By morning, the snow had stopped, but some three feet of the stuff had fallen in the night, and Hallie, wearing Chance’s shirt and her own jeans, stood in the kitchen, the floor icy beneath her feet, contemplating breakfast. Chance had left the house while she was still sleeping, to start the generator, so there was electricity, though it faltered often. A lively fire was just beginning to catch on the hearth. By now, Chance was probably feeding the horses.
She put the coffee on, peered out the window at what seemed like miles of glistening diamonds, fine as sand. Despite everything she faced, she felt her spirits rise. Her body, cherished in the night, still hummed from Chance’s skillful attentions.
When he came in at last, his face was reddened with cold. “Hungry?” she asked.
He grinned, slapped his work gloves against one thigh and then laid them on a heating vent to dry. “I guess we need to eat,” he conceded. “If it were up to me, though, I’d just take you right back upstairs to bed.”
She felt a frisson of response—he could arouse her so easily that it was frightening—and took a step back. “Chance,” she said, with quiet determination, “we have to talk. Really talk.”
He slanted a glance at her, then looked away again, shoved a hand through his weather-dampened hair. “About what?” he asked, cautious.
“Sit down, and I’ll explain. I’ve started an omelet for you, and the coffee will be ready in a couple of minutes.”
He dragged back a chair and sat, watching her.
She set an empty plate before him, and silverware, then laid a hand on his shoulder. “I have a business in Arizona, Chance,” she said. “I have a home, and friends, though I admit I neglected them for a long time, while I was building the business. I have a life there.”
He waited.
“When—if—this thing gets settled, and the heat is off . . .” She couldn’t finish.
He did it for her. “You plan to go back.”
“What else can I do?”
His jawline tightened. “You can stay here,” he said. “With me.” He looked away, looked back. The omelet, meanwhile, began to scorch on the stove and, reflexively, Hallie pushed the pan off the burner, turning from Chance in the process. Stiffening her spine. “Excuse me,” he persisted, in a fierce whisper, “but didn’t we just spend the best part of the night driving each other crazy? Was it just me, or did something special happen when we were together?”
She blinked back tears. “Sex is one thing,” she said bravely, “and love is another. We strike sparks, all right, but that isn’t enough, Chance. You know it isn’t.”
He could have turned everything around then, merely by saying that he loved her, or even that he thought he could learn to love her, but he said nothing, nothing at all. He just sat there at the table, scowling, and when she put the omelet in front of him, he pushed it away.
The telephone rang, and Chance answered, snapping, “Hello?” It was more demand than greeting.
Hallie felt a cold shimmer of fear pass through her in that instant, like a spirit met on a narrow stair.
“It’s Jase,” Chance said, and shoved the receiver at her.
She took it, listened, mumbled her thanks, pressed the disconnect button.
“What is it?” Chance asked.
“Joel has vanished, and so have several of his associates.”
“Meaning?” He looked at his food for a long moment, picked up his fork, then laid it down again.
“What if they’ve found out where I am? What if some of them are on their way here to make sure I don’t get a chance to testify?”
Chance gripped her hand, pulled her down onto his lap with a sigh. “I won’t let anybody hurt you, Hallie,” he said, and he gave the promise the weight of a sacred vow. “Or the kids.”
She laid her head on his shoulder. “Are you over being mad at me?”
“No,” he replied. “We’ve got something here, Hallie. You and me, together. The least you could do is stick around until we figure out what it is.”
She shook her head, turned far enough on his lap to pick up the fork he’d laid down, and popped a bite of food into his mouth. “What we’ve got, Chance,” she said reasonably, “is some kind of crazy sexual conflagration. It takes more.”
“How are we going to know for sure, if you take off?”
She sighed, offered him another bite, which he refused by clamping his mouth tightly shut. “Maybe,” she suggested carefully, knowing she was pushing the envelope, “I’ll come back. Once everything is settled.”
His blue eyes darkened to near-violet. “Maybe I’ll be waiting,” he answered, “and maybe I won’t.” Having said that, he raised her shirt, slipped her left breast out of her bra, and bent to tease the nipple with his tongue. “In the meantime, we still have sex.”
