Ray raised an eyebrow. “Do I?”
“Got just the thing. Some quality bale.”
Cripes. Seventeen years old and selling weed on the street corner. He forced his fisted hands to relax. “No, thanks.”
“Sure? Thai stick, maybe?”
Ray gritted his teeth against the urge to put the kid facedown on the pavement. “No sale.”
“Pharmaceuticals, then? Uppers, downers....”
Losing patience, Ray aimed a hard look at the kid, who backed off immediately, raising his hands in a gesture of peace.
“Hey, you already hooked up? That’s cool, man.”
The boys melted away. Sighing, Ray went inside and placed his order. Twenty minutes, they told him, so he ordered a beer and sat in a booth to wait.
Pregnant.
What a goddamn disaster. He shoved a hand through his hair, then tipped the bottle up for a long haul. The beer, hardly colder than room temperature, tasted sharper than it should, yeasty. Still, it tasted like about eight more.
But getting drunk would be the height of stupidity, and he was done being stupid.
He laughed. Who was he kidding? He’d barely scratched the surface of stupid. Stupid was torturing himself with the idea of another man planting his seed in his wife’s belly.
Ray tipped the bottle and took a fierce pull. God, he hated those images. Hated himself for having them.
Think, Morgan.
Okay, where did this leave him?
Somewhere along the way, he’d decided that once Grace got her memory back and they’d escaped this shit-storm they’d blundered into, he’d walk away, leaving her to her new man. But now, if she were pregnant, there’d be no quick break.
Hell, if the baby was his, there’d be no break at all. He’d be damned if he’d step back and let another man raise his child.
He put the near-empty beer down and pushed it away.
He’d been getting through the days and nights by telling himself Grace would get her memory back any time now. When that happened, they’d be able to go in. They’d be safe, free to go their separate ways. He’d be relieved of the daily torture of being so close to her. But this pregnancy pretty much killed his chances of being delivered from this hell any time soon.
So why, underneath all this anger, did he feel like a man who’d been granted a reprieve?
Cursing silently, he drained his beer, then got up to check on his order.
Grace woke to the sound of the lock turning.
“Just me.”
Groggily, she pulled herself up to a sitting position on the rumpled bed and blinked as Ray came through the door. Lord, she’d actually fallen asleep. How’d that happen? Half an hour ago, she’d felt like she’d never sleep again.
The smell of pizza hit her as Ray closed the door, making her empty stomach churn.
“You should throw the security bolt when you’re in here alone.” He looked pointedly at the gun, which lay right where he’d left it, untouched.
“Sorry. I guess I dozed off.”
She swung her legs over the edge of the bed as Ray deposited the pizza and a take-out bag on the room’s tiny table. From the bag, he produced a Styrofoam container of Caesar salad, two small containers of homogenized milk and a two-litre bottle of Coke.
He handed her one of the cartons of milk and a straw. “The salad’s for you,” he said gruffly. “Figured you better have something green.”
“Thank you,” she managed around the sudden lump that had lodged itself in her throat. Damn these hormones. One considerate gesture on his part and she was on the verge of tears again.
He popped his soda can and flipped the box open. Helping himself to a piece of pizza, he flopped into a chair. She took a slice, too, but perched on the edge of one of the beds.
Silence reigned as they ate. She thought her stomach might be a little iffy about the very aromatic pizza, but, after the first bite, it settled down. Still, it might be just as well to get the business of eating out of the way before they talked.
“I shouldn’t have run out on you like that.”
She jumped at his words, causing a piece of pepperoni to slide off the slice she was poised to bite into. She plucked the greasy topping off her bosom and put it back on her slice. So much for her stomach.
“Don’t worry about it,” she said, putting the slice down on a paper napkin while she dabbed ineffectually at the grease spot on her shirt with another napkin. Then, because she couldn’t hold it back any longer, she blurted out her fear. “I don’t want to be a burden. Don’t feel you have to.... I mean, I don’t want you to think....”
He crumpled the now empty aluminum can in his hand. “If you’re carrying my baby, I’m not just gonna bow out and let you carry on.”
She heart squeezed in her chest. “I don’t want you to.”
A muscle leapt in his neck, but his tone when he spoke was carefully bland. “Better reserve judgment on that until you recover your memories.” He leaned forward to toss the flattened can into the plastic-lined wastebasket. “Whatever happens, if that baby’s mine, I intend to be part of its life.”
He came over to stand by the bed, his nearness and sheer size intimidating. “Are we absolutely clear on that point?”
At his softly-voiced question, she lifted her gaze to meet his. “I’d never deprive you of your child.”
“You made a damn good try.”
“But I didn’t know I was pregnant!”
She saw doubt in his eyes, but he didn’t voice it.
“Now you do,” was all he said.
She refused to flinch. After all, she’d earned his distrust, hadn’t she? She deserved it.
“Now I do.” Balling her napkin up in her fist, she stood.
Ray took an immediate step back. Grace told herself it was nothing personal, just his natural cop instincts to preserve his personal safety zone. Believing it was a little harder.
“Try not to worry about anything, okay?” he said. “I intend to take care of you.”
