by Karen Rose
It wasn’t a request. ‘I will. I promise.’
‘Good.’ He sank back into his wheelchair, away from the microphone.
‘I’m sorry I took so much of your time,’ Stevie said. ‘And your energy.’
Mrs Kersey shook her head. ‘This is all the talking he’ll do today, but I know he considers it well worth it. He didn’t expect your call, Detective Mazzetti, but he’s worried that he’d hear from IA ever since Silas Dandridge was exposed. I remember the Gardner girl’s case, Danny lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, worrying about what to do. But like he said, Silas had a slam dunk.’
‘All of Silas’s frame-ups were slam dunks,’ Stevie said bitterly. ‘I’ve spent my share of hours staring at the ceiling, worrying. I’ll contact you when I have news. Take care.’
‘You too, Detective,’ Mrs Kersey said. ‘Goodbye.’
Stevie hung up, turned to find Clay texting on his phone. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Getting info on Scott Culp,’ he said.
‘You don’t have to. Him, I know.’
Clay leaned his hip against the table, once again encroaching into her space. ‘Who is he?’
‘He was in the robbery division. Did a short stint in Vice. Now he’s IA.’
Clay’s eyes widened. ‘You’ve got to be kidding.’
‘I wish. And Kersey’s right – Culp is a smug bastard. He was there on Friday when I told IA I thought more cops were involved than were on Lippman’s list. I told them that I’d been attacked twice already that week. Later that afternoon somebody – maybe Rossi – shot at me. Twice yesterday, more shots. Then last night Rossi did shoot, thinking it was me.’
Color rose on his cheeks. ‘Culp is Hyatt’s leak. An IA guy told Rossi where to find you.’
‘Chances are damn good. I need to tell Hyatt.’ She started to lift the phone’s handset, then thought better of it and hung it back up. ‘If someone in IA leaked the safe house location, Hyatt has the obligation to tell them. But IA could inadvertently give Culp the heads up. He’ll bolt.’
‘Chances are damn good,’ Clay said, grimly echoing her words.
‘I want to check him out myself. But I don’t want to leave Cordelia.’ Stevie gritted her teeth. ‘It’s a vicious circle. And even if Culp did tell Rossi where to find the safe house, we still don’t know who did the drive-by yesterday. Or the restaurant.’ She dropped her head into her hands. ‘This is a nightmare and I’m trapped here because they know I won’t leave my daughter.’
‘Stevie, listen to me.’ Clay’s voice held a steel edge, demanding her attention, and cautiously she lifted her head. ‘We have two Federal agents standing watch out front and my father inside the house, armed with a pretty impressive arsenal.’
Clay leaned forward until his face was inches away. ‘Cordelia is safe here, even if you leave for a few hours. She’ll be safe tomorrow.’ He came closer still, until his face was all she could see. ‘We will keep her safe until the threat is eliminated. And I have your back, no matter what we have to do to make that happen.’
Her fear retreated as his words took root. This was not a careless man. He planned for contingencies. He covered all the bases. He’d proven himself over and over again.
She trusted him to help her. And then, if she chose to walk away, he’d let her.
I’d miss him. The thought seemed to come from nowhere. But she knew better. She had been missing him since December. She’d missed knowing there was someone she could depend on, someone who was there when she needed him. And she’d missed the tight feeling in her stomach she’d get whenever she knew she was going to see him again. She’d missed his face.
That face that she’d always thought looked hewn out of solid rock. Unmoving. Unbreakable.
But he was breakable. I broke him. No, she’d hurt him. He was not broken. Far from it. He was made of stronger stuff than that. Just like me.
Stevie was breathing in short, shallow breaths because there didn’t seem to be any air. His eyes heated, but he didn’t move a muscle. He held her gaze with steady focus and waited.
Just like he’d waited during the months since December. And long before that.
Because all she could see was his face, she indulged, looking her fill. He was too rugged to be classically handsome, but there was beauty in every rough plane of his face. Her fingertips tingled to touch, her hand seeming to lift of its own volition.
