“I do sometimes.” Seconds stretched out as he waited for her to ask for more. He wouldn’t tell her everything, of course—that he paid for dive classes and trips for kids at the community center where he’d met Susanna, that despite Mobile’s proximity to the coast, those trips were the first time most of the kids had ever seen the ocean, that it was one of the most fulfilling things in his life.
Her smile was touched with smugness. “Diving for Divas and Debs. Your students get to look good in their bikinis and dive skins, and you get…what? Your pick of the darlings?”
Part of every dive class was learning to deal with losing your mask. You went underwater and took it off, or your instructor took it off for you, and you had to put it back on and clear the water from it. After nearly twenty years, he still remembered that first time or two, the rush of water in his face, the fleeting but sinking sense of things gone wrong.
That was how the disappointment rushing over him now felt.
He didn’t bother responding to her comment, but instead said flatly, “I’ll be back.” Mario obviously knew their plan, and the crew would do what he told them to, but the other divers would be curious when he and Cate left the boat, and curious people tended to talk. He wanted to give them a heads-up and a reason to keep their mouths shut.
And while he was doing that, maybe he’d learn to keep his mouth shut, too.
* * *
Cate had never been so exhausted in her life. Even attending med school classes all day and studying into the early hours of the morning or pulling twenty-four-hour shifts in the E.R. hadn’t worn her down like this. Maybe it was because then, at least she was moving, talking to other people, keeping up a pace. Today she’d sat on Mario’s boat; she’d sat on his cousin’s boat; she’d sat at the Cancun airport waiting for their flight; she’d sat on the plane; she’d sat in the rental car, and Justin had said little to her. When he had bothered to speak, it had been the old Justin, the one who didn’t take anything seriously. Especially her.
He’d cancelled the direct flight from Cozumel to Atlanta, then bought seats on the next flight to the U.S., sending them to Houston. Thankfully, for him, booking two last-minute seats had been no financial problem, even if first class had been the only choice. Of course, that was probably the only way he flew other than private jet. Wealth did have its advantages.
Now they were somewhere east of the city. She was too tired to know if they were still in Texas or had crossed into Louisiana at some point. All she knew was they were going to Jackson, Mississippi, and he wasn’t wasting any time.
God, she was tired!
Justin glanced at her, his features shadowed by the dashboard lights. “You should have said something. We’ll stop at the next town.”
“I said that out loud, didn’t I?” She managed a weak smile. “It’s been a hell of a day.”
The silence was so heavy that she thought he intended to go on not speaking to her, but then he sighed. “Two days.”
This time the silence was hers, dragging on until she forced out the question she’d been avoiding. “Do you think they’re all right?”
“Yeah.”
Relief didn’t even have time to bubble before he went on.
“For now.”
“Do you think they’ll survive this?”
His mouth tightened, and so did his fingers on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white. “Not unless we find out what’s really going on with the adoptions.” As he exited the highway, he flashed her a sardonic smile. “Come on, doc. This isn’t the first time you’ve had someone’s life in your hands.”
“It’s the first time I’ve been responsible for someone I love.”
He bypassed the first motel they came to, its No Vacancy sign flashing in the night, and turned into the parking lot of the next one. Stopping under the portico that covered the main entrance, he shut off the engine, then looked at her. “You still love him?”
The question surprised half a laugh from her. “Not in a bad way. Not ‘ex-wife still in love with ex-husband.’ Just as someone important in my life. Susanna, too.”
He stared at her a moment, then got out and disappeared inside the motel. If she were a better student of human nature, she might think there had been a flash of something like relief in his eyes. But if she’d been a better student of human nature, she would have become a psychiatrist instead. Daytime hours, no blood, no guts.
Justin couldn’t care less whether she was still in love with Trent, beyond knowing that it was hopeless. And thinking it was pathetic. Of course, he’d always thought she was deluded for ever believing Trent could love her.
