When I Find You: A Trust No One Novel

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When I Find You: A Trust No One Novel Page 6

by Brown, Dixie Lee


  She nodded and looked at the ground. “Is Johnny dead?”

  “That seems to be the general consensus, but they haven’t found his body.”

  “I should have done something to help him. He might be alive if I wasn’t such a coward.” Guilt stole her breath as she whispered the words that haunted her.

  “If the rumors are true, it was a professional hit. There wasn’t anything you could have done. You did the right thing getting out of there. I think Johnny would have wanted you to live. Don’t you?”

  That’s exactly how Johnny was . . . trying to protect her when he was the one in danger. She blinked back tears, refusing to give in to them. “Thanks for trying to make me feel better. I didn’t think you’d be so nice.” She frowned when she slurred her words. Then she groaned and pressed her hand over her mouth as the meaning of her last comment became clear to her.

  Amusement shone from his eyes as he chuckled. “I tried to tell you . . . right before you took a tree limb to my head. And just for the record, I don’t ogle.”

  A laugh burst from her lips, and she felt strangely giddy. Was it the booze? It was certainly having a strange effect on her. Was the alcohol making her feel safe with him? Was it another mistake that might be her last? Somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to care.

  “Are Gwen and the boys all right?”

  “They’re in protective custody.”

  “Will I be able to see them?”

  “That’ll be up to the marshals. They’ll want you to testify, and they’ll probably offer you just about anything you want to make that happen, including the witness protection program.”

  “You mean a new identity? I’d have to leave everyone I know . . . and I wouldn’t get to see the boys again.”

  “They’ll try to pressure you into testifying, but they can’t make you do anything you don’t want to do. Let’s worry about getting out of here and someplace safe first. Then you can decide what you want to do.”

  If Johnny was indeed dead, testifying would bring his murderer to justice. She had to do it, but how could she give up her life and the few people she was close to? What was the right thing to do? She didn’t know how to make a decision like that. Would the marshals talk her into something that wasn’t in her best interest just to get what they wanted? Of course they would.

  She needed to think, and she could always think better on her feet. She chewed her lower lip as she shoved herself forward and tried to stand. A wave of dizziness pulled her sideways instead. The man slipped his arm around her waist and lowered her carefully back to the ground. She leaned against him, holding her breath until the swirling nausea faded.

  She snuggled into the warmth of him, knowing it was the Scotch that made her lay her head on his shoulder . . . aware it was wrong and, quite possibly, dangerous . . . but she simply didn’t care about anything but the safety he offered.

  “You don’t have to decide anything right now. Let’s just get through the night before you take on the world.”

  His voice calmed her, and suddenly she didn’t feel so alone. She raised her head to search his eyes and the caution in them confused her, but she had to ask and pressed on before she lost her nerve. “I know it’s not your problem, but will you help me think it through when the time comes?”

  His expression softened as his gaze held hers. “I’ll do what I can.”

  Why his words filled her with so much relief and hope was something she would ask herself later. She was too tired right now, and it was quite possible her brain was muddled by the Scotch. She smiled, then tucked her head beneath his chin and closed her eyes.

  A WARNING BELL went off in Walker’s head. When he worked, he followed certain self-imposed rules. Don’t do more than the job calls for. Don’t offer advice. Don’t get involved. There were more, but those were the three he seemed powerless to keep from violating at the moment. She was in more trouble than she was aware of, but that wasn’t the reason he’d agreed to help her. He couldn’t seem to squelch the overriding need to protect her, even knowing nothing good could possibly come from it, and it would very likely get him in trouble with the marshals—and Joe.

  Her body fit just right pressed against his, and she smelled so damn good, even after taking a dip in the river and then sitting beside a campfire. That little half smile she wore on her full lips as she dozed had him wondering what they tasted like. Walker pushed those thoughts away angrily. What the hell was he thinking? He was headed down a rocky path and should know better. He could keep Darcy safe and still do his job objectively. He’d always managed before.