She skimmed her fingertips across his cheek, his skin warm and resilient. Alive. He flinched slightly, but still didn’t move. Like he was gentling a feral creature, allowing her to become used to him. She felt like that sometimes. Feral. Trapped and alone.
You don’t have to be alone. He’s yours for the taking. It was a heady notion. Too heady to consider at the moment, when all she could manage were those shallow breaths. She touched his jaw, already dark with stubble. He remained motionless. Holding her gaze. Holding his breath.
Until she cupped his jaw in her palm. He shuddered, the air pushing from his lungs in a pained gust that left his shoulders sagging. Bracing his hand on the table, he closed his eyes and dropped his head a fraction, sinking into her caress.
Like he was starving for touch. My touch. She didn’t know a heart could feel sorrow and exhilaration at the same time, but as she lifted her other hand to his face, that was exactly what she felt. Keeping the first hand where it was, she traced his brow, the line of his nose. His lips. So soft. His lips were so soft.
Through it all he didn’t make another move. Kept one hand on the table, still clutching his phone. The other hand lay fisted at his side. Leaving it all up to her. It’s to be my decision then.
Again, a heady thought that left her needy and aching, yet feeling powerful. Exhilarating.
But the sorrow remained. I did this. I kept this from him. I kept him from this. The touch, the closeness he hadn’t had with anyone else. Because he waited. For me.
‘I don’t want to hurt you again,’ she whispered. ‘But I’m afraid I will.’
His eyes opened and she was hit full force with the sheer magnitude of his hunger. ‘I’ll risk it,’ came his hoarse reply. And then his mouth was on hers, hard and fast. And good. So good. The hand he’d kept by his side was suddenly in her hair, pulling her even closer.
His phone clattered to the table, his other hand suddenly brushing the side of her breast on its way to her back and she was lifted to her feet, the kiss unbroken. His mouth . . . God, the man could kiss. Like he was starving, she thought again, more dimly this time.
So am I. God, so am I. She wrapped her arms around his neck and hung on, throwing herself into the heat of him, kissing him back. Making him growl, deep in his throat. Sending a vibration through his chest that she felt against her breasts.
More than a tickle, far less than a stroke, the brief sensation made her nipples hard, and she wanted more. She pressed closer and his hands slid down her back, closing over her butt, lifting her higher against him with ease. But not high enough. Not even close.
He ripped his mouth away long enough to let them both fill their lungs, staring at her, his mouth wet from hers. ‘More?’ he asked, the word barely intelligible.
She licked her lips, tasting him. More? Hell yeah. But he was waiting for her to answer. To use an actual word. ‘Ye—’
He didn’t let her finish, diving in again, giving her more. More. It was a pulsing in her head, overriding any other thought, spreading to her breasts, between her legs. He pivoted, lifting her to sit on the edge of the table, blindly pushing her laptop out of the way. He ran hands that trembled down her legs, pulling them wider so that he could move closer, all while he ate at her mouth with kisses that set every nerve in her body to buzzing.
Buzzing. Something was buzzing. It broke through the sexual haze and she groped around the table, searching for the source. Cell phone.
She pulled away far enough to whisper, ‘It’s yours.’
He was breathing hard. ‘Let ’em call back,’ he said. Then groaned
. ‘No. Give it to me.’
She handed it to him, gripping his shoulder with her other hand to keep her balance when her body threatened to weave. ‘Talk fast,’ she whispered.
‘I will.’ With an expression of supreme irritation he checked his phone’s screen. Then went abruptly still, sexual frustration becoming lethal calm in the blink of an eye.
Stevie straightened her spine, a jolt of adrenaline clearing her mind. ‘What is it?’ she asked, but he was already running up the stairs to the deck, his gun in his hand.
‘The underwater thermal cameras,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘Someone’s coming. Stay here until I give the all clear.’
She opened her mouth to tell him what he could do with his ‘Stay here’, but years of training overruled.
‘Think,’ she muttered to herself because Clay was long gone. But rational thought was difficult with every maternal instinct she possessed clawing at her to move. To protect her child.
Cordelia’s in the house. The house with bullet-resistant windows and security doors. She’s safe as long as she stays in the house.
