Shattered Vows

by Maggie Price

  “Let me worry about her. You concentrate on me.”

  “Okay.” She took a sip of tonic. “So, professor, in addition to doing oil-field work, do you teach?”

  “You bet.” He fingered the compact while his eyes stayed on hers. “You want to sign up for one of my classes?” The low, seductive drop in his voice sent a loud-and-clear message about the subject of the lesson.

  “Maybe.” Just the thought of him putting his hands all over her brought on the rusty edge of revulsion. “Maybe not.”

  “It’s too bad I’ve got plans later or we could start your lessons now. You going to be here tomorrow night?”

  “I’ve got a busy schedule, sugar. I’ll have to check my calendar.”

  Chuckling, he bounced the compact in one hand, as if weighing it. The crow tattoo looked like it was in flight.

  “You want to play hard to get, dollface, that’s okay with me. I’m a man who savors a challenge. Something tells me you and I are going to get along really well. Become intimate friends.”

  “We’ll just have to see.” She tilted her head. “I’m a cautious girl. I like to take things nice and slow while I’m getting to know a man.”

  “I do slow really well.” When he laid the compact in her palm, he let his fingertips linger against her wrist. “All-night-long slow. By the time I’m done with you, dollface, you’ll be melting like ice cream in August.”

  “Oh my.” The nerves she’d held back began to drum. She’d never wanted to escape so badly in her life. And under the thunder of her heart she realized it was Bran she wanted to escape to.

  With the thought too unsettling on too many levels, she forced it away.

  Careful not to touch the fingerprints the professor had left on the compact’s surface, she tilted her palm and let it drop into her purse. “Sugar, you sure know how to get a woman’s attention.”

  He leaned in. “I know a lot of things, dollface. That’s one reason they call me the professor.”

  Chapter 12

  Bleary-eyed, Bran sat up in bed the following morning, sheet and blankets rumpled around his waist. Mood surly, he stabbed a hand through his hair, sure in the knowledge that no human being could toss and turn more than he had throughout the night.

  His brain had simply refused to shut down.

  One reason was the hit they’d gotten on the prints off Tory’s compact. Wynn Yale, aka Harry Smith, aka the professor. Bran figured the latter alias evolved because the guy had the same last name as the Connecticut university. Go figure.

  On Nate’s to-do list was finding out how Yale had managed to get a legitimate Oklahoma driver’s license in the name of Harry Smith.

  Of more importance was the background check on Yale that turned up a ten-year-old arrest for assault when a disagreement in a Houston, Texas, bar got out of hand. Yale had been arrested with a pal—Vic Heath.

  That decade-old arrest was the first firm link the cops had between the two men, other than the crow tattoo.

  Unfortunately, Yale had not led them to the escaped killer last night after he left Chappell’s. The undercover teams that tailed his Harley from the club had reported Yale drove directly to the apartment of the blond waitress, Kandy Krutchfield. To ensure that Heath wasn’t holed up inside, an Intel Unit cop affixed listening gear to one wall of Krutchfield’s apartment. The only voices heard had been Yale and Krutchfield’s.

  Aware of the distant hum of the furnace as it kicked on, Bran glanced at his cell phone on the nightstand. Since he hadn’t gotten a follow-up call from Nate, he figured nothing else of note had gone down.

  Propping his back against the headboard, he scrubbed a hand over his stubbled jaw. The dreary rays of weak winter light seeping around the curtain matched his mood. To himself he would admit it wasn’t just Yale’s link to Heath that had interfered with his sleep. It was the realization that had closed in on him while he sat at Chappell’s: he’d lost control over a very big segment of his personal life. Even if he wanted to fight for his slinky, sexy P.I. wife, she had pronounced their relationship dead. Tory was lost to him.

  Totally.

  He felt the hurt, the anger, the bone-searing frustration starting to brew in his belly.

  Had she felt like this when he walked out, he wondered? Was this what he’d done to her? Had he left her feeling hollow? Helpless? Lost?