  But his job had never been Darcy. There was something about her. The way she kept going on determination alone. The way she worried about others when she was the one in danger. She was a sweet and naïve young woman. He had no business having any thoughts about her, except how to get her out of here alive.

  His chest and side where she leaned were warm and it was comfortable having her there, drifting in and out of sleep. When he pushed her away from him and half-rose to tend the fire before it went out, she moaned her protest.

  “No, stay . . .” She clung to him, twisting her hands into the fabric of his shirt.

  He sat back down and began to gently extricate himself from her grasp. “The fire’s going out. Let me take care of it and I’ll come back and be your pillow.”

  “Were you . . . trying to get me . . . drunk? Cuz . . . I think it worked.” She snorted a laugh.

  Her words slurred badly and Walker smiled. He’d given her the Scotch to warm and relax her. Clearly, he’d let her drink too much. “Hell, I didn’t even have to try.”

  “I don’t know your name.”

  “Walker.” He worked one of her hands free and started on the other one, but she grabbed another handful of shirt as she studied him.

  “That’s a last name. What’s your first name?”

  “It’s just Walker.”

  “I can’t call you by your last name without a Mr. attached—Mr. Walker.”

  “No problem. That’ll work.” He frowned as his gaze lingered on her lips. “It might even remind me how sweet and innocent you are so I stop thinking about . . .” He swore under his breath and tore his gaze away from her face. Shit! Way to let his mouth run unattended. Why was he letting this girl get to him?

  “Thinking about what?” She studied him curiously, then drew in a sharp breath. “You want to kiss me. That’s it—isn’t it?”

  She really was drunk, and she’d either not remember this conversation in the morning or be mortified, but for right now, a little fear of God was in order for her protection. He tugged gently on a strand of her hair. “A kiss is only a small part of what I had in mind.”

  Her eyes widened. That was the effect he wanted. The extent of his lechery would make it clear how dangerous he was, and self-preservation should kick in and keep her at a safe distance. Should have—but his innuendo didn’t seem to faze her.

  Her smile broadened. “How old are you? Twenty-nine? Thirty? I’m twenty-four. I might be innocent, but I’m old enough to be kissed . . . I think. Although it’s been a long time. I might not remember how. Or maybe high school kisses don’t even count in the grown-up world.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” His eyes met hers and the sadness that swept across her face assured him it was true. How in the hell could that be?

  She released her hold on his shirt and tried to smooth out the wrinkles she’d made. As she ran her fingers down his chest, every muscle in his body tightened in response, and blood rushed to places he’d just as soon not have to deal with right now. His breath caught and he snatched her hands away more roughly than he’d intended. Holy hell. She was playing with fire. What she didn’t know was the fire was about to get away from him. His fingers encircled her wrists and held her when she tried to pull away. For a moment, he wanted to kiss her . . . more than anything he’d wanted in a long time. It wouldn’t be enough. He wouldn’t stop at just a kiss. Was it lust in her eyes? Or di
d fear quicken her breath and cause her chest to rise and fall in uneven gasps?

  He forced himself to breathe deeply, the chill night air cooling the fire in his blood. He wasn’t so much older than her in years, but in experience they were worlds apart. He was jaded and cynical. She was idealistic and innocent. His gaze met hers again as he released her wrists and got to his feet.

  “I’m thirty-three.” He turned toward the fire.

  “Oh, I understand your hesitation . . . you being over thirty and all.” Laughter burst from her lips even though she clamped a hand over her mouth in an effort to contain it.

  “I’ll get some more wood. You should sleep.” He escaped, grateful for the darkness beyond the campfire. Damn it. His body’s reaction to her had been swift and undeniable. It surprised him and he almost hadn’t caught himself in time. How a grown man kissed a woman probably wasn’t on his list of things to pass along to this girl. His boss would blow a gasket if he thought Walker sullied the cargo he was supposed to intercept.

