by Karin Story
But not Maris. In fact, she looked quite calm and almost eager. The slight flush on her cheeks, the air of energy about her like she could spring out of that chair and run a marathon, hinted that she hadn't suffering unduly from the ordeal she'd just been through. He shook his head and smiled to himself at that thought.
As usual, there was more to Maris than met the eye.
However, in spite of her emotional control now, he suspected that eventually she'd crash. That was what he was afraid of. That she was going to crash just when he needed her at her level-headed best.
"So, do you want to tell me what brought you to Mexico?" he asked in as gentle a voice as he could muster. "Was it really something Sarah told you?"
The closed expression that had been on her face earlier, crept over it again. Why? What was she hiding?
"Yeah it was something Sarah told me."
"About who I really am?"
"I don't even know who you really are," she muttered.
He deserved that, but the words still sent a sliver of hurt through him.
"No," she continued, "it's not exactly about your identity."
"What then?"
She hesitated; her expression softened. And for some reason, that terrified him.
"Tell me."
She was silent.
"Tell me, Mare."
He saw her swallow hard. "Well, Sarah said they'd found another murder victim. A woman."
"Who?" He leaned forward, his gut clenching, suddenly dreading to hear what she had to say.
"The last I heard," she said softly, "the woman hadn't been officially identified yet. They were…uh…having trouble doing that. But…"
"Just say it." Bile filled his throat. "Say it."
"Sarah found out it was the woman who'd been interviewed in the newspaper," she whispered. "The one who said she was…Elise Montgomery."
An icy grip seized him, like the fingers of death itself, and spread through his body, his arms, his legs.
Elise Montgomery was dead?
The woman who might possibly have been his wife had been murdered?
He rose to his feet, his thigh suddenly aching again, although it had felt better the past few days. He paced across the room, stopped, and stared at the crucifix over the bed, at the carved, anguished face of Jesus as he hung on the cross.
How could this be happening?
A dull pain, as if someone were stabbing him over and over and with a dull knife, began in his chest. Pain because Elise was dead. But also because he didn't remember her. Didn't know her.
She deserved better than that.
I'm so sorry," Maris whispered from behind him.
The agony intensified until his nerves screamed from it. My God, how could he have just heard that his wife was dead, yet hear Maris's voice and want her? Want her love and her comfort?
Was he damned to hell for all time? No matter what he did, no matter which choice he made, or which direction he traveled, he was destined to burn.
But right now, what he wanted more than anything was for Maris to reach out to him, to touch him, or show some sign of affection toward him.
She didn't.
And he was afraid that if he approached her for comfort, she'd shut him out.
So they stood there, still as two pieces on a chess board, frozen in one spot until the next move.
Wrestling the chaos of his mind and heart into something at least partially manageable, he knew it had to be his move. Without looking at her he asked, "I suppose they think I did it?"
"Yes. They found fingerprints, Trent Montgomery's prints. That's all Sarah knew, and I haven't talked to her since."
"Why not?"
"I haven't been able to reach her for the past five days. I think something's happened to her."
God. Not Sarah, too. Not small, feisty, full of life Sarah. If something had happened to her, it was his fault. He'd known he was putting her at risk, yet he'd done it anyway.
All he'd done since he woke up in Connecticut was make bad decisions. That had to stop. It had to stop now before anyone else got hurt.
He swung around to face her. "Get your pack, Maris. I'll take you to the train station, buy your ticket, and then you're getting out of this hellhole before I lose you, too."
First her eyes widened in surprise, then her lips tightened in the stubborn set he was coming to recognize so well. But before he could head off the argument he knew she was about to make, her determined attitude suddenly crumbled.
"I can't go back to the States, even if I wanted to."
"Why not?"
She had stood at some point, but now she collapsed back into the chair. "Because aside from the fact that the cops are still looking for both of us, I'm also wanted by the DEA now."
"What?"
"The DEA picked me up in Denver, at least they said they were DEA, and I escaped from them."
"You escaped from them?" Was there no end to the things this woman could do?
"Yeah. Remember your pal the security guard? The fake security guard?"
Her voice was shaking now, so he crossed over to her where she still sat in the chair, and knelt in front of her, not daring to touch her, just wanting to be near her. His own pain began to ebb as concern for her took over.
"What about him?"
The intensity of green in her eyes was deeper than he'd ever seen it. "He's the one who caught me in Denver. Told me his name was Bob Hope, of all things, and that he was a DEA agent. Just like you suspected, remember? He asked me where you were. He said he wanted to help you, and that he didn't think you'd committed those murders. But I don't believe him."
"You don't believe he wants to help, or don't believe he's an agent?"
"Maybe both. When I escaped and was running away, he shot me."
Something dark and furious snapped inside him. "What?" He grabbed Maris's face between his hands and pulled her closer. "He shot you? Where? My God, are you okay?"
She wrenched her face out of his grasp and leaned back in the chair. "I'm fine. It wasn't any big deal, just a superficial wound on my leg."
He almost choked. "Not a big deal? That's a pretty big fucking deal in my book. Show me."
