One Last Hold (7 page)

“No, Caitlyn’s waiting for me.”

“Is that why you’re in such a hurry to get there?”

Wesley snickered. “Yeah, yeah.” He picked up a wrench, fumbled with it, and set it down. He picked up a screwdriver, tapped it against his head a moment, and dropped it.

“You trying to break my tools, man?” Adam asked as his friend picked up another one.

“Sorry,” he said, ditching it with the rest.

Adam packed away his tools and closed the toolbox.

“I had a meeting with a sponsor,” Wesley said. “I get the impression he wants me to meet his daughter.”

Adam chuckled and continued to put away his things. “You never did have trouble meeting girls.”

Wesley groaned. “No, I can find them on my own. It’s the people trying to set me up with someone I have a problem with.”

“Wish I had that problem,” Adam muttered.

“You’re married.”

Adam rolled his eyes, doubting he came in here just to tell him that. “Is something else on your mind?”

Wesley stood there. Whatever it was must be bothering him a great deal. He scanned the area, checking to see if anyone loitered, but they were the only two in the garage.

“I received a visit from a couple of cops the other day,” Wesley said. “They found a file folder of information supposedly about me, though everything was missing except for a copy of my family tree.”

Adam concentrated on keeping his mouth in a straight line, maintaining eye contact, and keeping his breath centered.

“Can you think of a reason Chad would want my family tree?” Wesley asked.

“I can talk to Gene about it if you want.” Adam knew Chad’s crew chief pretty well and he’d probably ask even if Wesley didn’t want him to.

“No, no. I don’t want to make a big deal out of it. Actually, I don’t want anyone else to know.”

“You know I won’t say anything if you don’t want me to,” Adam lied.

“I know, bud.” Wesley thumped him on the back. “If you can find anything out without mentioning that, I’d appreciate it.”

“Not a problem.”

They shook hands and Adam watched Wesley go. No doubt his friend was in some deep shit.

An imaginary pace car kept Wesley’s steps to a slow crawl. His heart idled, anticipating the green flag to drop at any moment.

He didn’t want to hurry. Hurrying meant he had to see Caitlyn again. She was in his RV, waiting for him. He should hurry. He should get this over with and her out of here. Before he did something
really
stupid.

Spotting her at the door, his pulse performed a stop n’go in his chest, stopping in the pit for one second to accept his penalty.

He’d loved her a long time ago. She was his first love. He’d accepted that and moved on. But seeing her again shot him with pain and regret for everything he’d lost and everything he’d caused. He’d run from her without a backward glance, but he’d been running from something far more intense than his love. He’d been running from his loss, the death of his mother, and the guilt he still held on to.

When he noticed Caitlyn clutching the door and a car parked in front, he flew toward the RV, counting all the reasons he should be angry at himself. He shouldn’t have left her alone in his trailer. Not after what happened to Chad. It happened a week ago today. What was he thinking? The killer was still out there somewhere.

Could be after Wesley next. Could be in there, with Caitlyn, waiting for his return.

Maybe he was overreacting. Maybe she was just wondering when he was going to get back. Maybe she was tired of waiting. Besides, a killer wouldn’t park right in front, would he?

“Everything okay?” He yanked open the screen door and pushed past her as he noticed the officers. He wondered why they were in an unmarked car. “What the hell’s going on?”

An officer thrust a piece of paper towards him. “We have a warrant to search the premises. We’ll be out of your hair as soon as we’re finished here.”

“What?” He studied the search warrant, unsure what to do next. He didn’t want to overreact with Caitlyn so near and give her any fodder for a story. But if there was ever a good time to overreact, this was it.

He should make them leave. Call an attorney. Instead, he paced and told Caitlyn this was standard procedure since someone close was murdered. But it wasn’t. They found one tiny slab of information about him in Chad’s trailer and now searched for a scapegoat so they could close the case as quickly as possible.

Caitlyn sat on the overstuffed couch. Pale. Shivery. He brought her a blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders, then rubbed her ice cold hands in his.

“Are you okay?”

She nodded, but he wasn’t sure if she was aware of what he said.