Hallie’s breath caught, and her heart skipped over at least one beat, but she reined in her emotions and kept her head. She knew she should turn away, but she couldn’t. “Don’t,” she said, without a trace of conviction. Where was her dignity? Where was her pride?
He savored her mercilessly. “Do you really want to leave this behind?”
She whimpered, stretched involuntarily, sensual as a cat. “Chance—”
He unsnapped her jeans, put his hand inside her panties, found the center of her passion, and began making slow circles with the tips of his fingers. “Ummmm?” he asked.
Hallie’s body jerked, and she parted her legs, unable to help responding. “Oh,” she gasped, “this isn’t fair—”
“To hell with fair,” Chance murmured, and heightened his efforts. “I’m going for good.”
Oh, it was good, all right. Hallie strained against his hand, seeking him more and more desperately even as he tormented her. She dug her heels into the floor and raised herself to him, her head back, and he nipped at her earlobe. “Oh, God, ” she moaned.
“Feel nice?” he taunted.
“Dammit,” she choked, back arching, breathless with need, fevered. “You know it does!”
“How much more could you want, Hallie?” he drawled, and tongued the length of her neck. His voice was like gravel. “A man, a woman—it doesn’t get much more real than this, does it?”
“Ooooh,” she cried.
He took her over the edge, held her there, suspended, for what seemed like a small eternity, then settled her back on his lap, and zipped and snapped her jeans back up, as matter-of-factly as if they’d just shaken hands. She was trembling, lying boneless against him, when suddenly he set her on her feet, gave her a swat on the bottom, and said, “My breakfast is getting cold.”
Heat surged through Hallie’s system. The man had just put her through her paces, at the kitchen table, for God’s sake, and now he was going to sit there and calmly eat an omelet? “What just happened here?” she demanded, setting her hands on her hips.
He chuckled. “Well,” he said, “if I remember correctly—”
“That isn’t what I mean,” she spouted, “and you know it. I was speaking rhetorically. You were manipulating me!”
“Actually, I was manipulating your—”
She cuffed him in the back of the head. “I don’t like being manipulated!”
He grinned. “I could have sworn you did,” he countered.
“Damn you, Chance, you know perfectly well what I’m talking about, so stop trying to throw me off!”
“Are we fighting?” he asked cheerfully, chewing as he pondered the possibility. “Look out. Next thing you know, we’ll be going to a movie or playing Strip Scrabble or maybe even doing laundry. It’s frightening.”
Hallie’s frustration knew no end. Neither, apparently, did the small, sweet aftershocks that were still thrumming through her pelvis. “What, precisely, is your point?”
“Think about it,” Chance said, as if she could do anything else but think about it. Then he calmly finished his breakfast, carried the plate to the sink, rinsed it, and set it in the dishwasher.
She crossed the room, yanke
d her jacket down from its peg, and flailed into it. “That does it,” she said. “I’m leaving.”
He leaned against the counter, folded his arms, and regarded her with something like sympathetic amusement. “Is that so? Where do you plan to go?”
“Back to Jessie’s place,” she informed him. “I’ll walk if I have to.”
“Are you out of your mind? The snow is up to your waist.”
Hallie shoved a hand through her hair, which needed shaping. “After that little episode,” she blustered, waggling her fingers in the direction of the chair where she and Chance had been sitting, “I can probably melt a path for myself.”
He laughed, ambled over to her, unzipped the jacket and slid it back off her shoulders. “Stay,” he said. And when he saw a protest brewing in her eyes, he spoke again, quickly. “I’m not talking about forever, okay? Just until the weather eases up, and the feds have rounded up your ex-husband.”
Hallie’s eyes filled with tears; she hadn’t known they were coming, and so was taken utterly by surprise. “My children,” she mourned. “Oh, God, Chance, what is all this going to do to Kiera and Kiley? I mean, lowlife that he is, Joel is the only father they’ve got. They’ll have to deal with whatever happens, whatever he’s done, for as long as they live. It isn’t fair.”
