To Trust a Stranger

by Karen Robards

  “He got them,” Mac said to Julie, who met his gaze with absolutely nothing that he could decipher in her eyes.

  “I’ll just go get dressed.” She turned to head back into the bedroom, then glanced over her shoulder. “Nice meeting you, Mr. Hinkle.”

  Hinkle gave her a sickly smile. “You, too, Mrs.—uh—Carlson.”

  Julie’s very lack of expression made Mac apprehensive. Either she’d heard something she shouldn’t, or she was still wallowing in her après-sex snit. Silence reigned in the living room until it was interrupted by the barely audible click of the bedroom door closing.

  Then Hinkle, looking nearly apoplectic, turned on him with a vengeance.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” he demanded in a fierce whisper. “You’re fucking Sid Carlson’s wife, you dumbass. Are you out of your tiny mind?”

  Denying it would clearly be a waste of time. Mac put the beer bottle down on the coffee table, stuck his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, rocked back on his heels, and regarded Hinkle meditatively.

  “Like I said, Julie’s a client. She hired me—us—to find out if her husband’s cheating on her. As you saw, he is.”

  “You’re fucking sleeping with her.” Hinkle did the best under-his-breath yell Mac had ever heard. It wasn’t loud, but it was forceful. “And there’s no us in this. Uh-uh. This is you on your damn fool own.”

  Mac pursed his lips. “Fine. I’ll consider her a private client. That make you feel better?”

  “No. No, it doesn’t make me feel better. Who’s going to know she’s your private client, that’s what I want to know? What are you gonna do, hang a sign around her neck? If Carlson gets wind that we’re spying on him, we got a shit-load of trouble. If he finds out you’re also making it with his wife”—Hinkle visibly shuddered—“which he will do when lawyers get involved, you mark my words—he’ll come after us—not you, us—with everything he’s got.” Hinkle shook his head. “Been there, done that. I don’t know about you, but nothing in that experience made me want to go down that road again.”

  Mac said nothing for a moment. Everything Hinkle said was true. The last time he’d gone after Sid, Sid’s retaliation had been stunning in its swiftness. Days after Mac had briefed his superiors on what he was doing and—he’d thought—set up a sting that would bring Sid crashing down, drugs missing from the evidence room had been found in Mac’s locker. In the ensuing investigation, half a dozen witnesses had come forward willing to swear that Mac had sold them everything from coke to smack to LSD while on the job. The sting against Sid had come up empty—how ironic was that?—and in the end Mac, not Sid, had been the one to come crashing down. And Hinkle, who’d been tarred with the same brush just because he’d had the misfortune to be Mac’s partner, had crashed with him. Mac had gone to Greg Rice, his captain and immediate superior as well as, he’d thought, a friend, in an attempt to at least save Hinkle’s job, but Rice had said there was nothing he could do. The word had come down from on high: he and Hinkle were gone.

  Mac’s eyes had been opened by that fiasco: the tentacles of the beast he was hunting reached everywhere. Even his fellow cops had turned on him when the shit started hitting the fan, and he had never been sure just who had been motivated by genuine belief in his guilt and who Sid had gotten to.

  In the end, it hadn’t mattered. Although no criminal charges were ever officially filed, he and Hinkle had been fired from the department, and both their lives had pretty much gone to hell. Not much more than casual acquaintances when it had happened, they’d stuck together afterward—Hinkle had said it was because nobody else would have either of them—and built McQuarry and Hinkle up over the intervening years.

  Looking at it that way, Mac could definitely see Hinkle’s point: It had only been in the last year or two that they’d actually started making decent money, and now, by going after Sid again, he was risking everything they’d built up.

  “I can’t just walk away,” Mac said quietly. “I’m too close to getting him this time. But I’ll keep you out of it from here on out. In fact, if you want to buy me out, I’ll understand. I’m pretty sure Don Hadley at the bank will give you a loan. That would keep you out of it as much as anything could.”

  “I don’t want to buy you out.” Hinkle groaned. “Would you be smart for once in your life and leave this alone?”