When they were finished with the search, Wesley shepherded the officers out then returned to sit beside Caitlyn. “Hey, don’t be so concerned,” he said, trying to lighten her mood. “I’m not being arrested for murder.”
Not yet, anyway.

“I…I didn’t know what to do.” She looked up at him. Stark blue eyes dazed from shock stared at him, framed by lashes matching the color of her chestnut hair. Hair he’d sunk his face into many times in his youth though it’d changed somewhat over the years. Darker, richer, longer. Laden with the most luscious curls he’d ever seen that right now framed her oval face and tickled his arm.

He kneeled on the floor in front of her and lost his fight to touch her hair. He caught a strand and rubbed the softness between his fingers. “I’m sorry that happened.”

“You couldn’t control it,” she whispered.

Could he? He was being investigated for murder and yet all he could think of was trailing his mouth along the crook of Caitlyn’s neck. Of bringing her hair to his lips and breathing in her scent. Pushing her back against the couch and making wild love to her.

But he could do none of those things.

“You’re not going to put that in your article are you? I don’t know if some of my fans would understand.”

She shook her head and lifted her chin, offering cherry red lips ripe for tasting.

He dropped her hair, stood and stepped back, tampering the urge to take her right there on the couch. Chances are she’d push him away. No telling what she thought of him. First his mom and now Chad? Did she consider him a killer?

“You did the right thing, Cait. Everything’s fine. They’re gone. They’ll bother somebody else now.”

She offered a fragile smile, meant to convince him she was okay. His heart twinged.

That and something else, lower.

“I need to take a quick shower and get out of these clothes. Then we’ll talk.”

“S-Sure.”

As he showered, he stood under the spray and let the water pelt him. He imagined his concerns like marbles on a racetrack, water washing the debris away. He switched the water to cold. It hurt, but it hurt a lot less than his hard-on. Whoever claimed cold showers were the cure-all obviously hadn’t had his kind. The longing to wrap Caitlyn in his arms and remind himself of everything he’d lost was almost more than he could bear.

How was he going to get this ridiculous assignment to end without hurting her? He had to get her out of his life before the situation nose-dived. Before he did something stupid enough to make him believe they could pick things up where they left off.

Wasn’t going to happen. And no matter how strong his desire for her, he had to stay focused. Sleeping with her, losing her all over again, could harm the carefully controlled life he’d made for himself. Losing his mother wasn’t the only thing that had almost ruined him.

Losing Caitlyn had almost killed him. He couldn’t go through it again.

He braced both hands on the wall and turned the temperature up, welcoming the heat as water poured over his face and down his torso.

He would stand here as long as it took to convince himself his feelings for Caitlyn were memories—only memories—and that it was impossible for him to have feelings for her now, except friendship. Not a deep, abiding type of friendship but a here-and-now kind. He would always care about her as a person.

And what would happen when she realized the cops were here because they considered him a suspect?

Could he trust her not to write anything about the police searching his RV? He could just picture tomorrow’s headlines: ‘Wesley Webb Accused of Murder.’

He didn’t want to believe that about her, but he couldn’t afford to believe anything else.

*

“Why’s your boss so hung up on me?” Wesley grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge, twisted the top, and handed one to Caitlyn. He hovered over his beer, his biceps taut and flexed as he placed both elbows on the bar and propped one ankle behind him on the stool’s bottom ring.

She repressed the urge to rise up beside him so his height wouldn’t overwhelm her, but she’d probably fall on her ass in her attempt to stand.

He’d taken a shower and came out wearing black athletic pants, a white t-shirt, and dark wet hair.

Dear Lord.

Water trickled down his neck and colonized his shirt, emphasizing his ripped chest. The cologne she sprayed on her sheets—the bottle of musk, vanilla, and nature she’d have to throw away when she got home if she planned to expunge him from her memories—assaulted her senses.

Calvin Klein smelled better on him.

Caitlyn lowered her gaze, took her pen and clicked it open once or twice, swinging herself back and forth on the barstool. Even after all these years, she’d sprayed his cologne on her sheets, claiming it helped her sleep at night.
God, what an idiot.
No wonder she wasn’t over him yet.

