Finally, Will ended the call, traded some brief parting words with the sheriff, and came to stand in front of her.
“Ready?”
“Ready.”
She had no idea what she was ready for, beyond getting out of this dustbowl they’d been stranded in. She followed him to the Suburban and gratefully climbed inside.
“Where to?” she asked, when he was behind the wheel.
“Home.”
Nine hours of driving. Was he out of his mind?
Her gaze skimmed over the three-day beard, the dirty jeans, and too-tight Red Raiders T-shirt that was an apparent loaner from some sheriff’s deputy, and decided he was.
But for once, she didn’t feel like arguing. She settled her cheek against the window and watched the flatlands glide by. She fell asleep.
When she awoke, they were in Abilene, and Will was gassing up for the final leg of their journey. She watched the dollars tick off at the pump and came to the groggy realization that in addition to her life, she owed him at least half a dozen tanks of gas.
Will disappeared into the convenience store and returned with two twenty-four-ounce Cokes and two hot dogs. He passed her a dog loaded with everything, including jalapeños, before starting up the truck again and getting on the freeway.
“Want me to drive?”
“No.”
The next four hours were silent and uncomfortable as Courtney awoke to the new reality that lay ahead of her.
She had no job. She had no car. She had no utilities. Although she did, at least, have a duplex apartment, as her rent was paid up through October. But much of her stuff had been destroyed by Lindsey Kahn’s thugs. Fiona, in her infinite selflessness, had cleaned up the mess as best she could a month ago. But the thought of returning to the house on Oak Trail made her spirits sink.
Will, too, was in a black mood. He didn’t say a word for three hours, and Courtney waited for him to share whatever was on his mind, but he just stared ahead at the road. Finally, she couldn’t stand it.
“Did you get fired?”
He slid a glance at her. “No.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
Nothing. Right. They’d almost died this morning, and nothing was wrong.
She crossed her arms and gazed out the window until they were well inside the city limits. Will passed the exit leading to her neighborhood, then Fiona’s, and then got off at the one leading to his apartment.
“Where are we going?”
“Home.”
She started to protest, but really, she had no energy. She sat silently as he pulled into his apartment complex and found a space.
He cut the engine and turned to look at her. She saw the muscle twitching in his jaw, and held her breath, waiting.
“I’m sorry.”
He was sorry? “Why?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I didn’t hear the car. The second gunman. I didn’t hear him drive up.”
“Neither did I,” she said. “It was chaos. I could barely think straight.”
“I saw him back at the diner, too. I saw his ring, the one Fiona drew, but it didn’t register then.” He looked her in the eye. “I’m sorry. I almost got us both killed.”
“Don’t apologize to me. If it weren’t for you, I’d most likely be dead in a hotel room in New Mexico right now. I’m the one who should be sorry for dragging you into this—”
“You didn’t drag me. It was my job.”
The words were like a slap. His job. It hadn’t felt like a job last night. They’d lain together in that desert motel, and it had felt like what brought him to her was much more than a job.
She should know better than to get too hopeful about a relationship. Any relationship, even one with Will.
He sighed. “Let’s get inside. I’m beat.”
That, at least, she could agree with. Courtney trudged up the stairs behind him, amazed that he’d spent the entire nine-hour drive torturing himself over not hearing that car. She hadn’t heard it, either, but he seemed to think he had some special obligation to be Superman just because he had a badge.
At his door, he stooped to pick up a blue Tupperware container.
“What’s that?” she asked, frowning.
“Nothing.”
She followed him into the apartment and sank down on the sofa. He flipped on the TV and found a baseball game.
“You want a shower?” he asked.
“Definitely.”
“Go ahead. I have to make some calls.”
Courtney showered, lathering her skin with Will’s Dial soap—which she knew would dry it, but that smelled like him. She washed her hair and wrapped herself in a towel. When she stepped out of the bathroom, Will was still on the phone with Devereaux or some other detective, from the sound of things, and she lay down on the bed to wait for him.
She didn’t have any clean clothes.
But before her mind could tackle that problem, she was fast asleep.
When she awoke, she was tucked under the sheets, and Will was standing beside the closet, pulling on a shirt. Light peeked through the miniblinds covering the windows.
“What time is it?” Her eyes felt gritty. She searched for a clock.
“Seven-thirty.”
She sat up, confused. Where was her towel?
He slipped a belt into his pants and came around to her side of the bed.
“Amy Harris brought some stuff over this morning. She’s coming back around ten to give you a ride. You have a meeting with your attorney at ten-thirty.” He buckled his belt as she tried to clear the cobwebs from her brain.
“Who called Ackerman?” she asked.
“I did.” He planted a kiss on her head and went back to his closet to pick up his shoes.
“Am I under arrest?” She said it without thinking, voicing one of the many fears that had been lurking in her dreams. The others involved choke holds and desolate fields and black guns.
