“Yes, please,” she said, just noticing now that she was shivering a bit. “Tea would be great.”
“Take her to the living room, Jack,” Mike called over his shoulder as he hung up her coat. “You know the way.”
“Sure do,” Jack said easily. “C’mon, honey.”
For the second time, being called ‘honey’ by this man was a kick to the stomach, one that she kind of enjoyed. But then Claire reminded herself that he, undoubtedly, referred to every woman who wandered across his path as ‘honey’. Maybe ‘babe’, if he really liked a female in question, and if the beer had kicked in, and if bar closing time was fast approaching. After all, it meant nothing to him. She meant nothing to him.
And after tonight, she was never going to see Jack again. Not ever.
After all, there was just no reason for her to see him again. Was there?
**
Two hours later, she and Jack left Mike’s house.
So carefully, Mike had examined her face and neck, and declared her injuries pretty minor. He’d put ice on her swollen cheek and eye, looked at the bruising around her throat, checked her eyes and balance. He’d pronounced her shaken and in need of rest, but he saw nothing to worry about. He’d offered her a mild sedative, but Claire had politely refused.
“I have some right here, Caitlin,” Mike had told her. “No need to give me your name or to go fill a prescription. You can just take them with you, OK? No problem for me.”
“But… are they for pain? Or sleeping?”
“Both,” Mike had said. “Just to relax you a bit, so you can unwind and get some rest. You really do need some, you know. You’ve had one hell of a shock.”
“Uh.” She’d bitten her lip. “Well… then OK. Yes. Thank you.”
Claire settled into the car beside Jack now, suddenly unbelievably tired, but determined not to give in to it quite yet. She’d looked weak and pathetic enough for one night, and the thought of falling asleep while Jack drove her home was a step too far in that direction, in her opinion.
“OK,” he said to her. “Where are am I going?”
“Oh.” She sighed a bit, knowing that there was no way out of this. Mike had specifically and adamantly forbidden her from driving her own car, so there was only one way home… and it was sitting there looking at her, all sexy and large in perfectly-tailored black dress pants and a gorgeous white shirt. “Well… we’re going to – to the trailer park on Potomac Street.”
He stared at her, hard. “The trailer park?”
“Yes.” She decided to just brazen this out, no matter how embarrassing. “I – I rent a trailer.”
“I see.” Jack narrowed his eyes, and she wondered just how completely she’d unimpressed him. “Well… let’s go, then.”
Claire nodded crisply, resolute to not explain herself, and not defend her crappy living situation, and not blather on about how this was temporary, or at least she hoped it was. She didn’t owe Jack a single explanation, and she had no need to defend her choices, and she had no reason to assure a stranger that being down on her luck this badly wasn’t her permanent state of being.
So instead she stared back out the window as they left the lovely, clean neighborhoods of doctors and business people and lawyers, and headed out of Denver proper to the outskirts. Since Jack was quiet again, it gave her tired mind the chance to wander…and it wandered straight to the one topic and issue that she’d studiously avoided thinking about, until now.
The loss of her backpack. The body blow to her plans and goals and livelihood. The one thing that she’d had going for her – the one thing that she couldn’t do without, or cope without, or move ahead without.
Shit. What am I going to do?
It was all gone. Everything that she’d worked so hard to accomplish, and build up, and to do. It was just… gone. She was back at the very beginning, back where she had been a year ago. And Claire wasn’t sure that she had the strength to do it all again.
Tears threatened once more and she blinked them down. No crying; no goddamn crying. She’d done all her crying years ago, and that part of her life was done. When she’d finally escaped that cold, loveless marriage, she’d promised herself that she’d only cry for things that truly, deeply mattered. No more wasting her tears on things that could be fixed, or changed, or left behind.
But I’m just so, so tired. I’m so close to going back and taking that money from him… just to make this fight stop.
Right away, Claire slammed down on that thought. No. No way. If she took his money and his deal, then life would get easier and no doubt about it. She’d be able to afford to buy a nice house for cash, and she’d be able to shop high-end again, and she’d be able to have plenty saved and set aside even after all of that. She’d also never be able to look at herself in the mirror, ever again.
