Love In Plain Sight

by Jeanie London

  If I’d have had a phone, I would have received their call and avoided this whole mess.

  At least they wouldn’t charge me for the bounced check on their end. I would still be out thirty bucks to the super, and since my account was frozen, I couldn’t even withdraw the money. I could go to the library in the morning, get online and take care of everything to reactivate the account.

  Which left me nothing to do but head back home, feeling lonelier than ever.

  I took off in the direction I’d come, only this time I didn’t walk on the sidewalk but in the street. There were hardly any cars and no moon, so I could see who might be coming at me from both sides.

  Debbie would have approved of that, at least. And I gazed into the night sky as I walked along, knowing she was among all those stars. Tears blurred my vision as I waved.

  I just wished I could see her.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  COURTNEY SAT IN the rental car, barely recognizing Marc. He sat beside her, stripping off his button-down to reveal the muscle shirt below. His strong arms flexed, and Courtney instinctively leaned against the door to put some distance between them. She’d rented an SUV specifically for the roomy interior, but in the face of those broad shoulders and well-toned chest, this SUV might as well have been her Mini Cooper.

  He twisted around to toss his shirt in the backseat, and she glimpsed some inked design through the lightweight fabric of the T-shirt. A sizable tattoo.

  Add temporary hair coloring that had turned tawny hair to a muddy brown and a few days of stubble on his cheeks, and Marc DiLeo had become a stranger.

  Especially when he pulled a pistol from his laptop case and tucked it into the waistband of his jeans.

  “Marc, what are you doing?”

  Slanting his gaze her way, he frowned as if he didn’t understand the question. “What?”

  “You have a gun,” she said unnecessarily.

  “I’m licensed to carry.”

  “In Georgia?”

  He scowled. “Yes, in Georgia. Did I ever mention my job involves traveling?”

  Courtney stared at him, refusing to back down. She hadn’t known he carried a gun, but she knew he couldn’t be lying about the license. All airlines had strict guidelines that regulated traveling with firearms. Marc would have been arrested and slapped with insanely high fines if he hadn’t followed the correct procedure. She hadn’t checked a bag, but he had. She had assumed he didn’t want to trouble with a carry-on and his cane. She might have assumed wrongly. He had been alone at the baggage counter and could have declared a firearm, and she wouldn’t have known.

  She didn’t know what he was trying to prove, but he’d been so remote ever since their earlier encounter, purposeful as he had urged them out the door to question the Aguilars before the FBI brought them in and turned an important connection in their search into a dead end.

  The Aguilars lived in the southern part of the city in a duplex complex not far from the federal penitentiary. There was a window box with bright annuals in the front. Two plastic chairs sat beside the door in a plot of grass as if husband and wife enjoyed sitting outside and conversing with the neighbors. A narrow hedge bordered a low wooden fence, and the Aguilars’ home was one of the more well-maintained duplexes, welcoming even, with a wind chime suspended from the shingled overhang.

  “Are you sure you want to take that with you?” Courtney tried again, but didn’t want him to think she was questioning his judgment or freaking out.

  But she was. Approaching anyone armed just begged for trouble. A thousand different things could go wrong, and people could wind up hurt or dead.

  Marc could wind up dead, and if she didn’t die with him, she’d wind up facing Mama and his family. And feeling guilty for the rest of her life because she’d involved this man in her problems when he’d said he wasn’t ready to work.

  Did he think he had to prove himself?

  Everything had changed this morning. She had known it would be impossible to ignore.

  But she didn’t want him taking unnecessary risks. She didn’t know if threatening the Aguilars with a gun would officially turn their private search into obstruction of an investigation.

  Could the FBI prosecute them?

  Marc obviously wasn’t thinking. If he was, she wouldn’t have had to explain the potential consequences of approaching anyone—particularly someone they didn’t know—with a weapon.

  She attempted reason. “You’re going to antagonize these people, and they won’t help us.”

  He inhaled, the sound of painstaking patience. “I’m not looking for help. I’m looking for information. I won’t intimidate anyone with my cane. Not unless I beat them. You would rather I start a fight?”

  “Of course I don’t want you to fight.”

  “Then let me do my job.”

  He was trying to prove himself. Somewhere between yesterday’s difficulties on the flight and this morning’s embrace, Marc had decided to come out swinging, and they were all going to suffer the consequences.

  Courtney. The Aguilars. Araceli.

  “You’re clear on what you need to do, right?” he asked.

  “Keep the windows up and the car idling. Keep my sunglasses and hat on in case anyone comes close enough to see through the windows,” she repeated his exact instructions.

  Not freak out because he had a gun.

  “Keep the doors locked until I get back.”

  “Marc, this isn’t smart.”

  His eyes fluttered shut for a brief instant. “You are paying me good money to do my job. Will you please trust me?”

  He didn’t wait for her reply, just reached for the door handle and flashed a grin in profile. “Duck if you hear shots.”

