by Beth Andrews
She searched in her purse for the trail mix, opened it and, sitting on the edge of the tub, picked out the chocolate pieces first. Popping them into her mouth, she sighed in pleasure as they melted on her tongue.
Maybe she’d leave Dean a note and run out to get them some lunch. He was bound to be hungry when he woke up. She thought of the ugly bruise on his head. The swelling had gone down, but the skin had already turned an interesting shade of purple, and if she had to hazard a guess, she’d bet it hurt like hell.
She’d pick up some more painkillers, too. God knew they both could use them.
She ate some cranberries, then a few nuts. And because she’d been held at gunpoint not five hours ago and her hands were starting to sting again, she picked more chocolate pieces out of the bag.
When she was done she brushed her fingertips together and dug her own phone out of her purse to scroll through her missed calls. Two from Kelsey. Five from her mother. One from Jack.
Jack obviously hadn’t wasted any time letting her family know what had happened.
She glanced at Dean’s phone. Speaking of mothers and families wanting to know things…She picked up his cell. Nibbled her lower lip.
On the one hand, it was wrong of her to snoop through his recently received calls. Breach of privacy.
But on the other hand, it wasn’t like she was reading his e-mails or snooping in his underwear drawer. All she wanted was his mother’s phone number. The one she’d called him from last night.
Of course, it wasn’t Allie’s business—or her right—to call his mother about what had happened.
But Dean was hurt. If the situation was reversed and she’d been the one who’d been injured, she’d want someone to let her family know she was all right. And maybe Dean’s mother would even have an idea about mending the rift between him and his family once and for all.
Allie flipped the phone open and scrolled through the recent calls until she reached the number listed under Home. Then, with a quick prayer that she had the right number—and was doing the right thing—she pressed the phone button.
The line rang twice before a woman answered, “Hello?”
“Hello, Mrs. Garret,” she said, keeping her voice down, “this is Allison Martin from Serenity Springs, New York. I—”
“I’m so sorry, sugar, but I don’t accept calls from telemarketers.”
“Oh, no. I mean, I’m not a telemarketer. I’m a…friend of your son Dean. We work together at—”
“I had no idea Dean and Nolan had hired someone,” she said. “What did you say your name was again, dear?”
Allie frowned. “Uh, Allie…Allison Martin.” What was Dean’s mother talking about? Him and Nolan hiring someone? “I’m sorry to bother you this early, and I don’t want to alarm you, but I thought you’d want to know Dean was injured last night—”
“Is he all right?”
“He’s fine. Just a mild concussion.”
“I swear,” Mrs. Garret said, her sweet Southern accent now steely, “I could skin that boy for putting himself in danger all the time. I thought when he came home from the marines he’d settle on an occupation that didn’t turn my hair gray from worrying about him.”
A chill climbed Allie’s spine. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Garret, but I don’t understand. What occupation are you talking about?” Please be talking about Dean choosing to become a bartender. Please consider tending bar a dangerous occupation.
“Why, Leatherneck Investigations, of course. Didn’t you say you worked with him?”
Even through the roaring in her ears, Allie didn’t miss the suspicion in the other woman’s tone. “I…I don’t work for Nolan and Dean’s firm,” she managed to say as she blinked back tears. “I’m working with Dean on a, uh, case he’s investigating. It’s a…a one-time thing.” She cleared her throat. “Mrs. Garret, I’m so sorry to cut you off, but I have to go.”
“That’s fine. Thank you so much for letting me know. And will you please have Dean call me? I’ll feel better when I hear from him.”
Allie’s fingers grew slippery on the phone. She switched ears and wiped her bandaged palm down the front of her—of Dean’s—shirt. “Of course,” she croaked. “Goodbye.”
She didn’t wait for a response, just ended the call. Pain welled in her chest, made it impossible for her to breathe. She wrapped her arms around herself and rocked back and forth. Concentrated on inhaling. Then exhaling. Slowly. Steadily.
Dean’s mother was wrong. She had to be.
There was one way to know for sure.
Allie picked up her own cell phone and dialed a familiar number. Waited for an answer.
“It’s me,” she said. “We might have a problem.”
“YOU BASTARD.”
Dean shot awake and sat up, only to fall back onto the pillow with a grunt of pain as one hundred fifteen pounds of pissed-off female landed on him.
“Allie, what—” He broke off when she went after him with her fists and forearms. He raised both arms but she continued to pummel him. “What’s the matter with you?”
“I can’t believe how naive I was.” She landed a vicious punch above his ear, and that’s when he noticed she’d unwrapped the gauze from around her hands. “How stupid.” Another blow, this time on his chin, made his teeth snap together.
Jack Martin must’ve given her self-defense lessons because she had a wicked right hook. She came at Dean with everything she had: fists, forearms, elbows, feet and knees. His jaw throbbed, matching the ache in his temple.
“Ow,” he growled when she threw an elbow at his already sore head. “Okay, that’s enough. You’re going to hurt your hands.”
“It won’t be enough until you’re broken and bleeding,” she promised.
Damn but she was bloodthirsty. And considering it was his blood she wanted to shed, he put a stop to it.
