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Chardy Walker Lieb

Page 8

by The Saint


  Jake folded and pocketed the note, then quickly ushered her to his Jeep, not Dirk's car. Rounding the front, he slid in beside her. As uncharacteristic as it seemed, Courtney had obediently followed Jake, no questions asked. Until they pulled out of the parking garage.

  "Mind telling me what's going on?" Somewhat calmer now that she was headed home, Courtney turned toward Jake. "Or does this happen a lot?" He had certainly handled the situation like it did. Almost like he had been trained. A bomb squad. Maybe in the Army or something? Before he could answer either question, she asked, "Were you in the military?"

  "Navy," he told her, unsure what in the hell that had to do with anything. He maneuvered through the traffic, giving her a sidelong glance, wondering how in the hell her mind worked? And finding it odd that he really didn't know. "As for what's going on, it seems the competitor Templeton mentioned earlier has upped the stakes considerably."

  Surprised, but secretly pleased by Jake's stint in the military, Courtney refocused her attention and considered his matter-of-fact statement. "What does that make me?"

  "Stuck in the middle," Jake answered as honestly as he could. "Or this guy might just be showing Dirk where the bear did it in the buckwheat–so to speak."

  She studied Jake's profile as he drove through the evening traffic. They may have known one another six years ago, but under the circumstances discussing what had happened with Jake still shouldn't feel this right. After all, they were on opposite sides of the fence. Whether he knew it or not.

  "Then this lunatic is flexing his muscles," she concluded.

  "Exactly." He was glad to see she understood. That was important.

  "So, besides in the buckwheat, where does that leave me?"

  Jake shook his head, amazed by a woman who could actually attempt to joke after receiving such a blatant death threat. "I guess that's where I come in."

  Courtney bristled. "You?" she demanded, eyeing him suspiciously.

  "Your shadow." He tried to tease away the underlying truth.

  "Oh, no," she groaned. In and out, wasn't that what O’Shea had told her? Wasn't that what she had agreed to? Damn whoever threw a monkey wrench into her plans. "Look, I'm not taking this lightly–-"

  "Because that would be really stupid," Jake finished.

  "Don't you think I know that?" Courtney's voice cracked slightly as she straightened in her seat. This time she cursed the uncharacteristic tears that stung her eyes. "Who was on the hot seat while ago, Jake? Not you."

  He turned the corner and pulled into the mall parking lot before stopping. Facing Courtney, he deliberately held her gaze while he spoke softly, "I know exactly who was sitting in that car."

  Courtney folded both arms across her chest and kept her eyes straight ahead. She was unwilling to give in to the tenderness she heard in Jake's voice. Refused to let him know how frightened she still felt. Resisted the need to be comforted by anything he might say. Or do? In a tone that mirrored her bone chilling weariness, she asked, "Can we go now?"

  Jake pulled the keys from the ignition. "Not until you pick up a few things for tomorrow."

  Courtney did face him then. "What?"

  Her incredulous single syllable grated on his already well-worn patience. What the hell was he supposed to tell her? The truth? We've been thrown a curve here, Sweetness. It seems the bad guys are crawling out of the woodwork faster than we can count them. Aside from blowing his cover, short and sweet was about the only explanation he had left in him.

  "You are not going home tonight. You are going to buy whatever you need to get you through, at least, tomorrow. You have twenty minutes to shop–" he checked his watch "–starting now. After that, we are checking into a hotel for the night."

  Courtney blinked. Before she could say a word, Jake had rushed her out of the Jeep and into the closest department store.

  No, he wasn't watching her pick out lingerie.

  No, he couldn't follow her into the dressing room.

  No, he wasn't paying for anything.

  Eighteen minutes later, they were on their way. Not speaking to one another, but on their way nonetheless.

  She had never seen a man so overt about giving orders and throwing his weight around. Who did he think he was? Better yet, how had she ended up in this position? She had worked too damn long and way too hard to gain control. Of her work. Her emotions. Her daughter's life. And she had. Until today.