  The man was so not funny. Breath trapped in her throat, she watched him maneuver out of the seat and shut the door—and made out his tattoo as he pulled on a leather jacket.

  Christ hung on a crucifix between his shoulder blades.

  Jesus and a gun? Who was this man?

  Locking the car, she slipped on her sunglasses and tried not to panic as Marc opened the gate and made his way down the concrete path to the door.

  He was definitely steadier on his feet today. She didn’t know what it cost him to put on such a show, but he moved along at a fair clip, not giving the impression of someone who had recently had to drug himself to walk through an airport.

  She studied Marc to see what a stranger might see. The man who looked so much like his brothers suddenly looked the part of street thug, who could have been involved in a multitude of unsavory situations that could result in the use of a cane.

  God, she hoped nothing went wrong.

  A man with salt-and-pepper hair opened the door, early sixties maybe—Mr. Aguilar? She couldn’t be sure. He and his wife had been assigned to another coworker for the years they had been foster parents. The Aguilars had been adequate guardians with no reports or inquiries against them.

  Courtney had to wonder if Nanette would have been sitting here while the armed bounty hunter she’d hired interrogated a foster parent. Would Nanette have risked her family to take action, or would she have waited for the FBI to conduct their play-by-play investigation?

  Courtney risked only herself.

  And the man she was responsible for involving.

  The man with the gun.

  She willed herself to take deep breaths, to manage the anxiety making it hard to sit still. The two men conversed back and forth rapidly. Courtney couldn’t hear what they said, but their actions revealed the tone of the encounter, a muted performance. Mr. Aguilar’s expression morphed from a blank stare to irritation before the man visibly blanched. His features were suddenly stark as he stepped through the door and pulled it shut behind him as if not wanting whoever was inside to ov
erhear.

  Marc lifted his jacket, presumably to reveal the gun.

  Mr. Aguilar’s motions grew urgent. She clenched the steering wheel until her knuckles were white. Her mind played a looping litany.

  Don’t get killed. Don’t get killed. Don’t get killed.

  The reality of the situation she’d placed everyone in hit hard. She was responsible if anything went wrong because she couldn’t wait for the FBI to do its job.

  She’d chosen instead to consult with Marc, who should have been distant, safe. And would have been if not for Mama, who had pushed the situation beyond Courtney’s control.

  And yet she had gone along with the plan, so desperate, until Marc was off proving himself with a gun... And she cared what happened to him.

  Then the confrontation ended.

  With one anticlimactic breath, Courtney watched him motion to the car with his cane. She watched Mr. Aguilar shake his head, then duck back into his house so fast he stumbled on the step.

  She had no idea what had transpired. All she knew was that the relief flooding through her as he walked back to the car was so intense it left her weak. With effort, she reached for the door locks, depressed the button, then put the car in gear as Marc climbed in.

  “Go.” His command filtered through her heightened anxiety and kick-started the adrenaline again.

  Courtney drove.

  Marc smiled.

  And relief melted away to reveal anger simmering below the surface, as unbidden and unexpected as everything that had been happening in her life lately, as out of control.

  “That was reckless and uncalled for.” She should have blasted him backward with her hostility, but he didn’t flinch.

  “What?”

  “The gun, Marc. Confronting that man armed. Jeopardizing yourself. That old man. Anyone within range. Me. Araceli. If the situation had gotten out of hand, we might never find out what happened to her.”

  He didn’t say she was overreacting. He didn’t say anything. The way he just calmly shrugged out of his jacket and reached into the backseat for his shirt spoke volumes.

  “Sorry I scared you.”

  That only made her angrier. “This isn’t about me being scared.”

  He arched an eyebrow.

  Or was it?

  She felt wildly out of control, so caught up that she still sat at an intersection after the light had turned green. The car behind her beeped its horn, startled her into action. She gunned the engine, and they took off.

  “I’m not law enforcement, Courtney,” he finally said. “Burden of proof is not my problem. I find people, and I need information to do that.”

  His tone brought her around to glance at him. His expression was stoic, distant. She’d offended him.

  “You hired me to do a job. You should trust me to do it.”

  She wanted to ask if he’d gotten what he needed, but she was still too rattled to back down, too emotional.

  Because he was right.

  She hadn’t trusted him to do his job, hadn’t trusted his judgment or his abilities.

  * * *

  FOR ONE STELLAR MOMENT, Marc had been normal again. As he’d engaged Aguilar, he’d been caught up in the chase, tuned in to the man’s surprise, his fear.

  And for that moment, he had felt back in control. Of the situation. Of the future. Of himself.

  Marc had gotten what he’d gone for, but withheld the information. He wouldn’t spill until Courtney asked. She wasn’t stupid enough to think Señor Aguilar would volunteer what he knew about Araceli, but the weapon had spooked her.

  No, not the weapon.

  Him having the weapon.

  She thought some old man would knock him on his ass and take his Ruger, and she’d get caught in the cross fire.

  Had she been wrong?

