Blank Slate (28 page)

Clarke’s
attention returned to her in time for him to see the gun in her hand.

A
gunshot rang out. Clarke jerked in his chair, red blooming on his pristine
white shirt, then slumped to the ground.

Clarissa
turned to see Danny had won his struggle. The gun he held was still smoking and
the man who’d held him was lying unmoving on the ground.

“Is
someone with ya?” Danny asked, not lowering the gun
as he looked around.

Before
Clarissa could answer, Kaminski stepped around the corner. His gun was pointed
at Danny.

“Don’t
shoot!” Clarissa said to Danny. That’s the last thing she needed, Kaminski and
Danny killing each other. “He’s with us.”

Hurrying
to Clarke, she turned him over onto his back. He was still breathing, but
barely. Blood was everywhere. He wasn’t going to make it. Clarissa felt a pang
of remorse, not that she necessarily regretted Clarke’s death, it just seemed
like where she went, dead bodies followed. She sat back on her haunches with a
sigh.

“Wait — ”
Clarke startled her, grabbing her wrist in a surprisingly strong grip. His
voice was a rasp of sound. “Listen…” he said.

Clarissa
leaned down so she could hear him better. A dying man’s last
words? This was a first.

“I’ve
been…Solomon…for years…” he gasped out, his face creasing in pain. “…
gotta know…Langston…his son…”

Clarissa’s
hands turned to ice as she stared at Clarke. “Are you saying that Langston is
related to Solomon?” she asked in disbelief.

“His…son,”
Clarke managed. “Known for…long time…gotta
know…careful…” Then his eyes went glassy and his grip loosened. His arm fell
limply to the ground.

Clarissa’s
mind reeled, trying to reconcile what Clarke had told her. She had no idea why
he would bother telling her that if it wasn’t true. That must be why he had
expected Langston to be with her. Solomon wasn’t going to let that money be
transferred to Clarke, and Langston had been his insurance.

Langston
had lied when he said he was “collateral.” He wasn’t in danger, had never been.
Solomon wouldn’t hurt his own son.

What
better way to get her to give back the money than for her to think someone she
trusted was in danger? Someone she believed cared about her? Was in love with
her?

Pain
twisted like a knife in her gut. She’d been such a fool. So
gullible. Believing his lies while the whole time he’d
been laughing at her. What a stroke of luck the amnesia had been for
him, making her even more willing to trust him and let him “help” her.

“Is
he dead?” Kaminski asked, crouching down next to her.

No
doubt he’d been in on it as well.

Clarissa
didn’t think, she just acted. She attacked Kaminski, knocking the gun
from his hand and holding the knife to his throat as he backed up to the wall.

“What
the fuck is your problem?” Kaminski spluttered.

“Thought
he was with us?” Danny asked, not very concerned.

“I
was wrong,” Clarissa replied through gritted teeth. She narrowed her eyes. “So
how long have you known, Kaminski?” she asked.

“Known
what? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Known
that Langston is a fraud and liar.”

“I
don’t—”

Clarissa
pressed her knife against his skin, nicking him slightly to get his attention.
“He’s made a fool of me,” she hissed. Rage and humiliation burned in her belly.
“You tell him that if I ever see him again, I’ll kill him. Got that?”

Kaminski
swallowed hard, his eyes glued to hers. “Yeah. I got
it,” he said.

Danny
had picked up the dropped weapons and now stood behind Clarissa. “Probably
shouldn’t fuck with me sister, mate.”

“Get
Clarke’s keys, Danny,” Clarissa said. “We’re leaving.” She kept her eyes on
Kaminski as Danny did as he’d been told, then she slowly backed away.

The
ringing of a cell phone broke the tense silence. Clarissa fished Langston’s
cell out of her pocket.

“Yeah,”
she answered, watching to make sure Kaminski didn’t make a move.

“Thank
God,” Langston said. “Are you okay?”

When Erik had
woken up, he’d had a massive headache and been slumped behind the wheel of a
car.

He
groaned. Being Solomon’s son certainly hadn’t earned him any favors. That was
twice now he’d been hit with a stun gun, and he hadn’t enjoyed the second time
any more than the first.

The
first.
O’Connell. Shit.

