Convicted (Entangled Ignite) (5 page)

Carter grinned, glancing back and forth as if the two of them were the ones locked in the cage. “Shana’s loyal, Trelane. You soldiers know the meaning of that word, don’t you?”

Rick’s eyes narrowed at being called a soldier, but he held back the bristle even if Cade couldn’t. “Yeah? Then why do you keep beating the shit out of her?”

The amiable glint went hard in a second. Less. “What happens between a man and his wife don’t have shit to do with you, cop.”

“Every time you put your hands on her, it has everything to do with me. Next time, I may let my friend here do a little more than put you on your ass. See how you like it.”

Cade kept his surprise off his face as best he could. Rick didn’t need anyone’s help in a fight.

“You can bring all the fucked-up war buddies up here you want, Trelane. It’s not gonna change anything about this place. I’ll always have more money than you. More men than you. Hell, I got the whole goddamn town. Unlike you, they all know what’s good for them. Marketta’s mine now. And the sooner you figure that out, the easier it gets for everyone.” He smiled again, a vicious show of teeth. “’Specially Shana.”

Cade glanced at Rick again, but the only response he found was the cord of Rick’s jaw pulsing as he ground his teeth. Then his friend got out of the car and slammed the door hard enough to rock it, both of them still inside.

“That temper of his is gonna get him killed one of these days,” Carter said conversationally, leaning back in his seat to watch Rick stalk through the parking lot and toward the park surrounding the area.

“That a threat?”

Finally, he had the man’s attention. “It ain’t a threat to say you’re gonna wipe the shit off your boots, man. Just a fact a life.” His gaze narrowed on Cade with disconcerting focus. “That was a hell of a cheap shot you took earlier. I’m gonna remember that.”

Carter might be a monster—and Cade had seen enough of them in his life to know they were real—but he was a smart one. Very smart and likely sociopathic, if the feel of that gaze meant anything. Lifeless, devoid of anything but calculation and possibly boredom. Giving this one anything to use against him would be a mistake.

“You gonna be shit I gotta scrape, too, big boy? Or you come to my town because you heard there was money in it for you?”

Cade considered his answer, checking to see how far Rick had gone to cool his temper. Not far, still in sight anyway. Leaning against a tree, smoking. They probably had a few more minutes.

So he looked at Carter with the same casual glance the man had used on him before shifting to turn and look out the front window. “You don’t want to be wasting your time with me. I’m not your kind of man.”

“You like breathin’, don’t you? You want to keep doing it, makes you my kinda man right there.” Carter laughed at his own joke.

Cade pulled his hat down over his face as if he were preparing to sleep right there. Nothing a man like Carter would hate more than being ignored. “Not particularly.”

Carter’s pause was almost amusing. “Not particularly, what?”

“You asked if I like breathing.” Sleep didn’t sound like such a bad idea, really. He was tired from that episode earlier anyway. Cade closed his eyes, relieved to further block the sunlight pouring through the windshield. He hated the sunlight, the heat it brought. Every time his gaze caught a blinding glare, he had to struggle to remember where he was. That he wasn’t burning alive under gear and sand.

“Death supposed to be some kind of favor to you, then?”

No. Death was as much an unknown as the life he was supposed to be living. He didn’t like unknowns, but at least being alive meant he had some kind of control. Being alive meant holding onto the rules he knew he could stand by, even if he didn’t understand why or what good it did anymore.

“Everyone has a price,” Carter said into the yawning quiet. “Everyone wants something and in this place, everyone and everything belongs to me. You don’t breathe, eat, shit, or fuck without my say-so. Remember that, deputy. ‘Cause I’m gonna be watching. I’ll find your price. Don’t you worry about that. Man like you, there’s always something you want.”

Unbidden came the memory of Katrina’s teasing grin, the warmth of her body against his.

Cade shut it out of his mind. “You don’t have anything I want, Carter. Leave it at that.”

“And if I don’t?” Another threat. The anger of a monster denied.