  No one could miss Marc limping along with his cane. No one would overlook such an obvious vulnerable point. Any confrontation would have wound up with his opponent going straight for his weak spot, and Marc would have been on the ground, scrambling to get on his feet again. Unable to even get up without something to hang on to. A cane. A fence. A helping hand.

  Anyone could have laid him low.

  Even the old man.

  That was reality. Marc had known it. That was why he’d gone in with his weapon.

  He’d taken a risk. Courtney was right there. The way he’d worked six months ago wasn’t the way he could operate now.

  Six months ago he wouldn’t have considered packing to question an old man.

  But Marc was a liability now.

  Courtney knew it. Had been scared.

  Marc closed his eyes. He could block out the city whizzing past in a blur, but he couldn’t escape the way the future stretched before him as blurry as the passing landscape, every second marked by the reality that he may never again function normally. Could life the way he had lived it be over? He hadn’t considered that before. Hadn’t allowed himself to.

  What if it was? What would come next?

  He didn’t have a clue. The only thing that felt normal right now was the pain. Not the Ruger tucked against his waist. Not when it suddenly felt too important, too necessary.

  Not the woman seated beside him. She was the whole reason he felt this way right now. Her problems.

  And his family. They were responsible, too.

  Not a damned one knew what was involved in his work. Not a one. Yet they’d pushed him, and he’d allowed himself to be goaded into attempting what he wasn’t ready to attempt. Some pathetic part of him wanted to rise to the occasion and show them all, to prove to himself he wasn’t as pathetic as he felt.

  But Marc was pathetic, even more so because he couldn’t accept reality, clung to a desperate hope.

  No different than Courtney.

  She had driven them back to the hotel, obviously realizing he needed to costume-change before he could interrogate anyone else. He didn’t think he’d need to visit the Aguilar family anymore, which left the church people. He shouldn’t need a gun to get information from people who spent this life trying to work their way into the next. That should please Courtney.

  She looked stoic when pulling through the circular drive at the lobby entrance. Bringing the car to a stop, she said, “You go up. I’ll park in the guest lot so we don’t have to valet.”

  Another concession.

  Rage warred with the relief at not having to walk all the way around the hotel. He’d already pushed his leg to the limit by trying not to look like the cripple he was.

  And he still had to get to the fifth floor, and their suite was not close to the elevator. He could not afford a repeat performance of Monday. Right now he needed to accept the limitations that defined his reality and deal with them. Period.

  Marc made his way upstairs and straight into a shower. He stood beneath scalding water and didn’t move again until the constant pounding on his leg finally loosened up the muscles. Only then did he turn off the spray and get out, the heat soaking away the strain in his muscles and his head. He felt capable again, less rebellious.

  Until he came face-to-face with Courtney.

  She stood in the living room, visible through the doorway as he emerged from the steamy bathroom. Suddenly, all he could hear were her stupid questions.

  “Are you sure you want to take that with you?”

  She should have been asking him whether or not his busted ass was up to interrogating anyone. If he wanted her to protect him from the big bad old man.

  Suddenly everything about her was a dare.

  From the glossy black hair that would feel like silk to the touch to the clear eyes she raked down the length of him.

  He stood wrapped in a towel.

  Her gaze traveled over him again, surprise al
l over her face, widening her eyes, parting her lips.

  But she didn’t look away. She only stood there for a protracted moment, a deer stunned by headlights, and by the time she’d rallied, mumbling something unintelligible and turning away, it was too late.

  Marc had seen everything.

  This felt normal. A beautiful woman looking at him like he was a man, with want in her eyes.

  Yet she turned away, and that action only proved she didn’t think he could perform any better than he had at his job.

  His Ruger couldn’t protect him from that failure.

  “You were wrong about me.” His sharp words were a slap to the quiet.

  She turned back, surprised, no less than he was because he couldn’t stop. Anger ripped through him like an explosion, blasting out of his mouth in a hot accusation.

  “You could at least admit you were wrong to go along with my family. You asked for my help, and I turned you down. You should have taken me at my word. You should own it.”

  More slaps. Only these landed.

  She looked so vulnerable standing there. Every inch of her raw with guilt. Every slim curve making him raw, reminding him that he was a man who couldn’t do anything anymore.

  Even be a man.

  He was acting like an asshole. He knew it, but he couldn’t stop. Not when she was as aware of him as he was of her.

  But she’d turned away.

  He was so tired of fighting for something he couldn’t achieve, tired of fighting the truth of what a joke he had become.

  “I’m so sorry.” Her voice was a broken whisper between them, a sound that tore at the quiet, at him.

  Her gaze pierced the distance, clear eyes glinting moistly, sobering him in one brutal instant.

  More reality.

  This was about him. All about him. Not her.

  “Hey, hey.” He sounded as broken as she had. He covered the distance between them in a few halting steps. “No, I’m wrong.”

  She gazed up at him, so close, and her tears made her eyes sparkle like diamonds. And just to prove that he was a busted, useless idiot, Marc did the stupidest thing he possibly could.