Reckless Endangerment (27 page)

“Is this how you plan on handling every argument we have in our marriage?  Storming off and making a scene?”  He stared at her back until she slowly turned on her heel.  He swallowed the lump in his throat. They’d lost so much.  He needed her to come back, give him one more chance.  One.  More.  Chance.

He hated those damned sunglasses concealing her eyes, the long hair hiding half of her face and the frown on her mouth. 

“We don’t have a marriage.  We have nothing,” she finally said without making any attempt to step toward him.  “Stay here...away from me...good luck, Colonel.”

“Don’t go.”  He moved toward her, uncaring about the spectacle they were creating in the hallway.  She’d been pregnant.  He’d tossed her aside, ignored her, denied her...abandoned her when she’d needed him as much as he’d needed her.  She’d dealt with too much in too short of a time.  Just looking at her now, he realized how badly she needed him, how horribly he’d let her down. “Take me home.  Let’s talk.”

“I’m done talking.  I’d be better off back in a war zone dodging bullets than dealing with your insults.  I know where I’m wanted...and where I’m not.  Contrary to my behavior over the past five months, I’m not a fool.  I’m done here. Good-bye, Michael.”  She scooped up her puppy and turned her back on him. 

He stared at her as she walked away from him and knew he had no right to ask anything more of her.  He stared down the hall even after she’d gone, the weight of her absence crushing him in place.  He’d gotten exactly what he’d wanted.  He’d finally hurt her badly enough where she’d snapped, but he feared he’d pushed her toward danger instead of away from it.   

Chapter Sixteen

She glanced in the rearview mirror and gnawed her lower lip.  Whoever was in the silver Jaguar didn’t know how to tail someone very well.  She knew it had to be Gannon.  He’d been at the institute, probably witnessed the meltdown in the hallway.  Well, to hell with him. 

She picked up her cell phone, called Devon and cursed the voicemail.  “Meet me at Shotgun Willie’s,” she said with a guilty glance at Dude who had his head out of the passenger window, fur blowing back from his pointed nose, eyes squinting, tail wagging with joy. 

The local strip club was a rumored front for the human traffickers and owned by one of Gannon’s shell companies.  She’d linked that much of the puzzle.  Although she couldn’t directly tie the human trafficking ring to him yet, she’d let him think she could.  Why not bluff a little?  Up the stakes?  She wanted this story over and done so she could put Denver in her rearview once and for all. 

Her nephews loved Dude...they’d love him to death, she knew.  She scratched him behind the ears and grinned at the pup.  He’d probably be better off growing up with a couple of little boys loving on him day in and day out than stuck with her anyway. 

He looked over his shoulder, amber eyes full of adoration. 

She blinked back the sudden tears and forced herself to concentrate on her mission. 

When her cell phone rang, she answered on Bluetooth. 

“Marshall wants to come to the strip club with us,” Devon said.  “What’s this about?  Do you have the Colonel with you?  Is this some kind of welcome home party wild style?”

“No, it’s just me and Dude.  Gannon’s following me in a silver Jaguar.  I thought I’d bluff him into thinking my story’s leading us to his club, see what he does next.”  She brushed a stray tear away with the back of her hand.  “Have Marshall drive separately.  He can follow Gannon from here and we’ll meet back up with him.”

After a long silence, she heard Devon exhale. “So this is work related.  Are you sure this is a good idea?  You looked like you were about to drop from exhaustion at the station.  Have you even been home yet? Have you taken a nap yet?”

“I need this over, Dev.  We’re close.  Two can play at his game, you know.” 

“I’m worried about you,” Devon said quietly.  “Fine.  I’ll be there. It doesn’t hurt to be seen, give out some business cards, rattle a cage or two, but then you need to promise me that you’ll go home.  Marshall and I will follow him from there.  Just us.  You need some sleep before you do something rash.”

Rash.  Right.  She rolled her shoulders back before ending the call without a response.  It would be good to be back in a war zone where no one gave a damn how much sleep she’d had or questioned her judgment every ten minutes.  Screw this relationship business.  She was good alone.  Better. 

She parked in the parking lot.  So did the Jag.  She caught her lower lip between her teeth and stared in the side mirror toward the tinted windows of the other car. 

Dude nudged her with his nose, speckled paw resting on her thigh.  Without looking away from the Jag, she scratched her puppy behind the ears. 

Her cell phone rang again. Caller ID said Becky.  She hit ignore without an afterthought. 

Sighing, she stowed Dude into his crate in the backseat, locked her Jeep and walked into the strip club like she owned the place.  So what if she weaved a bit.  No big deal. 

She blinked at the dark interior while her vision adjusted.  Mid-afternoon in a strip club equaled the seediest of seedy individuals lurking near the stage.  A dancer spun upside down on a pole clad only in a thong.  She leaned her back against the bar, admiring the athleticism it took to do something like that, wondering briefly if the pole hurt against the skin.

