A queasy knot began forming in her gut. It always preceded major events—exams, the first time she’d ever examined a patient under the watchful eyes of her most difficult attending, the first emergency she’d handled, every true emergency, when the patient’s life depended on her skills, calm and experience.
Her personal life wasn’t exempt, either. She’d found no enjoyment in the ultra-fabulous dinner at the wedding rehearsal because of the elephants dancing in her stomach, and Justin’s comment hadn’t helped. The wedding was a blur of emotional highs underscored by dread. She didn’t know if anyone else had seen it, but in their wedding portraits, there was a distinct hint of panic in her eyes.
Panic that was gaining a foothold in her stomach now.
“I have a couple of friends in Copper Lake who are cops.” She hardly recognized her own voice for the breathiness. “And one of Trent’s cousins is a GBI agent. We could talk to them, ask them to help, and the Wallaces would never know.”
Justin stared at her a minute, his expression impossible to read, then turned back to the tablet. “They said no cops.”
“But—”
“We’ve got nothing to bargain with, doc. They’ve got the hostages.”
“We’ve got—or will have—the files.”
“We’ve got names, addresses and phone numbers, all of which can be changed in no time. We have no proof these people or addresses even exist. We have no proof the girls are with them. For all we know, these kids could have been sent straight from Cozumel to Thailand or the Middle East or wherever.”
He was right. Even if the addresses were legitimate, there was no way of knowing whether the children were still with those particular people. The parents on that list could have accepted the girls from the adoption agency and shipped them out the next day to places unknown.
“What if we find out that the adoptions are legit? That the church volunteer’s bid to adopt Luisa was rejected because there was another set of parents on the list ahead of her? Or someone wanted a child so much that they were willing to pay a higher fee? Adopting children to the people able to pay most is immoral and wrong, but as long as the child is in a loving home…”
“If the adoptions are legit, why bother with kidnapping, attempted murder and threats?”
Her brow furrowed as she dropped heavily onto the bed. She could learn to hate that even, reasonable tone of his as much as she hated the smug, patronizing one. But, damn it, he was right. No matter what mysteries remained, that was one thing they knew for a fact: the Wallaces had something to hide within their organization. Something worth killing for. And it involved those little girls.
Her head throbbed, and the paravertebral muscles that ran along her spine were knotted. Back home she worked with an osteopathic doctor who could bring the most amazing relief with her hands—a few presses here, a few twists there, and Cate was ready for another twelve hours. She suspected Justin might be capable of some pretty amazing things, but nothing that would ease her pain.
Though he might make her forget it, a sly voice whispered, and wasn’t that the next best thing?
“You look tired.” Justin didn’t sound sympathetic, exactly—more as if he were simply stating the obvious. “You might as well lie down. It’ll be a while before Mario gets off and brings your stuff.”
Lie down. And do what? There was no television and nothing to read except the internet on the tablet he was using. There wasn’t even a radio to offer staticky music. The only option seemed to be sleep, and she was pretty sure she wasn’t going to do that with Justin sprawled on the other bed.
She did lie down, though, settling on her back, knees bent, to flatten her spine. The muscles twinged, then slowly eased. “How did you meet Susanna?”
Justin glanced her way, but she kept her gaze focused on the ceiling. She knew it was through him that Trent and Susanna had gotten together, and she really didn’t care. Susanna seemed to do things for her ex that Cate never could—like make him want to be a better person. She was just curious how good-time Justin had met do-gooder Susanna.
“She lived in Mobile for a while.”
She twisted her head to give him a chastening look, and the trapezius muscle in her neck tightened. “That’s information, not an answer.”
His features settled into a scowl, but there was no heat in it. “She worked at some community center in town with at-risk kids. My family gives a lot of money to kid charities.”
That wasn’t an answer, either. Since he was being evasive, he must have dated her for a while, though she wasn’t tall, willowy or blond. She was pretty enough: average height, too curvy to be willowy, her hair too blue-black to ever be believably blond.