For now, she mentally finished his sentence. Until we know whose baby we’re talking about.
Blinking rapidly, she picked up the uneaten remnants of her meal and dropped them in the waste paper basket.“I think I’m going to have a soak in the tub.”
Grace decided to use the bath as an opportunity to regroup. Reclining in the hot water, she closed her eyes and willed the heat to leach the deep, muscle-knotting tension from her limbs.
Ah, there. She rolled her shoulders to relax them. Things weren’t that bad.
Yeah, not bad. You screwed around on Ray, dumped him, crashed the car. Now, because of that suitcase full of money you were heading out of town with, the source of which you’ve forgotten—forgotten!—Ray is now under suspicion for God knows what.
Had she left anything out? Oh, yeah, someone had tapped their phone, probably the same person who’d shot at them. The whole house was likely bugged, by some mob types, no less.
So, to recap, despite the fact that someone out there wanted to kill them, they couldn’t turn to the cops for fear they’d get whacked while the business of the mystery money was sorted out.
Neither could they go home....
Home. In her mind, she saw her house, door hanging off its hinges, vinyl siding blackened and melted. She opened her eyes, focusing fiercely on the blue tiles of the tub surround.
Come on, Grace, she scolded herself. You’re a natural optimist. You can do better than that. Taking a deep breath, she tried again to look on the bright side.
Things really could be worse. They weren’t in any immediate peril. Nobody had shot at them or tried to blow them up for ... well, days.
Of course, I’m pregnant and can’t say for sure who the father is....
“Arrgh!”
Grace heard the volume on the television dip. A second later, she heard Ray from the other side of the door.
“You okay in there?”
Ray looking out for her, as always.
/> “I’m fine.” She heard him move away from the door.
He’d protect her and the baby she carried, no matter whose child it was. But dammit, the baby was his. Ray’s. The certainty moved through her now just as it had done earlier at the hospital. If only he had the same faith....
She let her breath out. That was never going to happen. She’d given him no reason to trust her. Come to that, she didn’t even trust herself. How could she, with that big chunk of memory missing?
Sitting up, she flipped the toggle to open the drain. Heedless of the water sloshing everywhere, she clambered out of the tub and grabbed a towel. Enough was enough.
As a therapeutic, the soak in the tub had bombed, but it did seem to revive her appetite. Ten minutes later, dressed in boxers and t-shirt, she sat on the bed polishing off a piece of pizza. Ray reclined on the other bed, watching a ball game. She’d even been able to eat the Caesar salad without fear of food poisoning because Ray had thought to stick it in the mini-bar fridge.
“That was good. Thanks.”
A grunt from the other bed was her only acknowledgment.
“I think I’ll turn in now.”
He glanced up at her. “Want me turn the TV off?”
“No, it’s fine.”
She felt his gaze on her as she prepared for bed, but when she settled on her side under the covers, he turned back toward the baseball game. She studied his face for a moment. In the flickering light cast by the muted television, the grooves bracketing his mouth looked deeper than ever. Lord, she’d loved that face at first sight. Still loved it.
How could she have betrayed him?
“I’ll get them to do a paternity test when the baby comes.”
Her words fell into the silence.
For a moment, she wondered if he’d heard her. Then he turned toward her, the glitter of his eyes unreadable in the darkened room. “Okay.”
Grace rolled away, pulling the covers up to her chin. Don’t think, don’t think. Just sleep.
Ray came awake, suddenly and completely, to the sound of harsh breathing, but he didn’t move a muscle. These few days on the run had taught him as much about stealth as all his years on the force. Eyes still closed so their glitter couldn’t give him away, he reached slowly over the edge of the bed. Unerringly, his hand found the gun, which he’d left jutting out of his hightop runners. Only then did he open his eyes a sliver.
The darkness inside the room was almost total, but he didn’t need to see to know where the sound was coming from. The far end of the room, near the chair in the corner. Slowly, he curled up until he could reach the lamp on the night table. Leveling his weapon in the direction of the heavy breather, he hit the switch.
In the instant of illumination, he saw it was Grace in the chair, her knees drawn up to her chin, the picture of misery.
Grace. Not an intruder.
Whether from the unexpected flood of light or from the gun he was brandishing, she shrank deeper into the chair. He lowered the gun.
“Sorry. I thought we had ourselves a visitor.”
He saw a shudder pass through her at his words and cursed himself. Atta boy, Einstein. Terrify her a little more, why don’t you? That oughta help speed the old memory back.
“Sorry, it was just reflex. I must be wound a little too tight. We’re safe in here. Really.”
Which they were. Probably. But she didn’t look especially convinced. In fact, she looked pretty scared still, her gaze wide and frozen on him.
Of course. He still held the damned gun, though he no longer pointed it in her direction. He leaned over the edge of the bed and shoved the weapon back into his shoe. Rolling back, he pulled himself to a sitting position, propped against the headboard.
“So, what are you doing up?” he asked, as the ferocious jerk, jerking of his heart finally subsided to a mere pounding.
She bit her lip, then released it. He watched the color flood back into the delicate tissue.
“The money....”
His slowing pulse leapt again. “What about it?”
