by Maggie Price
His touch, his kiss unleashed a deep current of emotions inside her. Passion, fear, need, a dangerous excitement.
Even more dangerous because she wanted it. Wanted him. Now. Right this minute.
She pulled back from the kiss, panting. “Red light, Detective.” She turned her face away, and felt his lips graze her throat.
She nearly moaned. Her heart was beating too fast. She couldn’t quite get her breath and her legs were trembling.
If she wasn’t careful, she’d be involved in a full-fledged affair with him before she knew it. Hell, before the night was over. She did not intend to wind up another notch on Houdini’s magical bedpost. She had to get herself under control while she still could.
He had his hands locked on her waist and his breath was ragged. He rested his forehead against hers. “Just how red is that light?”
“I don’t know.” She eased her head back. God, could the man kiss. “This wasn’t a good idea.”
“That’s not the message I got while I was kissing you.” He traced his thumb down her throat to the hollow where her pulse throbbed. “And it sure as hell isn’t the one I sent you.”
“You’re right.” She took a step back, feeling like dry kindling a match had been touched to. She saw the wrinkles in his shirt where her fingers had gripped. She had no trouble imagining herself ripping off that shirt to get to him. “We just have a lot more important things to deal with.”
He stepped toward her. “Kissing you is suddenly high on my list of important things.”
Slanting him a look, she motioned an unsteady hand toward the manila envelope. “You need to see the aerial photos of the house where the members of Midnight meet. It’s Baskerville Hall in Oklahoma. And I’ve got the tape of my interview with Freeman.”
“Yeah.” Sighing in obvious frustration, he scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “I’ve got tons of questions for you about Freeman and how Midnight operates. As for you wanting her to get you into the next meeting, we don’t take that suggestion to Ryan until we have a firm plan mapped out. And that includes my meeting Freeman so I can get my own take on her.”
“Where do you want to work?”
He gestured toward the living room. “Take your coat off and get comfortable. I’ll make coffee.”
“That’d be great.”
He turned toward the hallway, then paused and looked back at her. “We can take what’s going on between us as fast or as slow as you want, Paige. But eventually we’re going to see where it goes.”
She tossed her coat on a chair. “I’m not sure I want it to go anywhere.”
“I appreciate a challenge.” His gaze dipped to her booted feet, then skimmed up. “You look damn good in jeans.”
And you don’t look too shabby in a tux, she thought, watching him stride down the hall. For an instant, she thought about going after him. It was her heart that held her back. She just couldn’t take the risk.
Over the next twenty-four hours, Paige and McCall drafted a “Meet Me at Midnight” ops plan, conducted a second interview with Brenna Freeman, then submitted their refined plan to Captain Ryan. He approved it, then took it to Chief Quaid. The chief gave the plan his blessing.
“So, we wait for the next meeting,” Paige said, settling across the small table in the cop bar McCall had sworn served the best burgers and fries in Oklahoma. The place was packed with day-shift cops gearing down and graveyard guys grabbing dinner, killing time before their tour began.
“Waiting is all we can do at this point.”
While McCall gave a waitress their order, laughter erupted from a nearby table. Paige recognized it for what it was—raw, hard laughter that came from people who saw too much ugliness on a day-to-day basis.
She glanced at the bar on the far side of the room. All the long-legged stools were occupied, the mix of males and females about even. Henderson and Kidd were seated there, apparently shooting the breeze with two other Homicide detectives.
Her gaze kept returning to Kidd. He was nodding at something Henderson said, smiling around one of his ever-present plastic toothpicks. As if on autopilot, her thoughts blipped to the workshop assignment. Who were you with last Sunday? Why all the attempts at deception?
“Guess you haven’t gotten Kidd’s assignment off your mind.”
She looked at McCall, realized he’d followed her gaze…and her thoughts. “I know he’s your friend—”
“A good one. So, maybe it’ll help you understand a few things if I fill you in on what Kidd has to deal with at home.”