Much to his surprise, she cooperated and pulled up the leg of her jeans. He examined it closely and saw that she was right, it was just a graze and it was healing well. But that didn't change the fact that she'd been shot at. The bullet could just as easily have gone into her heart or her head.
She could have died because of him, and he wouldn't have been there to know it. Guilt mingled with the raging fury inside him, making his head swim.
"Hey," Maris's voice sounded startled. "I just now realized you don't have your splint on."
"I took it off a couple of days ago. I was sick of it."
She grabbed his left hand and took her turn at playing doctor. "You probably shouldn't have done that, you know?"
A lecture from her was the last thing he needed right now.
"No, I probably shouldn't have, but I don't give a damn. Like I said, I was sick of it." He pulled his hand away from her. Truth be told, it was still tender and ached like mad sometimes. Right now it was downright throbbing.
"Tom, I think Bob Hope is one of the bad guys."
"After the way he acted at the morgue, and considering he shot at you, I'd say you're right. No self-respecting agent would have done something like that." He sat on the floor and crossed his arms over his legs. "Tell me exactly what happened after I left the cabin."
For the second time that night he was amazed she actually did as he asked.
During the next hour, Maris told him about her trip to Denver, her carjacking at the DEA office—about which he lectured her soundly—and Bob Hope and his minions capturing her. She gave him a play-by-play of her time in the parking garage, including Genny's odd comments.
Was that really why Maris was at Teotihuacan tonight? He vaguely remembered seeing the photograph Genny had referred to. It had been on the bookshelf in Maris's living ro
om. But still…was it just coincidence that the drug exchange he'd heard about just happened to be at the ancient city tonight?
An eerie feeling stole through him, causing the hair on the nape of his neck to stand up straight.
"How'd you get across the border if the DEA is looking for you?"
"I went across incognito."
"Incognito?"
"You know, in disguise."
"I know what incognito means. But they still checked your identification and your passport or birth certificate didn't they?"
"Of course, but I'm not stupid enough to show them my regular ID. I used a fake ID and passport."
A pulse of suspicion cruised through him again. Damn he hated that. Where did she get a fake ID? Of course, if she was working for someone it wouldn't be a problem.
"Tom, why were you out there tonight? What did that man do to deserve being killed?"
"First of all, you've got to quit calling me Tom. My name is Trent."
She huffed a small breath of air. "You'll always be Tom to me, because frankly, I don't like Trent Montgomery. And I didn't ask you about your name. I asked you what the hell you were doing out there tonight."
"The same thing you were. Observing. Except you, I think, witnessed that whole scene by accident. I was there on purpose."
She folded her arms over her chest and remained silent. But her eyes shot sparks.
"And I wasn't there for the purpose you think," he continued with a stern look. "When I got here to Mexico City, I came to this part of town because I'd heard it was the headquarters for some of the upper-echelon drug dealers. I need to find out where the Cardoza stronghold is, and I figured someone around here had to have had dealings there. I discovered that some of the Cardoza dealers, themselves, meet occasionally at Carlotta's Cantina. As luck would have it, Carlotta had a job opening."
"So that's where you're working?"
"Yeah. Carlotta—Señora Martinez—is a sweetheart, and as far as I can tell, totally above board. She's sharp, though, and I'd bet my bottom dollar that she knows exactly who's having lunch at her cantina every now and again. She knew I didn't have a place to stay, so she leased me this apartment as part of the deal. Her daughter used to live here until she went off to law school in California."
"Law school? And this woman owns a restaurant haunted by drug dealers?"
He loved the way she raised her eyebrows like that when she'd heard something unbelievable. A rush of longing for her surged through him, but just as quickly, he tamped it down.
"Yeah, she's quite a lady. Anyway, today during lunch I passed by a table on my way into the kitchen and overheard the name Emilio Duran. In my research, I'd come across that name several times in relation to Cardoza. Duran's supposedly one of his distributors. So, I eavesdropped and discovered that Emilio was meeting an underling out at Teotihuacan tonight. I decided to be at the ruins when they met, to see if I could get information, and possibly follow Duran when he left, in hopes he'd lead me to Cardoza."
What he didn't tell Maris was that he'd been willing to take whatever action was necessary to get Emilio Duran to talk. He'd fully intended this to be the night he finally got some answers. But then he'd recognized Maris. He'd had to let Duran go—and his hopes for the night—in order to get her out of there alive.
"So you're telling me that this guy, Emilio Duran, is the one who did the shooting tonight?"
He sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Yes, that's exactly what I'm telling you. Whether you want to believe it or not, I did not shoot that man. I was watching the whole thing from a hundred yards away."
"Uh huh."
She didn't believe him. He wasn't even sure if she wanted to believe him.
"Mare, I need your help."
She sat in the chair, arms crossed, glaring at him for several long seconds. He was beginning to think she wasn't going to respond when she finally said, "Help with what?"
"I couldn't get close enough to hear those two men tonight without giving myself away. And since I didn't follow Duran, I'm hoping they might have said something useful. Did you hear what they talked about?"
There was silence again for several seconds.