Cade just pushed his hat down farther on his face, effectively dismissing the egotist. Strange to find a moment’s peace with a psychopath at his back, but Cade had long ago stopped thinking about what was strange and what wasn’t. A man like him couldn’t exactly point fingers. Not when he had enough blood on his hands to make his footsteps so heavy they hurt. Not when he had medals he didn’t deserve and couldn’t stand to look at. Not when he looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize the face he saw. So, all he did was doze until Rick came back.

And dream about the woman with the mole under her eye.

Chapter Four

“I found out what the
C
stands for.”

Cade resisted opening his eyes beneath the shade of the hat. It was cool and dark under there. With the tree’s heavy foliage, it felt damn near night. He intended to keep it that way, even if that slightly teasing voice beyond it offered an unexpected temptation.

“
Cade.
”

He’d never heard his name said as if it had a flavor. His eyes opened without his permission. She made it sound like it tasted good to her.

There was a fast rush of air, then the unmistakable sound of her sitting. Damn it.

“Since I hate not knowing things, especially after yesterday, so I did some googling at the bar last night and found you in a news story from a few years back. Awarded a silver star—”

“My name isn’t a secret.” He ground the words out, far preferring her on that topic than the one she was starting.

She blinked a few times, but thankfully let it go. “I like it. Unusual, but masculine. It’s got
manly
stamped all over it, don’t you think? Is it a family name?” More rustling, what sounded like…paper bags. “I brought lunch with me, since I noticed you never have one. Want some?”

The unmistakable aroma of a hamburger and fries hit his nose, even with the hat.

He pulled it off his face, somehow more irritated that she’d brought something so fragrant with her. He had to be scowling, he knew he was, but she just turned her head and smiled. How he knew for sure, he couldn’t say since her mouth was blocked by what had to be the biggest burger he’d ever seen, lettuce dripping from the loosely wrapped bottom. Probably because of her eyes, the deep blue lighting up as if she was pleased she’d irritated him.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

He had to give her a moment to chew, her cheek bulging with the bite she’d just taken. Three, four times, her jaw worked while she held up a patient finger with one hand and shuffled her food until she could grab her massive soda cup and bring the straw to her lips. A few deep draws and she was finally able to swallow. Well, after she cleared her throat a little. “I was hungry.”

As if that was a reason.

For the next ten minutes, he watched her power through the sandwich, a greasy bag of steak fries, and enough soda that the straw made obnoxious noises until she put it down with a frown. Then she balled up her paper wrappers and stuffed her trash into the bag she’d kept between her denim-covered knees. That was when he realized she was sitting on a towel.

It was also when she got up.

Before he could ask where she thought she was going, she’d waved, thanked him for the company, and trotted off. And he actually watched her go. Confused, he forced himself to lie back down, but he couldn’t regain the blessed silence he’d had before.

“Damn woman,” he grumbled, pushing his hat down until it felt like he was trying to suffocate himself. It didn’t help.

Worse, he was hungry.

…

Her next visit a few days later wasn’t as much of a surprise, but it didn’t exactly clear up his confusion. “You did
what?
”

“He speaks!” She was already sitting on her towel, about a yard away from him, opening her bags of fast food. “I said I talked to Rosalie about you.”

“Who the hell is Rosalie?”

“Wilson.” If she was waiting for recognition, she figured out quick it wasn’t coming. “The receptionist in the sheriff’s office. Little redhead, smiles a lot?”

He glowered.

She cared. Deeply. He could tell, because she shrugged without any sense of self-preservation and went back to her food. Tacos this time. “Rosalie says you never bring food to work with you. In fact, she’s never once seen you open the office fridge. Which is nice for her, because she never has to remind you to take your plastics home on Fridays—”

“Is there a point to this?” And please, God, could she get to it?

“I just thought Rosalie might know what you like to eat. I hate eating alone. It’s worse than drinking alone.”

No, it wasn’t. He’d done plenty of drinking alone. Eating was a cakewalk compared to it.

“But she was totally useless.”

Oh.
That
redhead.

“You could save me some time and tell me what you like yourself.” She tried a brilliant smile. It lasted a lot longer than other people’s when they made the mistake of aiming one at him. Only hers melted into a narrow-eyed snarl. “Are you seriously going to be this much of a pain in the ass?”