  Mac started to say something, then heard the bedroom door open again and shook his head at Hinkle, warning him without words to shut up.

  Hinkle looked like someone had just forced him to swallow a mouthful of vinegar, but he was silent as Julie appeared in the doorway, looking so beautiful that Mac was suddenly uncomfortable in a most particular way, as if the front of his jeans had all of a sudden grown too tight. It probably had something to do with the whisper-soft purple dress, he thought, or maybe the sexy shoes. He had a clear mental vision of how each garment had come off. . . .

  “If you’re busy”—Julie’s gaze flicked to Hinkle, who offered her a nervous-looking smile—“I can call a taxi. I need to get back to work.”

  “I’m not busy.” Mac picked up his gun and shoved it down inside the back of his waistband, then grabbed his sunglasses and his keys. His gaze slid to Hinkle. “I’ll give you a buzz.”

  “Yeah,” Hinkle said, looking as nervous as a beetle in an aviary, and headed for the door.

  Josephine appeared—of course she did, she could see everybody was leaving, and she wanted to go too—and Julie glanced down at her.

  “Do you want to take her, or . . . ?”

  Mac gave Josephine a sour look. “Take her. There’s less she can chew up in the car.”

  Julie was already gathering Josephine up.

  “I’m going back to the office,” Hinkle said to him, holding the door for Julie. His gaze flicked to her. “Pleasure making your acquaintance, Mrs. Carlson.”

  “Good-bye, Mr. Hinkle.” Julie was already walking down the steps toward the Blazer. With another speaking glance at Mac, Hinkle headed for his car. Mac followed Julie, glad to see that Mrs. Leiferman was nowhere in sight. Finally, at least one thing today was going his way. Maybe, if he was lucky, it would be the start of a trend.

  Julie didn’t say anything until he had the Blazer started and, hot air blasting, they were heading down the street. Then she fixed him with a gaze that made alarm bells go off in his head.

  “So,” she said. “Is there something I’m missing here?”

  23

  SITTING IN A PARKED CAR on a blazing hot day ranked right up there with hitting himself in the head with a hammer as one of his favorite things to do, Roger Basta reflected sourly. But the Big Boss had made it clear that he had just this one last chance to take care of Julie Carlson. If he failed, he wasn’t likely to get another. People did not fail the boss. Not and live to tell the tale.

  He’d been watching for her, waiting for her to come out of her dress store. When she did, he was going to get the business over with once and for all. No more elaborate schemes. No more worries about DNA or misdirecting the cops. “Keep it simple, stupid” was his new motto. Just do the deed and have done. With her out of the way, he could get back to his real life.

  At least, until the Big Boss called again.

  Maybe it was time he started thinking about retirement. He was fifty-five, not old really, but old for this business. He was getting tired. He was getting scared.

  This hit on Julie Carlson was the first time he had ever failed. It was making him doubt his abilities. It was making the boss doubt his abilities.

  If there was one thing he had learned over the course of his career, it was don’t mess with the boss. People who did ended up dead.

  For the first time ever, it occurred to him that he might not come out of this business with a nice little nest egg and a lot of years left to spend it. He might come out of this business dead. He knew where a hell of a lot of bodies were buried. Literally.

  It might not pay for the boss to let him just retire and walk away
.

  Damn Julie Carlson anyway. He hadn’t borne her any ill will at first; the hit on her had been just another job. Now it was more than that. Number one, she’d marked him. Very few of his victims had ever marked him, and those who had hadn’t lived to tell the tale. Number two, she was making him look less than competent. Looking less than competent was bad for business. It was also dangerous.

  As soon as she put in an appearance, he was going to kill her stone cold dead. Give him three minutes, and it would be all over.

  It must have been well over a hundred degrees inside the car. He’d deliberately stolen one with tinted windows so no one could see him inside. If he ran the engine, and thus the air-conditioner, he might attract attention, and so he refrained. When one was sitting in a stolen car with murder on one’s mind, attention was bad.