The
car keys were in the ignition and he hurriedly started it, glancing around to
get his bearings. He’d been to Oak Alley with his mother and still remembered
the way, though he hoped he wasn’t too late.

Erik
was speeding down the empty road when he noticed a cell phone sitting on the
empty seat beside him. He snatched it up and dialed, exhaling in relief when
O’Connell’s voice came on the line.

“Thank
God,” he said. “Are you okay?”

“So
what’s going on, Langston,” O’Connell said. “Solomon going to
kill you now?”

Her
voice was cold, giving Erik pause, but he shrugged it off. “No, he let me go,”
he said. “Listen, did Kaminski catch Clarke?”

“Clarke’s
dead.”

Erik
winced. That meant things hadn’t gone smoothly, and she still hadn’t answered
him if she was okay.

“But
he did have something very interesting to say before he died,” she continued.

“What?”

“He
just happened to mention who you really are, Langston. Or should I say,
Solomon, Jr.?”

Erik
sucked in a breath. How had Clarke known when Erik himself hadn’t? And now,
knowing O’Connell, she was going to think the worst.

“Listen
to me,” he said urgently. “I didn’t know—”

Her
laugh could have cut glass. “Do you really think I’m that stupid? Though, I
have to hand it to you, getting me to trust you, making me think that what
happened between us was real, that was a stroke of genius.”

Erik
started to panic; the cold fury in her voice cut like a razor.

“I
have the money. I have my brother. And you can tell Solomon to go fuck
himself,” she spat.

“O’Connell,
please, just listen to me—”

“If
you ever come near me again, it’ll be the last thing you do.”

The
line went dead.

“Fuck!”
Erik exploded, flinging the cell phone. His hands gripped the steering wheel.
He drove faster but knew she’d be long gone by the time he got there. It had
taken him a year and a huge dose of luck to find her the first time; how the
hell would he find her again? What if he couldn’t? Would Solomon find her and
kill her?

By
the time he got to Oak Alley, the sun was up. Erik sped up the drive, skidding
to a stop in front of the porch. Kaminski stood at the top of the stairs, while
another man was cuffed to a chair. Erik leaped out of the car.

“Where
is she?”

Kaminski
shook his head. “Gone, man. Can’t even say what they
were driving.”

“What
happened?”

“Her
brother shot Clarke, but he whispered something to her before he died. Pissed her off at you something fierce.”

Shit.
Erik shoved a hand through his hair, thinking desperately. Where would they go?

“What’d
he tell her?” Kaminski said. “She asked me if I knew you were a fraud and liar.
What the hell was she talking about?”

Erik
looked at Kaminski. His gut was telling him not to trust him, to keep the
secret. But he was his partner. Even when Erik had blown him off, Kaminski had
tracked him down when he’d disappeared.

Maybe
Erik had been too hard on him. Maybe the death of Peter had blinded him to
anyone that would have taken his place.

Maybe
Kaminski deserved a second chance.

“Tonight,
I met Solomon,” Erik said.

Kaminski’s
brows flew upward. “You’re kidding me.”

Erik
shook his head. “And it gets worse. He’s my father.” He waited, wondering what
Kaminski would say.

Kaminski
let out a low whistle. “And you didn’t know?”

Erik
shook his head. “I haven’t seen or heard from my dad since he walked out on me
and my mom when I was fifteen.”

“This
is like a whole…Star Wars kind of thing,” Kaminski said with a wave of his
hand.

Erik
grimaced. “You’re telling me.”

“So,
what, O’Connell thought you were hiding this all along?”

“Yeah.” Erik
scrutinized Kaminski. “Aren’t you wondering that?”

Kaminski
shook his head. “Nah. You’re too much of a straight
arrow with a stick up your ass for that, and you ain’t
that good an actor.” He laughed good-naturedly, clapping Erik on the shoulder.

Erik
didn’t take offense. Kaminski was right and was just being honest. It surprised
him how well Kaminski knew him.

Kaminski
tossed Erik his phone. “Call it in. It’s going to take some time to clean up
this mess, and the tourists are going to start arriving in a couple of hours.”

