by Bobbie Cole
Tremors of shock raced down her spine, and his crushing weight stole her breath, weakening her defenses, both physically and emotionally. She knew, even with his weight crushing her, that she could wriggle out of the entrapment, but not without hurting him further, so she lay still.
“I appreciate your concern for my sensitive guilt complex,” he said evenly, “but if you don’t mind, I’ll deal with it in my own time, my way, without your interference or input. If I want to know what you think about how I’m handling my neuroses, I’ll ask you.” He bent his head and crushed her lips in a punishing kiss. She didn’t miss his wince or groan.
After making sure she was submissive enough not to lash back at him, he lifted his head. “Now. Where’s the damned key to these cuffs before I pass out and we’re both hurting?”
Charlie swallowed hard, barely able to breathe. She shifted her gaze to somewhere behind him, her voice scarcely audible. “In my purse.”
“Get them.” It wasn’t a request.
He rolled, taking her with him to an upright position.
She staggered trying to stand, so she plopped back onto the side of the bed, digging into her purse with shaking fingers until she snagged her keys. Unlocking the handcuffs, she avoided his gaze, feeling the heat from his stare blazing against her face.
He glared at her. “Next time you want to handcuff me, lady, you’d better be prepared to spend the night that way. Got it?”
Charlie nodded, flushing. Somebody didn’t like being confined. Not that she blamed him. It was a stupid thing for her to do. Illegal, had they been in the States, maybe even in Mexico. She should be ashamed, but instead…she was intrigued, and to her chagrin…a little turned on. Wow.
What was it he’d said when they first encountered William with his pistol?
Never underestimate the quiet ones.
While she corralled her own thoughts, she watched as he confirmed her suspicions. He had dislocated his shoulders in order to trap her. Seth walked to the bathroom door and slammed himself against the doorjamb. A muffled but gut-wrenching sound emanated from him, and she heard the sound of bone against bone as well as flesh against wood as he realigned the bones he’d discombobulated.
The thought that he’d been able to do such a thing was spooky. That he’d done it so quickly was unnerving, making her wonder about the job he’d had when they met. Was he some sort of Harry Houdini thief, possibly a cat burglar used to getting in and out of tight places, or a highly-trained spook for the government?
Had Seth been involved in some accident as a youth or young man, one in which he’d had his arms nearly ripped from their sockets? Was he double-jointed? Nobody she knew had the ability to do such a thing.
Other than the initial grunted moan he’d given when he first fired his body like a human missile at the door frame, he hadn’t made a sound. Charlie couldn’t tear her gaze from his. No reaction other than the same expressionless stare he’d exhibited on the bed—dark, dangerous and most definitely defiant.
She knew she’d screwed up so she offered what she could to diffuse the situation. “I have some painkillers in my purse. Want them?”
Chapter Seven
The remainder of the night was pure hell on Seth. First he’d come close to taking Charlie, against his better judgment, knowing he couldn’t commit to memories that were still sketchy and knowing she needed to know he remembered every move, every utterance. He wanted to remember—he craved knowing, but all he had were fragmented pieces floating somewhere just beyond his reach.
Then, when he’d been about to explode from need of her, the little witch had handcuffed him, chastised him and accused him of nursing his ego, of all things.
His groin still ached from unrequited want. Almost as bad as his friggin’ shoulders. He hoped uncharitably that she wasn’t entirely comfortable in the bed while he had crashed on the floor near her feet.
He asked himself over and over, did he want her because he remembered her, remembered them, or was he so hot he nearly combusted every time she looked at him because he hadn’t been with a woman since God knew when?
Seth shook his head restlessly. No, it was obviously because of Charlie somehow. No other woman had affected him quite the way she did—of that much he was positive. He admired her professionalism when interviewing the doctors, her panache at adapting to the horrid weather conditions and her spunk at taking him down a notch or two when he got under her skin.
What he felt when he held her, kissed her or merely looked at her was an entirely different matter, one dealing with parts of himself he hadn’t known existed. She got to him with her direct gazes and mocking grin, the way she placed her hands on her hips when she was thinking, how she had no problem eating in front of him, which was refreshing. The few women he’d encountered since he left Mexico were so self-conscious they couldn’t enjoy themselves. Not so with Charlie. She was in the moment no matter when or where she was.
Someone’s cell phone rang. He smacked his forehead at the chance that it might be his—who would be calling him? Dorinda? Fat chance. She’d probably discovered he was gone within an hour of his having left the mansion the night before, but he was confident neither Hector nor Pink would give him up, and Dorinda didn’t have this particular cell phone number.
The darkened room brightened slightly when he heard the bedside lamp click on. He listened to Charlie’s soft, low voice and determined she was in deep discussion with her partner. What had she called him?
“Julio, slow down. Where did you get this information?” she asked quietly.
Seth leaned so far from his pallet beneath her that he feared she’d see his head poking around the corner, spying on her. He glanced at the alarm clock on her bedside table. Five minutes of midnight. He hoped she chewed Julio’s ass for waking them. Then again, it irked him that the man felt free enough to phone her in the middle of the damned night, even if he was her partner.