This way was better; this life was better. Harder, for sure. Heartbreaking and exhausting and hurtful, sure. But better.
No tears. No deal. No selling out. No taking the easy way.
Not ever again.
Chapter Six
Griff was also using the quiet time in the car to do some thinking. From Griff’s side, however, his silent brooding had a horrified edge to it. What the hell had possessed him to call Claire Worthington ‘honey’, not once, but fucking twice? Sure, she’d been hurt and teary, and Griff hated to see any woman vulnerable and damaged, but still.
When he was around this woman, his guard was down, and John Griffin’s guard was never down. Worse, she was the one woman on the planet who he couldn’t let his guard down around, not ever. If he did, he’d possibly miss something. Maybe something crucial. And even if he didn’t miss a damn thing, there was still a chance that he’d give himself away and blow the op. He’d never blown an op in his life, and he wasn’t starting now.
Griff gritted his teeth, retrieved his focus and cool. He drove under a bridge, drove past a few infamous dive bars, drove past an open field littered with bottles, condoms, and syringes.
Drove to Claire Worthington’s home.
How the mighty have fallen, huh?
He’d known that she lived way out here in the trailer park, of course. Dallas’ intel had been solid on that, and Griff had rolled his eyes at that piece of information, since he’d assumed that it had been a gigantic red herring. He’d figured that Claire just rented the place for cash as a dead-end, in case she got sniffed out by a journalist or an angry victim of the scam that she and her ex-husband had run.
Griff hadn’t seriously believed – not for one damn second – that Claire actually lived in the trailer. Like, for real. He’d been working on the theory that she was happily shacked up and hidden out someplace swanky and discreet, paying big cash and playing coy.
Except it seemed that he’d been wrong about that; it seemed that she was living way out in the middle of nowhere, in what was arguably the worst trailer park in Colorado.
What the actual hell?
He drove into the park, past the management office, past several RVs. The permanent camp of residents was past the section of people who just rented space for their campers for the weekend, or for a few days. It was a notorious no-go zone, and for a few pretty damn good reasons. Drugs, mostly, and because the permanent residents tended to be ex-cons, hookers, and general societal undesirables.
And Claire was living side-by-side with these people. Griff’s mind boggled at the notion, then he briefly amused himself by wondering just what the hell Claire and some ex-con would possibly have to talk about. Though her and her ex’s criminal connection did give them some common ground, now that Griff thought about it.
Maybe she was right where she belonged after all. Among the questionable, low-life types.
“That one.” Her soft voice broke into his rather uncharitable thoughts. “At the end of the row.”
Griff nodded tersely, stopped in front of the trailer that she’d pointed out. In a matter of seconds, he’d taken it in, and what he saw puzzled him yet again. Some mo
re.
It was hands-down the nicest, most well-maintained trailer that Griff had ever come across, even with the thick layer of snow covering its roof and steps. Griff saw cheerful yellow curtains and small vases of flowers in the windows, and the area around the trailer was meticulously clean. It looked like a place that the person living in it took real pride in… like they took the time and made the effort to make it a home.
“Well.” Claire made an effort to sound upbeat and casual, and Griff looked at her. “This is me. Thank you for everything Jack –”
Griff opened his door abruptly. “Let me help you inside.”
“Oh!” She shook her head. “No, it’s OK. I’m fine now…”
“I ain’t leaving you outside, Caitlin. I want to make sure you’re inside and safe, and this ain’t up for discussion. C’mon.”
Something only just occurred to her now. “But –”
“No ‘buts’. Let’s go.”
“No, I wasn’t saying ‘but’ about you helping me,” Claire said. “I was saying ‘but’ because I have to get my spare key from my neighbor. My usual key was stolen, as you may remember.”
Griff paused. He’d planned to break into her place, since it wasn’t like the locks on trailers were the epitome of Fort-Knox-level personal and home security. But a key was probably the better way to go, since the wind was still whipping around, and as much as he disliked the woman, he didn’t relish the thought of leaving her in a crappy trailer with no way to shut out the elements.