He sat up again, throwing her off balance long enough to flip her onto her back. He held both her wrists in one hand and captured her arms above her head.
“Get off,” she demanded, bucking wildly beneath him. “I’m not done kicking your ass!”
“The hell you’re not,” he grunted. She brought her knee up and he rolled in time to avoid being unmanned. He hated when people fought dirty. “Knock it off.” He wrapped his legs around hers and pinned them down. “I don’t want to hurt you—”
She sobbed softly. “You don’t want to hurt me? I want to do some major damage to you.”
But her words lacked the heat she’d come at him with earlier. Worse, tears had begun to leak out, down into her hairline. He met her eyes, caught his breath at the depth of pain he saw there.
His stomach dropped. She knew. He had no idea how she’d found out and it didn’t matter. There was no way he’d be able to make her understand. To get her to forgive him.
But he couldn’t go down without a fight. “Allie, I—”
“You’re nothing but a liar,” she said, making it sound far worse than any other name he’d been called. “And I was stupid enough to believe you.” She turned her head and shut her eyes. “Now get off me.”
He let go of her wrists and rolled to the side. Laid there staring blindly at the ceiling as she sprang from the bed. Shit. He never should have touched her when there were so many lies between them.
Resigned, he stood and put his jeans on. “How did you find out?” he asked quietly
“That you’re not a bartender?” She yanked her sweatpants up over her hips. “That you’re a partner in Leatherneck Investigations, a private investigation firm specializing in missing persons cases?” She snatched the shirt she’d worn last night off the floor. “Your mother told me.”
“You talked to my mother?”
“Don’t worry, she didn’t mean to blow your cover.” Allie sat on the chair and pulled her boots on. “Actually, I probably still wouldn’t know if I hadn’t called to tell her you’d been hurt. I thought maybe the two of us could figure out a way to reconcile you and your brother.” She got
to her feet, her hands clenched at her sides. “Jack’s always saying someday my nose is going to get bent out of joint if I keep putting it where it doesn’t belong. He was right.”
She picked up her jacket and purse and stalked toward the door. Dean got there first, though, standing in front of it, his legs spread, his arms crossed. “You’re not leaving until we’ve talked this through.”
“Do you really want to add unlawful imprisonment to your growing list of crimes?”
He felt as if he was losing something vital. Something he’d never be able to get back. And he couldn’t prevent it.
“Don’t you even want to know why I lied?” he asked almost desperately. “Or who I’m investigating?”
She pulled her cell phone out of her purse. “If you don’t move by the time I count to three, I’m calling Jack. One…”
“You don’t need to ask because you already know.”
“Two…”
Why did she have to be so stubborn? “I don’t want to hurt her—I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. I want to help—”
“Three.” Allie flipped open the phone.
Fine. He’d already lost her; he’d be damned if he’d lose this case as well. He leaned back against the door. “You don’t want to do that.”
“Oh, yes, I do.”
“When Jack gets here to arrest me, I’m sure he’ll be very interested in hearing how you helped Lynne Addison escape her husband.”
Allie’s hand shook as she closed her phone. But she didn’t put it away. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Lynne Addison doesn’t have custody of her son, and she’s wanted for his kidnapping.” Dean studied her face, saw the panic. And felt like a total ass for putting it there. But he had to get her to listen. “And you could be charged with assisting in a child abduction.”
She sneered. “You’re not very good at your job, are you? I told you before, I haven’t seen Lynne Addison in almost two years.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Now who’s lying?”
“You don’t have any evidence I helped Lynne. Which means it’s your word against mine. And which one of us do you think Jack is going to believe?”
Dean nodded. “He’ll believe you, of course. But who said I didn’t have proof?”
HE WAS BLUFFING. He had to be.
But she could see in his eyes that he wasn’t.
Her head reeled. What had she done wrong?
She’d trusted him. She should’ve listened to Jack and Kelsey and never let Dean into her life. Or into her heart.
She slowly lowered the phone. “If you’re looking for Lynne, why didn’t you just ask me if I knew where she was? Why all the lies?”
“I couldn’t take the chance of you tipping her off. I figured she’d get spooked and run again.” Dean looked at Allie beseechingly. “All you have to do is tell me where they are. I promise, I’m not out to hurt them.”
Her knees almost buckled. He didn’t know. Not everything. Not the most important thing—where Lynne and Jon were. Who they were.
“It wouldn’t have mattered if you’d asked or not,” she said, “because I don’t know where they are. I didn’t help them—”
“You did it to appease your guilt for helping Miles get acquitted.” Dean gestured to her phone. “You called several different numbers over the past few months, all to prepaid cell phones—”
“How do you know…?” She felt as if he’d punched her in the stomach. “I didn’t lose my phone last week. You took it.”
He had the good grace to avert his gaze. “The last prepaid number had a Cincinnati area code. Which is where a woman and child matching Lynne and Jon’s descriptions were spotted at a hospital emergency room.”
Allie shook her head. “You’re wrong.”
