Out of the Mist (Can't Help Falling Book 1)

by Lauren Giordano

  Leave or stay? They were likely safe at his friend's house for the night. After the shooting stopped, he'd heard footsteps retreating to a waiting vehicle. But that didn't mean their attackers were gone for good. Whoever was pulling the strings would demand job completion. Jules was still in danger.

  Though Tommy's house was far enough from his mother's place, he experienced the urge to jump in the canoe and head farther up the lake while they still had several hours of darkness for cover. But— it wasn't just him. Julie's ankle would hinder any travel over rough terrain. And the thought of too much time in close quarters with the beautiful woman he was having trouble keeping his hands off— made him lean toward staying in a large house. With lots of space between them. Averting his gaze from the satiny skin he'd trade anything to touch, Matt occupied his mind with unpleasant things. Physical therapy. Working his shoulder until his muscles shouted in agony. But his lower half clearly had other ideas.

  "I think we'll bunk down here until daylight." His voice hoarse, he tried again. "I want reinforcements before we move again."

  "Okay." Her voice was subdued as she sank to the floor, stretching her booted foot in front of her.

  "You alright?"

  "My ankle feels huge."

  He debated the risk of removing her boot. If they needed to leave in a hurry . . . But the agony shimmering in her eyes reminded him how much she'd been through. Her shivering seemed to be getting worse. "Let's get this off and I'll make an icepack."

  He helped her up from the floor. "Let's move you to the couch."

  "I'm covered in mud. I don't want to ruin your friend's furniture."

  Somewhere in the sea of questions clouding his brain, her concern for a stranger's couch registered. "Don't worry about it." When he gingerly removed the boot, her cry of pain lanced through him. Hand clapped to her mouth, she apologized. "Damn it Jules, why didn't you say anything?" Her ankle was swollen and discolored. And they'd left her crutches behind.

  "I'm fine," she insisted, as though he couldn't see tears filling her eyes. Her teeth chattering, she tugged a blanket from the back of the couch.

  Confused by his ambivalence, Matt groped his way to the kitchen. Resisting the urge to bang his head on the marble counter, he released a frustrated sigh. Damn it, he didn't want to like her. He couldn't blow this op— not after the mistake with Pam. He needed a resounding win. To get back on track. To feel competent again. To hopefully put the past behind him. He couldn't afford an error. In judgment or fact. He couldn't afford the risk Julie represented.

  Finding ice wasn't a problem, but finding a bag to hold it took several minutes in the dense darkness. His brain re-engaged, he returned to the living room. "We'll keep the lights out so the house looks vacant," he explained. "It's unlikely Munoz's guys will go house to house."

  Blanket wrapped around her shoulders, Julie nodded. "What happened out there?"

  He debated how much to share, but for now they were a team. "I counted at least three guys out there. Paul is dead-"

  She startled. "The officer who-"

  "Either he worked for Munoz and— became disposable or he was taken by surprise," he explained. "There's another in the yard." He paused when she winced. "The rest took off after the shooting started. I heard them on the gravel and then a car started down the road."

  In the murky shadows of his friend's living room, she rested her head on her knees. "We're safe for now," he offered.

  "How long will that last?"

  There was defeat in her voice, along with a trace of fear. "It would be easier if I knew what we were up against. If we knew what you saw."

  Her head popped up. "What do you mean— what I saw?"

  "If you're telling the truth-"

  "I may not know the truth, but I can feel it," she insisted, her voice watery. "I can't be the terrible person you're looking for."

  Her words resonated through him. Wanting to believe her. Weighing the cost of that desire. "Then you know something," he reasoned. "You saw something or you know something. And they have to prevent that information from getting out."

  Her eyes widened. "When I was stumbling along the path— I remembered the warehouse. I saw something in the warehouse."

  "The warehouse with the white clouds?" Uncertain how he felt about her sudden revelation, he treaded cautiously.

  "There's something bad— inside."

  "Bad . . . like drugs?"

  Her profile outlined in the faint light, she stared into the void as though there was something there. It was a common maneuver for those in the process of thinking up more lies. It was a beautiful profile— of a woman he was increasingly conflicted over. "How did you end up at the warehouse?"

