He hadn’t handled this well at all. “I promised to be there for him. We kind of adopted each other. Tyler is my little brother now, and—”
“You should have talked to me about this before saying anything to Ty. Did you give any thought to how that’s going to affect him if I decide to move somewhere else?” Her voice rose. “Have you considered what it will do to him when he’s disappointed by yet another man in his life?”
“Me disappointing Tyler is a foregone conclusion in your mind?” His chest ached where her words slammed against his sternum. “I’m not your dad, Carlie, and I’m not your ex or your brother. Just because the men in your life let you down doesn’t mean every man on the planet is bound to do the same. This is about your mother’s invitation to Thanksgiving, isn’t it? Hearing your brother is going to be there has stirred up all kinds of sh—”
“You think you have me all figured out, don’t you?” Her hands curled into fists on her lap, and anger flashed from her like the hazard lights on his SUV.
“Hell, no. I don’t even have me all figured out.” He barked out a mirthless laugh and pulled his SUV into a parking spot. Once he cut the engine, he cast her incredulous look. Did she not realize what a mess he was? “What makes you think that?”
Carlie crossed her arms in front of her, not making any move to leave. “Because you . . .” She bit her lip and clammed up.
“Would you mind expanding on that just a tad?”
“Because, Wes,” she said, glancing at him for a fraction of a second. “You put two and two together and came up with whore.”
“Carlie, I—”
“That’s not all.” Her voice broke, and his heart broke right along with it. “Sometimes you stare at me so hard, I swear I can feel you taking me apart bit by bit. It’s as if you’re studying each component part to find out what makes me tick.” She searched his face. “You are, aren’t you? You’re figuring me out.”
“Not exactly.” He ran his hand over the back of his sweaty neck. Mostly he’d been undressing her in his mind and fantasizing about putting his hands all over her, along with his mouth and other parts of his anatomy. Should he tell her that? Probably not.
“Yeah. You are. And then you ferret out all of my secrets. You take them from me without my permission and rob me of the chance to share them with you. It’s . . . intrusive.”
OK. Maybe he did do that a little bit. “I have twenty years of military experience. I’ve been trained to process things a certain way and to analyze situations to my advantage. Add to that my PTSD, and . . . well . . . I need to understand the world around me. I can’t turn that off.” He reached for her hand, and when she tried to tug it free, he held on. “I didn’t put two and two together and come up with whore, Carlie. I swear that’s not at all how I see things.”
“But you—”
“No, Carlie.” He shook his head and gave her a hard look. “What I came up with is that somewhere along the road, your life took a wrong turn. The important part of that story is not what you did back then, but what and who you are today. You’re an incredible mother, a strong, intelligent woman and beautiful from the inside out.”
“Oh.” A stunned expression suffused her features.
“I’m not going to let you or Tyler down.” He rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb. “You can’t leave Perfect. That would definitely lead to disappointment, and I wouldn’t be the one responsible.” She pulled her hand from his so fast he had no chance to hang on.
“Excuse me?” She blinked at him, her eyebrows raised. “Did you just tell me—”
“That didn’t come out right.” Or more likely it hadn’t gone over well, because it was exactly what he’d meant. “Can we start this conversation over after we talk to the marshals?”
She made a growling noise and unbuckled her seat belt. Without a glance his way, she climbed out of his car.
Did she not know him at all? Why would she assume he’d let Ty down? That stung. Granted, she was angry and prickly at the moment, and at some level he understood her churned-up emotional state really didn’t have that much to do with him. At least she trusted him enough to let her feelings show. After everything she’d gone through with her ex, that counted for something. As affronted as he was, knowing she trusted him caused a rush of pride.
Wesley hurried to catch up to her. “Carlie, what I meant to say is that I hope you decide to stay in Perfect after all of this trouble with Jared is behind you. You have friends here, and a job I know you love.” She didn’t respond. If he could string together enough words that made sense, maybe she’d come around to seeing things his way. He forged on.