  Muttering an expletive, he shoved off the sheet and blankets and rose. At that same instant the scent of bacon drifted in through the heater’s vent.

  He clipped the cell phone to the waist of his gray sweat-pants, then pulled on a sweatshirt. Since the only other occupant of the safe house didn’t cook, he stalked out of his bedroom and headed down the hallway to check things out.

  Pausing in the doorway to the small, tidy kitchen, he felt the emotion already brewing in his gut begin to churn when he spotted Tory. Having coerced one of his sisters to replace the silk nightgown and robe for more “practical” clothing, she wore a sleek black sweater and sexy black leggings that made her legs look eternally long. A clip anchored her blond hair into a ponytail that wove its way down her spine.

  Her back to the door, she stood at the stove, muttering to herself while she used a dinner fork to prod strips of bacon around a skillet.

  Burning bacon.

  Striding barefoot across cold linoleum, he reached around her, flipped off the burner.

  She yelped as if he’d scalded her.

  “Fire’s too high.”

  With a hot pad clutched in one hand, she aimed the fork at him like a weapon at the ready. “Good grief, don’t sneak up on me like that.”

  “Just trying to prevent a grease fire.”

  She looked down at the skillet, then huffed out a breath. “One minute the bacon’s fine, the next it’s cremated.”

  “Like I said, you had the fire too high. What the hell are you doing trying to cook anyway?”

  “Temporary insanity.” She stabbed a strip with the fork, slapped it onto a plate covered with a paper towel. “I thought you might want breakfast.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

  “It’s the healthiest meal of the day.”

  “So I’ve been told.” He wondered dourly if the talk she’d had with his mother the previous day encompassed some sort of scheme to get him to eat more healthily.

  Tory glanced across her shoulder while she continued shifting charred bacon from skillet to plate. “I could scramble some eggs. Try to anyway.”

  He moved to the opposite counter and poured himself a mug of coffee. “Pass.”

  “There’s cereal. Even I can manage that.”

  He studied her over the rim of his mug. Even when they were first married she’d never tried to cook. What the hell was going on? “If I want something, I’ll fix it myself.”

  “Fine.” She slammed the fork on the counter, then spun to face him. “So, is this how it’s going to be, McCall? For the remainder of the time we’re trapped in this house together?”

  “Is this how what’s going to be?”

  “You sulking. Giving me the cold shoulder.”

  She took a step toward him, temper and nerves rushing across her face. For the first time he noted the smudges of weariness under her eyes. She didn’t just look tired. She looked worn. He wanted to touch her so much that his fingers ached from it.

  “Acting surly,” she continued. “You’ve been this way for days.”

  “Excuse the hell out of me for my bad manners. You told me our marriage was over, that the only interest you have in me is to use me for sex. That you no longer trust me. You think that’s easy for me to deal with? Think again. I’m as fed up as you apparently are with this entire situation. Problem is, this is the best I can do until we get out of here and end things.”

  Her fingers clenched on the hot pad she still held. “So, you’re going to sign the divorce papers?”

  “You keep hammering it into my head how wrong we are for each other. So, maybe I’ve come around to your way of thinki
ng. Yeah, I’ll sign the damn papers and be done with it.” He had to keep a grip on his emotions or his heart was going to crack right there. “You can go buy that condo. Purchase furniture that suits you. Hook up with someone who makes you happy.” Just the thought of her spending the rest of her life with another man made him want to tear steel with his teeth.

  Standing stock-still, she stared at him, her green eyes dark with emotion.

  “Why are you looking at me like I just slugged you?” Frustration had him biting out the words. “That’s what you’ve wanted all along. For me to sign those papers.”

  “It was.” She lobbed the hot pad onto the counter. “Then Heath decided to screw with our lives and here you and I are together.”

  “There’s not a lot I can do about that.”