“All right.”
He waited while the waitress delivered the longnecks he’d ordered. “Steve’s wife, Ashley, got pregnant after they’d tried to have a baby for years. The little girl was stillborn. Ashley went into a depression. She attempted suicide. Therapy hasn’t helped. Kidd worries about what she’ll do if she’s left alone, so he’s hired a nurse for her. Insurance doesn’t cover that, so most nights he works off-duty security.” McCall glanced toward the bar, nodded. “That’s probably where he’s headed now.”
Paige glanced over. Kidd was standing by his bar stool, pulling on his coat. He tipped his head in their direction before heading out the door.
“Kidd and I have been friends since the academy,” McCall continued. “When my engagement went south, I got drunk for about a week. Kidd hung with me, played chauffeur, poured me into bed. And when I got ready to sober up, he brewed the coffee.”
Paige sipped her beer. “I understand you don’t like me thinking something’s going on with him.”
“What’s going on is he buried a child. And the fear his wife might kill herself has to be like an acid drip in his gut. As for your thinking he’s got a mistress, anything’s possible. All I know is, I’ve seen more than one friendly dispatcher hit on him, and he’s always said no.”
“That’s admirable,” Paige murmured, thinking about her ex.
“You admit statement analysis isn’t perfect.” McCall leaned in. “So, why not agree it’s possible the only place Kidd has done anything deceptive is in your head? That way you can focus on the other things.”
“My focus is the truth.”
“And you think you’ll get there by drawing conclusions about the personal life of a guy you met less than a week ago?”
“I met you the same day, McCall.”
“And the conclusions you drew about me weren’t entirely accurate.”
She arched a brow. “Well, Houdini, some were.”
“Not the one about me being a slimeball like your ex.” He toyed with her fingers. “I won’t lie to you.”
“Everyone lies. Some people just do it better than others.”
He took her chin in his hand and looked into her eyes. “I won’t lie to you, Paige. Ever. What happened between us last night wasn’t just physical. I care about you and I enjoyed the hell out of kissing you. I plan on kissing you again. And doing a lot more, if you decide that’s what you want, too. Now, here’s a tip—don’t waste time trying to spot a lie in what I just said. There isn’t one.”
“Here you go,” the waitress said, settling plates loaded with hubcap-size hamburgers and piles of fries on the table.
Paige took a long, slow swallow of beer. A couple of warning flags were waving madly in her head. Not because McCall had lied. She simply had no idea what to do about her temporary partner. And, dammit, the man was an ace at seduction. So, the thought of a replay was very tempting.
She plucked up a fry, dipped it in ketchup and took a bite. Being good at something usually meant a person had a lot of practice at it. No doubt McCall was so practiced at kissing due to his having a monopoly on charm. Like the quick-to-flatter husband who’d betrayed her. And the rodeo-riding cowboy who’d sweet-talked her mother into bed.
Now that she thought about it, Paige knew exactly what to do about Nate McCall. More important, what not to do.
By the time Paige steered her rental car away from the bar, she was sure she’d made the right decision. She ba
rely knew Nate McCall. They’d kissed once. Big deal.
She wanted him. Bigger deal, but she’d get over that.
When her cell phone vibrated against her waist, she tensed, fearing the call might be bad news from Lassiter. But when she checked the display, she didn’t recognize the number.
“Paige Carmichael.”
“Um, I got your number from a friend.” The voice was female, breathy. “We work Low Track. She says you’re lookin’ for a john. Real polite?”
Paige tightened her grip on the steering wheel. Isaac. “Yes. You’ve dealt with him?”
“My friend says there’s a reward.”
“If your tip leads to the man’s arrest.”
“I might know where he’s stayin’.” The clatter of dishes and an indistinct pop sounded in the background. “I heard you’ve got a tape of his voice.”
“I do.” And it was in her purse. “My partner and I can meet you tonight. Where in Low Track are you?”
