by Kylie Brant
From her silence he figured he’d surprised her. He’d managed to surprise himself. He’d assumed that she wouldn’t accept making the call from his home. But even she couldn’t believe that he could tamper with every public phone on the island.
“Who would be available to speak to me at this hour?” There was hostility in her tone, but there was something else, as well. Uncertainty.
He gave a humorless laugh and pulled up next to an all-night drugstore. “Just mention your name. You may have to wait, but I can guarantee that Whitmore will get back to you.”
They sat in the darkness, silence stretching between them as she considered her choices. “Go around the block,” she finally said.
Nick turned to face her. Her profile could have been etched from glass.
“There’s a phone on the corner by the gas station. I’ll use that one.”
Without a word he did as she asked. Parking the car, he opened his door, carefully got out, and she had no choice but to follow him closely. His muscles were getting stiff around the wound, and he knew he’d pay tomorrow for the excesses of tonight. Walking to the phone, he stood back and allowed her to enter the booth before crowding in behind her.
A car went by slowly, its headlights catching them in their glare for a moment. He could imagine the picture they made. His clothes were soaked in blood, and Sara’s legs bore long scrapes from her impact on the sand when he’d tackled her. With the handcuffs linking them, they made an odd enough sight to alarm the most jaded driver. As the car passed by, Nick could only hope their strange appearance wasn’t reported to the police. Concocting a believable explanation for the local police would tax his dangerously thinned patience.
He reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a handful of change. Sara eyed him with familiar wariness in her eyes before picking through it for the proper amount. Then she turned her back on him and fed the coins into the slots. He listened silently as she called information, requesting the number for the Justice Department. He could have given her the number, could have, in fact, had the deputy chief on the phone in less than two minutes. But Nick remained silent. After what had gone down, she wasn’t going to trust any information that came from him.
She turned to look at him as she dialed the emergency number she’d been given. “Just give them your name and this number,” he directed her. “Tell them you want to speak to whoever is in charge of the Mannen case. Then hang up.”
She complied, and when she hung up the phone he opened the booth and stepped out.
“Now what do we do?”
“We’re going to sit here—” he led her to a nearby bench “—and wait for the call that will be coming in.” With a bit more gratitude than he’d like to admit, he eased down on the bench, pulling her down beside him. He wedged their hands behind them so the cuffs wouldn’t show.
“You’re bleeding.”
Because there was an odd note in her voice, he looked at her. “The wound reopened on the beach. It’s nothing to worry about. Just a scratch. Lucky for me you closed your eyes as you pulled the trigger.”
Her gaze narrowed. “I guess I’ll know better next time, won’t I?”
He gave a short, humorless laugh. “There won’t be a next time, chérie. I don’t make the same mistake twice.”
“Neither do I,” she said grimly.
He studied her, noted the shadows of fatigue under her eyes. No, he was certain she didn’t need to review the same lesson more than once. Was equally certain that whatever lessons she’d learned had been hard ones. But the realization wouldn’t be allowed to move him. He’d been selected for this job based at least in part on his renown for staying detached from the subject at hand. It was jarring, and not a little humbling, to find his famed objectivity less solid than usual around her.
Deliberately, he looked away. And willed the phone to ring.
When it did, fifteen excruciating minutes later, it interrupted a silence between them so thick it was suffocating. He trailed her to the booth, gestured for her to answer. And then watched her face as she spoke to the person on the other end. Nick could only hear her side of the conversation, but he thought he could imagine the gist of it.
“Yes,” she said. Her gaze went to him. “You sent him? Why?” Her face grew paler, although he hadn’t thought it possible. “You’ll have to excuse me for wanting to take my chances on my own. Your department doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence. I happen to know he’s been in contact with Mannen.” Whatever the man said to her then had her face losing what remained of its color. By the time she held the receiver out to Nick, her hand was visibly trembling.
“Whitmore?” As he spoke into the receiver, he kept his eyes on Sara. Although she was desperately trying to keep her reaction from showing, she was visibly shaken from her conversation.
“Congratulations on finding Parker.” Paul Whitmore’s voice was hearty. “I was beginning to worry when I didn’t hear from you. Tell me where you want to meet and I’ll send an agent to collect her.”
Nick kept his eyes trained on Sara’s face. She had her chin angled, her lips tightly pressed together. He was reminded of the way she’d looked last night, when she’d tried to kick him out of her room by putting a brave front on the nightmares that had so obviously shredded her control. The way she’d looked the first moment he’d hauled her out of the bed and into his arms.
“What do you have in mind for protection?”
There was a moment of silence. Then Whitmore said, “Don’t worry. She’ll be safe.”
“I don’t think she’s convinced of that.” Nick kept his voice mild.
“Well, convince her. We don’t have to worry about the leak in the department anymore.”
“Why is that?”
“He was found dead on the street outside his apartment today. Victim of a drive-by.” Nick could picture Whitmore shrugging. “May be a little convenient, but it solves a problem of ours.”
Nick went still, his mind racing. “Do you think so?”
