Subconsciously her fingers had rubbed back and forth across the surgical scar. He pulled them away and slid her hand down his body. Her cheeks turning pink, she pulled away. “Let me see the others.”
“No.”
“I know you don’t like them. I know they’ve been the cause of a lot of concern for you about what kind of man you were when you got them. Let me see them, just this once, and I won’t ask again.” When he was still resistant, she offered her coyest smile. “Let me see them, then I’ll rub whatever you want.”
After a moment, he rolled onto his stomach, his face hidden in her pillow, and lay very still. The gunshot wound and surgical scar on his lower back were virtually identical to the ones on his chest. There were a few smaller scars, including one higher, a few inches below his shoulder. It was no bigger than a quarter, raised and ridged, particularly ugly. In his dream he had smelled something burning. His own flesh? Had this burn been an accident, or had someone deliberately inflicted it on him, then died for his brutality?
She touched his skin lightly beneath the scar. “How old is this?”
“Old.”
“How old?”
“Doc Howell couldn’t say, just that the scar is mature.”
If the dead man in his dreams had been responsible for the burn, then he’d deserved to die a vicious and painful death, and Martin had had every right to be glad about it. He didn’t owe the bastard a moment’s regret.
He continued to lie utterly motionless. Leaning over, she pressed a loud, smacking kiss to his spine, then murmured near his ear, “Roll over here and tell me what you want me to do. Tell me where to touch you, where to kiss you and how it makes you feel.”
He turned over and settled her close against him. “This guy in Dallas…the incredible sex—”
“It wasn’t.”
“Were you in love with him?”
I imagined myself well on the way to falling in love with him, she’d told him this morning. Had he interpreted it as a face-saving remark to cover a broken heart? “No.” She offered no explanations. The answer didn’t require any.
“Under normal circumstances, I think this would be where you ask me if I’ve ever been in love.” His tone was dry. “All I can tell you is I don’t think so.”
She tightened her arm across his waist. “If you have, I don’t think I’d want to know.”
“Why not?”
“Because if you were, you probably still were, right up to the time of the accident. Because she would probably be waiting somewhere for you to come back.”
“If anyone out there wanted me back, don’t you think they would have filed a missing persons report by now? But no one has. No one cared enough.”
If that were true—and it seemed to be—then he must have been even more alone than she was. Knowledge like that must be hard to live with. “We could try one other thing,” she suggested, her fingers straying back to the scars high on his chest. Immediately he captured her hand and held it, clasped in his, on his stomach. “It’s a requirement of law that gunshot wounds be reported to the local police. Granted, big cities might have thousands of gunshot victims a year, but smaller cities and towns might have only a few. According to your doctor, one set of scars is probably a couple years old, and the other is double that. Maybe we can send out a bulletin to all law enforcement agencies in the country, asking that they check their records for the last…oh, five or six years for a shooting victim who matches your description.”
“Kind of a long shot, isn’t it? There must be thousands of possibilities.”
“I don’t know if I can do it, but I’ll find out tomorrow. Still, at least it’s a chance.”
He grunted again, then began moving her hand back and forth over his stomach. Closing her eyes, she flattened her palm and enjoyed the lazy caresses as they dipped lower. Once she was touching him intimately, he released her hand and brought his own hand to her body, tickling her belly, making her skin quiver, rubbing her breast. When he shifted to lean over her, she sighed. When he covered her mouth with his, the sigh became a groan, low and needy.
“You’re a beautiful woman,” he murmured as he filled her again, stretched her again.
He’d called her beautiful before, and she’d heard it with a large dose of skepticism. She was much too familiar with her own face to consider it anything but plain. But right now, right this moment, with the way he was looking at her, touching her, making love to her, she had no problem believing. She felt beautiful. Overcome, head-over-heels, definitely-in-love beautiful.
* * *
The credit bureau was downtown, a half block off the main thoroughfare. Martin stood across the street for ten minutes, watching through the plate-glass windows as the two women inside chatted and worked. In another few minutes one of the women would be going to lunch while one remained to keep the office open. He hoped Sherri was the one who stayed, but it didn’t really matter either way, as long as he could talk to her alone.
He didn’t know Sherri Stevens well, but she’d always been friendly, and she’d made it clear over the winter that she was interested in a relationship. He hadn’t been at the time—hadn’t been in a long time, since even before last June, he was certain—and she had accepted that graciously. He hated to come back now, when any interest he might ever have in a woman was all tied up in Juliet, but they needed Hal’s credit report.
Thoughts of Juliet sent his temperature up a few steamy degrees. After they’d made love the last time, he’d left her in bed only long enough to let Hunter in, then they had all gone to sleep. The dog had snored, but it hadn’t disturbed Martin. Hell, with Juliet’s slender body curled close to his all night, nothing could have disturbed him, not even dreams. If he’d had any at all, they’d been about Juliet, because the only time he’d awakened, he’d been hot and hard. He hadn’t awakened her, but had eventually drifted off to sleep again.
Tonight, though… Tonight would be a different story.
Across the street, the older woman left the credit bureau. She was followed a moment later by a man in shirtsleeves and tie. That meant Sherri was alone in the office.