“I swore to Tyler that I’d look after him, be there for him. He needs a positive male role model in his life. Surely you can’t argue with that fact. He needs me, and I’m not about to turn my back on the vow I made to him. I can’t be there for Tyler if the two you aren’t in Perfect. Plus, you and I have gotten to know each other pretty well. Haven’t we?”
She cast him a disgruntled look.
He placed his hand on her shoulder to stop her. “I was hoping we could continue to hang out, do stuff together.” Heat filled his face. “We get along pretty well, don’t we?”
Her eyes took on a challenging glint and drilled a hole through his hide to his soul. “Do you mean you want to date me, Wes?”
Gulp. He meant friends with benefits with an appropriate amount of distance between the two of them. Now was probably not the best time to bring up that suggestion. “You’re the closest I’ve come to wanting that, but . . . I was thinking more along the lines of a . . . close friendship.”
Again her eyes sparked. What had he said to upset her this time? He couldn’t get any traction with her. Sucking in a breath, he searched his brain for a way out of the quagmire. “We had a discussion about this. Remember? We both agreed we carry a lot of baggage. You said you didn’t think you could trust a man with your heart again. I have PTSD, and I—”
“Wait.” She glared. “Do you not remember the photo I showed you? You know, the one where my jaw and ribs were broken by the one man I should’ve been able to trust the most? Do you really think veterans corner the market when it comes to PTSD?”
“No. That’s not what I think. But it’s different.” Shut up! Every time he opened his mouth, he made things worse. He jammed his hands into his jacket pockets.
“Close friends, eh?” She aimed her gaze toward neutral territory, the building in front of them. “As I recall, we started a conversation Saturday night, and I asked whether or not we were going to risk getting involved.” She gestured between the two of them. “As in dating. I guess you’ve answered that question.” She turned away from him and started walking.
“No, I haven’t. Not really.” Was that a door closing in his face? “You issued an ultimatum—involvement or you’d find somewhere else to stay while Jared is still on the loose. You said we should both think about it before we decided. That’s what I’ve been doing.” Anger flared. Come to think of it, who was she to issue ultimatums to him? “My primary concern right now is your safety. L&L is the best place for you and Tyler, so leaving is off the table.”
“First of all, you don’t get to tell me what is off the table. I make my own decisions. Second, that’s not what I said Saturday night. I didn’t issue an ultimatum, and you know it. I was making an observation and stating the obvious.” She lifted her chin. “So, you’ve been giving what I said some thought, and you came up with . . . what? When you say close friends, what exactly do you mean, Wes?” She canted her head and scrutinized him.
“Uh . . .” His mouth dried up, and his mind blanked. He caught the hurt lurking in her eyes before she turned away. He’d hurt her? How? Wasn’t he trying his damnedest to come up with a plan that would work for both of them? Clearly she’d gotten the “benefits” intent behind his muddled spiel, and it hadn’t pleased her. Great. Note to self: I suck at the whole male-female dynamics thing. Or maybe he just sucked at opening hi
s mouth and letting words spew out.
“Let’s go,” he snapped. “Paul and the marshals are waiting.” He tried to place his hand at the small of her back again, but she moved out of his reach. Her eyes were too shiny. Bright. Oh, God. Not tears. “I’m sorry, Carlie. Whatever it is I said or did to upset you, I’m sorry.”
“Forget it. I’ve just been under a lot of strain lately, and I’m taking it out on you.” Her eyes filled, and she ran her knuckles under them. “I’m sorry. You’ve done nothing to deserve the brunt of my bad mood.” She sucked in a huge breath and let it out slowly. “I’m fine now.”
Fine was not the vibe he was getting from her. Nope. She stiffened her spine and quickened her stride, and he trailed along behind her. Silently. They made their way through the heavy metal doors to the check-in point. Their IDs were inspected, and they went through the metal detectors. A deputy pointed them toward the sheriff’s office.
Wes knocked, and the sheriff called for them to enter. Wes trailed through the door after Carlie, his temples throbbing. He needed sleep and space to think, and he wasn’t going to get either of those things anytime soon.