“Listen, you still have another job to do. Tell us where she’s at and let us do ours.”
Sara raised her gaze to his and he couldn’t look away. There wasn’t pleading in her eyes—no, never that. But the go-to-hell expression she wore was its own kind of entreaty. One he was having difficulty resisting.
“I’ll call later.”
“Dammit, don’t hang up—”
With a curiously gentle movement Nick replaced the receiver. But he made no move to leave the phone booth. It seemed fitting somehow that the small space encapsulated them from the rest of the world.
“Whitmore is sending someone after me, isn’t he?”
“Is that what you want?”
Her jaw tightened. “None of this is what I want. It never has been.”
“It seems to me that you have a choice then.” Her attention jerked to his, held. “You’re afraid to take your chances with Justice. I can understand that. It was a leak in the department that led to your friends being killed.”
She squared her shoulders. “And my choice?”
He considered the words before he said them, so he couldn’t claim impulsivity. He’d never engaged in an impulsive act in his life. “Simple. You can trust Justice to keep you safe. Or…” He watched the way understanding flooded her face, even before he finished the sentence.
“…you can trust me.”
Chapter 6
“Trust you.” Sara’s laugh was bitter as she elbowed past him. She was in desperate need of the balmy fresh air outside the phone booth, and filled her lungs in a quick, greedy gulp. “You’re the last person I’d trust. Whitmore was a bit more forthcoming than you’ve been, you deceitful son of a bitch. You didn’t just happen to go to New Orleans for a family visit. You were trailing me.”
“Yes.”
The quietly spoken word hit her with the force of a punch. It wasn’t betrayal she felt. No, never that. The word implied trust broken, and trust had long been a luxury she c
ouldn’t afford. But there was no denying the shock, the anger and resentment that welled up violently enough to choke her. He’d played her for a fool. The knowledge roared through her veins, demanded release. “For how long?”
He didn’t pretend to misunderstand her. “Seven months.”
She stared at him, trying to put times and places in order. “Since Atlanta.”
Nick inclined his head. “Justice wanted you brought in. They’d tried before, but couldn’t find you. They knew Mannen had someone contracted on you, and that he’d come close a few years ago.”
Her gaze jerked to his. “I managed to get away, though, didn’t I? I don’t need you, I don’t need Justice. I’m safer on my own.”
“Mannen wants you dead, and it’s only a matter of time until he succeeds.” Nick’s words were no more than the truth, so his stark pronouncement shouldn’t have had the power to chill her skin. “Want to know how he got so close, Sara? How I managed to track you after seven months? You were good, chérie. Better than I imagined you could be, a kid frightened out of her wits. But you didn’t cut all your ties to your old life. And that ended up almost getting you killed.”
“You’re wrong.” The statement sounded as though it was pulled from somewhere deep inside her. “I don’t have any ties.”
“Not even to an old lady living in an Illinois nursing home?”
When he placed his hand on her back, tried to guide her to the car, she yanked away from his touch, putting as much distance between them as the cuffs would allow. “I was careful. I only sent Sean’s grandmother the flowers by FTD, and always right before I left a town. There was no way…” Realization flooded through her; tension spiked into her limbs. “That time in Arizona…I’d gotten sick.” She stopped, suddenly remembering who she was talking to. She didn’t owe Nick Doucet anything, least of all an explanation. But she was certain he had already guessed the rest. She’d stayed a couple days longer than she should have, and Mannen’s hired gun had tracked her through the flower order.
The way Nick himself had done.
Her voice was nearly inaudible. “I never made that mistake again.”
“You didn’t need to.” He started toward the car, and she had no choice but to follow. “This time they hired me.”
“But you weren’t the only one to track me down, were you?” Now that she knew how she’d given her location away, she would never make that mistake again. Which meant, of course, that she really would have to cut that one final tie. The wave of desolation that swept over her then was as sudden as it was surprising. Ridiculous, really, that the token gesture had come to mean so much.
“Actually, I was the only one to track you to New Orleans.”
Something in Nick’s tone drew her attention. He’d inserted the key in the ignition, but he hadn’t turned it on. Not yet.
“I’m not so sure you didn’t lead the hit man right to me. He may have…” Comprehension slammed into her then, leaving her speechless as the awful realization bloomed. Her gaze swung to his, and she saw the truth on his face.
“You were never really in danger….”
That’s all he got out, because in the next instant she launched herself at him. Using her free hand, she raked at his eyes, balled her other fist and swung at him. “You set it up! The whole thing!” His arm went around her, the simplest way to subdue her. But that didn’t stop her from slamming her head back, connecting with his chin. She felt no measure of satisfaction at the contact. There was room inside her for nothing but the bubbling fury.
“Just listen—”
She wouldn’t stay still, maintaining her struggle until Nick used his weight to push her down to the seat, pin her there. “Listen to me, Sara!”
She glared murderously up at him. “Listen to more of your lies? I don’t need to. I’m getting a good idea how your evil mind works. The gunman was yours, wasn’t he?”