He waited for a car to pass, then crossed the street. The electronic bell connected to the door dinged as he walked in, bringing her attention from the computer straight to him. Her smile was welcoming, her voice surprised but warm. “Martin. Long time, no see. How’re you doing?”
“I’m fine. How about you?”
“I get by. What brings you to my part of town?”
He knew the act—what to say, how to say it, with just the right degree of male interest. He’d sweet-talked things more important than credit records out of people less friendly than Sherri—though he didn’t know what things or which people. But when he opened his mouth, the smooth delivery, the easy invitation, the sexual interest, just wouldn’t come. Instead, he stumbled over his response. “I came downtown to get some lunch before—before I head to work. I thought maybe—maybe you’d want to go with me. To lunch. If you don’t have other plans.”
She gave him a long, steady look. “I do believe that’s the most unenthusiastic invitation I’ve ever received.”
“I didn’t mean—”
She brushed him off. “It’s okay. I don’t go to lunch until one. What time do you go to work?”
“One-thirty.”
“Too bad.” She spoke with only a hint of disappointment. “Though it’s been a long time since we’ve talked, I’ve seen you around town—lately with that new dispatcher.”
He was blank for a moment, then blinked. “You mean Juliet. She’s the records supervisor.”
“Whatever. Rumor is you two are pretty tight.”
The latest rumor was probably that he’d spent the night at Juliet’s house. He wished she didn’t have to be subjected to gossip, but the talkative folks in town still considered him enough of an oddity to warrant their attention. If he were truly concerned about gossip, he should have left her house well before dawn, and he certainly sh
ouldn’t have kissed her in the driveway until her knees were weak, until his chest was tight and he was ready to explode.
“We’re close,” he admitted. It wasn’t the right answer when he was supposed to be charming Sherri into risking her job for him, but he couldn’t lie. He couldn’t diminish the relationship he shared with Juliet for any reason.
“So why aren’t you over at the police department asking her to lunch?” She left the desk and came to stand directly in front of him. “Exactly what is it you want here, Martin?” When he hesitated, she smiled. “Go ahead and say it. The worst that can happen is I’ll turn you down. Why are you here?”
“Because I need a credit report. I have no legal authority to request it, but it could certainly help clear up some questions for me, and I was hoping to talk you into giving it to me.” He didn’t think he’d been totally honest often in the past, but he liked the way it felt.
Her smile faded, and her light tone disappeared. “I could lose my job for that.”
“I know.”
“Is it important?”
“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t.”
She simply looked at him for a time. “You’re friends with Stone Richardson. Why don’t you ask him to get it for you?”
“Because he’d tell me no.”
“Which is exactly what I should do.” But she didn’t, not right away. Instead, she continued to study him. “How many reports are you looking for?”
“Two.” The answer surprised him. He hadn’t given any thought whatsoever to snooping into anyone else’s business, but there was a second report he wanted. It might be of some use.
“Whose?”
“Hal Stuart’s—”
“Hal Stuart! Oh, geez, why don’t you just ask for the mayor’s, too? And the police chief’s and Father Kinneally’s? How about Maxwell Brown’s and—”
“Well, now that you mention it…”
“Hal Stuart and Maxwell Brown.” She grimaced. “You know, if I get caught, I could expect a little mercy from most people, but not those two. Firing wouldn’t be enough to satisfy them. They would want blood. What could they possibly have to do with finding out who you are?”
Martin Smith felt a twinge of guilt at misleading her but didn’t correct her. “I don’t know. It’s just a hunch.”
“For a man who didn’t want to go out with me even once, you’re asking a lot.”
More guilt. “It wasn’t you. I didn’t want to go out with anyone. There was just so much going on—”
“It’s okay. I’m over it.” She fell silent, and he didn’t speak, didn’t disturb her in any way. It couldn’t be an easy decision for her. Taking a risk for someone important to you was one thing. Doing it for someone who barely qualified as an acquaintance was, as she’d said, asking a lot.
After a while, she clasped her hands together. “I’ve liked you from the beginning, Martin. You’ve made the best of a bad situation, and you haven’t asked for help or handouts from anyone. I can’t even imagine what it’s been like for you, having no clue who you are. If you can promise me that no one will know about these—at least, no one besides Juliet…”
“You have my word.”
She returned to the desk, typed a series of commands into the computer, then, only moments later, presented him with the two reports. He folded them to fit into his hip pocket. “You don’t know how much I appreciate this. If there’s ever anything I can do…”
She smiled sweetly, a little sadly. “Oh, the answers I could have come up with to an offer like that four months ago. Good luck.”
“Thanks, Sherri. Thanks a lot.” He left the office and headed for the police department a few blocks over. Through the window in her office, he saw Juliet Crandall facing the computer. Her hair was pulled back at her nape and tied with a ribbon, and she was wearing his favorite of her dresses, the watercolor he had watched her button that first night at her house. He had helped her put it on this morning, had fulfilled one of his fantasies by buttoning the long row of small buttons himself, gliding his fingers over her skin, straying far from the task to caress and tease. Considering how easily he was aroused, she was lucky she’d gotten out of the house before noon.