Apparently love, or serious lust, made physical appearance inconsequential.
Except in her case.
“Were you jealous when she took up with Trent?”
His snort seemed to take him by surprise, half choking him before he got it out. “Jealous? Remember— I introduced them.”
“But not necessarily with the intent of Trent falling for her.” After all, Trent had introduced Cate to Justin, but the last thing in the world he’d expected was for the two of them to hit it off. Instead, they’d only wanted to hit each other.
Justin laid the tablet aside and stretched out, piling both pillows under his head and facing her. “Susanna and I are friends. That’s all we’ve ever been or ever will be. Trent and I were down here diving right before she opened La Casa. We went over to look around and to take her to lunch. She and Trent clicked, and I had to find another dive buddy for the rest of the week.”
“Were you surprised that they clicked?”
“Hell, yeah. The only thing Trent had ever committed to was having a good time. He didn’t exactly have any glowing successes in the relationship arena. Tons of ex-girlfriends, ex–one-night stands, ex-weeklong flings, an ex—”
He clamped his mouth shut so abruptly that Cate was surprised he didn’t bite his tongue. “An ex-wife,” she finished wryly. “With whom he broke his vows four days into the honeymoon.”
“He regretted that. He knew he’d been a bastard.”
She smiled at the ceiling. “So he did tell you about it.” She’d suggested that earlier on the pedestrian bridge, but Justin’s response had been to walk away without answering.
“I meant what I said at the rehearsal dinner. You didn’t deserve him.”
Yeah, yeah, heard it before, Cate’s little voice responded, but it was silenced when he went on.
“Trent wasn’t going to be a good husband. He wasn’t ready for it. He was too immature and self-centered.”
Her chest tightened, her lungs freezing midbreath. There were two ways to interpret You don’t deserve him. One: you’re not good enough. Two: you’re not bad enough. Justin had always made it clear that she didn’t fit in their world; she’d naturally assigned the first meaning to his remark that night.
But he hadn’t meant that at all. He’d thought she’d deserved better than a husband who would lie to, cheat on and abandon her. He’d meant better, not less.
Wow. Justin Seavers had said something nice to her. Okay, so it had taken her nine years to figure it out, but… Wow. She would mark this day on the calendar.
People shot at me.
Bad guys threatened me.
And Justin paid me a compliment.
Even the worst day could have some saving grace.
* * *
It was an hour past dark when Mario knocked at the door, then hauled in Cate’s suitcase, a bag of food from his favorite street vendor and a small cooler filled with water and sodas. He set everything aside, then took a seat at the foot of Justin’s bed, smelling of sweat and ocean water and all things diving related. The scents were enough to make Justin regret the day of fun he could have had instead of dealing with La Casa’s problems.
Problems which he’d contributed to by bringing the Wallaces into the picture in the first place. He owed it to Susanna and Trent to contr
ibute to the solution now.
“So you’re the doc I’ve heard so much about,” Mario said, his gaze on Cate. His interested gaze, Justin noted, not that Mario would ever do anything but look. He knew about Benita’s threat to feed him to the fish.
And why shouldn’t he look interested? She was pretty and delicate yet still managed to give the sense that she could handle anything life threw at her. And she had those legs and those bare feet and those red painted toenails and that barely there bikini bra clearly visible through that hardly there shirt. Even Trent would give her a second look tonight, and he rarely gave her second looks even when he was married to her.
Idiot.
Justin wasn’t sure whether that was directed to Trent or himself, because he’d been sneaking looks all day.
“I’m Cate Calloway.” She leaned forward to shake hands with Mario. “Congratulations on the new daughter.”
“Aw, Rafi wants to send her back already and she’s not even here yet. He’s convinced if he asks nicely, he can get a brother instead.”