“I know the experience terrified you.” His face was close, too close, to hers. “I’m sorry for that. But I needed to gain your trust quickly.”
“And since I didn’t fall right into bed with you, getting someone to pretend to kill me seemed the next logical step.” She tried to wedge her elbows between them, but he was unmovable.
“My gun was firing blanks.” He delivered the explanation dispassionately. “My associate had a device rigged under the slicker, complete with a fake blood packet to make it look realistic. I know it was frightening for you, but you’ll never have to see the man again. He left the country, for good.”
“Whose idea was this elaborate ruse, Whitmore’s?”
“No.” Nick gave a short laugh, one devoid of amusement. “His idea was to snatch you off the street and keep you drugged until you were delivered to Justice.”
Anger, frustration at her sheer helplessness, clogged her throat. She’d sworn long ago to never be helpless again. But it had been an empty vow. That was never clearer than at this moment. A sudden thought struck her. “What about Chatfield? Was he working with you?”
Nick shook his head. “I couldn’t afford to involve anyone else.”
Bitterness sounded in her words. “So I’m not the only one you lied to.”
“Not everything was a lie.” Temper snapped in his voice as he shoved his face closer to hers. “I had no way of summoning that storm, did I? No way of knowing we’d take shelter in that doorway.”
Futilely, she heaved beneath him, attempting to dislodge him and the insidious memories his words had summoned. “That only makes me hate you more.”
His smile was humorless. “Hate me all you want. But just remember, I’m at least offering you a choice about your immediate future. That’s a lot more than Justice wanted to give you.”
The ride back to his house was accomplished in silence. Her mind was reeling with plans for escape, half formed, only to be discarded as she seized on another. Nick caught her gaze as he parked the vehicle in the driveway in front of his house. “You don’t have much time to make your decision. I’m sure Whitmore already has a locator trace on that number. He won’t wait long. If he doesn’t hear from me he’ll just dispatch a couple agents to come after you.”
Although his tone was dispassionate, or maybe because of it, her temper fired. “You’ll have to excuse me if the decision takes some thought. It’s only my life at stake.”
“Yes. The question is, who do you trust to keep you alive?”
Under the circumstances, his words were unfortunate. “I don’t trust anyone.”
“Good. You’re less likely to be unpleasantly surprised that way.”
He opened the car door, and she had no choice but to slide across the seat to follow him out, and up to the house. The night air was warm, but didn’t chase away the chill caused by his words. He couldn’t have told her more plainly how foolish she’d be to trust him. As if she needed the reminder.
Because the cuffs gave her no choice, she trailed beside him as he entered his office, picked up the phone. A frigid block of ice settled in her chest, but it didn’t prevent her from observing how he kept his body between her and the desk. The distrust wasn’t all one-sided, though she couldn’t bring herself to care. In light of his recent revelations, she’d shoot the man again, given a chance.
But shock jerked her attention away from her hopeless situation when he spoke into the phone. “It’s me. Get the plane ready. I’m not sure when I’ll be there.”
As she watched, he placed the receiver in its cradle before heading out of the room and up the stairs, dragging her with him.
“So much for leaving the choice to me,” she muttered.
He slid a glance at her. “I leave tonight, with or without you. The first part of my job is over.” From his tone it sounded as though he didn’t care which decision she arrived at. Striding through his bedroom, he pulled her past the huge bed that dominated the room, and into the adjoining bathroom. Flipping on the light switch, he began unbuttoning his shirt.
Her gaze arrowed to his side. He’d ban
daged the wound earlier that day, but the dressing was soaked with a rapidly spreading scarlet stain. “Wet that washcloth, will you?”
With effort, she pulled her gaze away and focused on the dark green washcloth he indicated. Removing it from the towel bar, she focused her attention on soaking it thoroughly. She could hear him releasing the tape securing the bandage, and damned her stomach, which was swimming with rising nausea. It certainly wasn’t caused by regrets. She’d done what she had to do. Given what she’d just found out about him, he was lucky she didn’t have a gun right now.
Handing the wet cloth to him, she was unable to prevent herself from staring, transfixed, as he used it to staunch the sullen ooze of blood.
“Not feeling remorseful, are you?”
She firmed her lips, looked away. “No.”
“Good.” Her attention snapped back to him at the blunt pronouncement, and his dark gaze met her own. “You thought you were fighting for your life. At times like those you can’t afford to be distracted by worrying about your adversary.” A corner of his mouth lifted. “Your instincts were right. Someone with less training might have gone down. You should have moved away after delivering the blow, though. You lost your advantage by allowing me to grab your weapon.”
“I’ll remember that next time.”
Her tart tone seemed wasted on him. “See that you do.”
At his direction, she helped fashion a fresh dressing, and they worked in awkward tandem fixing it over the wound. Almost immediately a small red stain appeared on it. Nick didn’t seem to notice. He pulled her into the bedroom, fishing in his pants pocket and withdrawing the key to the handcuffs. He freed himself, then handed the key to her. While she worked at unlocking the cuff, he swiftly changed shirts.