  When she faced him, her terrified expression ricocheted through his chest.

  "A meeting."

  "With who?"

  "I don't— Something to do with work."

  Studying her, Matt waited. "How do you know that?"

  "Because everything is about work." She grimaced at his expression. "I know this sounds crazy because I can't remember. But I'm sure-"

  The anguish in her eyes suggested a great deal more. If she wouldn't be forthcoming, he'd pry it from her. "You mentioned tripping over a body-" Her shoulder jerked at his reminder. Fatigue forgotten, Matt stared into blank eyes. "Remember, Jules?"

  She clutched her waist to absorb the shudders rippling through her. "A man. He was old."

  "Did you know him?"

  "He was . . . face down." Hand trembling, she wiped blindly at her eyes. "Wearing a suit."

  "Color?" He mentally started counting.

  "Brown." A tiny notch creased her forehead. "Herringbone pattern jacket— like my gramps used to wear."

  Okay— she hadn't lied. A quick response meant ownership of a fact. It meant she believed what she said. Refusing to contemplate the relief flooding him, Matt pressed on. No way could he cut her any slack.

  She touched her head. "He had white hair."

  Christ, where was this going? Another laughably obscure clue. Tied to . . . nothing. "Anything else?"

  "Tori. She . . . might have been with me." Eyes laced with guilt, she seemed frozen. "How could I forget that?"

  Tori— with the suspect last name. Julie with no last name. Dragging a hand through his hair, he released a frustrated breath. He needed a break. Something. Anything he could link together that could be deemed progress. Something he could offer the team— something that said Barnes was back on his game. He's all over this. He's-

  About to blurt another impatient question, Matt heard sniffling. Jesus, she was crying again. Idiot— her friend might be dead. A little tact would go a long way. "I'm sure . . . we'll find her."

  "How will you do that? Where is she?"

  He squeezed a trembling hand. "Anything you remember . . . might help find her."

  "A long road. Not paved." She shuddered. "Isolated. Creepy. A door with a window." Her gaze unfocused, she startled. "The paw mark." She bolted up from the couch before he caught her.

  "Jules— your ankle." Matt steadied her when she struggled against him. "Where are you going?"

  "We . . . we need to find it. The paw mark." Her chest rose with each panting breath. "It's a sign. It's on a sign."

  "We can't, Jules." He gentled his tone, banking his own excitement. "We're hiding, remember?" He helped her hobble back to the couch, raising her ankle on pillows to elevate it. When he plopped a bag of frozen peas on it, she gasped.

  Scooping the blanket from the floor, he draped her with it. A familiar adrenaline buzz trickled through him, mowing down his body's resistance to the lethargy that wanted to grab hold at two in the morning. His brain frantically sorting information, Matt startled as he remembered their conversation at dinner. How the hell had he forgotten it? Julie owned a company. He'd been angry— over Leo's news about Munoz. And with her, for not being the innocent victim he wanted her to be. A Boston area company with a corporate officer named Julie. How many could there be? "How
about tea," he suggested, barely managing to keep a straight face when hers contorted with frustration.

  "Tea?" She sputtered. "But— I just remembered something major." Blank eyes finally heated with anger. "You've been pestering me for days. And now it's finally coming back."

  The mystery pulled at him. Like any bad habit, the deeper into the labyrinth of a drug investigation he wandered, the harder it got to turn back. It was probably the one thing he missed most about his job. Total immersion. No time or desire to think of anything else.

  As a special agent with the DEA, his forte was forensic investigations. And like any addiction, they consumed him. The trail was always money. No matter how ingenious the criminal, he inevitably picked up their scent. Following the bread crumbs to the end of the trail. To yet another bastard who destroyed lives for profit.

  "I'm glad your memory is returning." Crackling with impatience, Julie's eyes shot daggers at him. But in fifteen minutes or so, the adrenaline feeding him would cause her to crash. Her battered body was exhausted. Though he wanted nothing more than to pick the lock on her awakening brain-

  Matt sighed. Occasionally, he could do the right thing. His interrogation would have to wait.