Kaminski
was right. As much as Erik wanted to go after O’Connell, he had no idea which
way they’d gone. Chasing after her would be pointless. His job now was to
cordon off the crime scene and notify his superiors about Clarke. He did so on autopilot, his mind elsewhere.

Where
was O’Connell? Why had she immediately jumped to the wrong conclusion, even
after all they’d been through together?

She thought exactly what her experience
has taught her
,
his conscience whispered to him.
No one
can be trusted.

If
he reasoned with his head instead of his heart, Erik could understand her
assumption. But it hurt that she hadn’t trusted him. Had believed he’d been
lying, deceiving her the entire time, just to get the money back.

He
was in love with her, and it didn’t matter what she’d done or how angry she
was, Erik wasn’t going to lose her.

Even
if it took ten years to find her again.

C
larissa’s
fingers clattered over the keyboard as she worked. Light from the street
filtered into the apartment through the open blinds, breaking up the darkness.
She hadn’t bothered to turn on any lights since it had gotten dark, and she
worked by the glow of her computer monitors.

Danny
was still out, and for that she was grateful. They’d come back east because
Danny had wanted to; he’d refused to live down south. Though he wanted New
York, Clarissa couldn’t stand the thought of living with so many people again.
They’d compromised on Baltimore.

She
missed her house, her things. Once she got Danny settled in, she promised
herself she would go back to Louisiana. Obviously she couldn’t go back to her
house, but she could find another. The south was riddled with old homes nestled
in the backcountry.

Once
she got Danny settled in.

Clarissa
sighed. She stopped typing and rested her head in her hands. Who was she
kidding? She couldn’t leave Danny alone. Despite the fact that they had money,
he’d started thieving again. Little things, here and there, but Clarissa knew
what would happen. Eventually, he’d start taking jobs, small ones at first. But
it would give him a taste, and that would be all it would take. If he wasn’t
careful, he’d wind up right back in jail.

And
Clarissa wasn’t sure that wasn’t exactly where he should be.

Her
thoughts drifted to Langston. Was he looking for her? Did he intend to catch
and kill her? Or maybe he’d forgotten all about her by now.

Was
he sleeping with someone else?

Clarissa
abruptly stood, her chair scraping against the wooden floor. She couldn’t think
like that. Yes, it had occurred to her that maybe he’d been telling the truth,
maybe he hadn’t known about the connection to Solomon. But it just seemed like
too much of a coincidence that the one agent chasing her just happened to be
Solomon’s long-lost son.

“Whatever,”
she muttered to herself, going into the kitchen to pour a glass of wine.

Despite
her anger and feelings of betrayal, Clarissa couldn’t deny that she missed him.
It didn’t seem to matter what he’d done or how he’d lied. She missed being
around him, teasing him, making his ears turn red. Making
love.

“You’re
turning into a sentimental, angsty teenager,
Clarissa,” she mumbled. “Who talks to herself.” She
sighed.

She
needed a distraction. Going back to her computer, she logged on to a chat room
she hadn’t visited in months. Probably not the smartest thing, but she was
lonely. Danny wasn’t the best company.

A
couple dozen people were in the chat and a few names she recognized. They were
talking about a recent operating system vulnerability one of them had stumbled
across and the best way to exploit it. Clarissa offered a couple ideas, sipping
her wine while she read the conversation.

A
while later, her computer dinged. Someone was sending her an
invite to a private chat. His name was Whiskey. Or she.

Curious,
Clarissa accepted the invitation, waiting to see what Whiskey had to say.

Hey, Calamity.

Whiskey.

Hoping you could help me.

What’s up?
Clarissa wasn’t
much for hacking at the moment, but if Whiskey just needed some advice, she
didn’t mind offering it.

Looking for a
woman.

Okay ,
that was different.

Hacking chat rooms maybe not the best
place for that,
she typed in.
Suggest needtogetlaid.com.
Clarissa grinned at her own smart-assery and took
another sip of wine.

Not just any woman. Very
specific. Red hair. Green
eyes.

Clarissa’s
pulse sped up. Shit! What was this? Did Whiskey know who she was? Best to disappear fast. But before she could kill her
Internet connection, another line came on the screen.

Likes chocolate chip pancakes.

Clarissa
froze, her hand inches from the mouse. She stared at the screen. It couldn’t
be…could it?

