into her own eyes. They looked fever bright and dazed, her cheeks flushed pink, her lips swollen from his kisses. Her heart had yet to slow its frantic beat. That had come out of nowhere. Hadn’t it?

  Not that she could do anything about it. He was a cop from out of town. As soon as he solved his case, he would leave Lake Avalon, and she would be alone. Again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  While gasoline pumped into the Mustang, Noah turned his face to the sun. He could get used to this. Sunshine and seventy degrees in the middle of March. Why would anyone choose to live in Chicago when there were places like Lake Avalon? Okay, so there were hurricanes, but the Midwest had tornadoes and blizzards. And he could get into living with sunshine almost every damn day of the week. People here seemed happier, too, for the most part anyway, less tense. Probably all the vitamin D from the sun. But, shit, even Lake Avalon itself seemed cheerful. The small parking garage across the street was painted a jovial pink, for Christ’s sake.

  And there was Charlie. He’d thought his libido had taken a hike, but he’d discovered last night in the elevator that it had simply been in hibernation. One kiss from Charlie and he’d been sprouting wood like a fucking teenager. And then he’d all but run away from her. Smooth, idiot. But, Jesus, he was hungry. Ravenous, actually, wanting, needing, to bury himself in her and find salvation. He hadn’t trusted himself to control the need.

  And it wasn’t just physical. Oh, sure, she was hot. All that rich brown hair, smooth skin and exotic eyes. She was as sexy as sin with zero intention. Supremely fuckable . . .

  Better still, she was strong. Strong and stubborn and quick on her feet. He didn’t care for women who backed down when they were challenged. He used to think that was why he was still single. Submissive women turned him off, and so many women these days were like that, especially the ones who threw themselves at him. Not that he hadn’t let himself succumb to the charms of several. He wasn’t a dolt, after all. But even when he’d met someone he could fall for—such as Laurette—he hadn’t gone for it. Mostly, he’d felt too much like an unworthy mate, but she also hadn’t fascinated him as much as Charlie did. Now there was a woman who could make a bad man change.

  The gas nozzle clicked, and he turned to take it out. Sudden pain drilled along his temple, snapping his head back. He thought, Fuck, aneurysm? And then his knees buckled, and he slumped against the side of the car and slid down. His left knee hit the asphalt while a rainbow of lights swirled with the pungent fumes of gasoline inside his head. Something spattered his hand, and he glanced down.

  Blood.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  So you didn’t see anything?”

  Noah glared at Detective John Logan, barely preventing a full-blown “you’re a butthead” scowl. He had to remind himself the guy was doing his job. Noah would be asking the same annoying questions if the roles had been switched.

  “Like I said before,” he said carefully, “I was pumping gas and the next thing I knew, I was on my knees, bleeding.”

  He gingerly brushed his fingers over the burning furrow in his scalp. The wiseass doctor who’d cleaned it up had joked that the scar would leave a new part in his hair. At least it would be hidden, unless he shed his hair like his dad had, and then he’d be screwed in more ways than one.

  “You’re lucky the sniper was a lousy shot,” Logan said.

  Noah let his pounding head fall against the pillow at his back and took a long, deep breath. Getting shot in the head, okay, grazed, sucked, but Logan was right. The shooter’s bad aim had saved his life.

  “Looks like he used an old .22 hunting rifle.”

  “A .22? That’s a lousy choice for that distance.”

  “Yep,” Logan said, hooking his thumbs in his belt loops. “So you’ve been in Lake Avalon, what, two days?”

  “Something like that.”

  “You make enemies quick.”

  “I’m guessing by your attitude that you found no evidence at the scene.”

  Logan smiled slightly, as though he’d decided to take Noah’s rudeness as a sign that they were buddies. “Obviously, we found the bullet or I wouldn’t have been able to tell you what kind of gun it was. So other than that and blood all over your fancy ride, nope.”

  “Any idea where the shot came from?”

  “Parking structure across the street. Sorry, no security cameras.”

  Noah closed his eyes for a moment. He could have used a beer. No, something harder. Bourbon. Or something softer. Charlie. “Witnesses?”

  “No one other than the gas station clerk who saw you go down and called 911.” Logan paused. “Snipers aren’t something we’ve seen here in LA.”

  LA. That struck Noah as funny. Probably because Lake Avalon wasn’t like LA in even a tiny way. Well, there were palm trees. “Are you suggesting I brought this guy with me from Chicago?”

  “You have a better idea?”

  “Someone in Lake Avalon doesn’t like Chicago cops?”