  One day with this man, albeit an insane day, and she was being led around by the hand like some child. Well, she wasn't some clingy, helpless little wimp. Straightening out Jake might just be worth the price of a ticket, but it would have to wait. The first thing she had to do when they got into their hotel room was call O’Shea. Then Janey.

  Jake had never seen a woman so hell bent on paying her own way, opening her own doors, having the last word. At the hotel, Jake tossed his credit card down to secure their room, daring her to do the same. They could fight over this tomorrow, and damn her, he'd bet money they would. But not tonight. Right now they needed something to eat and time to rest. Besides, he had to call O’Shea. And think. And, by God, if he had to tie her in a chair and gag her to do it, he would.

  The room was fairly small. Two double beds with matching earth tone floral comforters. One small, round table with two chairs. And one slightly banged up credenza with four drawers. Once inside, Courtney headed straight for the bathroom. She flipped on the light, slammed the door behind her and locked it. Against Jake? Of course, she reasoned. Why else? And that's when she looked in the mirror.

  The harsh fluorescent light above the sink showed no mercy. Disheveled and frantic. That's what she saw staring back at her. The sleeve of her suit jacket was still dusty from the concrete garage floor. Smeared mascara rimmed her eyes. And, her hair. She sighed, then combed through the disarray with shaky fingertips. First things first, she reminded herself.

  She dug through her purse, found her cell phone and dialed the increasingly familiar number.

  Clearing her throat, she composed herself. "Uncle Brian, it's Courtney." Turning away from the mirror, she continued, "We have to talk." "I don't like the sound of that, Lass." "Well, let's just say there was a little hitch in my otherwise perfectly planned and well executed

  day…" **

  At the sound of the bathroom door slamming, Jake tossed the shopping bags onto the nearest bed. Courtney's tantrum, understandable as it might be, was just the opportunity he needed to phone in. Dialing the precinct, he flipped on the television to mask his conversation.

  "O’Shea." "He's on another call, can you hold?" "No, I can't." Jake kept his eye on the bathroom door. "Tell him it's Ciora. He'll take the call…"

  ** Courtney tapped her toe and waited. She picked distractedly at the gaping run that striped one knee of her nylons.

  "Come on Uncle Brian," Courtney urged impatiently. Didn't he realize how hard it was for her to talk? Jake might be an arrogant bully and a two-bit thug, but from what she could tell, he was far from stupid. Much longer in this bathroom and he was probably the type who would break down the door.

  ** "The bottom line?" Jake paraphrased O’Shea. "We're not the only game in town, Lieutenant.

  Whoever is challenging Templeton has, or is, someone on the inside." "Saints be with us." "My reaction exactly." Jake peered out the window and down thirty-four stories to the street below.

  "While you've got Courtney on hold on the other line, let's discuss her…" ** "I understand, Uncle Brian." Courtney's hardheaded refusal to quit had finagled another forty-eight

  hours out of O’Shea. "I mean it, Lass," he huffed. "Two more days are all you get." "Don't worry, I'll finish by then." Courtney hoped she hadn't just lied to dearest man in all the world.

  She would try her hardest to crack Templeton's records in another couple of days, but, if not…well, she would be too close to give up. Concentrating solely on the positive, Courtney repeated, "I will make it."

  "It's you I care about, Lass." O’Shea spoke
the truth. "I love you like my own, and I'd never be forgivin' myself if anything happened to you." Courtney upped her bravado one notch and assured him, "I'll be fine." She prayed it was the truth. **

  "She won't be fine, Brian." Jake was pacing now. "Face it, Lieutenant, dress rehearsal is over. Today was some sick sideshow aimed at making a point. Now I don't know about you, but I got the message loud and clear."

  "So will Templeton," O’Shea argued. "That's who it was meant for–not Courtney."

  "I hope to hell you're right–" Jake heard the bathroom door open. "What do you mean it's too late for room service? You've got fifteen minutes to get that food up here." Jake slammed down the receiver.

  "What is it with you and time limits?" Courtney gave Jake a wide berth as she rounded the end of the bed. "Are you hypoglycemic or something?"