  It was nearly five o’clock. The sun was dipping toward the horizon. Its rays poured through the windshield, both cooking and half blinding him. He was hungry, he had a headache from the sun, and he was all out of the Gatorade he’d been chugging to keep from sweating to death. To add insult to injury, his nose throbbed. He tried to assuage the pain with the melting ice pack he’d brought along, but all he really succeeded in doing was getting his shirt wet.

  The nose made it personal. He was going to make her pay for that.

  If she ever stepped outside. He’d watched her go into her store that morning, then scouted the area for the best place to wait and watch. He knew her work schedule: she closed up shop at five. He figured if he showed up at three, there would be no way he could miss her, even if she decided to leave early.

  He couldn’t afford to miss her again.

  So he was prepared to sit out here and roast alive for as long as it took.

  Then he was heading for Key West and a nice little vacation, before he returned to his regular job. He could retire from it, too, in a few years.

  It was time he started making plans for his future. Serious plans.

  24

  “I THOUGHT WE AGREED that it would be best if you didn’t go back to work.” Mac stopped at the stop sign, then turned the corner as he spoke. “What with one thing and another, you’ve had an eventful day.”

  That was such an understatement that under other circumstances Julie would have snorted. But she didn’t, because she was busy watching Mac’s face. She’d come to know him well, she realized. The fact that he was avoiding her question spoke volumes.

  “I have to go back to work. I called the shop from your bedroom to check on things, and Meredith—my other assistant—told me that my three o’clock is still there and things are not going well. Besides, I have to face Amber sometime. Better at the end of the day today than early in the morning tomorrow.” Julie paused, her gaze keen on his face. “Now, do you want to tell me what was going on back there with your partner?”

  Mac glanced at her, hesitated, then grimaced as if in resignation. “Remember I told you that there was a company policy against sleeping with clients? Hinkle was upset that I violated it.”

  Julie regarded him with a degree of suspicion. She hadn’t been able to hear what was being said between the two men, but that Hinkle was extremely upset with Mac was obvious. Too upset for Mac’s explanation to account for it?

  “Is that the truth?”

  His mouth twisted in a wry smile. “Absolutely.” He glanced her way again. “What are your plans for the evening? After you fire your assistant, I mean.”

  “I guess I’ll go to my mother’s. I’m certainly not going back to my house.” She shuddered at the thought.

  “I could take you to dinner.” It was said casually, in almost throwaway fashion. They were on the expressway now, and traffic was heavy. That might account for his unusual attention to the road, but Julie didn’t think so.

  “Mac . . .” Julie hesitated. He was handsome, he was sexy, he was great in the sack. He was funny. He was dependable. He had an adorable dog. Just looking at him made her heart go pitter-pat; thinking about what they’d done in bed made her burn—with a certain degree of embarrassment when she mentally replayed all the details, and with a slowly building desire to do it all again. But she was particularly vulnerable right now, she knew, and she was growing dangerously used to relying on him for comfort and support. Add explosive sex to the mix, and the result could be bad. Her heart was bruised and battered enough from her marriage; a failed romance with Mac might break it entirely. “I’m not sure I’m ready for a relationship right now.”

  A beat passed.

  “Darlin’, who’s talking about a relationship here? Not me. What I’m talking about is dinner—and lots of casual sex.” He threw her a quick grin, and Julie, despite her mixed-up emotions, had to smile back. “Or not. That part’s up to you. But I think you could still use a friend. And you have to eat.”

  Another beat as she mulled that over.

  “Did you have any particular place in mind?” A smile played around Julie’s lips as she looked at him. It was capitulation—to dinner only—and they both knew it. Suddenly the decision felt very right. Maybe getting involved with Mac right now was dangerous, but then, life was dangerous. Josephine was lying contentedly across her thighs, and Julie stroked the poodle’s springy coat. Being with Mac was like having Josephine in her lap: something that made her feel happy.

  And from now on she was going to grab all the happiness she could with both hands.

  “You choose. Any place you want.”