She chuckled, her face softening, the stress easing. “I tried that the last time my mother was pregnant. I wanted brothers so I’d have someone to do tomboy things with. Mom had twin girls instead, sandwiching me between four girly girls.”
“You look pretty girly girl today,” Justin teased.
“More womanly girl,” Mario corrected, and succeeded in making her cheeks turn pink. He laughed, then turned to Justin. “What’s the plan?”
“We’re going to the States in the morning. See if we can find some leverage against the brothers.”
“You hear about the body that washed ashore on the way to Punta Molas? They haven’t identified him yet, but this family is convinced it’s their son. He worked for a guy who worked for a guy… Eventually, it leads back to the Wallace Foundation.”
Justin thought of the picture on his cell phone, and his gut tightened, a sour taste rising in his throat. He washed it down with a gulp of water from the bottle on the night table, then looked up to see Cate watching him sympathetically. She had probably seen something like that before; wasn’t cutting up dead bodies part of her doctor training? She’d had her hands inside living bodies, touching things like hearts and kidneys and brains. One time, after visiting her at work on a very busy shift, Trent had told him with real respect that she wasn’t fazed by anything that came through the E.R. doors.
So she may have seen it. She could empathize with someone who never had. He hoped to God he never did again.
“Are you flying?” Mario asked. At Justin’s nod, he said, “I’ve got the morning off. I’ll pick you up.”
“You don’t need—”
“You know how small the airport is—six gates leading to one commercial runway. How hard will it be for the Wallaces to have people covering it?”
Cate’s gaze met Justin’s again, this time with a hint of fear. Don’t do that, he wanted to warn her. Don’t look at me like I can protect you. I got Trent and Susanna and all those little girls into this mess. Don’t count on me.
“If someone’s watching, we’ll find another way.”
“It’s an island, man,” Mario reminded him. “Planes and boats. That’s it. If they’re watching the airport, they’re probably watching the ferries, too. Probably the cruise ships.” He grinned. “But I doubt they’re watching all the dive boats.”
Justin grinned, too. “You get seasick, doc?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never been on a boat.”
“I have patches, and Justin’s pretty good at holding people over the side while they puke,” Mario said, referring to the antinausea patches that people never seemed to know they needed until they needed them. “I’m going home to my wife and child. Call me if anything changes. Otherwise, I’ll see you about eight.”
Mario let himself out, and the door locked automatically behind him. For a moment, Justin sat there, listening to the change in the silence, in the feel of the room. He’d been alone with Cate for the better part of the day, but it seemed different now. Maybe because it was nighttime. Because soon one of them was going to go into the bathroom, shower, brush their teeth, get ready for bed. Because tonight he was going to share a bedroom with Cate Calloway.
The thought was unbelievable enough to make him smile. Real enough to tighten his gut.
She felt the difference, too—shifting awkwardly on the bed, looking anywhere but at him. When her gaze landed on the food, she jumped to her feet as if just waiting for an excuse, went to the dresser and began putting the bag’s contents on the tray.
The aromas of warm pork and chicken, cilantro and corn, cheese and oil, permeated the room. There were soft tacos filled with meat so tender it fell apart. Warnings against street food in Mexico were legendary, but Justin had never encountered anything in Cozumel that he’d later wished he’d skipped. No food, at least.
They talked little while they ate. She asked about the food and the years he’d been coming to the island. As soon as she finished, she gathered her wrappers and napkins into a neat little ball, threw them away, then lifted her suitcase onto the bed. The zipper rasped loudly.
“I’m going to, uh, get ready for bed,” she murmured, her back to him, bent at the waist to rummage in the bag.
She definitely had a nice butt. And for a woman who couldn’t reach five foot five without stretching, her legs were definitely something. Trent used to complain that she wasn’t athletic—no diving, skiing, mountain climbing, running, tennis, soccer—but either twelve hours a shift on her feet was athleticism enough to keep her looking damn good, or she had damn fine genes.