“There you go, looking for fairness again. Forget it.” He rested his forehead against hers. “They have you for a mother, Hallie, and that makes all the difference. You’re strong and you’re smart and you’re resourceful as hell. They know you love them, and that they can count on you. Trust me, it’s more than enough.”
She smiled shakily. “How is it that you can piss me off one moment, and put my whole life into perspective the next?”
He kissed her nose. “It’s a gift,” he said, with a note of false modesty in his voice.
She laughed. “It’s a curse,” she countered, and stood on tiptoe to land a kiss of her own on his mouth.
“I think I need a shower,” he said, with a comical leer and a lift of his eyebrows.
She took a step back. “No way,” she said, but she knew her eyes were shining, and her heart had already tripped into double overdrive.
He took a step toward her. “What you need,” he drawled, “is a little . . . manipulation. And I’m just the guy to handle the job, if you’ll forgive the play on words.”
Heat suffused her face. “Now, Chance—”
He picked her up bodily, tossed her over one shoulder, and started toward the stairs. “That’s exactly what I was thinking,” he said merrily. “Now.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t be too hasty here,” muttered Selkirk, a man Joel would have preferred not to associate with, if he’d had any real choice in the matter. Nobody else was willing to handle the dirty work, and Joel wasn’t sure he could manage it all on his own. “I don’t like it. This is too easy. The place is too quiet, too empty. There might be feds inside, just waiting for us.” Joel was tired of delays. The feds had already been nosing around in Phoenix, thanks to Hallie. His whole life was in a state of suspended animation, and while there was no chance that it would ever be normal again, silencing Hallie would not only provide the satisfaction of revenge, it might also buy him time and maybe even make it possible to return to the States someday. If she were dead, she couldn’t testify, after all.
Yes. There was a major bank account waiting for him in a small town just over the Mexican border, and a very convincing passport. Once Hallie had been dealt with, he would disappear forever.
He’d live like royalty on the amount of money he had been able to skim over the past several years. All he had to do now was follow through; the goal posts were in sight.
“Come on,” he said, tired of lurking in the barn. The place smelled bad, and he’d never cared for animals. “Let’s go in and take a look around.”
Selkirk shook his head, but when Joel led the way out onto the moon-washed snow, hugging himself against the cold and against the task that lay ahead, the other man followed.
“Any sign of an alarm?” Joel asked, when they reached the back porch.
“There’s no alarm,” Selkirk said, with certainty, and rapped hard on the door.
No answer. Joel wiped off the glass and peered inside. He saw an old-fashioned kitchen, just the kind of corny setup he would have expected Hallie to wind up in.
“Outta my way,” said the thug. “We gotta get this done and get out of here. I got a real bad feeling—something ain’t right.”
“Trust you to get right to the heart of the matter, Selkirk,” Joel snapped. “ ‘Something ain’t right.’ How long did it take you to figure that out?”
Selkirk thrust one meaty shoulder against the door; wood splintered and the lock gave way. It never ceased to amaze Joel that anybody ever felt safe anywhere, ever, without dogs, high fences, and major security systems. But then, this was the country, and folks might be a little backward.
“Anybody!” Selkirk yelled.
“ ‘Shut up,” Joel snapped, shoving him.
“Hel- lo!” the hit man chimed derisively, his eyes glittering with dislike as he turned to Joel. “If breaking down the goddam door didn’t stir the place up, yelling won’t, either.”
“Hallie!” Joel shouted.
The place where his ex-wife had been hiding all this time was silent, cold.
“Keep an eye out,” Joel ordered, and started up the back stairs. He was sure there was no one in the house, but maybe, if he searched the place, he could find out where to start looking for Hallie and the kids. He allowed himself a brief, heartening fantasy, in which he came across the evidence Lou Waitlin had gathered, had a chance to destroy it before things went any further. Sure, the feds had been asking questions, but maybe they were just blowing smoke. Maybe they didn’t actually have the proof.