  Still considering O’Shea's rationale that the note in Courtney's car had been used solely to challenge Templeton, Jake answered offhandedly, "Normal people eat three meals a day."

  Talk about ironic, Courtney mused. She had abandoned her normal behavior–honesty, integrity, independence–the moment she agreed to work on this case. In fact, not ten minutes ago she had made a promise she wasn't sure she would keep to her uncle–the only person, besides Michael, she knew she could trust. "Normal people don't get death threats," she shot back.

  "Since when were you the expert on normal?" he muttered, more conscious of the nasty, unexpected turn the day had taken than the trace of fear in her words.

  Her spine stiffened. "I'm more of an authority on the subject than you are."

  "I doubt it." Jake regretted the words the moment they were spoken.

  Courtney turned away, her hands starting to tremble again. "Well, don't."

  The catch in her voice caused Jake to walk around and face her. He tilted her chin with his fingertip.

  "Are you all right?" "No." Rattled by his touch, Courtney fought the overwhelming wave of emotion that until now, she had held in check. "I want to go home."

  Her quivering lower lip was the only clue Jake needed. How could he have been so dense? He had seen this happen countless times. And with seasoned, veteran cops. Hell, it had happened to him. The adrenaline rush carried you through a life-threatening situation. Anger fueled you during the after-shock. Then when you were safe and sound, you crashed. Hard.

  "I know you do, Sweetness." Jake stepped forward, ignoring the way her eyes widened as he wrapped his arms around her. He pulled her close. "But you can't go back until your apartment's been secured."

  Leaning into his strength felt enough like going home to calm Courtney. His chest was strong and hard against her cheek. The soft cotton of his shirt carried the appealing scent of his cologne. She could hear the slow, steady beat of his heart beneath her ear.

  Like in the parking deck when he had yanked her behind him and sheltered her body with his, this tender embrace went above and beyond any instructions his boss had given.

  Losing herself in the comfort of the moment would have been easier if the phrase until your apartment's been secured hadn't triggered a red flag, of sorts, in the back of her mind. The connotation, itself, struck her as odd, especially coming from Templeton's driver.

  Unfortunately, the energy needed to pursue that train of thought had already been used to maintain what little composure she had left. Later, she promised, with a weary sigh. She'd contemplate the significance of the phrase Jake had used later.

  But when Courtney leaned back slightly to wait for his response, her eyes were far too perceptive to suit Jake. "Did I say secured? I meant secure–I've sent some people over to make sure your place is secure." O’Shea, he thought, would be taking care of that right now.

  Unconvinced, she studied him. Stared into that handsome, familiar face. Dark hair curling just below his crisp white collar. Penetrating eyes dusted with a just sprinkling of mischief. Despite his past and taking into consideration what he'd become, the sincerity and concern she saw–and she did see both– temporarily put her mind at ease. Well, that and the fact that she was working undercover for the police.

  "Strangers in my apartment?" she asked.

  "No, a small circle of your closest friends." He winked down at her, glad to see her trembling, not to mention the suspicion in her eyes, had finally subsided.

  Damn. Her hair smelled wonderful, like sweet, wild flowers. The rich, dark strands felt soft and silky between his fingers. Her body's curves fit against his hollows like the well-chiseled pieces of an erotic puzzle. Historically uncomplicated. Perfectly matched.

  "Very funny." Calmer now, she stepped out of his embrace and gathered the shopping bags together.

  Needing to be sure, he grabbed her hand, forcing her fingers to still, her gaze to return to his. "Are you all right now?"

  She squeezed his fingers and offered a shaky smile. "Yeah, I'm okay."

  Satisfied, at least for now, that she was telling the truth, he nodded. "If you're done in the bathroom, I'll wash up."

  "Go ahead." She gestured toward the phone. "I need to call my daughter."

  The moment the bathroom door closed, Courtney dialed Cathleen St. Claire's number.

  "Hi, Mom," Courtney began cheerfully. She hated lying even more than rationalizing, but she knew her mother would never go along with her working for the police. Not even Uncle Brian. Hopefully, she prayed Cathleen's uncanny intuition would fail her or at least fall short–just this once. "How's Janey?"