  “And I can’t seem to do a lot about the fact I don’t know what I want anymore.” She jerked the clip out of her hair, sending a cascade of blond waves over her shoulders. “I’ve been up all night, pacing. Around dawn I decided if I could find something to do that maybe some answers would come to me. Since I’ve cleaned my gun about ten times since we’ve been here, I couldn’t bring myself to do it again. The only other activity option around this place is cooking, so that’s what I did. I cooked! That ought to tell you I don’t have a clue what I’m doing.” She sent him a scalding look. “Are you happy now, McCall?”

  For an instant, fugitive hope reared its head, but he beat it back. Just because the woman was confused didn’t mean anything. You have lost me, Bran. She had sounded pretty damn sure of herself the other night. Absolutely confident, in fact.

  If pride was all that was left to him, then he would protect it fiercely.

  “I assure you, I won’t be happy until this entire mess is settled.” He set his mug on the counter with a snap. “You got quiet yesterday after we left the seamstress’s house. I caught you a couple of times giving me some sort of look. Does your sudden…confusion have something to do with what you and my mother talked about?”

  She flexed her fingers then curled them into her palms. “Roma said some things that started me thinking. That made me look at things in a way I hadn’t before. She made me realize I’m not sure how I feel.”

  “About?”

  “Us.”

  His eyes stayed steady on hers. “What about us?”

  “I don’t know. What I think. What I feel. It’s all just knotted inside me.”

  Because his hands had gone unsteady, he crossed his arms over his chest. With Patience, he’d never felt like he was in over his head. That’s how he’d felt from day one with the woman who stood watching him with turbulent eyes. And he was pretty sure he was never going to surface again.

  “All right,” he said after a moment. “All right, here’s the message I’m getting. You aren’t sure how you feel about us. No longer certain you want me to sign the divorce papers. Am I right?”

  “Yes.” She shoved her hair behind her shoulders. “I think so.”

  He felt the first tingle of relief loosen the fist around his heart. Still, he frowned. He had never seen her so unsure of herself. He had never felt so unsure of himself. “Where do you suggest we go from here?”

  She turned a little so she was no longer facing him. “What if I decide I want…”

  There was something in her voice that put a hitch under his ribs. “That you want what?” he asked, forcing his voice and his expression to remain neutral.

  She only shook her head. When she shifted her gaze back to his, he saw wariness, touched with heat, flicker in her eyes. “I’m not playing games, Bran. Or trying to drive you crazy. I’m just not sure if what we once had is salvageable.”

  He said nothing for a moment, his eyes on hers. “Do you want it to be?”

  “What I want is for us to stop hurting each other. The other night when I told you if we slept together it wouldn’t mean anything to me, that wasn’t true. I knew that, but I still said it. I saw in your eyes how it hurt you. And I’m sorry.” She wrapped her arms around her waist. “It was just a way to protect myself. Because if I do sleep with you again, it will mean so much more.”

  “For me, too.”

  “I just don’t know if I’m brave enough to take that risk.”

  “Tory—” He was just about to reach for her when his cell phone chimed. Which he figured was perfect timing since he wasn’t at all sure that touching her right this minute was the best thing to do.

  While Bran answered the call, Tory turned, moved to the sink and stared out the slatted blind at the gray winter morning. The throb that had stayed in her head throughout the night had settled down to a weary drumbeat.

  Had she actually been going to tell him she wanted to make a try at staying married? she thought with a quick flutter of panic. Had she been going to say the words before they had fully registered in her mind? Before she was sure that was what she truly wanted? Before she knew if it was possible for her ever to trust him again to stay when times got bad?

  She drew in a shuddering breath. She’d been so sure a divorce was what she wanted. So positive it was the best—only—way to go that she’d felt no doubt when she’d told her lawyer to draw up the papers.

  Then she’d talked to Roma yesterday.