Clay’s command still rankled, scraping at her pride, but down deep it made sense. The sniper at the restaurant was likely still out there. And the triggering of the underwater alarms coming so quickly after her call to Kersey sent up a red flag in her mind. Kersey could have been playing her, feeding her info to prod her into making a move into the open.
But that was ridiculous. There was no way he could have traced her call, either on the phone or through Skype. Clay’s lines of communication were secure.
Plus, she’d believed every word he’d said. Because he’s dying? No, that wasn’t it. It was because she recognized herself in his eyes, his tone.
Besides, whoever was coming would have started out long before she’d called Kersey. Divers had to come from boats and that took a little time.
Stevie looked around for her cane, found it leaning against the stove in the galley. She wasn’t stupid. She wouldn’t make herself a target again. She’d stay out of sight until she knew what was what. And the stairs would take time to navigate. Better to be waiting at the top if all hell broke loose than to be stuck at the bottom.
The cop in her – and the woman as well – had no intention of letting Clay Maynard take any more bullets for her. Moving as fast as she could, she followed him up.
Baltimore, Maryland, Sunday, March 16, 10.55 A.M.
It had been an hour and five minutes and Westmoreland hadn’t called. Robinette was not happy. He paced the length of his office, running through the list of his staff in his mind. Determining who was suspect and who could be trusted. Most of them he didn’t trust simply because he didn’t know them well enough. But those staff didn’t have access to any confidential – and/or damaging – information.
Of his inner circle, those he’d served with in the desert? He still trusted Brenda Lee. He no longer trusted Henderson or Fletcher. Robinette was on the fence concerning Westmoreland at the moment. He’d specified one hour for updates. It shouldn’t have been that difficult for Wes to send him a text or an email.
Unless he was in trouble. Or he had his hands full with Mazzetti. Or if he hadn’t gone to the bodyguard’s house at all.
Wes hadn’t approved of Robinette’s handling of Henderson or Fletch.
Maybe Westmoreland was taking matters into his own hands. His team had been riding him lately about the fancy tuxedos and formal events. That if he wasn’t careful, the bow ties would cut off circulation to his brain. That he’d go soft.
Robinette had chalked it up to good-natured ribbing at the time.
What if they’d been serious? What if they’d been talking behind his back?
What if they thought they could do better? What if they tried to take over? Between them, they knew everything about his business. All the formulas – legal and otherwise, the customers, the pricing . . . everything. His inner circle was as capable of burying him as Stevie Mazzetti.
Where was Westmoreland right now? Robinette sat at his desk and pulled up the website he used to track the movements of the vehicles in his corporate fleet. Westmoreland was driving one of those vehicles – a black Toyota Sequoia. Robinette selected it and waited for the satellite to connect with the tracker. Vehicle not found.
Robinette blinked hard. It was like a little rubber band had just snapped in his mind.
Before you get all mad, make sure the damn site is working correctly. A search for all of the other vehicles in the fleet returned results. Most were parked here, on the property. A few were out making pick-ups and deliveries, preparing for the start of a new workweek.
He put in a special password and found Lisa’s car. She had Sunday brunch with her family every week. And . . . Yes. Her Jag was parked in front of her parents’ ugly mausoleum-like mansion, exactly where it was supposed to be.
Once more he looked for the Sequoia. Vehicle not found.
Westmoreland had disabled the Sequoia’s tracking device. That didn’t bode well.
I have not gone soft. And if his team needed to be reminded of that fact, Robinette would happily oblige. He opened his wall safe and removed the shoebox-sized gun safe, then pressed his thumb to the print reader to spring the latch. Removed the guns that had only been fired at his private target range. They were untraceable.
Not that he planned to use them. Even with a silencer, there were far less noisy ways to deal with human obstacles. But it never hurt to be prepared.
He also slipped his little address book into his pocket. In the book were important names and addresses. Like the family and friends of Stevie Mazzetti, including Mr Maynard. And the family and friends of his inner circle. Just in case a little leverage was required.