Then, with her emerald eyes snapping flames, Maris growled. "Damn you, I'm done with your game playing!"
Chapter 21
* * *
"Games?"
"Why can't you just admit that you know exactly what was said out there tonight because you were part of the conversation."
Tom's face grew tight, but she pressed on anyway, unable to control her ill temper.
"I'm starting to wonder if everything you've ever told me is a lie. For all I know, maybe you don't even have amnesia. Maybe you've known all along who you really are and you were just using me for some reason."
"Is that what you think? That I've been using you?"
"I don't know what to think anymore. I just wanted to find you and give you the information from Sarah."
"That's the only reason you came down here? To give me information? I'm sorry, but I don't think you would have traveled this far and gone through everything you have, just because you felt duty-bound to give me some information. I think there's a little more to it than that." His breathing was heavy and his jaw tight.
"All right, you jerk. Yeah, there is more to it. Because of you, I'm now wanted by most of the law enforcement agencies in the U.S. But did you care? Hell no. You friggin' dumped me up in Colorado and left me to deal with the cops and the bad guys while you took off for parts unknown." She was provoking him and knew it, yet couldn't stop.
"Then, when I find out the woman who claims to be your wife is murdered, in spite of the fact that you shit all over me, and in spite of the fact that I don't believe for a second that witch was ever your wife, I figured you'd at least like to know she was dead."
God, why was she doing this? Why had she said that? What a terrible thing to throw at him.
He obviously thought so, too. His face burned crimson and his golden eyes flamed. "Goddamn it!" he ground out between clenched teeth. He rose to his feet in a swift movement, and glowered down at her. "How kind and generous of you to come all the way down here to tell me that I'm wanted for murdering my wife. The wife that you haven't believed in from the start. The wife that you've done nothing but badmouth and be sarcastic about."
He strode toward the door of the apartment and punched it with his fist. The sound of the blow reverberated through the room.
He'd been mad before, but she'd never seen him really lose control. Not like this. She pushed herself up from the chair and took a step backward.
"What the hell good does this information do me, Maris? And now, because you showed up tonight, I also don't have any information about Cardoza. Not to mention the fact that I've got you to look after again. Jesus Christ! Why do you think I left you in Colorado? So I could keep you safe and wouldn't have to baby-sit you anymore! So I could get on with what I had to do and not have you tagging along everywhere I went like some kind of Wonder Woman wannabe."
She took another step backward and her insides crushed from the weight of his glare and harsh words. She deserved this. She'd been absolutely horrible to him all night long. She just hadn't expected such a scathing outburst. This was yet another side of him she hadn't known existed.
And she hated it.
Every self-protective instinct inside her kicked into action. She grabbed her pack, stood tall, and looked him straight in the eye for a brief instant. Then she marched past him, and had her hand on the doorknob before he roughly captured her arm in his tight grip.
Swinging toward him, she glared at him. "Don't ever grab me again, Tom. Or," she added with a sneer, "should I say, Trent."
Slowly his grasp loosened and let go, and she threw open the door. She didn't have any idea where she was going, and it didn't matter. Just away. Away from him, from the hurt, from the insults, from this whole nightmare that had begun when she'd found an injured man in her backyard.
"
Mare, I'm sorry."
His voice, much softer and gentler now, sounded like Tom's voice, not Trent's. But she was tired of having to battle between the two. Tired of wondering which identity he was at any given time. She started down the swaying metal steps.
"Please. It's too dangerous here for you to take off at night by yourself."
Her feet continued to move in rhythm. First left, then right, carrying her toward the street below.
"Maris, don't run off like this without hearing me out. I swore to Sarah that I'd protect you with my life and keep you safe. And Jerry Spengler threatened to kill me over the same issue."
His voice was so quiet she had to strain to listen. But she stopped with her foot on the last step before she hit the pavement, and did listen.
"That's why I left the cabin. I didn't know what else to do to protect you. I knew I was in danger and that by virtue of being with me, you were, too. I did what I thought was right. I thought you'd be safe there. How was I supposed to know you'd follow me all the way to Mexico?"
Maris heard a sigh that tore at her heart.
"Please forgive me. You don't deserve any of what you've gone through since you met me."
She took a deep breath and tried to force back the hot tears that gathered in her eyes. She no longer cared about her pride or her principles. She was just tired of hurting. She just wanted to make the miserable, painful ache inside her go away.
"All those things I said," Tom continued softly, "I just said them to hurt you. I've never felt like I had to baby-sit you. And as for you wondering if I've been lying to you all along, I can't blame you for thinking that. All I can tell you is that I haven't lied."
There was a pause. Then, with another ragged sigh, he whispered, "Christ. I can't lie to you, Mare. I'm in love with you."
Her heart stopped beating. Her hand clenched the metal railing so tight it took her a moment to realize her fingers throbbed from it.
As if she were being tugged by an invisible rope that connected them, she slowly turned to face him.
"What?" she whispered.
He stood at the top of the steps silhouetted by the light from the door. His shoulders were slumped, his arms hung loosely at his sides.