“
I’m
not the pain in the ass of this situation.” Why he answered her, he didn’t know. He hadn’t meant to.

As he feared, she took it for encouragement.

“There’s got to be something you like to eat.”

Fifteen years of MRE dried food packets had a way of sucking preferences out of a guy. But that wasn’t why he wasn’t about to eat anything this woman brought him. “What makes you think I’d trust you with my food?”

She blinked, taken aback. “You think I’d poison you?”

“You’re not strong enough to take me out otherwise.”

Now she laughed, laying her elbow on her folded knee and leaning into her own palm, cradling her neck. “Yeah, you just keep telling yourself that, big man.”

Against his will, the comment caught his interest. He looked her up and down again, this time with a critical eye. There was a lot of definition to her arms, which were bare thanks to her thin black tank top. She was strong, he already knew that from the hold she’d kept on him back at the Carter house. Long, lean muscles didn’t deter from her femininity, but now he had to wonder how she kept herself in shape. God knew her diet sucked. She raised her fist for him to look at, the knuckles larger than he would have expected, but he’d seen her sleek fluid movement when she walked. Light on her feet, even in her high-heeled boots.

“Boxing?” he guessed, thinking of that bounce she had.

A slow nod. “Started there. You don’t grow up where I did without learning to throw a punch or two.”

“And then…” Because he was actually curious.

“Well, there was this guard in juvie. She had it in her head that training us to box instead of bash each other’s heads in might help our aggression.”

“Did it?”

“Hell no, we just knew how to beat the shit out of each other better.” Why did her laughter actually tease the corners of his mouth? “I got pretty good at it, though, and the others messed with me a little less. I found out about kickboxing a couple years later and that worked even better for me. Full body contact, you know? Your legs are the strongest part of you and let me tell you, no one sees a shin coming.”

He found the same thing true about a headbutt.

She shrugged when he didn’t answer. “Then mixed martial arts got popular and suddenly there were all kinds of fun things to learn. I can relocate your kneecap to the back of your throat if you piss me off. You know, if you’re into that kind of thing.”

“Well, who isn’t?” He had to look down when she cracked up at that. Last thing he needed was her thinking she was getting to him.

“It’s a definite plus in my line of work.” She wiped carefully under her eye, removing the moisture that had come from her laughter without affecting her makeup. Incongruously girly move for her, but he found he couldn’t look away again.

“The line of work where you serve a pack of violent criminals?”

Her left eye squinted at him. “You’re getting judgy again, deputy.”

So?

She sighed. “Have you done your reading on the MC yet?”

He had, the most recent files anyway. “Why?”

“Oh, I don’t know, because you still don’t seem to know who you’re dealing with?”

On the contrary, he knew exactly who he was dealing with. Which was why he refused to look away from the challenge in her eyes.

“There are four guys in this crew who are mechanics. They love building shit, especially shit that blows up, you with me? So the next time you get in your truck, check under it for anything that looks like it doesn’t belong there.”

Cade frowned, taken completely by surprise.

“There’s three more that like driving cars. You don’t see that too often with MCs, but these three are kinda infamous for driving away from that bank up in Castaic last year.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because your enemy knows more about you than you know about them. They
are
a pack of violent assholes. Extremely violent, but they own this town. They run it. Not you, not Rick Trelane. You need to know exactly what this particular pack can do. And you need to start figuring out who’s out to get you and who isn’t.
And
, you ass”—she threw some ripped up grass his way—“it’d be nice if you’d stop treating me like I’m in fucking Group A.”

His hands curled into the grass, tempted to pull it out like she had. He let the cool blades kiss his fingers instead, pausing to consider her words. “As long as you’re part of that MC, I can’t put you in Group B.”

She might be trying to help him—for reasons he couldn’t begin to fathom—but no matter what she said, what bizarre logic she used, he’d be an idiot to trust her. A dead idiot, more than likely.

And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to send her away. “But I could see you in Group C.”

She tilted her head, eyeing him as if suspicious of him. “C?”