  ***

  Julie awoke crying, the cobwebs clearing on a memory that left her desolate.

  "Jules?" Agent Barnes shifted in the recliner, his sexy voice husky with sleep. "Is it your ankle?"

  "I— keep r-remembering." She swiped at flooding eyes. "I want to stop."

  A confused smile quirked his lips. "I don't think it works that way." Rising from the chair, he groaned. "Jeez—how long was I out?"

  "I think I knew," she muttered. "I sensed it at the hospital."

  "Sensed what?" Hand to the back of his neck, he blinked away sleep.

  "I am alone." His eyes flared with sudden understanding. "My dad is— gone." Shifting on the couch, she pulled her knees to her chest. Rediscovering the loss brought back emotions she'd believed were buried with him.

  "I'm sorry."

  "Me, too." The empty words sounded inadequate. "Two years ago. I run the company now." Her father's pride and joy— and Julie hadn't wanted it. She swallowed around a hard knot of regret. "Sorry— this feels like-"

  He sank down at the foot of the couch. "It's happening again?"

  She nodded, surprised when he reached for her hand. "He was only fifty-three."

  "Your mom?"

  She winced at the growing lump. "When I was thirteen."

  "I can't imagine what that would be like," he admitted after a pause. "My dad died when I was in college, but my mother is a rock. She holds our family together."

  Startled over his voluntary release of any information, she found warmth in his gaze. Compassion. Grateful for it, she sorted the tumbling memories. "My dad coped by working all the time." She remembered the fear— of being left behind. Of being completely alone. And she'd acted. "I realized the only way I'd ever get to see him was to make myself useful." Chest suddenly heavy, she averted her eyes. "One morning during summer vacation, I met him at the door and announced I was going to work with him." A sad smile played around her lips. "I must've looked pathetic."

  "How old were you?"

  "Fourteen."

  "Maybe he was grateful." The sudden heat of his stare sliced through the gloom. "You did the hard part," he suggested. "Maybe he didn't know how to approach you."

  Confusion swirled, competing with the memories. "I-I don't know about that."

  He checked the melting bag of peas on her ankle. "Grief hits everyone differently. Maybe your dad tried to outrun it by staying busy." He rose suddenly, moving to the window.

  "What is it?"

  "Thought I heard something." Not turning, Agent Barnes kept his gaze on the darkened window. "I nearly left school when my dad died."

  His sleep-husky voice drifted across her skin, intimate in the pre-dawn stillness. She could imagine him lying next to her. "H-how old were you?"

  "Nineteen." He carefully moved the drape. "Sophomore year."

  As the silence lengthened between them, she sensed disappointment. Could he really regret sharing one small piece of his past with her?

  "Going back to school after the funeral was one of the hardest things I'd ever done," he finally said. "Like I was abandoning my mom and sister." Letting the curtain drop, he slowly turned. "Madeline— my mom knew exactly what to say so I wouldn't feel guilty."

  "What?"

  "My dad— didn't raise us to be quitters. That we all needed to keep doing the things we cared about . . . because he would hate knowing we gave up." His slow smile heated at the memory. "She said he wouldn't enjoy heaven if he knew we were sad. My mom's pretty good at the Catholic guilt trip . . . but I think she got that one right."

  "I wish-" Julie experienced a sharp jab of longing. How different her life would have been. At thirteen, she'd assumed her parents would be there forever. "What's she like?"

  "Strong. Opinionated." His smile widened. "I'm always outnumbered because my sister is just like her."

  Her breath caught as a sudden realization swept her. "Wait— you haven't-" With her memory returning, Agent Barnes should have pounced by now. "Obviously, I'm remembering stuff. Why haven't you asked?"

  His gaze met hers, seeming to absorb her thoughts as she experienced them. "I'm not a complete jerk. Remembering everything at once is traumatic."

  "But you need-" She drank in the compassion veiling his gaze. His understanding. So foreign— probably to him, too. Likely fleeting— but so perfectly timed when she'd needed it the most. Releasing a shuddering breath, she nodded. "My name is Juliet Kimball. I own a company called KTec."