“It came out of our account.”
Holy hell. “You remembered about the money?”
“A little bit. Not enough.”
She looked so miserable, his initial excitement ebbed. What had she remembered to make her look so unhappy?
“Tell me what you do remember.”
She’d shifted forward in the chair, perched now on the edge, her upper body hunching forward. He noted her posture, elbows on her thighs, hands clenched between her knees, head down.
“I don’t know where it came from, but it was in our account. I remember standing there in the bank, smiling at the teller. I asked her how much I could take out and felt the sweat running down between my breasts while I waited for her to check.”
“What’d she say?”
Grace continued to look down at her hands. He could see how tightly they were clenched from the whites of her knuckles.
“She told me there are no holds on cash deposits and I could have as much of it as I wanted.”
Cash deposit. Cripes. “Which account?”
“Savings.”
That explained why he hadn’t seen the deposit. He looked in on their modest savings account infrequently.
“Nothing about where the deposit came from?”
She swiped moisture from her cheek with the back of her hand, then looked up at him. “Nothing.”
Damn. “What about how you felt? You said you were sweating. Hot sweating or nervous sweating?”
“Nervous sweating. My hands were shaking.” She unclasped her hands at last and extended one. “Like this.”
Aw, Grace. He wanted to go to her, hold her until the shaking stopped, tell her not to torture herself anymore. Instead, he forced himself to sit there and wait for her to continue.
“I kept them clamped on my purse so Patty—that’s the teller’s name who waited on me—wouldn’t notice how bad they were shaking.” She paused to inhale a calming breath. “I was scared that if I showed how twitchy I was, I wouldn’t be able to get the money.”
That surprised him, but he kept his face carefully blank. It was a joint account. Had she imagined the teller would refuse to give her the money out of some sort of morality judgment? Protecting the matrimonial assets? “You thought she might change her mind about letting you have the money?”
“Yeah, I guess I did.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” She shook her head. “I don’t know that it was a totally rational reaction. I just remember thinking I needed it right then. If she wouldn’t give it to me....” She swallowed. “I just had to have it that minute, to get away.”
Get away. Interesting choice of words. “Anything else?”
“I remember Patty counting the cash out. She put it in a big envelope for me. I folded it and stuffed if in my purse.”
“You must have been relieved.” He swung his legs over the edge of the bed to face her more fully.
“Relieved?” She blew out a breath. “I thought my knees were going to buckle right there.”
Relieved to get away from him.
Easy, Morgan. Leave your emotions out of this.
He hunched forward, resting his arms on his knees, purposely mirroring Grace’s posture.
She straightened, folding her hands in her lap. He waited a beat and did the same. She didn’t notice. Nobody ever did, unless it was another cop. Or maybe a car salesman. The good ones knew how to use mirroring to silently say, I like you; you should like me. You should trust me. Just as he was doing.
“So, now you’ve got the cash in your bag. What then?”
“I left.” She stared straight ahead, but he knew she was looking inward, remembering. “You wouldn’t believe it, Ray, the way I felt.... The twenty steps to the door felt like a mile. I felt like all eyes were on me. Like alarms would go off when I walked out the door.”
Ray’s stomach lurched. Her words, her intensity, pointed to a guilty m
ind. Guilty of more than just planning to jettison a husband? Where had the damned money come from?
“And from the bank you went where?”
She met his gaze. “I don’t know. The car, I guess. It’s blank after that. The next thing I remember is the hospital room. I don’t recall the confrontation you say I had with you, the accident, the paramedics, the emergency room ... nothing.”
Damn. He’d hoped for more.
“That’s okay. You did good. It’s starting to come back. That’s progress.”
“I guess,” she said dully.
He turned his hands over and let them rest together in his lap, palms up in a receptive gesture and leaned forward a little. “You were crying just now. Was it because you were reliving the anxiety of being in the bank, thinking about whether or not they’d make a fuss about the money?”
“Partly, maybe.”
“What was the other part?”
“I don’t know. I guess I hoped I was acting as some kind of courier. You know, taking the money from point A to point B for someone else, in which case it would really be nothing to do with me. Until I remembered actually taking it out of our account, I just assumed someone had given it to me to....”
She broke off suddenly, sat back in the chair and crossed her legs, but his mind was busy dissecting her words.
What did she mean by courier? When they talked on the beach, his random questions had teased a memory out of her about planning to go to Mexico. Could she be acting as a mule?
Casually, he leaned back on the bed and crossed his ankles in a subtle echo of her new posture. “Courier as in doing a favor for someone? Or courier as in—”
“You bastard!”
Her vehemence caught him by surprise. “Huh?”
“You’re working me.”
“What are you talking about?”
She leapt up. “Do you think you’re the only one who’s ever conducted an interview? I can’t believe you’re working me!”
He felt a guilty flush climb his neck. “Grace....”
“Don’t Grace me, Raymond Morgan. I know what you’re doing. You’re mirroring me.”
Dammit. No one ever caught on. Let alone got in his face about it. He scowled. “Was I? I didn’t notice.”
Saving Grace (Serve and Protect Series) Page 14
