Chasing a Dream (8 page)

A weary sigh hissed through his teeth. “She made me swear not to tell our parents or Brian. She made me promise not to say or do anything, telling me she could handle him, swearing she would be all right. But she wasn’t all right. It happened again. This time I didn’t listen to her pleas not to hurt Mac. I tracked him down at a local bar and beat the snot out of him. Got arrested for my efforts, too. You can imagine how my parents loved that!”

“Didn’t you explain why—”

“Naw. I’d promised Becca not to say anything, and a man’s only as good as his word. They already thought I was a screwup, so what difference would it have made?” He looked down at his hands, which he’d clenched in tight fists. “All I did by pounding Mac was give Becca one more thing to worry about. Mac’s abuse didn’t stop. I quit college so I could be nearby and keep an eye on the situation, for all the good that did. I begged her to leave him. I threatened her. I nagged her. But I never told anyone. I never called the police. And she always went back to him.” Justin’s tone held years of self-reproach and guilt. “He hit her in the head with a golf club one night and killed her.”

Compassion for his pain flooded Tess, crimping her throat. She ached for some way to relieve his suffering, but his story left her too stunned, too shaken to move. “Justin, you tried—”

“I didn’t try hard enough!” His blue eyes flashed, cutting through her like lasers. With a scorching curse, he kicked the legs of a nearby chair with his bare heel. The chair rocked then tipped over. “I knew she was in danger, and I didn’t do enough!”

The anger in his voice warned her to back off. Common sense told her his frustration had nothing to do with her. But Randall had never needed a reason to take his rancor out on her.

Tess pulled her knees to her chest and huddled on the bed, watching Justin warily. While an inner voice reasoned that any man who’d fought to free his sister from a violent man would never use violence on a woman himself, her survival instinct still went on full alert.

Burying his face in his hands, he sucked in several deep breaths. When he lifted his head and met her gaze, the tension in his expression had eased, though his eyes were still bright with emotion. He pushed himself off the floor and started toward her.

Tess lifted her chin and fixed a leery gaze on him. A knot of anxiety twisted inside her, and she scooted backward across the bed, ready to flee. When he raised a hand toward her, Tess forgot to breathe. Instinctively, she drew back, and her head bumped the wall.

Furrowing his black eyebrows, Justin brushed her cheek with his palm. “You don’t get it, do you?” He shook his head. “I’d die before I let anyone hurt you. I turned my back once, but I will never make that mistake again.”

The low, husky timbre of his voice wrapped around her like a hug. She filled her lungs as relief washed over her, leaving her body weak and shaking. “Then this is about your sister. You can’t forgive yourself until you save another woman in her place.”

His hand fell away from her cheek, and he pressed his mouth in a thin line. “No. I’ll never forgive myself for letting Becca die. But I can damn well make sure it doesn’t happen to you.”

With a sigh, she rolled off the bed, away from him. She was getting far too involved with this man for anybody’s good. She had to stay detached in order to make a clean break from him. Soon. “Go to Nashville, Justin. Forget about me. If I can find a quiet town where no one knows me, the chances of Randall finding me are remote. I’ll be fine.” She worked to infuse the statement with a credibility she didn’t feel.

Squaring her shoulders, she met his dubious expression with her own determination. She had to convince him to go his own way. He would get himself in too deep, if she didn’t extricate herself as soon as possible. “I don’t
want
you involved in my problems.”

Justin sat in the middle of the bed with his arms propped on his bent knees, his expression melancholy. “You haven’t listened to me, have you? I won’t leave you. Not until I’m sure you’re safe. I couldn’t live with myself if I walked away now, without doing anything to help you free yourself.”

“But I am free. I got away, thanks to you. Your work is done. You’re free to go.” With a wide sweep of her arm, she motioned toward the door. “Mission accomplished.”

He rolled his head from side to side, stretching the muscles in his neck, and he groaned. “Tell me something, Tess. Do you really believe he’s given up? Your husband sent a man after you with a gun, and now he’s just given up? Earlier today, you said—”

“I know what I said.” Tess closed her eyes, and her shoulders drooped. “You’re like an aggravating stray dog that won’t take a hint, you know?” She looked at him squarely and shouted, “Shoo! I don’t want you. Go away!”

