Looked like that might be her new motto: it could be worse.
“Okay,” Justin said. “They know we’re in Georgia, so let’s have Garcia dig up what she can on the families out west. We can be on a plane headed that way in no time.”
“But if the parents have been warned…”
“The logical thing for us is to go for the best access. Sixteen of those families live in the South, so we came here. The other six might think distance will protect them. That we’ll continue to hang around where most of the kids are supposed to be. They might not take it as seriously as the ones here will.”
“As seriously as Grayson did,” she added with a shiver.
“If we catch the Wallaces, we’ll catch Grayson, too.” He hugged her tight for a moment, then let go and stood, handing her the burn phone, keeping his own. “You call Garcia, and I’ll see about the plane.” Scrolling through phone numbers, he walked away from the bench, then turned back to grin at her. “He’s wrong, you know. Your ass isn’t scrawny at all. In fact, it’s just about perfect.”
Nothing could have made her laugh at the moment, unless it was the kind of laugh that led to hysteria. She would have thought nothing could have made her smile, either, but Justin’s remark, along with that boyishly charming grin, did just that.
Chapter 8
One of the benefits to being rich was having rich friends. It took Justin ten minutes on the phone with an old friend from college to catch up on the last few years, ask after his family and arrange to borrow his private jet for a few days.
When he got off the phone, he listened to Cate’s side of the conversation with Amy. “Which family?” Cate repeated. “How about the one least likely to threaten to shoot me?”
Amy’s response made her brows lift. “You can do that? Wow, Amy, you really are the chief worker of miracles. We’ll be checking for your email.” Cate pressed the End button with one fingertip, then automatically handed the phone back. “She’s going to check the remaining couples for arrest records.”
“Does Grayson have one?” Of course Amy would have looked him up while they were talking.
“He’s been arrested several times. He has anger issues.”
Justin’s stomach knotted. He’d offered to go to the door himself. Why in hell had he given her a choice? Grayson wouldn’t have killed her because the Wallaces didn’t want her dead—yet—but he could have hurt her badly with one punch, one bulldog grip or shove. And he’d sat in the car like an idiot, unable to see or hear her, thinking she couldn’t be facing anyone more dangerous than Monette Clarence, who wouldn’t have risked her manicure with physical violence, or the frightened nanny who would have run screaming if either of them had said boo!
He’d helped get her into this mess. If he couldn’t keep her safe while she was in it, what the hell good was he?
He leaned against the car. “Where do your sisters live?”
She blinked, puzzled by the change of subject. “Two of them are still in Macon, one’s in Charlotte and one’s in Savannah.”
“I can put you on a plane to Savannah. Better yet, do you have any friends that live out of state? Or what about that cop you used to date? Would he let you hide out with him for a while?”
She stood and closed the distance between them with long strides, her manner menacing despite the fact she was shorter, skinnier and so damn delicate looking. “No, you can’t put me on a plane to Savannah. I’m not going to risk endangering my sister or her family. Yes, I have friends who live out of state, and yes, it would be harder for the Wallaces to connect me to them, but no, I’m not doing that, either. Yes, of course AJ would let me hide out with him, and even better, his wife, the woman he dumped me for, is an ex-homicide detective herself, but that’s not happening, either. You’re stuck with me, Justin. Just as we’re stuck with the damn Wallaces.”
When she stopped, she was standing so close. All he would have to do was shift his feet a few inches apart, slide his hands around her waist, nudge her an inch or two closer. It would be more intimate than they’d ever been, except for last night’s talking in bed. Even though they hadn’t even touched. Hadn’t even been in the same bed.
“If anything happens to you…”
She came one step closer. “We’ll have the Wallaces to blame.”
“They wouldn’t know you or Susanna existed if not for me.”
“Don’t kid yourself. Cozumel’s not that big. They realized there was big money in abandoned kids, and Susanna was in the business of rescuing said kids. They would have found their way to her sooner or later.”
It didn’t ease the guilt nagging at him, but she was right. Joseph and Lucas Wallace were sharp businessmen, always looking for the next investment, the next big return on their money. Like sharks to chum, they would have found Susanna and La Casa on their own and been circling in no time.
Now they were going in for the kill.
“Did you get us on a flight?”
“I did. We have to be at the airport in an hour.”
An hour, and the drive to the airport would take half of that. They’d already eaten lunch and managed to make it too dangerous to even drive past any of the other addresses in the metro area. Until they got word from Garcia, there was nothing else they needed to do.
There was no reason for him to push her back. No reason to rise from where he leaned, or to walk away from her, to get into the car with that safe distance of the center console between them. No reason to do anything but exactly what they were doing: standing so close that one deep breath would make their bodies touch, staring at each other like they’d never really seen each other before, waiting and wondering and wanting…
Of their own will, his hands settled at her waist. She was curvy for a woman shy of five and a half feet, with nice breasts, a slim waist and very nice hips that led to her amazing legs. The soft fabric of her clothes padded the toned body underneath, and warmth seeped into his hands while the mix of fragrances that would forever remind him of her scented the air.