“I don’t want nobody seein’ me talk to you, specially not Juju. He’s pissed over what you done to him last night.”
“We’ll meet you wherever you want.”
“I’m at this diner in the north part of the city. My ride’s pickin’ me up in like fifteen minutes. Don’t know when I’ll be able to get away from Low Track again.”
Okay, Paige thought. She’d call McCall and tell him about the meet. Hopefully one of them could get to wherever the hooker was before she took off. “Where’s the diner?”
“Don’t know the address. It’s Ruby’s Place. East side of Overholser.”
“What’s Overholser?”
“A big-ass lake. You from out of town, or somethin’?”
“How do I get there?”
“Where are you now?”
“Hold on until I get to the next intersection. What’s your name?”
“Aphrodite.”
Right. When Paige braked at the light, she squinted past the glare of headlights and streetlamps. She gave Aphrodite her location.
“Keep goin’ the way you’re headed.”
“For how long?”
“Ya got me. Just read me the street signs as you pass ’em.”
“Fine.” Paige wished to hell she had another phone or a cop radio so she could alert McCall. Since she had no clue where she was going, all she could do was wait and call him when she got to Ruby’s Place.
Ten minutes later, she turned south on what Aphrodite said was the road that edged the lake. The car’s headlights cut into a swirling fog that seemed to boil up from the asphalt. The only illumination came from a few far-off streetlights that took on the hazy glow of tiny moons.
“Okay, Aphrodite, I made the turn. It’s foggy so I can’t see the lake. How do I get to Ruby’s Place?”
“My ride just pulled up. I’ll call back sometime.” The comment was followed by a pop, then the line went dead.
“Stay there!” Paige felt like an idiot shouting into the phone, but she couldn’t help it. Aphrodite’s was the first possible sighting she’d had of Isaac.
She’d have to find Ruby’s Place and hope she could catch the hooker before she left. At the very least get a description of her from some waitress. Aphrodite had said the diner was on the east side of the lake. That’s the side Paige was on. So far, so good. The next item on the agenda was to call McCall.
With one eye on the road, the other on her cell, she tapped her brakes to slow her speed while she scrolled through her list of contacts. She glanced in the rearview mirror as her brake lights flashed—illuminating the silhouette of a pickup behind her. A big pickup. A monster one. Too close. No lights.
She cursed herself for not paying attention. She had no idea how long the truck had been behind her or where it had pulled onto the road.
As if the driver had sensed her going on alert, the truck’s headlights flared on—high beams glaring and blinding. She stepped on the gas with the pickup tight on her bumper.
“Crap!” She tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and bore down on the gas pedal. The truck’s bumper might as well have been welded to her car’s trunk.
Fog closed around them, like a curtain pulling shut. The lake road was as crooked as an arthritic finger. Did it have shoulders? Paige wondered. Places to swerve off so she could try to shake the bastard?
The truck swung into the left lane and roared up beside her. In the glint of headlights its color seemed black. Navy, maybe. The rolling fog prevented her from getting a look at the driver. Was it Isaac? His accomplice?
The truck bore sideways, smashed against her car. Paige grunted when her head slammed against the side window. The truck delivered another slamming jolt. Metal ground against metal as the truck muscled her toward the lake’s edge. The passenger-side wheels hit the shoulder, spraying gravel beneath the car’s undercarriage. She gripped the steering wheel, fighting to hold on to control.
She knew one more good hit like that and the monster truck would send her into the lake. “Gotta lose it.”
She hit the brakes and went into a skid. As the truck shot past her, she whipped the wheel, doing a one hundred and eighty degree turn. She tromped on the gas. In her rearview mirror, she saw the truck’s brake lights glowing red.
Still, the fog slowed her down. She could see only inches in front of her.
Again, the truck’s headlights bore down from behind. She gunned the engine just as it swerved into the lane beside her.