Two men were seated in the chairs facing the sheriff’s desk. Other than the handguns both marshals wore in shoulder harnesses, they could be anybody you’d meet on the street. Regular guys, able to blend into a crowd.
“Carlie, Wes.” Paul perched on the front corner of his desk. “This is Bruce Murphy, and this is Andrew Pelletier.”
The two men rose and offered their hands. Wes shook Murphy’s first, and then Pelletier’s. “I’m Wesley Holt, and this is Carlie Stewart.” Carlie stood silently beside him, a pillar of prickly tension.
“Have a seat, you two.” The sheriff gestured toward the faux-leather couch pushed up against the cinder-block wall. The marshals turned their chairs to face the couch.
Pelletier lifted a folder from Paul’s desk before taking his seat. “Ms. Stewart, Sheriff Taylor has brought us up-to-date on everything that has happened so far. We’ve read through your file and your ex’s.”
Carlie nodded. Wes reached for her hand, and this time she didn’t pull away. Hers was icy cold against his.
Murphy shifted in his chair and leaned toward them. “When we’re after a fugitive, they generally leave a trail for us to follow. Debit or credit card use, cell phone use, something that gives us a pretty clear idea where they’ve been and where they’re headed. Other than a withdrawal from a joint account with his brother in Indianapolis, we have nothing to go on where Jared Baumann is concerned.”
“Your ex is not using debit or credit cards or a cell phone,” Pelletier added. “And he’s not staying in motels or with former associates. Baumann has gone underground, and that makes his connection to you and your son crucial to his capture.”
“Great.” Carlie blew out a shaky breath.
“It’s true.” Murphy smiled, his eyes filled with sympathy. “You and your son are the only reason we have any idea of his whereabouts today.”
“We believe he fled the area after the manhunt,” Paul said. “But not permanently.”
“I agree with you.” Carlie’s gaze went from man to man. “Jared will wait until he thinks he’s thrown all of you off, and then he’ll come back. He’s obsessive.”
“We’d like you to resume life as normal,” Murphy said. “Go about your daily routine as though you believe he’s gone for good.”
“Should I move back into my house?” She glanced sideways at Wes, and her lips compressed into a tight line.
“No.” Wes shook his head. “Her place is not safe.”
“We agree,” Murphy said. “It’s easier for us to blend in with the folks in town, and we’d prefer it if you remained where you are. We’ll be undercover. You’ll be aware of our presence, but it’s best if you pay little to no attention to us. If one of us is at the diner where you work, greet us like you’d greet any other customer. No more, no less.”
“You don’t think he’ll come into the diner, do you?” Carlie’s grip on Wes’s hand tightened.
“No, but we do think he might watch the diner from a distance.” Murphy grinned. “And we do have to eat, Ms. Stewart.”
“Oh.” Carlie let out a nervous laugh. “Right.”
“Carlie’s family wants her to come home to Indianapolis for Thanksgiving,” Wes said. “Would that be OK, or would you prefer we stay in Perfect for the holiday?” He included himself in her plans and held his breath to see if Carlie would raise a fuss. She didn’t. He savored the fragile victory.
The two marshals shared a look. “Jared has family in Indianapolis,” Pelletier said. He opened the file on his lap and studied the sheet of paper on top. “Besides his brother, he has his father and a few cousins, uncles and aunts there. We suspect the brother had a hand in Jared’s escape. A sizable withdrawal of funds happened the afternoon before Jared’s escape from FCC Terre Haute.” He glanced at his partner again. “We have surveillance at his father’s and his brother’s residences in case our guy heads home. Sure. Go to Indianapolis for Thanksgiving if you want, Ms. Stewart. We’ll follow.”
“Won’t that put my family in danger?” she asked, her voice strained. “What about during the hours we’re out in the open and on the road?”
“I won’t lie, there are risks, but if Baumann is in proximity to you, we’ll do our best to get to him before he can cause any trouble.”
“So, for the most part, act with caution, resume life as usual and go about our business.” Traveling for the holiday was something they’d have to talk more about. None of them knew at this point if her ex had help on the outside or if he was acting alone. Wes squeezed Carlie’s hand. “Anything else?”