“Would you ever have imagined ninety-six hours ago that you and I would be standing like this?” he asked quietly.
“Yes. But in my fantasy, I was clawing that smug smile off your face.”
“No smugness, see?” He smiled to demonstrate.
She laughed. “You can’t not be smug. It’s a part of who you are. If a person gets to know you, they get used to it.”
“You want to get to know me even better?” With his fingertips splayed on her spine, he brought her closer, just until they touched, just until he could feel heat and hunger and tension radiating from her body the same as his own.
She raised one hand to stroke his jaw, her fingertips skimming so lightly it was more a suggestion than a touch. It was tempting and tantalizing, and it took all his strength not to grab her hand and press it hard against his skin. “I’m tempted.”
It was the sort of statement that was always followed by a but. “But?”
“Thirteen years and a couple days of hating each other, and now suddenly we’re contemplating…”
“I contemplated it before.” When her brows furrowed in a soft frown, he gave her a sly look. “I was young and stupid, and you were young and beautiful. Of course I contemplated it. But you were hooked up with Trent, and I didn’t really like you, and you really didn’t like me. But the thought still entered my mind.”
Rolling her eyes, she smiled. “Of course it did. But you know what I’m saying. Thirteen years of knowing exactly where we stood with each other. No matter what else happened in life, I could count on you to be smug, arrogant and self-centered. And you know what they say about adrenaline, danger, near-death experiences.”
He knew: heightened senses, increased vulnerability, reckless decisions. Who was to say they wouldn’t wake up in a couple of days, when all this was hopefully and successfully over, look at each other and think, Dear God, what have I done, and how do I get out of it?
“I’ve experienced adrenaline ru
shes, dangerous situations and near-death experiences before, and they’ve never made me want to run out and commit to the first woman I laid eyes on.”
She blinked that slow blink that made her look cuddly as a small bird. “Did you just say ‘commit’?”
“I did.” And he made no effort to recall it. “I’m thirty-four, Cate, and I’ve been a responsible adult for six years.” He grinned at the implication of that statement. “I don’t fool around like I used to. I actually have friendships and relationships with women now. I take all of them seriously. You can’t commit to a lifetime together if you can’t commit to a relationship to start.”
She stared at him a long moment. “Wow, you’ve actually been listening to Susanna and all her psychosocial stuff, haven’t you?” Then, without warning, she leaned forward, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him, hard and sweet and needy and enticing, a claiming, demanding, pushy sort of kiss that she ended too soon.
“Garbage truck is coming. We should go.” She stepped away and went to the car door, but it was obvious that she wasn’t nearly as unaffected as she pretended. Her voice was husky and her hand trembled as she opened the door. If it had taken her one second longer to slide inside, he would have bet her legs would have collapsed beneath her. When she assumed he couldn’t see her, she touched shaking fingers to her lips for a moment, then clasped her hands in her lap.
Justin breathed deeply as the racket from the garbage truck at the far end of the alley echoed from fence to building. He tried willing his body systems to settle back to normal. His lungs and heart cooperated—
grudgingly—and his temperature began cooling.
But it was going to be a while before this damn erection went away.
* * *
They pulled away from the Dumpsters ahead of the garbage truck, driving to the end of the alley, then turning into the parking lot. Cate expected Justin to head out onto the street, but instead he parked in front of a discount clothing store. Still a little shaken—and breathless—she glanced his way.
“I need clothes,” he said in response.
She would have liked to wait in the car, except that she was too scared. Climbing out, she started across the lot with him, and she gave only the smallest of jumps when he took her hand.
Because this time it wasn’t for show.
She’d never seen anyone shop as quickly as he did. Trent was the only other man she’d shopped with, and while he preferred a casual, scruffy style, like Justin, it was a very carefully put together designer scruffy. Justin, on the other hand, located a display of shorts, picked up four pairs, then grabbed four T-shirts from a rack, two packages of boxers and a pack of socks. He didn’t try anything on, wasn’t fussy about colors or styles. In less than ten minutes, they were back in the car and on their way to the airport.
She wondered if the number had any significance. Like, if he didn’t think they’d be alive long enough to need a fifth outfit. The possibility sent a shiver through her that she shook off as she dug a pair of nail clippers from her bag. “The variety of color in your wardrobe in amazing,” she remarked as she began snipping tags from the shorts—all shades of tan.
“Sorry. I didn’t think to pack my collection of vintage Hawaiian shirts.”
“I bought AJ a Hawaiian shirt once. I think his new wife burned it.”
“How could you get involved with a man who doesn’t appreciate a good Hawaiian shirt? They’re classic.” He gave her a sidelong look, actually waiting for an answer.
“I wasn’t aware of that when we started dating. That particular question was never on my checklist for potential mates.” Her tone was dry, even as she thought back to her relationship with AJ. It had been great. They’d had a lot in common; the sex was always good; they’d just flowed naturally from friendship to dating to talking about marriage.
The end had come just as naturally. She’d emerged with her heart intact. She’d loved him—still did—but she hadn’t been in love with him, nor he with her. They’d shared less passion in the year they’d been together than she and Justin had in the past few days.
