He reached out, and she jerked away without meaning to. She didn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to her the second they saw the incriminating photos. Her heart squeezed so hard that she couldn’t breathe.
“Nadine.”
She blinked.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
She blinked harder.
“Nadine.”
She couldn’t see. But it wasn’t until Anderson’s thumb came up to wipe away the tears that she realized she was crying. She tried to draw in a gulp of air. Instead, she exhaled a sob.
“Honey, look at me. Please.”
She forced herself to lift her eyes to meet Anderson’s. She expected to find pain in his gaze. To see at least a hint of it, even if he tried to mask it. Instead, she just found understanding.
“You aren’t your father,” he stated. “And in a million years, I’d never hold you responsible for anything he did or didn’t do.”
“But if he hadn’t driven...”
“Then Garibaldi would still have found a way to do what he did.”
“My dad could’ve turned over the evidence he had.”
“He used it to protect you and your brother instead.”
“Garibaldi might already be in jail. Your whole life would’ve been different, Anderson.”
“And I might not have met you.”
“You can’t convince me that you’re thankful.”
He shook his head. “I’m not thankful that my dad is dead. I’m not thankful for the years of heartache. But thankful doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel about having you in my life. If everything else was just a prelude to the moment I walked into that room and found you all hooked up to those machines with that defiant, stubborn look on your face...then, hell, I’ll take it.”
She blinked again, this time in disbelief. “You’re serious.”
“Of course I’m serious,” he replied. “Bad things happen. Really terrible, awful things. But the shining moments are the ones that matter.”
“But my dad—”
“Might have left you the evidence that’ll close this case for good. And that’s definitely something to be thankful for, too.”
Nadine opened her mouth, then closed it. She opened it again. But before she could come even close to formulating an appropriate response, the laptop—still open but shoved to the far side of the coffee table—chimed a notification of an incoming video chat.
“It’s Harley,” Anderson announced with a glance toward the computer. “But we can wait.”
Nadine shook her head. “No. We need to know what he’s found out.”
“You sure?”
In reply, she tugged her T-shirt back on, pulled the laptop closer and clicked on the button to answer the call.
* * *
As Harley’s face filled the screen, a disgusted look immediately took over his features.
“Bro,” he said. “You seriously couldn’t get dressed before you answered?”
Anderson laughed. “To be fair, it was Nadine who insisted that we couldn’t ignore you.”
His friend’s eyes flicked toward the petite blonde. “Her, I’m glad to see.”
“Hi, Harley!” Nadine greeted cheerfully.
Anderson pressed his palm into her lower back. In spite of her tone, he could tell she was still hurting. He hated the thought that anything about him, however indirectly, would cause her pain.
Vowing to make sure she was going to be all right as soon as they were done, he made himself focus on Harley. “What’ve you got for us?”
“The dates were easy,” said the other man. “I didn’t run all of them yet, obviously—there were way too many for even my mad, crazy skills—and lots just turned up a blank. But a few of the ones I did cross-reference came up with known criminal acts. Couple of thefts. Couple of known drug houses.”
“Anything that would tie those directly to Jesse Garibaldi?” Anderson asked.
“Not in a way that would make me think of the shots as blackmail-worthy.”
“What about the car?” interjected Nadine. “Isn’t it his? I know for a fact that my dad always said it was.”
“It’s weird. There’re actually three cars altogether. None is registered to Jesse Garibaldi. But all three are registered to the same man. A guy named...” Harley paused and looked down. “Kincaid Walls. I ran him through the system and found nothing. He’s just some middle-aged science teacher at a community college.”
“You going to call him?” Anderson wanted to know.
“Not yet. If he is connected, I don’t wanna spook him.”
“True enough.”
“One other thing, though,” his friend said. “There was a picture in with the others. One near the end? It was some guys in protective suits. Something about it was bugging me, so I did this.”
His fingers clacked noisily on the keyboard, and suddenly an image filled the screen. It was nothing but a grainy blur.
“Great,” said Anderson. “That’s much better than the picture of the men in their weird suits.”
Harley’s disembodied laugh carried through the laptop speakers. “Whoops. Wrong one. That’s a thumbprint. I was trying to see if I could pull up an ID.”
“Did you?”
“No. Well, not yet, anyway. It’s not what I wanted to show you.”
There were some more keyboard clicks, and then a second image took the place of the first.
“I did my best to enhance it,” Harley explained. “Can you see it?”
“I can see it,” said Anderson. “But it still doesn’t mean anything to me. Just two guys dressed for a hazmat party, holding some canvas between them.”
“Well,” his friend replied, “I originally hoped that their faces would be a little clearer.”
“You originally hoped?” Nadine asked.
“Yeah. I couldn’t pinpoint why else my instinct was to blow up the picture and make it better. Unfortunately, I couldn’t. The masks they have on obscure their faces even in the enhanced shot. But then I figured out that it wasn’t really the guys who caught my eye. It was the painting.”