  “See, that’s the thing. It takes a lot to get Lake Avalon residents riled.”

  “So snipers and fatal hit-and-runs and journalists getting run off the road and strangled are the norm around here?”

  Logan scratched his chin as if stroking an imaginary goatee. “You have a point. So you think someone took a potshot at you because you’re asking around about the hit-and-run?”

/>   “No. I think someone took a potshot at me because I’ve been hanging around Charlie, and some asshole wants her dead. I’ve interfered twice now.”

  Logan’s eyes widened, but before he could respond, his cell phone started to ring. “Sorry, I need to take this.” He stepped away to answer it. “Logan.”

  Noah dropped his head back and stared at the ceiling. Thinking hurt, but he couldn’t stop. Someone wanted Charlie dead bad enough to try to take him out. Whoever was after her was getting desperate, and that scared the crap out of him.

  Logan sheathed his phone. “We’ve got a situation. I have to go.”

  Noah raised his head, noting the other detective looked unnaturally pale. “What’s going on?”

  “Body discovered. A woman. Looks like murder.”

  Noah’s heart just about stopped. “Where’s Charlie?”

  Logan paused, his complexion going paler. “Isn’t she at the Royal Palm?”

  “Have you talked to her today?”

  “No. Have you?”

  “No.” Noah swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. His head whirled like crazy, and his stomach flipped, but he clenched his teeth against both and stayed on his feet. “I’m coming with you.”

  Logan cocked his head, then gave Noah’s shoulder a light shove. Noah reeled back. His butt hitting the bed kept him from landing on his ass on the floor.

  “Yeah, I didn’t think so. I’ll send someone to check on Charlie,” Logan said before he turned and left.

  It was no longer a secret that he had no innate talent as a sniper. He hadn’t even known what kind of gun to use. Not that he’d had access to a sniper rifle. Stupid hunting rifle that used to be his dad’s was it.

  Maybe the police department had been right when it had rejected his application. He was an idiot. And he was sure he would hear all about his idiotness as soon as word got out that he’d fucked up. Again.

  Christ, he should put the goddamn gun to his own head and put himself out of his misery. He would never win. Never.

  No matter how hard he tried, he’d fuck up every time.

  Okay, he thought. I can do this. I can save it.

  Maybe the cop would get the hint. Or at least be incapacitated enough to stay away from Charlie Trudeau long enough for him to take her out.

  There was money on the line. Lots and lots of money.

  And pride. And self-respect. He needed them both back—bad. Or he’d never be able to get it up again.

  All he had to do: find Charlie Trudeau.

  And kill her.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Charlie felt groggy from a sleepless night as she walked to the elevator, her head still aching. At least she’d managed to cover her black eye with makeup. Hell, she had on so much makeup it felt like a mask. But she preferred to think of it as another part of her disguise, a supplement to the cheery straw beach hat that hid her hair and the sundress she’d picked up in the gift shop. Charlie Trudeau in a bright yellow sundress was about as incongruous as grilled grouper with a slab of melted Velveeta on top.

  She had no idea what she would say to her mother, but she wanted to talk to her without Noah being there. Maybe her mother would be more inclined to be honest. She could hope.

  The elevator door slid open, and she stepped on, casting only a brief glance at the rumpled man huddled in the corner. She did a double take at the same moment that she smelled booze and sex. Mac.

  He straightened away from the wall. And wobbled.

  She couldn’t speak, too shocked to form words. He was drunk. Mac, the guy who feared becoming an alcoholic more than losing his hair. What the hell was he doing? And who had he been with? Not that it mattered. Just last night she’d been smooching Noah Lassiter in this very elevator. Clearly, they’d both moved on.

  “Hey,” she said and faced the closing doors.

  He didn’t respond, and her heart sank. So he wasn’t going to talk to her.

  And then he spoke, disbelief lacing his tone: “Charlie?”

  Her shoulders relaxed some as she realized her disguise worked at first glance. “Yep.”

  “What—”

  “Long story,” she cut in, then looked him up and down. “You?”

  “Longer story.”

  Silence. This was turning into a long ride down.

  He sighed, shook his head. “Look, I’m sorry. I said . . . some things . . .”

  Her throat closed as relief rushed in. “It’s okay.”

  “It’s not okay. I screwed up. I didn’t mean to . . . hurt you.” He leaned his head back and banged it a few times against the wall. “Jesus, it seems all I’ve done lately is hurt you.”