Justin couldn’t resist looking past her to see the contents of the bag. He half expected to see it filled with scrubs—another of Trent’s complaints—but what little he saw was far from utilitarian: lacy bras, tiny panties in eye-popping colors, slim T-shirts that would hug her snugly.
She straightened with her arms full, gave a vague smile in his direction, then went to the bathroom. To put that stuff down. To take off her clothes. To climb under the steamy, hard stream of the shower.
Justin closed his eyes. Could he be in a stranger situation than spending a night in a hotel with a woman he didn’t like who didn’t like him, either? Well, yeah. He could be sitting on his bed wondering what she looked like naked…felt like…smelled like. He could be getting just a little bit aroused as the sound of the water turning on came through the thin wall. He could be remembering that there was no lock on the bathroom door and thinking that conserving water by showering together sounded like an awfully good idea at the moment.
Frustrated, he popped his eyes open again. No, what he needed to remember was that this was Cate Calloway. The woman who’d taken a dislike to him the instant they’d met, who’d greeted him with disdain and an air of moral superiority every time after. The last woman in the world he should ever want to share anything with, besides a final farewell.
Before he finished brooding, the bathroom door opened again and Cate came out. Her brown hair was damp, slicked back, and gleamed in the light. Her face was shiny with cream, and her feet were encased in pink flip-flops so fuzzy that her toes practically disappeared beneath the fluff. In between were pajamas.
Of course she wasn’t the type to sleep in a sexy little bit of silk and lace. He couldn’t be that lucky…or God couldn’t hate him that much. Depended on the viewpoint.
She wore cotton pants that ended just below her knees, bright pink with pairs of puckered streetwalker-red lips scattered all over. The matching pink shirt had one large pair of glossy lips in the center, surrounded by a slogan. I’m a doctor. Let me kiss it and make it better.
He was torn between offering her something to kiss and laughing out loud. The laughter won.
She shook a warning finger. “My niece got me these for my birthday. She’s eight. All she knew was that I’m a doctor and she likes pink.”
“Hey, I like ’em. You look cute.” That was an understatement. Even in silly pajama
s, the doc was sexy.
He yanked the stuff he needed out of his backpack and stood as she settled on the bed with a bottle of lotion. One shower coming up.
A very cold one.
Chapter 5
When Mario picked them up the next morning, Cate was relieved to see he was driving a minivan instead of the ancient Bug. She was about to pull out the handle to wheel her suitcase, but he took it from her, stowing it in the rear while she followed. He opened the door to the backseat for her, closed it after she slid inside, then went around to the driver’s side while Justin got settled in front of her.
“Don’t expect that sort of chivalry from me,” Justin warned her, his amused gaze meeting hers in the rearview mirror.
“You call common courtesy chivalry?” Her tone was about as unperky as she felt. She hadn’t slept well. She would love to say that it was too much worry over her ex and her friend that had kept her awake, but she could at least be honest with herself. It had been Justin. More precisely, the knowledge that he was a few feet away in the other bed, wearing a pair of navy-and-green plaid boxers and nothing else.
They hadn’t even been in the same bed, for heaven’s sake. And it wasn’t as if she’d never slept with a man before. Hello? The ex-husband, the boyfriends since then, including AJ Decker, whom she’d thought she would marry until she found out he was in love with a woman from his past.
But there was something intimate about sleeping in someone else’s presence. Vulnerability. Forced trust. Potential.
Drums pounded a tempo in her head, stretching the muscles in her neck taut. She tilted her head first to one side, then the other, eyes closed until the blast of a horn far closer than a vehicle should be made her tense again.
“The goal when you drive in Coz,” Justin said over his shoulder, “is to see how close you can come to the other drivers without actually making contact. Most locals are remarkably good at it. It’s the tourists who have problems.”
He was looking amused again, his mouth quirked in a restrained smile. Normally the humor he found in everything annoyed her, but this morning, there was something reassuring about it. Had he stopped being a jerk?
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