  ***

  "We should try to find . . . the paw." Julie's voice slurred with exhaustion. More than anything, she wanted to sink into a dreamless sleep and awaken to discover the past week had been a nightmare.

  "Sleep, Jules." If she'd had any hope of convincing him, Barnes' voice suggested otherwise. Returning from his perch in another window, he stretched. "It's two hours 'til dawn. Get some rest so you'll be functional."

  "How do I sleep when people are— you know . . ." Her train of thought drifted away on an ear-splitting yawn. Agent Barnes had to be exhausted, too. Riveted by the muscular frame straining against his shirt, she remembered the sensation of his arms wrapped around her.

  "I guess you're not a morning person." His lips twitched to keep from laughing.

  "I'm not a middle-of-the-night person," she corrected, her mouth suddenly dry. Carelessly rolled up sleeves on his loaner flannel shirt revealed strong forearms. Her muddled brain stuttered. Combined with the dead-of-night shadow staining his cheeks, Julie had the impression of a sexy, surly lumberjack.

  "Resist the urge to hurl that at me." He nodded to her mug. "I'm highly perceptive at anticipating the actions of others."

  She'd drained the tea he'd insisted on, the caffeine helping her stay alert the last hour. Releasing the tumble of memories cluttering her head. The paw mark was on a sign to the inn where she's stayed. The Psychedelic Kitty. Barnes' expression had been comical when she'd remembered the name. But he'd emailed it to his team, using the McCready's ancient desktop instead of his phone.

  "More likely, you've had this effect on women before."

  Barnes' slow grin sent awareness forking down her aching spine. Battered, limping and chased by killers— and she still wanted to strip him from his flannel and have her way with him on the couch.

  "I need water. You want anything?" Sprawled in an armchair, cranky and rumpled, he was incredibly appealing. Despite his own lack of sleep, his eyes snapped with intelligence behind the professor glasses. His unruly hair lent credence to the overall image of a bend-the-rules sort of man.

  When Matt disappeared in the kitchen, Julie released a confused sigh. How would life feel with no worries? With no one chasing her. No failing business to lose sleep over. Would she do things differently? Take a vacation and just go crazy . . . once in her life? Indulge in
a wild, no strings week with a guy like Barnes?

  "Jeez— I hope so." Somehow, she doubted it. She was boring. A dutiful daughter— doing the right thing. "Where's that gotten you?" Chased by a killer. She was tired of fighting. So tired of . . . everything. If only she could erase the past five days. Her lids fluttered down. The entire trip would be nothing but a surreal nightmare . . .

  ***

  Water bottle in hand, Matt returned from the kitchen, cursing when he discovered her eyes closed. His suspect released a sexy sigh as she tumbled into sleep. Another moment and he'd lose her to the comfort of Mrs. McCready's afghan. "Eyes open," he ordered.

  "But you-" Her confused expression made him smile. "Sleep," she finally remembered.

  "I changed my mind."

  Blinking drowsy eyes, Julie's yawn reminded him of a cranky toddler. "In probably twenty countries, this constitutes torture."

  Even disgruntled, she was appealing. Though fuzzy from lack of sleep, his brain acknowledged it was growing harder to keep a professional distance when she was so likeable. But thinking that way would only distract him— when he was finally making progress.

  "We're on a roll." Matt reminded himself to be compassionate. Her memories might be traumatic. But the fact remained— he was dying to get inside her head. "Tell me about your company."

  Absently, she finger-combed her hair, wincing when she hit a bruise. She'd been beaten and left for dead. Guilt shivved him in the ribs. Jeez— he was a jerk. Tonight, she'd dragged herself a half mile in the dark, outrunning a killer on one leg. Now, when he should be offering comfort, he was interrogating her.

  "KTec manufactures and distributes replacement parts for personal electronic devices." She paused to untangle a knot. "After market chargers and headphones . . . batteries. When my dad died, I had to take over." In a heartbeat, her voice went from cranky to vulnerable, her drowsiness falling away.