When it appeared she was saying goodbye, he quickly dove back beneath the thin blanket and eased his head back onto the single pillow she’d tossed him from the bed. Her silence bugged him. What was she thinking? What had Julio said that was so upsetting?
Seth waited a few seconds before breaking the silence. “Everything okay?”
“Not really. That was my partner—he’s working late, said a body was found slashed and stuffed in a Dumpster near one of the yacht clubs. Seems my one witness in the George Martin case was murdered.”
“Witness? How strong?” he asked.
“She’s the one who told me Martin was on his way to Mexico last time they spoke. He was at Bush Airport, about to board the plane when he called to let her know he’d be gone a few days on business, something to do with the escort service.”
He heard Charlie sigh and remained silent. He knew Charlie was wondering whether the Martin case impacted his own…if what he had could be considered a case. He wasn’t a part of anyone’s investigation, no police report had been filed, and if he had enemies, he wouldn’t remember them anyway.
“Charlie?” he asked softly.
“I’m okay.”
Seth had no choice but to take Charlie at her word. Not that she’d have let him comfort her if she was upset, but it was worth being the one to break their silence to let her know he was there.
Seconds later, the dimly lit room went dark as Charlie turned off the light one last time. For one idiotic moment, Seth thought he heard her sob.
Nah. She’s not the type. No woman who faces down…how did she put it? Street thugs, murderers and rapists. That woman wouldn’t let something like a witness’s demise get to her like that.
She’d had more restful nights sleeping on her father’s lumpy couch, less doubts about herself at thirteen, when all her friends were getting their periods and she was the Lone Ranger with a flat chest and no visits from Mother Nature.
Nothing like driving through a blistering storm, having the man who proposed to you turn you down in bed and your partner calling with n
ews that your cold case just went into deep freeze—all within a matter of hours. How did the old saying go? A day that had been a total waste of makeup.
Her one consolation was that she and Seth would soon be flying home, that she could get back to work on the Martin case and either investigate Wanda Schoonover’s murder or regrettably close the darned thing out, chalking up months of hard work to just that, tons of work on a job that just didn’t bring the desired results. Not all of them turned out well—she knew that when she joined the department.
And what of Seth Taggart? Was she willing to give up on the one relationship in her life that had held promise, hope, desire and passion? The hell of it was that he hadn’t abandoned her…them. Nothing like that. It was simply as if they’d never existed, never loved.
The relationship hadn’t died, so there was no body to mourn, no goodbyes left unsaid, just the memories that—in the only analogy she could conjure—were becoming more and more like some pastry with the filling torn out of it. She knew what she’d tasted had been sweet, and she’d looked forward to devouring all of it, but after one bite, she found herself betrayed. Not by the food itself, but by some invisible yet painfully tangible knowledge that she was left empty and wanting. And there didn’t seem to be a damned thing she could do about it.
The storm had died, and the two of them still had much to do before boarding their return flight, but Charlie resented having to work in the same clothes she’d worn the day before when she had clean clothing, toiletries, makeup and perfume back at the other hotel.
Seth didn’t look much better than she felt. He’d hung his clothing in the bathroom and let steam from his morning shower help with some of the wrinkles and signs of usage, but she’d seen him looking more rested and fresh.
They had all but avoided one another since rising. Whereas they’d at least been civil the night before, even after she’d handcuffed him and he’d rebuffed her, the tension between them today was a thick fog of misunderstanding and unspoken feelings. She had half a mind to toss him back onto the bed and force him to deal with her before they drove across town to see what the staff of Hotel Álcazar had to say about Ms. Lawson’s short stay there.
“I know it seems I’m always apologizing for not feeding you,” Seth began, “but I just want to get out of here, check with the hotel and see what we can do about piecing some of this together if that’s okay.”
“Sure.” She knew how he felt. Business first, then pack and get home.
Seth, however, surprised her. “I want to spend another day here.”
Charlie scoffed. “I can’t take off work.”
“You don’t have to be back until Monday. Tomorrow is Friday so that gives us plenty of time if we take the red-eye home Sunday night. I promise I’ll treat you to some decent meals, even give you that bourbon and backrub you said I owed you. But we can get more accomplished here than we can back in Houston.”
He hadn’t said please, but she could see a hint of imploring behind those smoky-colored eyes.
“Seth, if this is about last night, there’s no need for…”
He stopped what he was doing and walked toward her. At first, she thought he was about to kiss her, but he lifted his arms and caught a towel falling off the rack directly behind her that would have landed on her head.
Slowly, he replaced the item, his body pressing against hers, triggering her response to flee. When he looked down the length of his nose at her, she knew he saw the heat coming from her face. Why couldn’t she keep from blushing every time he was near?
Seth’s lips parted. “I know that. This isn’t an apology or a goodwill gesture.”
She felt her nostrils flare as she remained silent, refusing to let her wounded heart overcome her common sense. “Then what is it?”
He dipped his head, brushing his mouth against hers. “You tell me.” She felt his hands resting gently on her shoulders then tensing when their lips touched.