“Of course it was,” Anderson muttered good-naturedly.
“Hey. Don’t knock my artistic nature.” The keyboard sounded again, and his friend’s face replaced the picture. “What was interesting about the painting was that it’s worthless.”
“Worthless?” Nadine sounded as surprised as Anderson felt.
“Without a doubt,” Harley affirmed.
“Worthless as in bad forgeries?” Anderson asked.
“Nope. Not even that.” His friend frowned. “Or I guess they could be forgeries. If someone wanted to forge art by some completely unknown, unrecorded, untraceable artist.”
“So if they’re not worth anything, why is Garibaldi being so secretive about them?” Anderson mused. “Why destroy a cellar, kill a man, then build a room dedicated to storing them?”
“And why are his hired helpers dressed like they’re working with poison?” Harley added. “And what the hell is Garibaldi doing with the paintings?”
“I know,” Nadine announced suddenly.
“You do?” Anderson and Harley said at the same time.
“It’s really been bugging me, thinking about it. Probably like you and the picture, Harley,” she said. “Anyway, it’s that mom from the pie place.”
Anderson snapped his fingers. “The art store.”
“Fill me in,” said Harley.
“The woman owns a shop called Liz’s Lovely Things, and she stocks art for Garibaldi. When I told Anderson about it, I thought she’d described the pieces as ‘high-end,’ but now that I’m thinking about it again, I remember that she actually said ‘high-priced.’ She’s an art dealer. She must know it’s not worth what the buyers pay for it.”
“She’s
got regular buyers?” Anderson asked.
“Didn’t I say that before?” she replied.
“Maybe you did. I guess I was just too hung up on the idea that Garibaldi wouldn’t be involved in something to do with art theft.”
“Well,” Harley said. “Now you need to get hung up on the idea that he is involved in it for some reason. Though damned if I can think of a good one.”
Anderson ran a frustrated hand over his hair. “We’re missing some element.”
“Agreed,” his partner replied. “I’m going to comb through the pictures a little more and see if I can find a hint as to what it is.”
“Maybe look for more than a hint,” Anderson said drily.
“Funny, man. I’ll call you if I get anything else, all right?”
“Yep.” He leaned over to click off the call, but Nadine’s hand shot out to stop him.
“Wait,” she said.
“What?” replied Harley.
“There’s a picture in the first set.” She bit her lip, looking nervous. “In the ones from outside the Freemont City police station?”
“It’s all right,” Anderson assured her.
She nodded, bit her lip once more and exhaled. “The shot shows the car and the street. But in the corner, there’s a man. Maybe you could clean that one up, too.”
“Good call, Nadine.” Harley sounded genuinely pleased. “I was so fixated on the one of the painting that I didn’t think to check it out.”
“Okay,” said Anderson. “We’ll make a plan on our end, you keep us in the loop on yours.”
After an affirmation on his partner’s end, he reached over and clicked off the call, then closed the laptop. He took a breath and turned to Nadine, bracing for an argument.
Chapter 17
Nadine could tell from the look on Anderson’s face—wary but determined—that she wasn’t going to like whatever he was about to say.
“Just tell me,” she said, already crossing her arms over her chest defensively.
“I want to go back down to the cellar so I can check out the art-storage room.”
It took her a second to process why his statement got her back up.
She narrowed her eyes. “You didn’t say ‘we.’”
“No,” he agreed, “I didn’t.”
“You can’t really expect me to stay here.”
“I haven’t decided yet where I’d like you to stay.”
“That’s not up to you, Anderson.”
“Nadine.”
As he reached for her arm, she pulled away and stood up instead. She paced the room, frustration making her seethe.
“I’m not some china doll you can just put on a shelf,” she snapped.
“I know that. And I’m not trying to—”
“I can fight. I’ve taken self-defense classes. I can fire a gun. Accurately, I might add.”
“I believe you.”
“Then why the hell are you trying to make me stay behind?”
“Because I’m terrified!”
It was yelled, and it made Nadine jump back and blink in surprise. So far, she hadn’t seen Anderson lose his temper even once. In fact, if she’d been asked just thirty seconds earlier, she might’ve said he didn’t have much of a temper to lose. She stared down at him, unsure what to say. Before she could come up with something, his face crumpled.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice rough. “I shouldn’t have hollered like that.”
She inhaled, tears unexpectedly pricking at her eyes. “It’s okay.”
“No. It’s not. I’m just so damned scared.”
“Of what?”
“That something’s going to happen to you.”
Nadine sank back down beside him. “Anderson.”
He looked down at his hands. “What?”
“That is disgustingly romantic. And I love you even more for it.”
“But you’re going to fight me on it.”
“Absolutely.”
“What can I say to convince you?”
“Nothing. I’m going to convince you.”