He nodded. Not that he had a clue what Group C would include.

“Anyone else in this group?”

“No one.” It’d been so long since he considered there might be more than two groups at all, he figured it was quite the concession.

She must have thought so, too. “But you’re still not going to let me feed you.”

He shook his head.

“Ever?”

“Have you
seen
the shit you eat?”

She sighed, but grinned a little. “Hard to believe I thought you’d be a tough nut to crack.”

“Why do you have to crack me?” Most folks were perfectly content to leave him alone.

Her mouth twisted as she weighed her answer. “Maybe you remind me of someone.”

He didn’t like that. He especially didn’t like the faraway gleam in her eye as she said it. As if she was thinking of whoever that someone might be. “Well then, why don’t you go crack that guy and leave me alone?”

For the first time in a very long time, something that felt like guilt flickered in his senses when she flinched. “He died.”

The quiet between them stretched. He should apologize, he knew. His parents had raised him a hell of a lot better than that, but his mouth stayed shut.

He watched her as she stared at the kids in the park the way he’d tried to do since she started interrupting his lunch breaks. His words had hurt her, but she didn’t fire back. Didn’t cry. Didn’t do much of anything but hold her taco and stare at the park. Just when he was about to open his mouth—and say what, exactly?—she faced him with a thoughtful frown. “What do you think of donuts?”

That was when it finally dawned on him.

It didn’t matter what group he put her in or what phenomenally stupid thing he said to her.

He wasn’t getting rid of her.

…

“How many times do I have to tell you? I
don’t
want to
talk
about it, Trina!”

He wasn’t quite sure when it happened that he’d begun thinking of her as Trina, instead of Katy, like everyone else. Or actually calling her Trina. Or when exactly he’d started having actual conversations with her that required using her name, but it had happened. Over the weeks she’d been dropping by, sometimes for a few minutes, sometimes she stayed at the park after he left. It was especially telling when he came to his spot somewhere in the third month of these bizarre lunches and found her waiting…and he sat down anyway. Before that, he’d been able to convince himself she was simply an intruder he put up with. Once he sat, he had to admit he wanted to be around her.

Now he regretted it. Regretted every word he’d let himself say to her.

“You have to talk to someone,” she replied, matter-of-factly. “Keeping this all inside is killing you.”

No, it wasn’t. He was too dead to die. “I don’t have to do shit, you hear me?”

“The whole world can hear you.” Her resolute stare dared him to look toward the park and find out if she was right.

Well, she could wait for a cold day in hell before he’d do it.

“I’m not going to judge you. You know that, don’t you?”

Yes, she would. He did. Every goddamned day.

She sighed as if she’d heard him. “Some days, I swear I’m getting through to you. Then things like this happen—”

This
being her asking about his time in ForceRecon/MARSOC.
Tell me what it was like in Afghanistan
was how she put her question. “These
things
wouldn’t happen if you’d stop pushing.”

“Oh, like I was the one who pushed you on Saturday?”

Fuck
. He should have seen this coming. “I was doing my job.”

“Your job is not to knock the shit out of the people you arrest!”

No, it wasn’t. But no one could claim it didn’t work.

“Did you even feel better after?”

Better wasn’t the word. He could breathe after. Something he hadn’t been able to do when he got circled by five guys on Saturday, a fact she didn’t seem to be taking into account. Once that choking sense of the world closing in on him had set in, the panic went off and he was back in that last battlefield, fighting for his life while the sun burned everything to dust. Most of the time, he could keep that feeling at bay. Most of the time, he stayed in white-knuckled control. If she thought he enjoyed losing it, she was out of her damn mind.

“I’m not saying you have to tell me the scary stuff,” she continued. “Shit, start with the weather.”

Oh, sure, the
easy
stuff…

“Anything. Little things that don’t matter. Because pretending the last ten years of your life didn’t happen sure as shit isn’t working for you!”

He bristled, the muscles in his neck tight, his hands balled up under his folded arms. “Fifteen.”

“What?” Her reply was still a loud yell, softened at the end only when she realized he wasn’t arguing with her.