He exchanged greetings with Stone, Jack and a few of the uniformed officers before going to her office. By the time he got there, the chair was empty, the computer unattended. She was sitting on the floor in front of the file cabinets, a thick file open in her lap, her head bent over the papers. He closed the door quietly, bent and pressed a kiss to her exposed neck.
The smile she gave him was sweet and a bit timid. She’d lain naked with him all last night without the least reticence, but today, fully clothed and in the businesslike confines of her office, she was shy. “Hi. Have a seat.”
He ignored the chair and sat on the floor near her. “Want to have lunch?” When she didn’t answer immediately, he offered another option. “Want to go home and make mad love? Or would you rather go over Hal Stuart’s credit report?”
“You have it?” One moment her face was alive with interest. The next she looked as if she had serious reservations. “You’re not having lunch with her? Why? Because you’re seeing her tonight?”
“Why, darlin’, it sounds almost as if you’re jealous. Good.” She still waited for an answer, so he gave it. “No lunch, no dinner. She gave me the reports free and clear.”
“You must have been very good.”
“I think I was. I think maybe I was a con artist. I was definitely a liar. Telling Sherri the truth felt awfully good, as if I hadn’t done it much in the past.” He considered that a moment, then gave her a nudge. “So…what would you like to do? Lunch, sex or work?”
She gave him a look that made his skin prickle and left no doubt whatsoever as to what was in her mind. The look was so intimate, though, that he knew he wasn’t going to get the most desirable answer. “How about if we go over the reports over lunch? Then we won’t have to do it tonight.”
Maybe that was the most desirable answer. She put the file away, exited the computer program and took her purse from a drawer before leading the way outside to her car.
They picked up burgers and fries from a drive-through, then went to Vanderbilt Park. With an old quilt from the back of her car, they found a sunny place that looked on distant mountains and settled in. While Martin unpacked the food, she smoothed the papers he’d pulled from his pocket. “Why did you get a report on Maxwell Brown? Isn’t he just a local businessman?”
He handed her a cheeseburger before unwrapping his own. “Monday night, after the dream, I was afraid to go back to sleep, so I went for a walk. I do that a lot. Brown was in his office downtown having a meeting with some guy. There were two other men waiting for them out in the alley. I’d been watching them for about ten minutes when Brown and the other guy came out. The three men got in their car and drove away, and Brown left in his own car.”
“What time was this?”
“Around 3:00 a.m. It gave me a funny feeling in the back of my neck. It just didn’t feel right.” He paused to take a few bites, washing them down with soda. “The next day I saw Brown and Hal having lunch together. Hal was not in a good mood.”
“So you think that not all of Maxwell Brown’s business is legitimate and that Hal might possibly be involved with him.”
“I don’t know. I just thought that getting his records was too good a chance to pass up.”
When they finished eating, she moved closer to him, and they studied the papers together. Hal’s risk score wasn’t very good. His credit cards—and there were plenty—carried high balances, and he was frequently late with his payments on everything from his car to his condo to his utilities. The sixty-six thousand dollars Olivia’s life insurance had paid would have made a good dent in his debt, but he still would have been up to his ears in it. Hell, maybe that was where he’d spent it and he still owed this much.
Maxwell Brown was a different story. His credit rating was perfect: reasonable balance
s, sensible debt and regular, on-time payments. There was no mortgage for a house or cars, which meant he must own those outright.
“So does that satisfy your curiosity about Brown?”
“It should.” Financially the man was as upstanding as they came. But that funny feeling was there again. If Martin knew only one thing for a fact, it was that he could trust that feeling.
“But it doesn’t. All right. Tomorrow why don’t you go by the courthouse and find out everything you can about him? I’ll check online and at the library.” She folded the papers, offered them to him, then slipped them inside her purse when he refused. “Grand Springs is such a pretty place,” she remarked with a look around. “It’s no surprise that Olivia loved it.”
“Coming here was a big deal for you.” Leaving her home, her family and friends, the only place she’d ever known, for someplace strange and new took courage that she probably hadn’t realized she possessed. “I hope you never regret it.”
“I never will. No matter what.”
He didn’t like the ominous undertones his mind supplied to her last words. Even after last night, she wasn’t convinced that there was no one in his past who could take him away from her. Truthfully, she was right to have doubts. There was the very strong possibility that someone in his past could separate them, though not another woman. The man he had been before the accident, the man who had killed, the man who knew too well how to live in the shadows—that man could come between them. He was his own biggest worry.
She withdrew a paper from her bag, then settled again even closer. “After talking with Stone this morning, I sent this out.”
He recognized the printout as being an NCIC entry—but how did he know that? It listed his name as John Doe, gave a physical description, including details on the scars, and asked each agency to check its records on shooting victims for the last six years.
“He says it could take a long time to get an answer, but unless you were shot outside the country, the chances of hearing something are pretty good.”
The suggestion that he might not have been in the country when the shootings occurred didn’t feel as foreign as it should. Had he traveled overseas often? Had he lived there? Maybe. It could explain why no missing persons report had ever been filed. It could also explain his fluency in Spanish.
You Must Remember This Page 16