  "Fine, Sweetheart, she's still up." Cathleen paused. "How's it going? You sound a little strange."

  "Everything's pretty much going as expected, but it's just been a long day." Courtney's palms started to sweat. "Let me say good night to Janey."

  "Sure. I'll get her."

  In the brief moment of silence that followed, Courtney couldn't help but wonder. Her mom was the one who had always been nearly impossible to fool, so why did lying to Janey seem so much harder?

  "Mommy?"

  Janey is the innocent in this sick little soap opera. That's why. And whether you'll admit it or not, she's got more to lose than anyone.

  One breathless word, spoken with such expectation and love nearly unraveled Courtney. Flooded by a surge of regret the size of a tidal wave, she fought back the tears.

  "Yes, Honey, it's me."

  "Guess what? Nana and I made chocolate chip cookies today."

  "You did?" Courtney remembered just how special her mom could make days like this. Standing there alone, she could almost hear the laughter and smell the freshly baked dough. She swallowed hard. "What fun."

  "Nana said I was the best helper ever."

  Courtney smiled. "I'll bet you were."

  "I saved some for you, Mommy, but…"

  At the sound of Janey's sad little voice, Courtney let her daughter off the hook. "You ate them all up."

  "Me and Uncle Michael. Sorry."

  "Don't be. That's okay,” she assured her, silently thanking Michael for stopping by. “When I come home, you and I will have a girls only day. We’ll make a double batch." She whispered secretively, "That way we’ll have plenty for your Uncle Michael, too." Courtney's lips may have just made a simple date with her daughter, but her mind heard the words BANG! YOU'RE DEAD.

  "Promise?" Janey giggled.

  Fighting back the tears, Courtney closed her eyes. She willed the death threat from her thoughts and filtered the fear from her voice. "Cross my heart. Yes, Honey. I promise."

  When the water in the bathroom stop running, she quickly added, "I've got to go, Sweetie. Be a good girl for Nana. She’s picking you up after pre-school tomorrow, so wait inside with Mrs. Edwards until Nana gets there.”

  “I will.”

  “I'll see you in a couple of days." The last thing Courtney needed was Jake standing in the room while she talked to her daughter. Right now she had to keep her past and her present separated. No matter what the cost. To all of them.

  "Love you, Mommy."

  "I love you, too, Janey."
r />   Grateful for a moment alone after she hung up, Courtney needed something routine, something that would physically reconnect her to the task at hand. She settled for the mundane, after-shopping ritual of rifling through each bag and removing the price tags from her new clothes. Locating several hangers, she neatly hung up her purchases. Sleek, black suit. Classic, white blouse. Pink satin pajamas. She tossed the new pantyhose and underwear into the top dresser drawer and placed the shoebox on the shelf in the closet.

  Jake had stepped into the bathroom, if for no other reason, to literally close the door between him and Courtney. Once inside, he stripped off his jacket and tie and rolled up his sleeves before splashing cold water on his face. Bracing both hands on the sink, he confronted his reflection and let the water run a moment longer. Forty-eight hours, he reminded himself, and this whole investigation would be history. Templeton would go down like a ton of bricks, and Courtney would finally be out of danger. And out of his life?

  He shut off the faucet and dried his face with the thick, white towel. Using his flip phone, Jake dialed Dirk.

  "Boss, that Montgomery woman found a death threat taped to her steering wheel."

  "Was her car in the parking garage?"

  "Yep." Jake already knew where this was going.

  "Then someone knows she's in."

  Jake gritted his teeth. "Looks like it."

  "Don't let her out of your sight."

  Jake thought of Courtney, standing in the other room, talking to her daughter, and his gut clenched. "Gotcha."

  "Keep me posted."

  Jake flipped shut his phone. Rotating his arms, he fought the penetrating ache perched between his shoulders like the talons of a predatory bird. The pain served as a vivid reminder of the anger, past and present, that haunted him. Dogged his every thought. His every move.

 

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