  He drew in another deep breath and breathed out the last of the tension from his body. Now that he knew what to guard against, he could do this. Just do the job—get the girl someplace safe and turn her over to the U.S. marshals. He collected an armload of dry limbs and turned back toward the fire.

  Darcy didn’t move when he walked back into the camp or when he dropped his wood near the fire. Leaning back against the rock, his coat pulled up to her chin, she slept huddled within its folds, her neck bent at an angle that couldn’t possibly be comfortable. She was slender and petite, no more than five foot four. His coat hid everything else except her shapely legs. Her windblown hair fell about her face, now streaked with dirt, and her lips continued to hold that half smile as she slept. Earlier, right before the tree branch she swung connected with his head, he’d been mesmerized by her beautiful eyes. When she laughed a few minutes ago, dimples appeared in her cheeks. It was the tear tracks through the dirt on her face that undid him, though. The protectiveness surged to the forefront, followed by anger at the man who had put her in danger.

  He sat carefully beside her and tugged her toward him until her head again rested on his shoulder. She didn’t wake. The Scotch had evidently worked its magic, allowing her to forget the events of the day long enough to fall soundly asleep. She needed her rest.

  That Grant guy must have caught up with her and boarded the plane in Chicago. To put a hit on her so fast had to mean DeLuca was dead serious. Walker glanced at her as she slept peacefully against his chest. He tightened his arm around her as fierce possessiveness engulfed him. Then, shaking his head at his foolishness, he turned away and fixed his eyes on the fire. She was one hell of a strong young woman. Hopefully the courage and determination she’d exhibited today, that had kept him walking around in circles half the night, wouldn’t desert her now. He’d bet money she’d need all of that and more in the days to come. DeLuca didn’t strike Walker as a man who gave up easily.

  Chapter Four

  * * *

  DARCY JERKED AWAKE to the piercing scream of a hawk overhead, and her eyes flew open only to scrunch tightly shut again, blocking out the brilliant morning sun. Blood-red dots put on a dizzying display on the inside of her eyelids, keeping time to the hammer that pounded a steady rhythm in her brain, what was left of it. Any minute now she’d remember where she was and figure out how she got here . . . and why. Curled on the hard ground with something lumpy under her head, she lay perfectly still and prayed the bits and pieces of memory slowly returning were only part of some dream. When she cracked her eyes open again for a few seconds, she was still lying with her back against a hard stone wall in a small clearing surrounded by trees. The acrid smell of smoke came from the nearly burned-out campfire they’d warmed themselves by last night.

  Her eyes flew wide again. They? A man—the stranger who pulled her from the water. Walker. Her gaze swept the clearing. Where was he? Did he leave her? Every muscle in her body cried out in protest as she pushed herself up on her good arm. Her head throbbed and her stomach lurched ominously. She groaned and lay back, squeezing her eyes shut, and waited for the world to stop spinning.

  “Take these.”

  She opened her eyes.

  He handed her two liquid-filled tablets and a metal container full of water.

  She downed the pills without argument, ignoring the commonsense warning telling her that was reckless, and lay down flat again, trying not to move any more than she had to.

  “It’ll pass.” He reached to steady the container just as water sloshed over her hand.

  “If I don’t die first.” Darcy ground out the words, determined she wouldn’t throw up in front of him.

  “Trust me—if you died from a hangover, I’d have been dead a long time ago.”

  Darcy groaned again and threw one arm over her eyes to shield them from the sun. Snippets of memories from last night plagued her. Giggling like a schoolgirl. Clinging to him while confessing her lack of experience with men—which wasn’t technically true but might as well be. The pleasant warmth of him against her while she slept.

  “Oh God.” Her cheeks burned.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I suppose you’re going to tell me I can’t die from humiliation either.”

  She cringed when he laughed. He was enjoying her embarrassment. It was probably payback for cracking his head open.

  “That will pass too. Don’t worry . . . you and I are the only ones who know what was said here last night, and if it makes you feel any better, I promise I won’t get you drunk again.”