“Yeah, OK,” he said. “Which neighbor?”
Before Claire had even had the chance to answer, the door of the trailer next door burst open with such force, it hit the side and ricocheted back on the man standing there. He stuck out his booted foot, stopped the door, and looked over at them. Even from a distance of twenty feet and through a haze of cigarette smoke, Griff saw him scowling. He clocked the man’s short, dark hair, tattooed forearms, and – oh, joy of all joys – the Road Devils motorcycle club patch on his leather cut.
Claire’s neighbor is a goddamn MC member. Awesome.
To be totally fair, though, if Griff had to go and deal with an MC guy, he’d choose one from the Road Devils in a heartbeat. The current club President, Wolf Connor, had spent the past year or so busting his ass to extract the MC from shady activities, and from what Griff had heard, Connor had succeeded. He’d severed all ties with Kirk Jensen, Denver’s shittiest, sleaziest piece of sleazy shit, a guy who was into drugs, prostitution, sex trafficking, rape, and murder. It had been a hugely unpopular move within the Road Devils, and Connor had watched as some of his guys had left and started a splinter MC – and had promptly picked up all of the dirty deals that Connor had just dumped.
If this MC member had stuck with Wolf Connor, then it meant that he was a law-abiding type, and he was one by choice. That was a good place to begin, at least.
Griff squinted over at the guy. He hadn’t had many dealing with the MC factions of Denver – that kind of stuff fell on Dallas directly, in the rare occurrences when it happened – and Griff was sure that he’d never laid eyes on this other man before. No chance of being recognized, he knew.
But that wasn’t really the issue, in his view. No, the issue was that MC members were notoriously suspicious and they seemed to have built-in radars when it came to sniffing out cops, snitches, fakes, and anyone else who wasn’t what they claimed to be.
A guy exactly like Griff, in other words.
“Caitlin?” The man was down the steps and crossing the yard, flicking his cigarette into a snowbank as he stalked. “Where’s your car? Did you have an accident in the blizzard?”
“Cole,” she said, and Griff didn’t miss the relief in her voice. “No. No accident.”
“So who’s this guy?” Cole snapped. He was closer now, and when Claire lifted her face a bit, he saw the bruising and swelling, and he stopped dead in his tracks. “What the fuck… what happened? Caitlin, you OK?”
“Yes,” she said. “I’m fine.”
“Who did this to you?” Cole demanded, back in motion and shooting Griff a look that clearly showed that he thought Griff was at least partly responsible. “And who the fuck are you, man?”
“Jack Gordon,” Griff said smoothly.
“Jack helped me,” she explained, leaning against the car for support. “Took me to see a doctor, and he insisted on bringing me home.”
“So what happened?” Cole asked again, more gently this time as he took in her shaken appearance. “Tell me, sweetheart.”
Griff’s ears pricked up at the endearment: maybe Claire and this MC thug were a thing?
“I – I –” Claire sighed. “I was robbed.”
“You what?” Cole was almost shouting again. “Who robbed you?”
“That guy I was supposed to meet tonight. The one who wanted me to be a regular supplier for his jewelry store.”
Cole started. “No shit?”
“None, unfortunately,” she said. “I was just showing him a few samples, and he… he hit me and tried to grab my bag. When I fought back, he… well. He…”
“He tried to strangle her,” Griff said helpfully. “Got away when she almost passed out.”
Cole shot Griff a death glare with his dark eyes. “Say what?”
“But Jack was passing by,” she hurried to say. “And he stopped and scared the guy off, then he got me to a friend of his who’s a doctor. And here we are.”
“Where did this happen?” Cole said. “Surely not at the damn café!”
“Uh…” Claire was looking shifty. “Well… we were supposed to meet at The Web Café, that’s true. But…”
“But?” Cole said. “But what?”
“But he sent me an e-mail saying that he had to get back to Colorado Springs tonight and time was short because of the bad blizzard,” she whispered. “So he asked if we could meet somewhere else. Somewhere more convenient for his exit out of town.”