His face brightened. “Nope. You messed up when you fed me. Now, I’m gonna hang around forever.”

“I wanted to repay you,” she said, splaying her hands in exasperation. “I figured food was the least I could do after you saved my life.”

“True.” A smart-alecky grin lit his face, and she gave up.

The teasing, laid-back Justin she’d traveled with today had returned. Having buried the pain and frustration deep inside once more, he resumed his role as the jovial companion. But she saw his humor and teasing in a new light. People dealt with pain in different ways. Was Justin’s ready grin just a mask? His laid-back joking a shield?

A sharp stab of sympathy pierced her heart. Her carefree and cocky cowboy proved a more complex man than she’d guessed.

Sighing, she crossed the room to her suitcase and worked to tamp down the swell of emotion her new understanding of Justin triggered. She couldn’t afford to peel back the layers of this man and invest any of herself learning what made him tick. If she started to care about him, she’d create a bond she had no right building. She meant to get Justin out of her life as soon as she could figure out how. No point complicating her task with attachments that would hurt her when broken.

A heaviness settled in her chest. She’d likely spend her life alone, holding herself apart from real affection or commitment or emotional connection. The hope she’d had as a young woman for the kind of love her parents had shared had been shattered in the first year of her life with Randall. Although Randall had refused to marry her legally and had tainted her view of matrimony, she clung to the memory of her parents’ happiness.

Though she’d never vowed “till death do us part,” she hadn’t realized how ominous the truth was. Not only would she never have the chance to feel the special bond her parents had shared, she doubted she could ever truly free herself from the man who’d stolen her hopes and dreams.

The weight in her chest tightened, rose to her throat, and Tess struggled to contain the tears that would serve no purpose. She had learned long ago to accept her lot in life. So why did she belabor the facts and torture herself now?

Clearing her throat, she faced Justin again and scowled at him. “You’re on my bed, and I’m tired. Please move.”

Instantly, she regretted the sharpness of her tone. She was mad at herself, not him. Discouraged by her emotional weakness, weary from the strain of the day, and pessimistic about her future, she unfairly took her frustrations out on the most convenient target.

Such transference was unlike her. Around Randall, she had learned to bottle up her feelings and stoically bear the brunt of his temper. What had happened to her?

Justin cocked an eyebrow and scooted off the bed. “All yours.”

Her body and spirit sagged as she watched him meander toward his bed, where he restored his guitar to its case.

“Justin.”

His gaze rose to hers as he snapped the case shut. “Hm?”

“I’m sorry. I’ve been rude to you all day, and it’s not right.” Guilt sapped her strength, and she wrinkled her brow. “Forgive me?”

Bracing a hand on his hip, he regarded her with a placid expression. “Forget it. We’ve been on something of an emotional roller coaster today. What we both need is a good night’s sleep. Things will look better in the morning.”

Despite her fatigue, a soft smile found her lips. “The eternal optimist. You’re amazing.”

“Attitude is everything, Tess.”

She mustered the energy to brush her teeth before crawling into bed, but sleep eluded her. A parade of worries marched through her head. She stared into the darkness, listening to the creaking of the next bed as Justin made himself comfortable and flapped the sheets.

“Justin?”

“Yeah?” A sleepy rasp thickened his voice.

“What happened to her husband? Rebecca’s husband.”

She heard him heave a deep sigh. “After tying up the courts and fighting the charges against him for two years, he was convicted of involuntary manslaughter last month.” Bitterness colored his tone. “He’ll get out after serving just two years.”

“Two years?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s not right.”

He remained silent for a long time before whispering, “No, it’s not. Rebecca lost probably sixty years of her life, and Mac will only lose two.” He paused. “Good night, Tess.” His bed creaked again as he rolled over.

Two years
. Fury swirled inside her at the injustice.

The same thing would happen with Randall, she knew. With all his connections, his ruthless power, his lethal procedures, Randall would never pay for his crimes. He’d built a business empire, a legion of minions, and an intimidating reputation by sheer will—and cutthroat tactics. Randall was a steamroller who would take down anyone or anything in his path.