That made her breath catch in her chest. She’d loved AJ. Was it even remotely possible that she could be falling in love with Justin?
Could she survive falling in love with Justin?
They’d reached the airport before she’d realized they had even left Grayson’s neighborhood behind, but Justin bypassed the passenger terminals for a smaller, quieter building. “What airline are we flying?” she asked as he parked in a distant space.
“Westin Air.” He waggled his brows as he cut the engine, then popped the trunk open.
The name sounded vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t place it until she was rearranging the stuff in the duffel Justin had unzipped to make room for the new clothes. Alex Westin was a friend of Trent’s, and therefore Justin’s, from college—another trust-fund kid. They’d been in the same fraternity, traveled in the same social circles and shared the same taste for adrenaline. Alex had always been hanging out when she’d gone to the frat house to see Trent, and he’d come to the wedding, too. The biggest difference between him and Justin was that he’d never tried to warn her off Trent.
And he’d never been anywhere near as sexy as Justin.
“Alex has an airline?” She neatly folded two pairs of shorts and wedged them into the bag before Justin took the sackful of clothes and crammed it inside. He packed as if he’d learned in a sardine cannery.
“Better. He has a Gulfstream.” He gestured to the tarmac behind the building, where a jet waited. Compared to the commercial plane that had taken her to and from Cozumel, this one was tiny, sleek and graceful in appearance, built for speed—and luxury, she saw, when the pilots met them inside and escorted them on board a few minutes later.
Wow. The cabin smelled like money, an intoxicating mix of buttery leather and exotic woods and plush carpet. In addition to a full couch, there were another half-dozen seats big enough to curl up in, a large-screen television and an array of electronics—stereo, DVD player, computer, fax, printer.
“Wow.” This time she said it aloud. She put her bag on the couch before facing Justin. “This is amazing. Why don’t you have one?”
“Why buy when I can borrow someone else’s?” He settled into a chair and fastened his seatbelt. “For the record, everything in here is as green as it could be. Alex is big on environmental issues.”
She slid into the chair across the table from him and buckled up, then rested her hands on the surface. That made three spoiled rich kids she knew now who were passionate about making life better for others. She
really needed to adjust her attitude.
“Besides,” Justin went on, “do you have any idea how many dive trips for the kids $35 million would cover?”
Her jaw dropped. She’d learned with the Calloways to disguise her awe most of the time. It wasn’t as if she were poor. Her family had been solidly middle-class, with five daughters to raise, clothe and put through college. The Proctors had had enough for necessities, comfort and some luxuries, but a $35 million plane… “How much food and medicine,” she murmured.
“Clean water. Shelters. Doctors.” Justin’s expression was part grimace. “To be fair, Alex uses the plane for more than dive trips or dinner in Paris with his latest girlfriend. He provides free transportation to medical volunteers in Central and South America. He brings kids who need extensive care to the U.S. with their families and pays their expenses while they’re here. He makes the jet available to people on transplant lists who have to get to the transplant center on short notice, and he flies World War II veterans to visit the memorial in D.C.”
Cate gazed out the window at the activity across the tarmac. She doubted any of her family or friends did that much with their favorite charities. Of course, their efforts would be on a much smaller scale, but they didn’t even manage that. They wrote a check now and then or did hands-on volunteering from time to time, but she couldn’t think of one who
was truly passionate about it.
Her own involvement was much less substantial.
As if reading her mind, he said, “Hey, you do what you can. People have jobs, responsibilities, families. Alex doesn’t have a job or any responsibility beyond spending the money he inherited.”
She was beginning to see that could be a much bigger responsibility than she’d ever wanted to acknowledge.
“Can the Wallaces track us to Arizona?” she asked as the engines revved, restless for a change of subject. What did it say about her that she’d rather think about the people holding Trent and Susanna hostage than her preconceived—and wrong—notions?
“I don’t know how. The pilots will file a flight plan, but they don’t have to report that they’re carrying passengers. The only people who know we’re here are Alex and the pilots, and trust me—” his tone turned wry
“—the pilots are well paid not to gossip.”
As he finished speaking, the intercom hummed to life with the captain announcing they would be starting to taxi out. Justin was relaxed, sprawled in his chair, head tilted to one side and gaze fixed outside the window at the scenery slowly passing. His hair was mussed, his attitude one of ease. His features were so familiar, and yet different.
The difference, of course, wasn’t in his face, but her. Instead of being the enemy, now he was a partner. A companion. Even—she’d never dreamed she might think this—a friend.
And the object of her latest fantasies. She had kissed him, for God’s sake. She, who had never wanted to breathe the same air he breathed, had kissed him.
She could give several reasons for it that sounded credible enough. She’d been frightened. Her emotional control had been running thin. She’d wanted the power of a touch. It was human nature, wasn’t it, to want physical contact in stressful moments. But the simple truth was, she’d wanted to. Wanted to be that close. Wanted to feel that intimate. To taste him, touch him, lean on him.
She’d wanted. Him.
The thought sent blood rushing to her cheeks and formed a knot in her stomach.
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