“Blake is infatuated with racing.” She stopped spinning her chair and opened her notebook to write today’s date. It was a start. “Off road, drag racing, stock cars. Even motorcycles. You can imagine his excitement when he found out I once dated Wesley Webb, the elusive race car driver.”

“How did he find out about us?”

She glanced up and his gaze slammed into hers, rocking her world. Reeling away, she latched onto the counter and swung her barstool to and fro as if she’d meant to lose her balance.

“I don’t know.”

“You never thought to ask?”

“Of course I asked. He didn’t say, only implied it was through my school. I’d talked about going to my high school reunion, and I guess he put two and two together. I don’t know.”

“Why did you agree to it?”

“I need my job.”

“I don’t see how he would fire you if you didn’t take an assignment.”

“I told you earlier, Wesley, he’d send somebody besides me who wouldn’t care how painful your past was. The reporters you hate so much because you claim they make up stories? That’s who he’d send.”

Wesley took a swig of beer. Caitlyn followed suit.

Where did this anxiety come from? She’d interviewed basketball players and movie stars and never felt this crazy flutter all the way down to her toes. Her skin tightened, reservation rebelling in her mind.

What was her problem?

She could list several reasons for her problem. One, she’d never slept with those other subjects, two, she’d never been in love with any of them, and three, she’d never been in their home, her body burning with the hope he’d take her in his arms and ravish her body.

“You want to know something interesting about me?” Wesley asked, pulling her out of her fantasy. “I drink one or two beers after my Sunday night race. Rarely any other time.”

She wrote the words slowly, ignoring the shivery little tendrils of want his voice triggered. Not just his voice but his scent, his body, his gorgeous green eyes. God, it was like she was a teenager in lust for the first time. She could get lost in his gaze forever.

She finished writing and tapped the pen against her lips. “Do you realize you’ve never talked about yourself unless it relates to racing?”

“Why should that matter?”

“Maybe Blake sees it as a challenge, I don’t know.”

“So you’re going to be the first to write about my past life, my past mistakes?”

“That’s not my intention.” She dropped the pen to the counter and wiped the condensation from the bottle, thankful for something to do with her hands besides clicking the pen or fumbling fingers. “He made a mistake when he sent me because I’m only going to report back to him about the race, your accomplishments, and whatever else you might want me to. I’m going to keep him happy by giving him good stories, but that’s it.”

“And why is that?” he pried.

Those gorgeous green eyes studied her, the intensity almost knocking her off her stool. She fumbled with the bottle before chugging the beer. At this rate, she’d be too drunk to finish their conversation. That might not be a bad thing.

He didn’t move except to take a drink. He didn’t fumble with words. He was calm. Intense, but calm. Her presence didn’t affect him. And why should it?

“The past hurts me, too,” Caitlyn admitted. “I would never print it without your permission. As much as you distrust me, I do care about you as a person.” God, why did she say that? The beer wasn’t at fault. She wasn’t even halfway done with it. She took another long pull, needing to give her mind a reason for delirium.

“I don’t distrust you, Caitlyn.” He fondled a strand of her hair. Heat splashed in her belly and smoldered in her groin. “I just don’t completely trust you.”

“Oh, that makes perfect sense.”

His hand fell away, thank God. His touch burned her, promising a hope she couldn’t afford to consider.

“So you’re doing this to avoid horrid assignments, and protect me from Blake’s nosy reporters who may dig up my past. Is that it?”

“You should’ve been a lawyer,” she muttered.

“Well, no worries, darling, I’ve had plenty of reporters nose into my life. I think I can handle any Blake might send.”

“I need the raise. My rent has gone up,” she blurted.

“Destroying my life is all about money?”

“I’m not here to destroy your life,” she defended. Why couldn’t he accept that?

The truth niggled at her. Should she admit her reasons? Not that she was here as a means to get over him—she’d never tell him that—but the other idea that had materialized.

“Actually, I considered asking you to let me do a biography on you one day,” she admitted.