Betrayed by a Kiss (20 page)

Soon, he’d have the decrypted files, and his love would realign itself to where it belonged. Gratitude. She’d take it. It was something. Love would have been better, but even Marnie knew there were boundaries people like her couldn’t cross. Dane lived in the normal world. Marnie, not so much.

Out of breath, Dane nudged her with his chin, dropping kisses on her cheek and temple. It was heavenly. When she met his gaze, he kissed her with tenderness, so much so her composure buckled and she had to close her eyes to hide.

“I love you,” he said. “I love you, Marnie.”

She believed him. He believed what he said. Marnie crawled off him, wiping tears she hated but couldn’t hide. Getting dressed was a nuisance, especially with Dane staring, expecting a response. Well, this was her response. She couldn’t deal with this and couldn’t pretend everything would work out fine. She’d never lied to him—she wouldn’t start now.

“Talk to me.” His confusion was shifting to hurt as he rested his hand on her arm.

“Stop.” She shrugged off his touch. “You said you love me. I heard you.” She crawled into the back of the van and hooked the hard drive into a desktop computer. “This should decrypt the files by the time we reach your truck.” Crawling back behind the wheel, she saw his hands reach for her again, and this time he wouldn’t be shrugged off. He held her.

“It’s okay.” He wiped a tear off her cheek. Concern replaced confusion. “I didn’t tell you to freak you out. You don’t have to love me back. It’s okay.” He kissed her, and her heart clutched in her chest. She wanted to tell him she loved him. The words were poised as a scream at her throat, but this was Dane. Once she said them, he’d be committed to her, no matter what happened when the storm settled and day-to-day life started up again. Possibilities plagued her. Maybe she was being stupid. Maybe his love would last.

So why did she feel like a chump? Was it because he backed off as soon as she told him the files were decrypting? Maybe. Or maybe she was just a chicken shit.

She pulled away from him and sat behind the wheel, shifted the van into gear, and sped off. “I’ll give you the decrypted files on the hard drive.” She sniffed, hating how vulnerable she appeared. “You have everything you need to take Whitman down, and soon it will be over. You can forget this ever happened. Forget me.”

“I could never forget you.”

“For shit’s sake, MacLain.” She wiped her tears impatiently, swallowing a sob. “I can’t wait to forget you.”

She could see she’d rendered him speechless and couldn’t look at him again, afraid she’d see something to make her change her mind. Then, thankfully, he turned away and faced front as she drove him to the farmhouse.

It was over, she assured herself. She’d drop him off. He’d be safe, allowing her to finish the job. Reparations. They had their happily ever after, dammit, and now it was time to start a new life again. That was the deal. Maybe third time would be the charm.

Chapter Eighteen

“You’ve always made the mistake of believing everyone thinks as much as you do. Maybe the guy really loves you. That’s it. No hidden agenda. No endgame in sight.” Caleb cracked open a bottle of vodka and poured them shots. Marnie didn’t hesitate. She downed hers, suffered the burn, and then held the glass out for another. “You’ll have a headache in the morning,” he said. “You always do.” He poured the shot nonetheless.

“I did the right thing. Tomorrow, when he’s home with Elizabeth, safe and sound, or when he’s in his lieutenant’s office, thumbing his nose at all those assholes at the precinct, he’ll start singing another tune. He’s fresh off the win. Dane doesn’t know what he wants.” Marnie sat on Caleb’s broken-down leather couch and sank deep. She wrinkled her nose because the cushions smelled like cat piss. They’d always smelled like cat piss. “When will you buy a decent couch? You don’t need to live like this.” She tossed the second shot back, desperate for oblivion, but finding watery eyes and a bad taste in her mouth.

Caleb contemplated the couch in question. “It’s the first thing of value I ever bought. With you, it was the Jetta. Me, it’s this couch.” His green eyes were framed by more lashes than a man deserved, and his hair was still wet from his recent shower. It was slicked back, for once out of his face, and revealed what most people rarely got to see, his strikingly handsome features. It was rare a person looked past his gravelly voice, the scar on his neck, and intimidating size to see the real Caleb. By design, of course.

“The couch was used when you bought it. The lady had seventeen cats, Caleb. That should have tipped you off it was a bad deal. And don’t ever compare this piece of shit with my Jetta.” He placed his empty glass on the side table with care, without any waste of motion. He was like that. He thought like that, too. It’s why he was so good at juggling bad guys without getting hurt.