  Julie thought. “Considering that we have Josephine with us, how about O’Connell’s?” O’Connell’s was casual, with expansive decks and patios that many of the patrons preferred to the large indoor dining room. Sid had never liked the simple dishes and breezy service; it was the kind of place she went to with Becky and her girls. Josephine would be fine at one of the patio tables.

  “I can see you’re going to be a cheap date.” He smiled at her as he pulled off the expressway into Summerville. The sun was starting its downward trajectory, Julie noticed as they headed right toward it and the bright rays all but blinded her. It would be evening soon—and she would be having dinner with Mac.

  Suddenly she was really, really glad about that. It was the proverbial spoonful of sugar in the bitter medicine that was currently her life.

  “Mac,” she said, “I’m sorry if I was a little—um, out of sorts earlier.”

  His expression told her that he knew what she meant: a little out of sorts after sex.

  “That’s okay,” he said, his voice as grave as hers had been. Then he grinned at her. “You can be out of sorts with me any time—especially if it’s from the same cause.”

  She laughed, and as she did felt a little more of the damage to her heart heal. It was going to take some time, she thought, but she was going to be okay.

  He pulled into the Kroger lot and parked. It was nearly full at this time of day as people stopped by the grocery and the pharmacy and the other stores in the shopping center on their way home from work. The street in front of them was no less busy, with cars whizzing along it as their drivers hurried to beat the coming rush hour. Across the street, Carolina Belle’s plate-glass windows were inpenetrable. All she could see in them was a reflection of the still-blazing sun.

  Oh, God, now there was Amber to deal with, and Carlene. Back to real life.

  “Want me to come in with you?” Mac had been watching her face. His eyes met hers; he was no longer smiling. She realized that he understood just how much she was having to steel herself to face what lay ahead, and thought, This is nice. She couldn’t remember Sid ever particularly caring about what was going on in her mind—or her life—apart from him. “This could get unpleasant, you realize.”

  Simply knowing that Mac was on her side, that there was somebody else with her in this boat that she was pushing out into uncharted seas, strengthened her.

  Julie shook her head. “No, thanks. I can do this. Then I’ll close up and meet you back here at—six?”

  “I’ll wait for you.
Come whenever you’re ready. If you need me beforehand, call me.” He tapped his cell phone.

  “I will. But I shouldn’t need you. Unless Amber decides to pull an Amy Fisher on me.” Julie smiled to indicate that she was being facetious, lifted Josephine off her lap and slid out of the car, then glanced back in at Mac. “I won’t be any longer than I can help.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  Julie shut the Blazer’s door and started walking, conscious of Mac’s eyes on her back. Strictly for his benefit, she put a little extra sway in her walk and smiled to herself as she imagined what he thought of it. She hoped it turned him on.

  To her surprise, pleasure, and slight dismay, she found that she was getting turned on thinking about him getting turned on.

  Sex as an antidote to the divorce blues. She thought about that for a moment and concluded, works for me.

  The heat hugged her like an overly effusive friend. People’s voices, the rattle of shopping carts, and the whoosh of traffic speeding past on the street in front of her joined with the smell of melting asphalt and car exhaust to form a backdrop that was both exhausting and familiar. It was good to know that Mac would be waiting when she came out, she thought as she headed toward her shop.

  It made her feel stronger, braver, safer. It made her feel as if her life wasn’t ending, but beginning.

  She stepped over the scraggly little bushes that separated the Kroger from the Taco Bell, feeling the tingle of pleasure she’d gotten from thinking of turning Mac on fade as she mentally rehearsed what she was going to say to Amber. You’re fired, bimbette didn’t seem to quite cut it, but she couldn’t think of anything more dignified that conveyed her sentiments in quite the same way.

  The shadow of the Taco Bell had just blocked out the worst of the sun when a green Lexus pulled up behind her and stopped. Julie glanced over her shoulder at it because its front bumper was close, but she kept walking, not paying any attention to it beyond that first instinctive glance. Vaguely she registered the sound of a car door opening and closing.