The truck slammed against the car. Metal screamed. The driver’s window shattered, chunks of glass raining in on Paige. The car bounced off the truck like a rubber ball, then spun into the fog.
Engine roaring, wheels churning, the car jolted over rough terrain. It shot like a rocket into the water with a crushing jolt.
The air bag deployed, the equivalent of a fist slamming into Paige’s face and chest.
In an instant, she was in water so cold it clapped the breath out of her lungs. Sheer panic threatened to paralyze her. She was going to drown!
Chapter 19
“Oh, God. Oh, God.”
Frigid water gushed in through the car’s broken window while Paige fought the deflating air bag. Her other hand flailed wildly, groping for the seat belt’s release. Once she found it, she was shaking so badly it took three tries to get it undone.
The car angled at a crazy forward tilt, the hood completely submerged. Repeated ramming from the truck had jammed her door, so she dragged in a deep breath and surged out the open window.
Her cashmere coat was like a leaden, sodden weight, pulling her down. She wrestled it off and held on to it long enough to dig the asp out of the pocket. She shoved the weapon into her pants pocket as she swam upward.
Her head broke the surface and she gasped in air. Just as quickly, she dove back under.
The fog wasn’t as thick over the water; if the bastard who’d tried to kill her had night-vision equipment, he could be standing on the bank, looking through a rifle scope. It would be easy to pick her off.
The water churned, sucking the car downward. Paige fought against the force that threatened to drag her with it. She stroked her arms through the icy water, scissored her legs, staying under until her lungs burned.
She surfaced, gasping for air. Her hair hung in her face, blinding her. She shoved it out of her eyes, and spotted the glow of the far-off streetlights she’d noted when she turned onto the lake road. They were her compass.
Repeatedly, she submerged, swimming until her lungs were near bursting. Each time she came up for air, she used the streetlights as a directional beacon to stay her course.
Swimming in the black murky depths, she lost all sense of time. Had she been in the water five minutes? Thirty minutes? She didn’t know.
The brittle cold cut through her, chilling her bones. She was tiring rapidly, her kicks becoming less forceful, her arm motions jerky instead of smooth. Still, she broke through the surface yet again, sucked in air, then went back under.
Then her right hand i
mpacted with something solid.
She jerked back, recoiling in the water. And felt the lake bottom beneath her feet. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
She rose slowly. The “something solid” was a boulder. A huge one that sat halfway underwater near the bank.
Staying submerged up to her chin, she checked the lights, got her bearings. She had to stay on the side of the boulder away from where her car had gone in. Away from whoever it was who’d tried to kill her.
Her lungs were pumping, dragging in the cold air for her oxygen-starved muscles. She had no clue how much time it took for hypothermia to set in, but the way she was shaking, she figured she was well on her way. She had to get out of the freezing water. Get dry. Get warm.
When she stood, she realized her thigh muscles had gone beyond tired, beyond burning. Her legs were in agony. Exhausted, trembling, she leaned her weight against the boulder.
And through the stillness that settled around her, she heard the hard idle of an engine.
He was still there.
She edged sideways, water streaming from her clothes and hair as she peered around the boulder. Through a break in the fog, she saw him. A tall dark shadow, silhouetted in the monster truck’s headlights. He faced the lake, holding a night-vision scope to his eyes while he did a slow survey of the still water. Light glinted off the gun in his other hand.
Was it Isaac? She was too far away to tell.
Paige was suddenly aware of another sound coming from behind her. Looking across her shoulder, she saw headlights spearing through the mist. She looked back at the dark figure. He was on the move now, walking swiftly around the truck. She held her breath when he jerked open the door, hoping the cab’s light would come on. The interior stayed dark.
Smart bastard.
He shifted the truck into reverse, did a half turn then sped off in the opposite direction. The headlights of the approaching car glinted off the truck’s rear. Mud obscured the tag.
Dammit!
Still hugging the boulder, Paige closed her eyes. He was gone. She was alive. Freezing her ass off, but alive.