“No. But your attorney needs to help you sort this out. He can probably trade your cooperation for a dismissal of the charges against you.”
“What charges?”
He gazed across the room at her. “Lying. Obstruction. Cernak’s trumped up a whole list of stuff, most of it bogus. Talk to your lawyer about it. Then get him to bring you in to talk to Cernak.”
“Where will you be?”
“Close by.”
He was closer than she’d expected, sitting at the end of the long conference table in another one of APD’s interview rooms, only this one was a bit more refined than the two she’d seen before. It actually had padded chairs and a coffee machine.
After several hours of back and forth, and tape-recorded statements, and more forms, Ackerman slid a thin file across the table. The folder contained the e-mails printed out from Courtney’s still-functioning account at Bella Donna, and Cernak was clearly pleased to get his hands on it. It was yet another clue proving that the attorneys of Wilkers & Riley had tampered with the jury in the LivTech trial. It was one of the many pieces of evidence that Lindsey Kahn, Jim Wilkers, Peter Riley, and who knew how many others would have to face in a criminal trial.
If they didn’t cut a deal first. Being lawyers, Courtney figured they’d try. But given the high-profile nature of both the LivTech case itself and the string of killings, they probably didn’t have a chance at any kind of leniency. People hated lawyers to begin with, and lying, cheating, murdering ones weren’t likely to garner much sympathy.
Ackerman dropped Courtney off at Will’s apartment when it was all over.
“So I guess this is it?” She gazed across the cramped hatchback at the one attorney she didn’t despise.
He smiled. “Not quite. I haven’t sent you my bill yet.”
She winced.
“Don’t worry. I’m affordable.”
“Yeah, right. Would you accept some of my payment in the form of goods and service?”
He looked wary. “What kind of services?”
“I can definitely improve on that haircut.” She smiled to soften the message. “And as soon as I find a new job, I can hook your wife up with some spa treatments.”
He laughed and looked relieved. She’d known he was a family man the very first day.
“We’ll talk,” he said. “I think we can negotiate something.”
When Will came home a few hours later, she was already dressed for bed in one of the short, silky things Amy had wisely packed in her bag.
But it didn’t stay on for long. Will started stripping off his clothes the instant he walked in the door, and a few minutes later they were tangled naked on the bed. Their lovemaking was frantic and desperate, ending in the most earth-moving climax of her life.
The afterglow was cool and silent.
Courtney took a deep, cleansing breath and opened her eyes. Her reflection stared back at her, a reflection she barely recognized these days. She was back to ebony again, with a few streaks in order to keep it interesting, but her eyes had changed. They were more serious now. Older. And sometimes they’d fill with tears inexplicably in the middle of the day.
Something was wrong with her. She didn’t know what, really, just that her emotions were out of control. It was all she could do to hold it together at work every day before going home to Will’s apartment, where she almost always had a crying jag before he got home from work. He’d get called out of bed sometimes in the middle of the night, and she’d cry then, too, having flashbacks of him on his knees in that field until she fell asleep on a soggy pillow.
“Courtney?” Someone tapped on the door. “Your three-thirty just showed.”
She took another deep breath and fluffed her hair. Then she opened the bathroom door and strode back into the salon. Zen was a hip, high-end day spa in the heart of Austin, and her 3:30 client looked totally out of place here.
She smiled at him. “You came.”
Devon shrugged.
“Where’s your mom?”
“Next door. She’s trying on shoes.” He eyed the black leather chair suspiciously. “Do I sit there?”
“Sure, hop up.” Courtney patted the chair, and he settled into it.
“Have you decided on a color?
“Green.”
“Are you sure? It’s Halloween. We could always do black and orange.”
“I want green,” he said firmly.
“Green it is.”
Thirty minutes later, Courtney was standing on the sidewalk in front of the salon, waiting for Will. She felt anxious. Restless. The dread that had been lodged in her stomach since this morning started to expand. She tried to calm herself, tried to give herself a pep talk. What was one more uncomfortable conversation in the scheme of things? She’d been on an emotional roller coaster for weeks. And today was going to be one of the dips.
The Suburban pulled up at precisely 4:00, as they’d agreed. Courtney got in. Will wore his usual gray slacks, white shirt, and dark blazer, but today he had on a tie.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi.”
She’d grown accustomed to his aversion to chitchat, and for the most part, it didn’t bother her.
They wended their way through downtown. He drummed his fingers on the wheel, then swore under his breath when they missed the light.
“Are we late?”
He glanced at her. “No.”
“You seem worried.”
“I’m fine.” He looked at her again, seeming to notice her presence for the first time. “Are you worried?”
She shrugged. “Not really.” Although she should be. She was on her way to a meeting with Lieutenant Cernak—one of her least favorite people—two federal investigators, and a U.S. attorney.
She glanced at Will. Tiny beads of perspiration clung to his temples.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Fine.”
Lie.
“What’s going on?”