  She looked sideways at him, the muscles in her chest wrenching at what they’d lost. They’d been best friends before Nana died, before she’d turned to him for comfort and they’d fallen into each other’s arms. Fools. “We both made mistakes,” she said.

  “Yeah, but mine aren’t the kind we can recover from, are they?” He roughly scrubbed his hands over his face then sighed heavily. “I made the wrong choice, Charlie.” He dropped his arms to his sides and peered at her with intense, reddened eyes. “I don’t want that damn job. I want you.”

  She took a stunned step back. “What?”

  “I’ll get a different job, whatever it takes. Just let me make it up to you.”

  Oh, right, he was trashed. He had no idea what he was saying. She shook her head and looked away. “You’re drunk.”

  “And thinking clearly for the first time in months. I’m dead serious.”

  “It’s too late, Mac.”

  “How can it be too late?”

  She thought of Noah and their kiss last night, how she’d felt it to the soles of her feet. It was way too late. “It just is. And, besides, it’s awfully easy to give up a job that you think might not be around this time next week.”

  “You think I’m saying this because I know the newspaper’s about to go down in flames?”

  “Why not? You can’t have your first choice, so you’ll settle for your second.”

  “That’s so fucking unfair, Charlie.”

  He crowded her into the corner, but she shoved him back harder than she’d intended. “You’re pouring your heart out to me while you reek of another woman. What the hell is wrong with you?”

  He dropped back from her as if she’d slapped him. Turning away, he faced the elevator door and dropped his head back. “You’re right. I’ve been drinking all night. I’m too wasted for this right now.”

  She clenched her jaw. “It’s over. We didn’t make it past our first challenge as a couple. Let’s just leave it at that.”

  He said nothing, didn’t look at her, and she studied the side of his face, saw the muscles working in his jaw.

  The elevator dinged its arrival at the lobby level, and he waited for her to walk out ahead of him. Pissed off and loaded but still a gentleman.

  Sighing, she turned to him. “You’re not planning to drive, are you?”

  “No time to sober up. Duty calls.”

  She caught his shirtsleeve before he could brush by her. “I’ll drive you.” She couldn’t let him get into his car in this condition. He could have an accident and get injured, or injure someone else. She’d never forgive herself. And it worried her that he was willing to chance it. Also not like the all-about-responsibility Mac she knew.

  “All I need is coffee,” he said.

  “We’ll stop and get some on the way.”

  He hesitated, and before he could respond, she said, “I’m not taking no for an answer. Either you sober up before you go or I drive you. Which is it going to be?”

  “Fine,” he grumbled, and gestured for her to lead the way.

  He didn’t speak again until they were in her rental car.

  “What’s with the car?” he asked.

  “I had a little accident yesterday.”

  He tensed beside her. “You’re okay?”

  “I’m fine. Just some bruises.
”

  “So were you at the Royal Palm with Logan?”

  “What? No.”

  “I mean, it’s you and him now, right? That’s why you won’t give me a second chance.”

  She choked off the urge to scream. “There’s nothing between Logan and me. He was at my place the other day when you called because someone broke into the house. He stayed overnight because I was . . . scared.”

  “Big of him.”

  She swallowed down the hurt that surged into her throat. She’d had a break-in and a car accident in a matter of days, and all he could come up with was a snide remark? It didn’t matter that he didn’t know she’d almost died both times, that someone was actually trying to kill her. If he truly cared, he should have been able to do better than that.

  He sighed as he looked out the passenger-side window. “I like it here, you know. In Lake Avalon.”

  The change of subject threw her. Okaaay. “There’s a lot to like about it.”

  “It’s been my haven. My sister’s haven. It was tough to pick up and leave Philly, to talk her into leaving behind her friends. But it’s grown on her. I think she’s finally happy. I mean, she has her moments. Skipping school, mostly. But she’s better now, better than she was after Mom died and Dad . . .”

  He didn’t have to finish. She already knew what came next: After their father drank himself to death and left Mac in charge of his younger sister. Yet he’d spent the night drinking. Not that she feared one night would turn him into an alcoholic, but he’d always been so careful about how much he drank, limiting himself to one beer or glass of wine no matter the situation. And never going for the hard stuff. She’d admired his discipline, his absolute devotion to making his sister’s life better.

  “You’ve done a great job, Mac,” Charlie said. “Jennifer’s lucky to have you.”

  “If I lose my job, we’ll have to start all over again somewhere else.”

  Her heart dropped into the pit of her stomach. Oh, crap. Suddenly she got why he had been so unreasonably angry at her. She hadn’t even thought about what it would mean if he had to leave Lake Avalon for another job.