He returned with a card key to a room on the back side of the hotel and surprised her when they got out of the rental by lifting the duffel out before she could even reach for it. “Don’t expect me to always be chivalrous,” he warned. “Next time it’ll be your turn.”
“Next time I’ll be happy to.”
She could get used to being in motel rooms with him, she decided as they settled in. The place was clean, a faint lemony scent in the air, and the beds were inviting. He dug through his backpack while she did the same with her suitcase. It was as comfortable as anything had been in the last two days.
“I’m showering in the morning,” she said, clutching her pajamas and toiletries to her chest.
“Go ahead.”
After changing into the pajamas, she scrubbed her face and brushed her teeth, then toddled back to the bed in her slippers. Justin was sprawled on the one closest to the door, fatigue etched on his face, eyes closed, so she pulled back the covers on the other. “I’m done.”
His only response came a moment later: a small snore.
She considered waking him so he could undress, but she didn’t. She considered wrapping the bedspread over him, but she didn’t do that, either. After moving his backpack off the foot of the bed, she didn’t do anything else besides shut off the lights and crawl into her own bed, drifting off almost immediately.
The insistent ring of a cell phone pulled her back to awareness. The room was dark, but the nightstand clock showed 7:06 and light seeped around the edges of the black-out curtains. She couldn’t figure out why the ring sounded wrong until she realized it wasn’t her phone. Who called anyone at 7:06 in the morning? she wondered grumpily, and Justin’s voice, slurred and barely intelligible, suggested he was wondering the same. About the time he came wide awake, the answer occurred to her: kidnappers.
Scrubbing his free hand over his face, he sat up. “No, we don’t have the files yet. I told you, I have some ideas. I need time to check them out.”
He listened a moment, and so did she, straining to hear even the murmur of the man’s voice. “If we wanted you to know where we were, we would have stayed at La Casa or my house. But geez, your men broke into both places and shot at us when they saw us. It doesn’t matter where we are at the moment. What matters is that we get the records back to you and you let our friends go.”
Muscles knotted in Cate’s gut. Sure, that was the trade the man had demanded, but it wasn’t going to happen. Unless she and Justin found something—leverage, he’d called it—to use against the Wallace brothers, they were going to kill Trent and Susanna and then, because she and Justin knew too much, they would kill them, too.
She huddled deeper under the covers, her gaze locked on the bedside phone. While Justin slept last night, she should have called her ex-father-in-law, or AJ or the closest FBI office. Despite the Wallaces’ warning, she should have asked for help.
And if it had gotten Trent and Susanna killed quicker? If it had gotten Justin killed? The Wallace family was far wealthier and likely more influential than the Calloways, probably more so than the Seaverses. They could have eyes and ears everywhere.
“Yeah, we’ll expect another call.” Justin’s voice went dry. “We can’t wait.”
He hung up, started to stretch, then gave his clothes a look, as if he didn’t remember he was wearing them. After scratch
ing his head and leaving his hair on end, he finally focused on her. “You want the bathroom first?”
She shook her head.
Sliding from the covers—at some point in the night, he’d awakened enough to crawl under them—he gazed for a moment at the phone before looking at her again. “We’re only a few hours from Jackson. Don’t give me a reason to put you in the trunk for the rest of the trip.”
Then, with a shrug, he said, “Aw, hell,” unplugged the phone and took it to the bathroom with him.
She was certain she heard the click of the lock behind him.
Chapter 6
Jackson, Mississippi, home to half a million people in the metropolitan area, Jackson State University, the state capitol and Justin’s good buddy Garcia, whom he didn’t hesitate to say he loved. Cate had been anticipating meeting the woman since they’d left the motel this morning, but now that they stood at her front door, the elephants were back, tumbling in her stomach.
Why?
The first surprise had been the house. It was, except for its sunny yellow shade, the stereotypical middle-class house: big enough for two bedrooms, or three if they were small; a front porch with two rockers and pots of bright pansies; wind chimes hanging a few feet from a lush fern; a neat yard; a middle-class car parked in the driveway. It was very much like Cate’s own house back in Copper Lake.