  And spent the entire night awake with her mother-in-law’s comments running through her head while she tried to analyze her confusing emotions. The cold light of dawn had brought with it the realization that she couldn’t say for sure her only motive for serving him with the papers had been to get Bran out of her life. Maybe, just maybe she’d done it to break the three months of silence that had existed between them after he’d left. Perhaps she wanted to get his attention. End their stalemate.

  Her heart thumped while Roma’s words tape-looped in her brain. I saw how the two of you were together before the problems started crowding in. It was obvious how much you loved each other.

  What if, despite everything else, they still loved each other? Love wouldn’t change who they were—two headstrong people who’d been unable to make a go of their marriage the first time around. There were no guarantees about a rematch. She already knew what it was like to be without Bran. She had survived his leaving once, and she in no way wanted to subject her battered heart to that kind of pain again.

  “They came back? Why the hell did they come back?”

  The hard edge in his voice as he spoke into the phone broke through her thoughts. She swivelled, her eyes widening when she took him in. His shoulders were stiff, his free hand fisted against his thigh. His face was a pale contrast to the dark murder in his eyes.

  “Yeah.” His mouth thinned while he listened to the caller. “Get back to me,” he said a few moments later.

  She stepped to him when he clicked off the phone. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

  “Drew Unsell, the wife of one of the cops from the credit-union shootout. Remember she lost a filling and left work right before Heath showed up there?”

  Tory nodded. “You said she and her husband went to Hawaii.”

  “They flew back.” She saw the unsteadiness in the hand Bran shoved through his hair. “This morning.”

  “Why? Why did they come back before Heath got caught?”

  “Because they thought he had been caught. Unsell swears Captain Everett called and told him we had Heath. That the coast was clear.”

  “What happened?”

  “They got off the plane here and Drew stopped at a rest room. Nate said it was packed at the time, a line of women waiting. Drew made it into a stall. That’s where they found her, with a stab wound to one kidney.”

  A solid wall of emotion slammed through Tory. “Is she….”

  “They had her in surgery. She died on the table.” He swore viciously. Then again, quietly. “No one saw anything. Nate thinks whoever stabbed her tailed close behind her to the stall, stabbed her right as she was going in, then shut the door. You had the noise of toilets flushing, water running, women talking. A couple of women who came
in on the same flight remember that some baby getting its diaper changed was throwing a tantrum while they were in the rest room. If Drew screamed, no one heard her.”

  Tory tried to force away her shock. Tried to think. “The killer had to have been a woman. Or a man in one hell of a good disguise.”

  “Yeah.”

  “How did the killer get the knife through security screening?”

  “Nate doesn’t know. I once arrested a guy who was carrying around a knife he’d honed from the snout of a marlin. The thing was about four inches long and as sharp as any metal blade. It’s like bone, so a metal detector wouldn’t get a hit off it. Something like that could have been used to kill Unsell.”

  “So, who made the call to her husband?” Tory asked. “Who knew where they were in Hawaii? Who could have sounded like the captain enough to fool one of the cops who works for him? Who would have been able to find out when they were coming back?”

  “All good questions. All unanswered as of now.”

  “What about Wynn Yale? The professor?” She didn’t even want to think about the possibility that the man who’d had his hands on her last night had stabbed a woman only hours later.

  Bran shook his head. “The cop sitting on the apartment said he and Kandy stayed there all night. They’re still there.”

  “There’s one woman associated with Heath who’s unaccounted for,” Tory pointed out. “His girlfriend.”

  “Leah Quest. Nate’s got a uniform showing pictures of her at the airport to see if anyone remembers seeing her there this morning. So far, nothing.”

  “She changed into a disguise in that department-store dressing room to lose the cops. If she did the murder this morning, she was probably in disguise again.”

  “Yeah.” Bran fisted his hands and looked into her eyes. “You might as well hear the rest. The killer left a note on Drew Unsell’s body. It said ‘Three of four.’”

  Awareness rose inside Tory like a floodtide, lapping at the back of her throat.

  She was the only one left.

  The only spouse of the cops still alive. Four of four.