  She bet he wouldn’t, after the way she’d pushed herself on him. He probably couldn’t wait to see the last of her. That was all right with her, but if she was going to face him long enough to walk out of here, she had to apologize and set things right.

  “I don’t usually let everything I think come out of my mouth. I barely know you, and it was wrong to put you in that position. I’m sorry.”

  “What position?” His lips trembled slightly as though he tried not to laugh.

  Good grief. Couldn’t the guy just accept her apology? Did she have to relive the whole thing? Her personal life was none of his business. Of course, she probably should have thought about that before she spouted off last night. Anyway, why should she be embarrassed because she’d chosen a life of solitude rather than take a chance on the wrong person again? She’d learned her lesson well, and it certainly didn’t matter what this man thought of her.

  “I . . . I’m not usually so . . . forward and, even though it was due to your Scotch, it was inexcusable.” Darcy moved her arm from her eyes and met his gaze. “I hope we can get past this.”

  He watched her with a mixture of amusement and something else she couldn’t discern. “No worries. Booze has played a role in more than a few inexcusable acts of my own. Something tells me mine are worse than yours.” He threw her a wink.

  “We’re good then?”

  “Better than good. As soon as you feel up to it, we can get out of here.” Walker stood and went to kick apart the wood and embers in what was left of the fire, then shoveled dirt over it using a piece of dried bark.

  Darcy pushed herself up and waited for her stomach to settle before she climbed to her feet. Thankfully, her headache was almost gone and she was only a tad dizzy. After a minute, she walked toward the fire to help Walker. He handed her the water bottle instead.

  “Drink—lots. You’re probably dehydrated from yesterday and the alcohol didn’t help . . . and you’ll want to get dressed.” He jerked his head toward her clothes hanging on a nearby branch. “I’ll try not to look.”

  Darcy eyed him as she accepted the water bottle and took a swallow. He couldn’t seriously think she’d dress in front of him. Retrieving her clothes, she looked around for any kind of cover and saw a stand of young evergreen trees about fifty feet away. His gaze must have followed hers.

  “You’re right not to trust me—I probably would look.” Laughter warmed his voice.


  She glanced at him, her throat and cheeks flushing with heat. His lips twitched, and he cleared his throat. He was obviously enjoying himself at her expense. Why not? She’d given him plenty to laugh about.

  He nodded toward the stand of trees. “I’ll keep a sharp eye out for any sign of trouble.”

  She took her clothes and the water bottle and trudged the fifty feet, feeling his gaze follow her all the way. Humor had softened his otherwise hard features, and although she had no reason for her theory, she wanted to believe that this was the real Walker. As she dressed, she tried to figure out what it was about him that made her feel protected and safe when he was so clearly a dangerous man. Was it simply the circumstances? Certainly, she needed help. Was it foolish to put that much trust in a man she barely knew? Maybe . . . but Darcy did trust him. For reasons beyond her understanding, she had complete faith in this man who wouldn’t even tell her his first name. What was up with that, anyway?

  The fire was out and he was ready with his pack slung over his shoulder by the time she got back. She handed him his coat.

  He accepted it and held it open for her. “I’ll take it back when you don’t need it anymore.”

  Darcy hesitated only a second before she slipped back into the coat’s warmth.

  “Don’t try to be a martyr this time. Let me know if you need to stop and rest.” He held her gaze until she nodded, then started walking at a moderate pace.

  Darcy caught up and walked beside him. “Do you do this often—rescue damsels in distress?”

  “Rarely. My boss usually sends someone with a little more finesse when there’s a lady involved.”

  “Why?”

  “I can be a little intense.”

  “I hadn’t noticed.” She grinned when he rolled his eyes. “Why is that a bad thing?”

  “It’s not necessarily bad. It’s just that some women get a little excitable in situations where they’re being shot at or threatened. I’m not good at excitable.”

 

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