He looked up. “You can’t convince me that it’s safer for me to take you into Garibaldi’s line of fire than it is for me to find you somewhere to hide out until I’m done looking around.”
“Stand up,” she replied.
“What?”
“Stand up. And strap on your weapon. I’m going to disarm you.”
“You aren’t going to disarm me.”
“Yes, I am. Then I’m going to knock you down, take the gun outside and fire it accurately at some faraway target of your choice.”
He shot her a look like he was going to argue some more, but shook his head instead. “Fine. Good luck.”
Trying to keep her smirk to herself, Nadine watched as he readied himself. T-shirt back over his head. Holster strapped to his side. Gun in place.
“Might as well put your shoes on,” Nadine said.
“You want me to crush one of your toes?” Anderson replied.
“I’m just trying to give you every advantage.”
“Fine.” He stepped to the door, where he laced his boots, then straightened up and shot her a smug look. “Anytime.”
“Attack me,” she ordered.
“No.”
She started to argue, but suddenly he was on the move. Crouched low and headed straight for her. Startled, she didn’t have time to do much more than dodge his assault. And she barely had time to recover before he was on her again.
Nadine dived forward as Anderson’s hands came out in a grabbing motion. Her shoulder hit the coffee table, and she bit back a cry as she rolled out of reach.
“You okay?”
She looked up to see that Anderson had stopped advancing to ask the question. She immediately took advantage. Propelling herself along the floor, whipping out one leg as she did it, Nadine gave Anderson a sharp kick in the shins.
“Hey!” he protested.
“You let your guard down,” she replied, pushing to her feet.
He took a step away. “You kicked me.”
“That’s what you get.”
She breathed in, then came at him again, feinting to the left, then adjusting to hit him from the left. He anticipated and used his arm to shoot an expert block her way. Quickly he twisted the same arm around to close his fingers on her wrist. For a second, Nadine let him think he was going to be able to maintain the upper hand. But only for a heartbeat. Then she fought back using the sequence she’d learned in the self-defense class she’d taken years earlier.
First she took a tiny step forward while twisting her hand at the same time. Anderson, of course, maintained his hold. But the move toward him rather than away from him meant that his grip loosened just enough that he couldn’t stop her from turning her palm to the ceiling. The move created just the right amount space between his hand and her wrist. Next, Nadine slipped her other hand up between their bodies and gave the soft, fleshy part of Anderson’s palm a jab. His fingers opened. And before he could regain his hold, she grabbed his wrist. With a twist, she locked his elbow joint in place. And, finally, she took a step back and rotated her body 180 degrees. The result was just as she intended—Anderson was off balance. With a little shove, he went down.
“Don’t move,” Nadine said, “or I’ll break your arm.”
He narrowed his eyes and shifted ever so slightly. In response, she twisted a little harder. She pushed aside a stab of guilt at his wince. She had something to prove; she couldn’t afford to feel bad. Especially if he was trying to trick her.
“Give me your gun,” she commanded.
“Or you’ll break my arm?”
“Yep.”
With his free hand, Anderson flipped open his holster and tugged out the weapon. With a self-satisfied grin, Nadine t
ook it from him.
Then she stepped back and smiled sweetly. “This is the part where I’d aim at you if you were a bad guy.”
He sat up and studied her from the floor. “Pleased with yourself, aren’t you?”
“I thought it was pretty impressive. And I was holding back,” she informed him, her tone deliberately pert.
His mouth twitched into a half smile. “Oh, really?”
“I didn’t break your arm for real, did I?”
“I suppose not.” His smile turned to a frown. “But tell me something.”
“What?”
“With moves like that, how the hell did the guy at your mom’s apartment manage to get to you?”
“I knew you were impressed.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I just didn’t get a chance to escape on my own before you got there, and—” She bit down on her lip to stop herself from finishing.
Anderson wasn’t that quick to let it go. “And what?”
“I panicked a little.”
“You panicked.” His voice had gone flat.
“A little,” she repeated. “And it’s not going to happen again.”
“How can you be sure? How can I be sure?”
“I guess you can’t. Not a hundred percent, anyway. But I’m confident that I won’t. And besides that, I’ve got a gun now.”
“That’s my gun,” he pointed out. “Police issue. Even if I wanted to hand it over, I couldn’t.”
“Then I’ll just grab the one Brayden hid on the top shelf of the bedroom closet,” she replied. “Come on. Let’s go outside so I can prove to you just how good I am.”
“It’s not going to make me want to put you in harm’s way,” he said. “And I’m actually not convinced discharging my weapon out there is the best idea.”
“Guess you’ll have to catch me if you want to stop me.”
“You’re not seriously going to—”
She missed whatever else he was about to say as she bolted for the door. She flung it open and stepped out onto the porch. An unexpected blast of wind and rain hit her, and she came to a shivering halt. But she heard Anderson mutter a curse, then heard his feet hit the floor as he started his pursuit.
Undercover Protector Page 19