Of course, he wasn’t going to be that lucky. He knew that. Lord, if he’d had that stuff he’d seen Hallie looking through in Lou’s backyard that day, he could turn back time, start over with little or nothing to keep him awake at night.
Upstairs, he found the room where Hallie slept almost immediately; her singular scent lingered in the chilled, wintry air, and the bed was neatly made. Hallie hadn’t slept in this room recently.
He pondered that, rubbing his chin with one hand, then proceeded to go through the dresser drawers. Nothing. But then, that wasn’t surprising, since he knew Hallie had left most of her belongings behind when she fled Phoenix. He had personally checked her condo, and the restaurant, too, finding everything but what he needed, the collection of damning stuff he knew Lou had hidden away. It was all in that box, of course, the one she’d refused to give him, the one she’d deemed important enough that she’d run away that day.
He might never have found her, for that matter, if the kids hadn’t decided to e-mail him from Chance Qualtrough’s computer, just to say hello. After that, it had been easy. If only the kids had contacted him earlier; it would have saved so much time and trouble.
Now, because of all the grief she’d caused, Hallie was going to suffer, big-time. He intended to make sure of that.
He moved on, into a smaller room, with twin beds, and something gentled inside him as he imagined his daughters here, sleeping, playing, reading. He leaned against the doorjamb, smacked the framework lightly with the heel of one palm, blinked back tears of frustration, fury and sorrow. They were very young, Kiera and Kiley were, and with time and persuasion, they would forget Hallie, if not entirely, then close enough. She would be a distant memory, a specter in a dream—but not their mother. Maybe he’d find them another mother, somewhere along the way.
“Hey!” Selkirk shouted from downstairs. “Did you find anything?”
Joel turned from the sparse little room and went to the head of the stairs. “No, dammit,” he replied, “and stop yelling like that. Somebody might hear.”
“If you’re thinking we can hide in here, and get the jump on whoever turns up first, you’ve been working a desk too long. The ba
ck door is in shreds, remember? That’s gonna be a clue, even to a bunch of rubes like these people.”
“Go outside and keep watch,” Joel said, descending the front stairs, gravitating toward the computer. Selkirk remained where he was, as long as he dared, and then shuffled off through the kitchen, muttering.
Joel sat down in the chair, pulled the covers off the monitor and keyboard, and logged on. Hallie wouldn’t be stupid enough to store the contents of that disk on this very computer—would she? He scanned her files, found nothing, and moved on to her e-mails.
One was particularly interesting, a missive from somebody called Katie, in the nearby burg of Primrose Creek. From what little Joel had seen of the place, it consisted of two bars, a feed store, and a greasy spoon, the Last Something-Or-Other. He opened the message.
Hallie—Don’t worry about a thing. Relax and let Chance take care of you. The kids are doing well. What safer hiding place than the sheriff’s house? We’re on our 75th game of Candyland, and I’m losing. See you soon, Katie.
Joel sat back in the desk chair, thinking. Let Chance take care of you. Who exactly was this guy? A boyfriend?
It didn’t matter. If he got in the way, he’d be a dead man.
And the kids were at the Stratton place. He smiled. “What safer place indeed?” A methodical person, he covered the monitor and keyboard again before making one last swing through the house, then going outside to find Selkirk. The moon and stars were particularly bright that night, their light reflecting off the surface of the snow, and Joel peered at his watch, then raised his eyes to the barn.
“Sooner or later, somebody’s going to stop by to feed those animals,” he said with distaste. “We’ll hide out in there until they do.”
Selkirk spat to show his aversion to the idea. “You know, Royer, when I took up with you, I figured you for a class act, with a taste for the finer things in life. I never thought it would come down to sleeping in a barn.”
Joel was slogging through the deep snow. He’d come to the high country from Phoenix, on impulse, and without preparing properly. He didn’t have the right clothes, and his custom-made oxfords were soaked through. The hem of his Brooks Brothers overcoat dragged on the ground, and now, instead of stretching out next to some succulent senorita, on silk sheets, he could look forward to an ambience of hay and horse shit. He felt another surge of hatred for Hallie.
The Last Chance Cafe Page 24