He glanced at her. “Nothing.”
Another lie. Anger gathered in her chest. He was lying. It was so obvious. There was something going on. She’d sensed it all week, and she wasn’t imagining it. Her stomach churned as she thought of the thing that had been needling her since 9:00 this morning when she’d seen another package sitting on the doorstep. She’d been conflicted all day, and she couldn’t stand it anymore.
“Who’s Lori?” she blurted.
“Who?”
“Lori. With the cookies.”
He smiled, and her anger swelled.
“What’s so funny?” she demanded.
“You. You said ‘cookies’ like it’s a venereal disease.”
“Who is she?”
“She’s my neighbor. When did she bring cookies?”
She shot him a heated look.
“What? I helped her hang a picture last weekend.”
“Whatever.”
They reached the white granite government building, and Will parked at an empty meter. Courtney licked her lips and tried to pretend she wasn’t feeling stupid and hurt. Relationships sucked. She’d known it forever. Why did she keep hoping she’d get better at it?
He cut the engine and turned to look at her. “Courtney.”
“It doesn’t matter. I don’t care. Do whatever you want.”
“Do whatever I want.”
“Sure. Go screw the girl next door if you want to. I don’t care.”
“You don’t care.”
She wouldn’t look at him. This was unraveling because she was being one of those hysterical women. But she couldn’t help it. What was wrong with her lately?
“Courtney?”
“I don’t care what you do. It’s your life.”
She turned toward him now, and his gaze was intense.
“I think you do care,” he said. “I think you care a lot. I think you care way more than you want to, and you’re terrified.”
She crossed her arms and looked away.
“That’s what’s going on, isn’t it?” he said. “With the blue hair and the smoking and the aromatherapy shit all over the apartment. You’re trying to push me away.”
She crossed her legs and picked some invisible lint off her black miniskirt. “You sound like Dr. Phil.”
“Are you?”
She paused. She cleared her throat. “Maybe.”
“Well, cut it out. It’s pissing me off.”
God, what was her problem? She was a nutcase. She was freaking out over some woman with cookies. She glanced up at him. “I’ve never lived with anyone before.”
“Well, that makes two of us.”
“I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. I don’t know.”
“Not everyone’s like David, or whoever it is you’re comparing me to.” He jerked the keys out of the ignition and pushed his door open. “Let’s go. We’re late now.”
She stepped out of the car, and he came around. They started up the wide concrete steps, and he picked up her hand.
She cast a sidelong glance at him, admiring his ramrod straight posture—which always reminded her of his military background—and his way-too-conservative business attire.
“You really don’t mind the blue?” she asked.
“I couldn’t care less.”
“And the aromatherapy?”
“The only thing that bugs me is the smoking.” He pulled the glass door open for her, and they stepped into a lobby. “That, I hate.”
He led her to an elevator bank and punched the up button. They waited in silence, and she looked at him again. He tugged on his collar.
The elevator arrived, and they stepped inside. He pressed the button for the third floor, and they rode up, with him nervously squeezing and unsqueezing her hand the whole way. The doors pinged open, but she didn’t move.
There was something going on. He was acting totally strange. He was nervous, and he didn’t get nervous. He could perform triage without even breaking a sweat, and here he was with clammy palms on the way to some informal meeting.
Unless this wasn’t an informal meeting. What if this was some kind of setup? Cernak was here. Maybe he wanted to arrest her. Maybe they’d found some new evidence, something new to charge her with.
Her feet slowed as she walked down the long linoleum corridor. She looked at Will, but he had his gaze fixed straight ahead.
She stopped walking and shook off his grip.
“What’s going on? You’re acting weird.”
He turned and looked at her, and his discomfort was written all over his face. He cleared his throat.
“I didn’t want to tell you where we were going.”
“What do you mean?” she stepped back. “I thought this was a meeting.”
“Not really.”
She took another step back, but he caught her hand. She looked around, panicked. What was this?
And then she saw it—the door at the end of the hallway with a placard beside it that said marriage licenses.
No way.
She looked at Will. He was gazing down at her patiently.
“Oh my God,” she murmured.
He dropped down on one knee and kissed her palm.
“Are we here for a marriage license?”
Her heart was thundering now. Now her palms were sweating. He was on one knee, for Christ’s sake!
“I know you’re freaked out,” he said. “But it’s okay. I understand.”
“Oh my God.”
He took something out of his pocket and slipped it on her finger. A ring. It was a ring. She stared down at the sparkling red ruby flanked by diamonds and felt her throat close up. This had to be a joke. But she looked into his brown eyes, at the seriousness on his face, and knew he wasn’t joking at all. He was down on one knee, proposing to her in this hallway.
“When we were in Silver Creek, I told you to jump, and I’d catch you, and you just closed your eyes and did it.” He kissed her hand. “I’m asking you to do that again.”
She stared down at him, utterly speechless.
Whisper of Warning Page 29