Pelletier fixed him in his gaze. “We know a bit about your history as well, Mr. Holt. You’re a decorated war hero and a retired major in the Marines. I don’t need to tell you to be aware of your surroundings, but I do need to remind you to let us do our job. Don’t interfere.”
He had to bite back the retort he wanted to make, along with the outrage. Jared Baumann had managed to escape a federal prison and elude Evansville’s SWAT team, K9s and law enforcement personnel from several counties. Maybe if he had interfered a little more, the bad guy would already be behind bars.
The marshals continued their discussion with Carlie, asking her for details about her ex and his previous associates—stuff he and Carlie had already discussed with the sheriff. Wes’s mind turned to their earlier argument. He’d thought she’d be pleased that he wanted to be there for Ty. Got that wrong.
Why had his suggestion that they remain close friends hurt her so much? His brain ached. She’d managed to twist him into a knot so tight, he couldn’t even find the loose ends to untie himself. Time to call in the reinforcements. He needed to talk to Noah and Ryan. Tonight’s PTSD group couldn’t come fast enough. Men were so much easier to deal with than women.
His gaze drifted to Carlie. Engrossed as she was in her conversation, he was free to stare at her. The thought of her leaving his life sent his poor heart scudding across the cold concrete floor. Her hand had warmed in his, and she leaned into him as she answered questions and shared what she knew about her ex.
He wanted to wrap his arms around her, hold onto her so tight she couldn’t slip away from him. He’d come up with some kind of compromise to keep her and Ty in Perfect. What that might be, he had no clue.
After their PTSD group therapy, he and the guys always went out for a burger and a few beers, or in Ryan’s case, coffee or a soft drink. Wes surveyed the dimly lit interior of the VFW. Their buddies had moved to the corner to play foosball. He asked Ryan and Noah to stay with him at their table. Swallowing his pride, Wes launched into his tale of woe where Carlie was concerned. Noah and Ryan listened, occasionally asking an all-too-perceptive question or two that set Wes’s teeth on edge. “So, what do you think I should do?”
“Well,” Ryan began, setting his elbows on the table. “Resistance is not only futile, it’s foolhardy.
We’ve both been where you are, Wes. We’ve both suffered the same doubts and fears, put up the same barricades and hidden behind the same wall of denial. It didn’t work for either of us, and it’s not going to work for you.”
Noah smirked. “He’s right, you know. Besides, when you do give in, you’ll find surrender has its . . . perks.”
Wesley took a fortifying swig of his beer. “I don’t know if I’m capable of surrender, no matter what the perks might be. You know my history.”
“We all have history, Wes.” Noah cocked an eyebrow and leveled a look his way. “The question you have to ask yourself is this: is Carlie worth more or less than the baggage you insist on carrying around with you? At some point, you have to weigh the past against the possibility of a brighter future. Either you let go of the baggage and make the leap, or you hold on to the baggage and the opportunity moves on. The decision rests entirely with you.”
One side of Noah’s mouth quirked up. “But when you do make that decision? I’d appreciate it if you’d do it on the twenty-first or the twenty-third. Those are my squares in the pool.”
Wesley groaned.
Ryan laughed. “I have the twentieth and the twenty-fifth. I’d appreciate it if you’d keep those dates in mind.”
“I thought you two were my friends,” he groused.
“We are.” Ryan chuckled again. “We’re friends who are way more objective than you are right now. That’s all.”
“I know Paige invited you and Carlie to the poker game tomorrow night.” Noah pushed his empty plate aside and put his elbows on the table. “Since the US Marshals told the two of you to act like life is back to normal, you and Carlie should come to the Malloys’.”
“That’s not normal for either of us.” Wes frowned. “I’ve never been to poker night, and neither has she.”
“We know that, but Baumann doesn’t. Going to a social gathering would appear normal to most people.” Ryan flashed him a wry grin. “Carlie’s ex doesn’t know you aren’t normal.”
“Thanks.” Wes huffed out a breath.
The Twisted Road to You (Perfect, Indiana Book 4) Page 12