Finally, he withdrew a set of car keys. He kept one vehicle that had no tracking devices and had been manufactured before the advent of automobile GPS. He loved gadgets and technology as much as the next guy, but sometimes old school was the way to go.
Chapter Twelve
Wight’s Landing, Maryland, Sunday, March 16, 10.55 A.M.
Clay took the stairs to the deck in two leaps, cursing himself. He’d promised she’d be safe, but he’d nearly ignored the very alarm that would keep her that way. You’re an idiot, Maynard.
Except . . . he’d finally had her in his arms. And it had been even better than he’d hoped. It was like he’d flipped a switch, waking her up. Turning her on. She’d definitely been turned on. She’d definitely wanted it. Wanted me. Thank you, God.
He shook his head hard to clear it. Pay attention or she won’t be alive to want you. He hit the deck running, only to skid to a stop. His father stood on the dock, looking at his wristwatch.
Tanner looked up, mildly disapproving. ‘Took you long enough.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Although, I guess I should be congratulating you on your response time. You might want to comb your hair. Or jump in the water. It should be cold enough to deflate . . . things.’
What the fuck? Yeah, he was still harder than a rock, but . . . What the fuck?
‘Dad, get back to the house. We have an incoming diver.’
‘I know. You can put your gun away. It’s just Lou.’
For a moment Clay could only stare. Then he got it. ‘You mean this is a damn drill?’
‘Yes. Which, if you’ll stow your hormones, you’ll remember you specifically requested. If it had been real, you would have been cutting it very close, son.’
Clay holstered his gun and shoved his temper down. He had suggested a drill, to make sure the system functioned properly. He hadn’t expected his ex-fiancée to be the tester.
He thought of Stevie, below deck. Knew there was no way she was staying down there. It wasn’t in her nature. He was shocked she hadn’t appeared already. Probably only because it’s taking her a minute to climb the damn stairs.
It appeared he’d be introducing her to his ex sooner than he’d planned. He stepped up to the dock and looked down into the water, hoping to prep Lou before Stev
ie appeared. He and Lou were no longer a couple, but they were still friends and Lou was overprotective in the extreme. Unfortunately, she also knew what had happened in December.
Because Alec had been waiting for him outside the hospital when Stevie threw him out. The kid had taken one look at Clay’s face, instantly knowing what had gone down even though Clay hadn’t said a word about it. Alec and Alyssa were thick as thieves, so his admin assistant knew shortly thereafter. And whatever Alyssa knew, her sister knew in no time whatsoever. To say that Stevie wasn’t Lou’s favorite person was putting it mildly.
The water bubbled and two hooded divers bobbed to the surface. Both wore neoprene dry suits designed for cold-water dives, full masks covering their faces.
‘Who’s her dive buddy?’ Clay asked grimly. Lou knew that he was hiding Stevie and Cordelia because only hours before he’d asked for her assistance with Cordelia’s transportation to the farm. But he’d expected Lou to clear any guests with him.
‘Nell Pearson, the new deputy,’ his father said. ‘Nell’s okay. I checked her out myself.’
‘Fine,’ Clay bit out. ‘But next time, don’t surprise me. I could have shot them.’
‘That’s why I’m standing here, son.’ His father’s tone dared further rebuke, crossing the line from fatherly into patronizing, and Clay felt ten years old again.
Rolling his eyes, Clay waited until the two divers had climbed most of the way up the ladder before extending his hand to pull them up to the dock.
Lou pulled the mask from her face. ‘Holy shit, that water’s cold. Did your alarm go off?’
‘It did,’ his father said. ‘At the first camera. All the others triggered after that.’
She tugged her hood down. ‘An advanced diver might swim a bit faster than we did, but you should have a solid three minutes to prepare before an uninvited guest surfaces.’ Lou looked up at Clay. ‘Why don’t you look happy, hon? Your system works like a charm.’
‘You should have told me you were coming,’ Clay said quietly.
Lou smiled innocently, lightly tapping his cheek with her flat palm. ‘Then it wouldn’t have been a real test.’ She looked over his shoulder. ‘Plus, I wanted to meet Detective Mazzetti.’