Her
fingers hovered over the keyboard while she tried to think. Her head was throwing
a fit, but she couldn’t help replying.
Who
is this?

The
answer came back quickly.

Captain America.

Oh
God. The poster on the wall of his room. It was
Langston in the chat room with her. But how had he found her? He knew her
screen name, yes, but there were thousands of chat rooms just like this one
scattered throughout the Internet.

Unless
Andy had squealed on her.

Clarissa
sighed. She knew she should be mad, but how could she blame the poor kid?
Langston had probably threatened to arrest him if Andy didn’t tell him what he
wanted to know.

As
she stared at the screen, another line came up.

Don’t leave. Please. Just talk to me.

She
shouldn’t. Clarissa knew she should just leave the room and disconnect. But her
IP was masked so he couldn’t trace her. Maybe she could stay for a few minutes…

What’s there to talk about?

I miss you.

The
cursor blinked at her. The line of text grew blurry in Clarissa’s vision. Damn
him.

That’s too bad.

Do you miss me?

She
swallowed, then slowly typed the letters, knowing she
shouldn’t.

Yes

Clarissa
felt like she’d just taken a step out onto a high wire, so she took a gulp of
wine, staring at the blinking cursor on the screen.

I didn’t know. I swear to you. Had no idea of the truth.

Why should I believe you?

Because I love you and I’d never do
anything to hurt you.

The
words blurred on the screen again. Clarissa couldn’t decide what she should
say. She knew what she
should
say,
but that wasn’t what she
wanted
to
say. More text appeared.

I need to see you. Will you meet me?

Alarm
bells started going off in her head now. Was this a trap?

Why would I do that?
She typed.
You could kill me. Or worse, arrest me.

I’m not going to do either. Tell me what
I have to do for you to trust me again.

Clarissa
stared at the screen. Her stomach was in knots, her hand clenched around her
wineglass. There was no way out of this, no happy ending, not for them. Too much
was at risk for her to trust him, the stakes too high. She typed one word.

Nothing.

Before
she could think twice about it, she unplugged her network cable from the
computer.

She
stared at the screen for a very long time.

“Dammit!” Erik
exploded, slamming his fist onto the surface of the desk where he sat.

[Calamity has left private chat.]

The
text mocked him with its finality.

He’d
been so relieved to talk to her, hoping beyond hope that she would believe him,
agree to meet him somewhere. But O’Connell was a survivor, and she hadn’t
gotten this far by being stupid. Unfortunately, for O’Connell, trusting him
fell into that category.

Erik
turned to the guy sitting at the desk behind him. “Anything?” he asked.

Steve
shook his head. “Her IP was bouncing around all over the place. She’s good, and
it would take more time than that to track her down.”

Shit.
“Well, thanks anyway,” Erik said.

“Sure,
no problem.”

Erik
had befriended one of the headquarters’ third-shift IT guys, Steve, a couple of
weeks ago. He’d gotten the idea to find O’Connell on the Internet when he’d
remembered that’s how Andy had communicated with her. And it hadn’t taken much
for Andy to show him the places to hang out and wait for her.

“Come
back tomorrow night, same time,” Steve said.

Erik
glanced at him, hopeful.

Steve
shrugged. “Hackers are creatures of habit, as much as they say they’re not.
She’ll come back.”

“Thanks.
I’ll do that.”

Erik
stopped at the liquor store on the way home. A shot of whiskey sounded just the
thing.

His
apartment was cold and dark when he opened the door. Erik flipped on the
kitchen light and emptied his pockets on the counter. His gun and holster were
deposited there too, and he stripped off his shirt as he walked through the
apartment to take a shower.

It
had been weeks and he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. He’d scoured
her files like a man possessed, staying up far into the night, trying to find
anyplace she might have returned, any clue he had missed that might point to
her whereabouts. He’d found nothing.

Kaminski
had even helped, once he’d seen what it was doing to Erik. He knew O’Connell
would stay with her brother, so Kaminski had focused the search on any
information that popped on the grid about Danny O’Connell.

So
far, nothing, but Erik wasn’t going to give up and Kaminski hadn’t said a word
about doing so either. Erik had to find her, if for nothing else than to
warn her about Solomon, though he assumed she already knew he’d be looking for
her too.