“Stop ragging on my stuff and tell me why you’re not with the cop.”

“He’s an
ex-cop
. I have standards.”

Hands on hips, his black jeans hung low, revealing a strip of pale skin between the hem of his black T-shirt and the waistband. “I could tell you liked him. Did you fight?” He tilted his head, contemplating her. “That guy has it bad for you.”

“Stop looking at me like that.” Marnie studied the locks on his bedroom door. The need for high security was an occupational necessity when you ran guns and hardware from your home. Caleb never had fewer than five people trolling the perimeter, making sure no one broke in or rushed the house. State-of-the-art security made it one of the safer places in Manchester, but he still lived like a frat boy.

“He said he loves you, right? You said he—”

“How could he? He knows everything. He found the fake records I planted, bought them hook, line, and sinker. I could have left it at that, built whatever story I wanted, and then I might have had a chance. But no, I spilled my guts. He doesn’t know what’s the truth and what’s a prop for this long grift I call my life.”

Caleb whistled, impressed. He poured another shot and threw it back. “That’s new.” He leaned against the wall, his bulk taking up most of the room. He was barefoot as usual. With feet so big, it was hard to find shoes that fit comfortably, so he’d gotten in the habit of not wearing them if he could avoid it. His toes clenched around the worn plush carpet beneath him. Caleb was a sensuous guy and liked things that felt good. Came from living most of his life in hell.

“You really should get rid of this couch. It’s like sitting on a board.”

“Stop changing the subject. You confided in him. That’s new. You’ve never done that before. Why the hell would you do that?” He was grimacing, as if she’d offended him on some level. Which she probably had. They both knew the more someone knew about you, the more vulnerable you became.

“I should have kept my mouth shut.”

“Ya think?” When he shook his head, his shoulder-length hair fell around his face. “I think you love him.” He cracked a reluctant smile, a sad smile. “Dumb ass.”

“You know you’re the only man for me.” Caleb was perfect for her. Tall, gorgeous, strong, in the know—he was a survivor and didn’t waste time with sentiment. He knew her secrets and she his. Perfect. Too bad he was like a brother.

“Do you trust him?”

“People like us don’t trust.” Tears welled and spilled down her cheeks. She wiped them, impatient with her weakness.

“There’s no defense against treason.” Caleb lifted his refreshed shot glass, toasting her, then downed it. “And we’re survivors. It’s all we know.”

“That’s right.”

“So maybe you can survive with him.”

Marnie had to replay his words to believe them. “You’re such a hypocrite. Where’s
your
girlfriend? Huh? Nowhere, because you don’t have one, because you’d have to let her in.
Survive with him.
Blow me.”

Caleb chuckled. “Did it ever occur to you that no woman would put up with my couch?”

“I do.” She sniffled.

“That’s because you love me.” He dropped onto the couch, sitting next to her, crowding her. He gave every indication of being exhausted.

She leaned on him, resting her head on his shoulder, her hand over his heart. “You are impossible to love.”

“I think you love MacLain, too. I can tell.” Caleb patted her thigh and sighed.

“He thinks I’m the reason he’s happy. And sex. We’ve had a lot of sex. That messes with a man’s mind.”

“Sex was that good? So good he decides he loves you? What have I been missing all these years?”

Marnie didn’t have to look at him to know he was enjoying himself. “From all accounts, you haven’t missed anyone over eighteen.”

Caleb took her empty shot glass and put it on the side table. “Stop changing the subject. You’re miserable. If you love him and he loves you—” He hesitated. “Even if he’s—”

“If he’s what?”

“Did you have to choose a cop? It could be a problem.”

“I didn’t choose him. Well—” She thought of the Skyping, and the stalking. “I guess I did, but I didn’t know I was choosing him. I have too much to lose to love him.”

“Like what?”

She could lose her heart. How could he not know? Marnie wasn’t sure Caleb was the person she should be taking advice from. He was even more closed off than she was.

She glanced at his ancient alarm clock. “It’s one in the morning, but I can’t sleep.”

“I have to.” He stretched and yawned, knocking her about on the couch. “I didn’t sleep last night, either. Remember that job I told you about?”

“The one you wouldn’t tell me about?”

“Yeah, well, I’m still not telling, but it happened, and it went smoothly. No need to worry anymore, and I am now financially sound again. I’m celebrating.” He reached for the vodka and dispensed with the shot glass by taking a swig from the bottle. “I’ve been up for forty hours, and I plan on getting stinking drunk, then sleeping like the dead.” He handed her the bottle. “Join me.”