The second surprise was the woman who opened the door. She was neither tall nor willowy, and only part of her curly hair was blond. Part was brown, and part was a delicate shade of peach. She was no taller than Cate, though much curvier thanks to the extra twenty pounds she carried, and she wore a stud in her nose, six or eight in each ear and a vivid-hued tattoo that snaked up from her left ring finger to disappear under her sleeve.
Cate expected her to greet Justin with a hug—after all, he’d told her he loved her—but instead she smacked him on the shoulder. “I’ve been worried sick about you guys. Why didn’t you let me know you were coming here?”
“I have to keep my cell phone on for their next call, but I’m not using it.” He rubbed his arm as if her blow had really hurt. “You don’t want to find some guy on your doorstep with a big ugly gun wanting to know what you know.”
She made a pfft sound. “Let ’em come. I’ve got the best security system in the state of Mississippi. Hardened steel doors. Bulletproof windows. A safe room that even the Navy SEALs couldn’t break into…or out of,” she added with a leer, “once I got them inside.”
To Cate, Justin said, “Garcia’s a little paranoid.”
“Not paranoid, sweetheart. Prepared.” She shifted her gaze—lavender, thanks to contacts—to Cate. “So you’re Trent’s ex-wife. Cate, is it? I’m Amy.”
Cate accepted the hand she offered—a firm grip but not so much that the multiple rings Amy wore did any damage. She had never considered herself paranoid, but everyone knowing she was Trent’s ex-wife was starting to wear on her. What had he and Justin told their buddies? Was she starting every introduction with big Xs in the minus column?
“Want some coffee?” Amy asked. “Leftover doughnuts? A bathroom?”
“Yes.” Cate never turned down caffeine, food or facilities.
“Bathroom’s second door on the right. We’ll be in the kitchen.” Amy gestured toward the back of the house.
All the doors off the hallway were open, revealing a bedroom at the far end and two rooms converted to what looked like mission control: multiple computers, monitors, printers, bulletin boards, desks, phones. Whatever Amy did besides decrypt stolen files for friends, it looked far too technical for Cate’s tastes.
When Cate left the bathroom and went into the kitchen, Amy was measuring cold bottled water into a coffeemaker that made Cate’s little two-cup wonder look like something from the Stone Age. Justin pushed away from the counter where he was lounging and left the room for his chance at the bathroom.
“Isn’t he a doll?”
Cate warily sat down at the small round table where three plates, a stack of napkins and a box of doughnuts had places of honor. “Justin?”
“I just love him to death. Being who and what he is—you know, rich—I never thought I’d like him, but after one day with him, I just adored him.”
Confusion raised its pesky little head in Cate’s mind. Who could possibly adore the Justin Seavers she knew after spending an entire day with him? His money, maybe, but him? And wasn’t a lushly curved paranoid computer geek in middle-class suburbia just about the last person she would expect him to be best buds with?
Maybe Cate didn’t know Justin as well as she’d thought. Maybe he’d grown up since those early days. Maybe he’d changed from the entitled, self-centered jerk she’d known.
Maybe she was being judgmental and narrow-minded because maybe she hadn’t grown up.
It was a disturbing thought.
“Where did you meet?” she asked, as the aroma of coffee brewing drifted into the air, rich enough to make her stomach growl.
“At the rehab center in Birmingham. I was teaching quadriplegic patients how to use computers to deal with their new limitations, and he was…well, rehabbing. After the accident.”
Cate had heard of a number of accidents involving Justin. There had been the time he’d had trouble with gauges that had malfunctioned while diving and had run out of air sixty feet down. And the time he’d slid halfway down a mountain while ice climbing. Those are the risks, Trent had always said with a certain hint of relish. But she’d never heard anything about an accident serious enough to require rehab.
“The accident?” She tried to sound casual as she pinched off a bit of maple-glazed doughnut.