Erik
sat on his sofa, the bare skin of his back pressed against the soft leather,
staring into space as he tossed back a shot of whiskey. He refilled his glass
and drank the second shot slower, thinking.

If
she did return to the chat room tomorrow night, what was he going to say? He’d
already laid everything on the line tonight and she hadn’t budged.

Though she did say she missed you.

That
thought gave him renewed determination. He had to get her to come out of
hiding, meet him somewhere. Only when they were face-to-face would he be able
to convince her that he was telling the truth. But how?

Two
more shots and the answer came to him. O’Connell was a fighter and loved a
challenge. She hated to be viewed as incompetent or as if she couldn’t take
care of herself.

“That’s
it,” he mused to himself. It had to be. He had nothing else to try and nothing
more to lose.

The
next night, Erik was back with Steve, logging on to the same website. He waited
impatiently. Would she come? The hands of the clock seemed to crawl by. The
hour she’d appeared last night came…and went.

“She’s
not coming,” he said to Steve, his voice flat with disappointment.

“Chill. She’ll come,”
Steve reassured him.

Nearly
forty-five minutes later, he saw her.

[Calamity has entered the room.]

“She’s
here,” he said excitedly.

“Invite
her to a private chat,” Steve reminded him.

Erik
clicked the mouse a couple times and waited.

[Calamity has accepted your invitation.]

Erik’s
palms were sweaty as he typed.

I’m glad you came back.

Shouldn’t have.
Don’t know why I did.

Okay,
time to put his plan into action before she bolted.
Aren’t you afraid I’ll track you down?

Please.

Her
disdain came through loud and clear, and Erik couldn’t help grinning.

Is that why you won’t meet me? Afraid
I’ll trap you?

Whiskey, you couldn’t trap a goldfish.

Such
a smart-ass.
Then it shouldn’t be a problem. Meet me.
I dare you.

The
cursor blinked, and Erik waited, holding his breath.

Gordon’s.
Baltimore. Tomorrow night. Third
floor.

[Calamity has left private chat.]

Erik sat nursing
a whiskey on the rocks in a corner of the bar, the third floor, as she’d
specified. She hadn’t said a time, so he’d arrived at six. Hell, he’d sit here
all damn night if he had to.

O’Connell
had been in Baltimore this whole time. Less than an hour from
him. He couldn’t believe it. So close…

Hours
passed, and still he sat. Waiting. His
gut growing heavier with each passing hour. Maybe she’d changed her mind
and wasn’t going to show after all.

No.
That wasn’t her. She’d show. She had to.

The
waitress came by yet again and Erik shook his head. If he kept drinking, he’d
end up shit-faced probably about the time O’Connell showed up, and wouldn’t that
make a fantastic impression?

Erik
studied the bar, trying to see into its dark corners. It was busy, but not
overly crowded. The music from the floor below could be felt through the floor,
but the patrons up on this level were here for the excellent booze and
upper-class ambiance. Velvet padded sofas and chairs littered the space, while
muted lighting gave it a classy feel.

A
glass with another round of whiskey was sat in front of him. “I said I didn’t
want another round,” he said, turning to the waitress. To his surprise, she
slid into the chair across from him.

“You
are
really bad at this,” she said. “I
must say, Langston, I’m a little surprised.”

Erik
stared. The Boston accent that had colored her words earlier was gone, though
the straight blonde wig remained, along with the heavily made-up brown eyes and
lip piercing. The tight, black sleeveless shirt and silk shorts that hadn’t
even made an impression earlier now captivated his attention. The deep
V
of the
plunging neckline made his mouth go dry.

“I
knew it was you all along,” he said.

Clarissa
snorted. “Right. Whatever. If
it helps you sleep at night.” She shrugged.

Her
eyes drank him in even as she pretended nonchalance. She thought for sure he’d
made her right away, but he hadn’t said a word. It had taken hours of watching
and waiting — to see if he’d been followed, to see if someone was with him, to
see if he’d stay — before Clarissa had decided to approach him.

“Is
the tongue piercing real?” he asked.

“Does
it turn you on, Langston?” she asked innocently.