“Am I? So you didn’t plan for Lynne to stop at that bookstore where one of your ex-clients worked? An ex-client who’d be more than happy to pay you back by helping another woman get away from an abusive husband?” Something on her face must’ve given her away because Dean’s expression softened. “I know about Sarah Lambert. Tell me, how did you do it? Did Sarah sneak the two out the back? Hide them at the store until it was safe for you to smuggle them out of town?”
She began to shake. From anger, she told herself, not because he was so close to the truth.
She was afraid of what was going to happen next. She might not be able to protect Lynne and Jon anymore.
“I—I have to go.” She stepped toward the door, but he didn’t move away.
“Haven’t you done enough? You’ve carried this responsibility for so long, Allie. You’ve given her your savings, even gave up your career. You’ve paid your penance. Tell me where they are.” He reached for her. “Let me help you.”
She stepped back. “You want to help me? After everything you’ve done, the way you manipulated me and my feelings, I’m supposed to trust what you say?” She shoved both hands into her hair. “You must think I’m a complete idiot. Well, why wouldn’t you? The way I ate up every word you said.”
“It wasn’t like that—”
“You must be so proud of yourself. And hey, you really went above and beyond. But you didn’t have to sleep with me. I’d already bought your act.”
“What happened between us last night was real. If we could sit down, talk this through—”
“I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to look at you.”
“Damn it, Allie, I care about you.”
She slapped him. Hard. “Don’t,” she said shakily, her cut palm stinging. Tears clogged her throat. “Just…don’t. Please…let me go.”
She didn’t know if her slap made him finally move away from the door, or the pathetic plea in her voice. She didn’t care. She had to get away from him and figure out a way to fix this before it was too late for Lynne and Jon.
She opened the door and stepped out into the bright sunshine. The cold air.
“I can help you,” Dean said from the doorway. “And Lynne.”
Allie faced him. “You expect me to believe that? How, by forcing her back to her husband?”
“I’m not working for her husband. I’m working for her mother. And she wants to see her daughter and grandson. She wants to help them.”
Allie clasped her hands together to stop herself from slapping him again. “And that’s the last lie you’ll ever tell me. Lynne’s mother couldn’t have hired you,” she managed to retort hoarsely. “She’s been dead for over a year.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
DEAN POUNDED ON THE DOOR of the small house. He couldn’t believe he’d been so blind he hadn’t seen what was in front of his face this whole time.
He banged again and then stepped over to the large window, cupped his hands around his eyes and peered into a tidy living room. No lights. And the driveway was empty except for the tire tracks in the snow.
Was he too late?
He hunched his shoulders and surveyed the neighborhood. It was early afternoon, and the street was quiet. The only sign of life was the smoke rising in a plume from the chimney next door. He’d turned to head back down the steps when a familiar vehicle parked three houses down caught his eye.
He spun back around and hit his open hand against the door. “Allie?” he called. “I saw your car. If you’re in there, let me in.”
He held his breath as he waited. Finally, he heard the clicking sound of a dead bolt being unlocked, and the door opened.
Allie stood in the doorway in an oversize sweater, jeans, and the boots she’d had on when she’d left his motel room a few hours ago. She hugged her arms around herself. “Guess you’re better at your job than I thought.”
He didn’t reply. Couldn’t. Her hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail and her eyes were red-rimmed as if she’d been crying.
She looked…broken. Because of what he’d done.
“Can I come in?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Why not? It doesn’t matter what you do now.”
He stepped inside and shut the door while she perched on the edge of the worn couch. The room was sparsely furnished—with just a sofa, an armchair, a wooden bench used for a coffee table and an upturned crate by the sofa with a lamp. A small TV sat on an old dresser against the wall by the staircase. There were no pictures on the walls, no framed photos to show who lived here.
Dean pulled the rolled up folder out of his back pocket and tapped it against his hand. He wanted to sit next to Allie and take her in his arms, to assure her that everything would be okay. But she wouldn’t believe him, so what was the point?
She picked up a red Lego piece from the floor. Turned it end over end. “How’d you figure it out?”
“That Ellen Jensen and her son, Bobby, are really Lynne and Jon Addison?”
She nodded once and tossed the Lego onto the table.
“After you left, I asked Nolan, my partner, to figure out who was masquerading as Robin Hawley and why she hired us.”
Allie frowned. “You really didn’t know she wasn’t Lynne’s mother?”
He clenched his hands, bending the file. He couldn’t believe he and Nolan had been tricked. Or that Allie thought he’d knowingly work for a scumbag like Miles Addison.
“I swear, neither one of us knew.” She averted her eyes and he couldn’t tell whether she believed him or not. “While Nolan checked out Robin Hawley’s story, I thought I’d better double-check everything she’d told us, all the information she’d given us.” He pulled out a photo and tossed it on the table beside the Lego piece. “That’s when I came across this.”
She picked up the color picture of Lynne taken five years ago. Glanced at it and then set it down again. “Lynne Addison doesn’t exist anymore.”
“No. I guess she doesn’t. I knew Ellen looked familiar, but I couldn’t place her.” Because the last he knew, Lynne was a curvy, fashionable, green-eyed blonde. Not a frumpy brown-eyed brunette. “The eyes threw me the most. Colored contacts?” he asked.