Seth’s tongue flicked out to taste her lips. “All I know is that I’ve done my best to keep from hurting you. Then you talk to Julio, or whoever he is, on the phone, and the two of you seem thick as thieves. Maybe I’m jealous. Maybe I’m just weak where you’re concerned.”
The aching she’d felt the night before flared, a monster needing to be fed, nurtured. Damn it, but she didn’t need this complication.
“William…” She pushed away from him.
“William can damned well wait,” Seth said, drawing her back into his arms. “He’s been well paid, fed and more than compensated for having to sleep alone in a nice, big bed instead of on the floor. He’s in the car, but he’s on the clock.”
Charlie felt a twinge of guilt for Seth’s reference to the previous night’s sleeping arrangements, and she braced herself for the next kiss, but she wasn’t prepared, not by a long shot. What was he trying to do? Undermine her emotional stability, divert her capacity to think like a cop, weaken her defenses against him…what? Couldn’t the man tell she was already shaken?
“Oh!” she cried. “Please, no more. Like you say, we have a lot to do today.”
He looked at her coolly, but she could see the embers of desire still smoldering in his eyes. She may have been granted a reprieve, but he obviously had intentions to finish the discussion they’d started the night before, and when it happened, it’d most likely be on his terms instead of hers.
Seth handed the hotel manager Marjorie’s photo, half-expecting him to shake his head and deny remembering anything, so Seth was surprised that not only did the man remember her, he had held some of her things she’d never returned to collect.
“What are the odds?” mused Charlie. Even she appeared shocked.
Seth was glad he’d convinced her to spend another night in Guadalajara. Maybe something in the sealed box of clothing and papers contained information that could help both of them. Seth with learning more about his true identity, Charlie with the Martin case.
He’d been reluctant to press her for details. Instinct told him she couldn’t, and wouldn’t, divulge privileged information, but he was curious to know about Martin and why the case had managed to get under her skin. Seth had a feeling Charlie hadn’t had many cases she couldn’t solve and that her pride was more on the line than her job should she not succeed.
While they waited for Lawson’s things, a wave of nausea hit him, and Seth turned quickly to avoid having Charlie notice. He blinked against the sudden bright light and the ringing in his ears.
What light? he asked himself. No light when your eyes are closed. He rubbed his fingertips against his temples and tried steadying his breathing… In, out, more deeply each time… Slow it down, start, stop, you are in charge, even of your breathing.
When he opened his eyes, he saw Charlie standing at the hotel registration desk studying a pamphlet left on the counter, and for a moment it was as if they were elsewhere. Houston.
He frowned. He pictured her in tight, skinny jeans and a pair of dingo boots, a soft cowl-neck sweater covering her torso. She was laughing, stopping to smell flowers a Mexican woman proffered.
Seth blinked again. No, the image was still there. I must be remembering something. He had no problem differentiating between the Charlie in Houston and the one in Mexico—it wasn’t as if he was blending the two images into one. He smiled as he realized he was simply recalling something, a happy time with her.
She replaced the pamphlet then turned and looked into his eyes—her own were troubled, but for a moment he caught the glimmer of something he recognized. Longing. He’d seen that look, right after they’d made love the first time, then gone to a street festival, inside the Loop.
“What?” she asked, walking toward him.
“I think I remembered something,” he said reflexively, not meaning to draw her into his thoughts just yet. “The Loop. It’s the six-ten highway loop, right?”
She smiled. “Yeah. What made you think of that?”
He shook his head. “I’m still working on it.”<
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The hotel manager returned and placed a medium-sized cardboard box on the desk between him and them. “These are things left in the room. One of the bellboys is bringing ’round the luggage. He had to dust it off where something had spilled on it.”
Charlie glanced at Seth sharply, and he knew what she was thinking. Something had spilled. What if it had been evidence of some sort, something that had DNA? He brushed aside the thought. Whatever had spilled was most likely something recent, something one of the hotel workers had inadvertently dropped back in storage. Too late now anyway. Whoever had the luggage had probably wiped it clean and would be there any second.
Seth motioned toward the box. “I’ll get that—just leave it there until the luggage arrives. It most likely has a pull so you won’t have a bulky suitcase to carry. Think we can manage?”
She nodded. “Sure.”
The truth. Charlie stretched and clasped her hands behind her neck, cradling her head against her palms. She and Seth had been pouring over the same photos and papers for nearly two hours, and she didn’t feel any closer to solving Martin’s murder or getting a grip on Lawson’s than she had before she arrived in Guadalajara.
The storms had completely passed, leaving in their wake an eerie calm, with soft rain drizzling in fat droplets that barely made a sound on their open window. Seth stood at the open doorway with his back turned to her, his shoulders squared, hips tucked, like a general surveying a battlefield.
She’d struggled to remain calm when he’d remembered something as trivial as the Loop. Didn’t mean he remembered her. Just meant his mind was allocating fragmented memories to certain quadrants of his brain, pigeonholing bits of information in case he needed or wanted them later. She wished he’d wanted her badly enough to recall times with her. Maybe he did and wasn’t telling her.