Justin had unwittingly stepped in front of a speeding locomotive.

She accepted the fact that she would always be at risk, would always have to look over her shoulder. But she couldn’t let Justin die for her mistakes.

She knew what she had to do.

Her decision made, she rolled over in search of sleep.

***

“We’ve got men at the airport, the bus and train stations all over the area, in case she ditches the Jimmy. We’re doin’ everything we can, but . . .” Tony Morelli rubbed the side of his nose and floundered for the best way to explain the poor results he’d had finding Sinclair’s wife.

Randall Sinclair’s face remained impassive as he leaned back in the leather-upholstered armchair behind his desk. “But?”

Morelli cleared his throat. Sinclair’s calm unnerved him more than if he yelled. Unseen, unheard dangers were always the most deadly, he’d learned.

“I really hate the word ‘but,’ Morelli.” Sinclair drew a slow, measured breath and glanced away before returning his dark, placid gaze. “It’s usually followed by all sorts of lame excuses why someone’s not obeying a direct order.”

Morelli straightened his back. “We’ve covered all the bases. We’ll have her soon enough.”

“I’ll decide what is soon enough.” Sinclair leaned forward and narrowed a feral glare on Morelli. “I want my wife back. Expand your search. Up the reward for information. It’s not like I’m really going to part with any cash once we have the info we need. She could be out of the state by now. Even out of the country. You realize that, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir. Though it’s not likely. If she’d gone to an airport, my men—”

“Your men let her get away once already. Your men had better come up with something, or I’m going to hold you personally responsible.”

Swallowing the acid that rose in his throat, Morelli nodded. “Yes, boss.”

“It seems to me you don’t appreciate how upsetting it can be for your wife to go missing. I’d hate for you to find out the hard way, Tony. Maria is such a pretty thing.”

Morelli’s eyes widened at the implied threat.

“You have until tomorrow morning.”

Morelli nodded and turned to leave the office. He understood, perhaps better than anyone, how Sinclair worked. Ever since Sinclair had helped pay off his gambling debt to a loan shark with a mean streak, Morelli had worked for the business tycoon. His methods were more subtle than the loan shark’s, but no less lethal. But Morelli had always been on the trigger end of the gun, meting out Sinclair’s version of debt repayment. Morelli knew Sinclair’s cold-hearted capacity to bend people to his will, and the extent of the danger Maria was in, if he couldn’t produce Tess Sinclair by morning.

***

“Tess?” Justin propped on one elbow and peered through the blackness to the second bed.

“Angie,” Tess whimpered. Her head tossed restlessly from side to side. “Not Angie.”

“Tess, wake up.”

“Don’t!” Her voice sounded tense, tormented by the nightmare that haunted her. “No . . . no!” She thrashed her arms as if fighting someone off.

Justin debated shaking her. His heart wrenched for her anguish, but she might be more frightened if he woke her.

She kicked at the sheets that trapped her legs, and sweat popped out on her brow, despite the chill from the powerful motel air conditioner. She whimpered then became still except for the near-convulsive shivers that wracked her body.

He watched her sleep. Sympathy knotted his gut. Her hair, an unusual shade of light brown, spread in a tangle on the starched white pillowcase. Her long dark eyelashes fanned in a similar fashion on her dewy, ivory skin. Having kicked off her sheets, a generous amount of her slender thighs was exposed. The wind suit pants that she’d removed, once under her sheet, lay crumpled near the foot of the bed.

His gaze slid over her feminine curves and the smooth skin of her legs. He swallowed hard when his groin tightened.

Again, he suppressed the urge to touch her he’d fought all day. She was off limits. She’d made that clear when she’d rebuffed his kiss. He wouldn’t test her. At least, not until she gave her consent. Instead, he settled for watching her sleep, pondering how in a matter of hours he’d become so enthralled by her beauty, so involved in her plight, so captivated by her lovely smile.

In her, he recognized the skittishness and self-doubt that the counselors he’d consulted after Becca’s death had described as common for a victim of abuse. A
survivor
of abuse, he corrected. The counselors emphatically referred to women like Tess with the accent on the positive. “Attitude is everything,” he mumbled softly.