“Where ‘somewhere else’?” Cole growled. “And you’d better not tell me it was somewhere isolated, Caitlin, I swear to fuck. Tell me that you were smarter than that.”
Unaccountably, Griff found himself warming to Cole. He bit down a grin, and watched Claire squirm where she stood.
“Uh,” she stalled again. “Uh, well, actually…”
“They met at that rest stop just past Dangerous Curves,” Griff supplied, still being nothing but helpful. “The one close to that patch of thick woods? Just before the path up the Rockies that goes to The Lookout?”
“They – what?” Now Cole was roaring. “Caitlin… are you outta your fucking mind, girl?”
She paled even more, and swayed a bit. Right away, both men reached for her and then glared daggers at each other.
“Back off, man,” Cole snarled, his grasp on her elbow impossibly careful despite his anger. “You got no place here. Remember that.”
“Sorry.” Griff withdrew his hand. “You’re right. I’m out of line.”
Cole turned his attention back to her. “OK, sweetheart. Let’s get to my place. Sit you down, give you a whisky, OK?”
“OK.” Her voice was small. “You still have that key that I gave you? Mine was in the backpack – along with everything else.”
Cole stopped in his tracks. “Everything?”
“Yes.” Griff saw tears shining in those incredible eyes. “Cole… everything’s gone.”
“Aw, fuck.” Cole shook his head, then gently drew Claire to him. “Fuck, babe. I’m so sorry.”
Griff watched in rapt attention as Claire sank onto Cole’s broad chest, then stood in the circle of his arms, fighting down sobs. Oh, yeah… something was most definitely going on between rich-girl Claire and this scowling MC bad boy. Griff narrowed his eyes and just watched them hold each other close and tight, like nobody else in the world existed.
This was going to be one hell of a report that he’d be submitting to Dallas the next day. This was way too much to put down on paper even with a deadline of seven the n
ext night, so he resolved to call Dallas and ask for a face-to-face meeting the next morning at the office. Faster, for sure, and if Mark came too, they could give Dallas their combined impressions and observations of one Claire ‘Caitlin’ Worthington.
After a minute, Claire pulled back and Cole released her.
“OK?” he asked softly.
She nodded, then shot Griff an embarrassed look. “I’m sorry, Jack.”
“Hey,” Griff said. “Don’t worry about me, Caitlin. I promised to get you home safe, and that’s what I did. Now I’m out of your hair.”
She nodded, and a strange look flashed across her face. Was that…
Regret?
Why the hell would she look regretful that he was leaving? She had her glowering biker boyfriend right there, after all, and he was all ready to comfort her and take care of her. What did she care if Jack Gordon walked right out of her life, never to be seen again?
Except… Jack Gordon couldn’t just walk on out, could he? Griff was on assignment, and he had to figure out how to stay close to Claire. Tonight had provided him with the perfect introduction – well, ‘perfect’ in the sense that she had had zero reason to be suspicious of his approaching her on a rescue mission – and now he had to press his advantage, and find some way and pretext to see her again.
How, though, with Cole standing there, clearly wishing him dead?
It was nothing but a shock, then, when Claire said to him, “Maybe I can buy you a coffee tomorrow, Jack? To say thank you for all your help tonight?”
Griff’s eyes flew to Cole, saw a glint on those dark eyes. But not one of anger, or jealousy, or even possessiveness.
No. Cole looked worried. Worried about Claire.
Maybe they’re just friends after all?
Testing the waters, Griff cocked his head at Cole. “You OK with me meetin’ your girl, man?”
Claire laughed, and it was the sweetest, most musical sound that Griff had ever heard. He gazed at her, wishing that she’d laugh like that again. Just once more.
Just for me.
Stop it, man. Cut it the fuck out, and right now.
“Oh, Jack,” she said, amused. “Cole and I aren’t together. No need to ask his permission to meet me for coffee.”
Solid Gold (Unseen Enemy Book 8) Page 7