“Sounds like a plan. It’s not like I have a job to get up for.” She took a swing and noticed his eyes did look bleary. “Forty hours? Is that why I’m here and not one of those disposable women you date? Didn’t want to take a chance you weren’t up for their kind of celebrating?” His phone rang just as he gave her the bird. He frowned when he heard the caller’s voice.

“Yeah?” The longer he listened, the less happy he got. “Shit. Yeah, thanks. I owe you.” He hung up.

“What?” Caleb’s job—if you could call his standing in the community a job—brought him into everyone’s problems. If they needed something, they usually needed something to get it done. Enter Caleb. He was a supplier of whatever was needed. It didn’t leave him much time to sit on his laurels. “Do you need me to leave?”

Caleb took the bottle from her hands and closed it up. “You’re not going to like this, and I’m tempted not to tell you.”

“My mother?” Shit. What had Charlotte done now?

Caleb shook his head. “It’s Dane. Whitman has Elizabeth and is leveraging her for you and the files. He wants MacLain to give you up, Marnie.”

Marnie sat on the edge of the couch cushion, her hand pressed to her forehead, poised to run. Instead, she pulled out her phone and called him. Stress had her trembling as she waited for the call to connect. When he answered on the second ring, she focused on keeping her voice steady. “Dane?”

“Marnie. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. You?”

There was silence, and then he cleared his throat. “Yeah. I’m heading to the station now. Going to give them the files. Hey, can we talk later? I’m kind of in the middle of something. It shouldn’t be more than a few hours.”

The man could not lie to save his life. Or Elizabeth’s. Marnie hung up, not willing to pretend with Dane. “It’s happening now.”

“Did he ask you to come?” Caleb pulled socks on and stuffed his feet in his boots. “I’ll kill him.”

“No, he didn’t ask. Pretended nothing was up. Dane would never ask.” She was afraid there wasn’t time to help him.

Caleb forced her to meet his gaze. “Would you have gone if he asked?”

Yes. Little Elizabeth, in the hands of those monsters again…it wasn’t tolerable. Dane had to be going out of his mind. “How did Whitman find Elizabeth? Did your contact say?”

“They had men waiting at the sister’s house.”

“Something happened, then, because they weren’t supposed to be there. They were supposed to stay—shit.” The farmhouse was secret, even from Caleb. “Whatever. I have to do something.”

“They’ve had the girl for four hours now. If we’re going to do something, we should do it fast. MacLain doesn’t seem the type to welcome help.” Caleb pocketed his keys, shrugged into his leather jacket, and ran his hands over his face. “What do you want to do? You’re going to have to think of a plan, because I have nothing. I’m so tired, I’m useless.”

She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “The van.”

“It’s where you left it, just like you left it.” Marnie rested her palm on his chest, making him frown. “What?”

She hugged him, squeezing hard. “Thank you, Caleb.” It lasted only a moment, but she knew Caleb understood its value. She pulled out of his arms and hurried to the door, unlocking it, impatient that he wasn’t moving.

“You’re rushing toward a powerful man who wants you dead.” Caleb still didn’t budge. “MacLain says he loves you. Did it occur to you the man doesn’t want you involved?”

Yeah.
“That’s why I have to go. He’s my hero.” Her chest hurt. She clutched it, trying to find her breath. She and Dane never stood a chance at happiness. Never. Whitman was cleaning house, and if he had his way, none of them were getting out of this alive.

Caleb grabbed two motorcycle helmets from a bin next to his closet. “Fine. But this is stupid. We both know that.”

“Wait.” She panicked. “We don’t know where—”

“The party’s at the Whitman Enterprises building.” He handed her a helmet and led her out the back way, where he kept his Harley. She walked quickly, dialing her phone, fighting for composure. “Who are you calling?” he said.

“I need to pull out the big guns,” she said.

“Marnie. Bad idea. What have I said about that?” Caleb put his helmet on, threw his leg over the machine, and sat deep. “Think long and hard before you—”

The line connected. “Mom. I did something stupid. I need your help.”

Marnie’s instructions were thorough and concise, so by the time Caleb popped the clutch, the deed was done. The violent cacophony of the motorcycle’s exhaust pipes reflected their mood, ripping through the dark in the deserted Manchester neighborhood. Lives were at stake, and loyalty had its price. People were going to be hurt tonight.