“Yeah, when he got T-boned on his motorcycle. They weren’t sure he was ever going to be mobile again, but he knew. All those months, he worked harder than anyone there. I was impressed, and let me tell you, I don’t impress easily.”
“Who impressed you?”
Cate’s gaze jerked to the doorway where Justin was standing, hands on his lean hips. He wore khaki shorts—it seemed that was all he’d packed—and a T-shirt advertising the world’s best diving in the Philippines. He looked from Amy to her, then back again, waiting for an answer.
“You, my prince. I was just telling Cate how all the nurses at the rehab hospital fought over who got to help you bathe.” She grinned at Cate. “A couple of them actually considered relocating to Mobile to volunteer at the community center when he—”
His forehead wrinkled and his eyes turned mutinous as he interrupted her. “You know we don’t talk about that.”
“Yeah, but this is Cate. Trent’s ex-wife. She already knew.” Amy’s gaze darted to her. “You already knew, didn’t you?”
Cate shook her head.
“Oh. Sorry. My bad. Mea culpa.” A cajoling smile curved Amy’s mouth as she snatched up an insulated coffee mug, filled it from the fresh pot and offered it to Justin. “Sumatra’s best. Will you forgive me?”
His expression was slow to shift, and there was a grudging quality to it as he accepted the coffee, but after a deep sniff, he simply said, “Always,” and walked over to sit across from Cate. His gaze, both arrogant and challenging, locked with hers.
She picked at the doughnut, nibbling pieces of crust with frosting. An accident had threatened to leave him paralyzed. And what was that about a community center? Hadn’t she dragged out of him that he’d met Susanna at a community center in Mobile? If a couple of lovestruck nurses had considered volunteering there because of him, didn’t that likely mean he had also been volunteering? This wasn’t the Justin she knew. Thought she knew.
You’re such a snot, he’d told her the day before, and it appeared he was right. Just as he’d pointed out to Benita that the Trent she’d divorced wasn’t the same guy Benita knew, the Justin sitting across from her apparently wasn’t the one she’d held a grudge against all these years.
And if that was the case, she felt foolish. Small. And with a lot to make up for.
* * *
&
nbsp; When they left, Garcia hugged Cate, after trading email addresses with her, then smacked Justin on the arm again. “Stay out of trouble,” she demanded. “And take care of Cate. Keep her safe. And Trent and Susanna.”
He gave her a wry smile. “I’m doing my best.”
“I’ll keep working on those other files. Check your email.”
He hugged her, and she clung a little tighter than she normally did before pushing back. “Go on now. Get to work. Find the bad guys. Bring yourself back home safe.”
Noticing Cate’s sour look as they walked to the car, he asked, “What’s wrong? You don’t like differing opinions?”
She slid into the passenger seat and buckled up before frowning at him. “Excuse me?”
He buckled up, too, then backed out of the driveway. “You have this image of me from college that you’re determined to hold on to. You can excuse Trent for not agreeing, because we’re so much alike, and Susanna because she’s in love with Trent. But then there’s Mario and Benita and now Garcia. You like them, and they like me, and you can’t figure it out.”
She didn’t say anything for a mile or so, and when she did, the subject wasn’t quite what he expected: “How could you keep injuries that severe so quiet?”
His mouth thinned. “It was an accident. Car ran a stop sign, hit a motorcycle. Who’s interested in that?”
“An accident that made the doctors think you weren’t going to walk again? An accident that happened to the media darling of the Seavers family? Don’t tell me that’s not worthy of a mention in the local news.”
“My mother’s secretary is a dragon when she’s protecting her own. Besides, it wasn’t that bad. The doctors needed a second opinion, and I gave it to them.” He wasn’t comfortable talking about it. It had happened a long time ago—he didn’t even remember much of the first month—and he’d proven the doctors wrong.
So he gave her that cocky grin that usually made her teeth grind. “Let’s get back to the fact that everyone loves me and you’re wondering just how badly you’ve misjudged me.”
In the Enemy's Arms Page 9