“I thought you’d wait for me outside,” Devon said, appearing at her side looking freshly showered yet concerned.  “The feds are out there, too, by the way.  Not very subtle.”

She stared at the dancer’s ankle, the sole support of her upside down body as she did a move that looked more like an acrobat than a dance, and wondered how long she’d needed to practice that.

“You really don’t look right. You look a bit...nuts, actually.” Devon said.

“Shut up about how I look, okay?  I get it.  I look tired, beat up and edgy.  Understood.” She motioned for the bartender.  A wave of exhaustion rolled through her, reminding her of the brutality of the day. 

“What happened with Michael?” Devon asked.

“He thinks I’m too dangerous to be married to, that’s what happened.  Big revelation of the day, I guess.” She slipped her business card and a one hundred dollar bill to the bartender.  “I know Gannon owns this place and that’s not what I care about.  I want to know about what goes on in the back rooms.”

“So much for subtlety,” Devon whispered. 

The bartender, a topless woman dressed in sequined boy shorts, eyed the cash but didn’t touch it.  “I know who you are and have nothing to say.”

“You agree with sex slavery, then?” she asked, uncaring that she was being too ballsy for her own good.  “I’m going to bring this entire place down.”  She pushed the money closer to the woman.  “Take it.  Call me if you get a conscience.”

“I think you should leave,” the bartender said, eyes as cold as the ice she dropped into the glass. 

“Gannon is involved in the human trafficking between San Diego and here.  I know it. All I need to know is where he’s stashing the girls.  Are they here?  Is she one of them?”  She nodded toward the dancer on stage.  “What else does she need to do to pay off a so-called debt?  Huh?  Do you know how much trouble you’re going to get into if you know these things and don’t help me?”

“You need to go.”  The woman’s eyes darted sideways toward the camera located above the mirror. 

Hope followed her gaze and flipped her middle finger at it.  “Tell Gannon what I said.  Word for word.  I don’t have time for his nonsense.  I’m going to destroy the son-of-a-bitch.” 

She pushed away from the bar and strode back outside with Devon hot on her heels.  A quick scan of the parking lot showed no sign of Gannon’s Jag or Marshall’s truck. 

“Well, that was classy.  You’re begging him to kill you, you know that right?”  Devon grabbed her keys from her.  “No way in hell I’m letting you drive.  At least I’ve had a few hours to nap and shower.  Get in, I’m taking you home.”

“No, call Marshall.  We’ll--”

“That’s it, Shane.”  Devon shook her head and motioned toward the door.  “You’re out of control.  I’m taking you home and am staying there to make sure you sleep.  You look like a zombie with your bruised face and puffy eyes.  Get in.” 

She slid sunglasses back over her eyes and slouched in the passenger seat, arms crossed defiantly across her chest.  A lone tear trickled down her cheek, but she didn’t care.  She turned her face toward the window...the sounds of the van exploding from this morning still pounding in her ears.  When she closed her eyes, she saw Michael’s face twisted with accusation.  

“You need a keeper, do you realize that?”  Devon said between clenched teeth.  “What the hell happened with Michael?”

She chewed on her knuckles.  Everyone thought she was some irresponsible lunatic running around endangering lives, so why not live up to the image? Screw it.  She had nothing more to lose. 

She was so tired.  Eyelids heavy, she curled against the door.  It wouldn’t hurt to close her eyes for a minute.  Rest.  Avoid a debate about right or wrong. 

When she woke up, they were parked in front of the institute rather than her loft.  Devon leaned heavily against the steering wheel talking in hushed tones on the cell phone. 

“Why are we here?  I don’t want to be here.” She frowned at her slurred words.

Devon ignored her and stepped outside. 

She twisted in her seat and noticed Dude sleeping soundly in the back seat.  Twilight descended, the sky blood red over the shadow of the Rocky Mountain Front Range framing the city skyline. 

Becky opened the passenger door, face less stormy and more concerned.  “The Colonel’s packed and ready.  Were you going to leave him here?”

She blinked, wondering if she were still dreaming.  Nothing seemed real in the strange fog in her brain.  So tired.  She hadn’t been this tired in a long time.  Her arms felt heavy when she shoved her hands through her hair.  Her hair hurt at the roots from the blinding headache throbbing in her skull. 

“Michael’s staying here,” she said, her voice an octave lower than normal.  “I really need a nap...and a bath.  What time is it?  We’ve got--”

“No, we don’t.”  Devon shook her head from where she stood behind Becky.  “I rescheduled with you know who.  Marshall’s got something else for me to look into and you have a husband to take home.  I need to catch a cab.”  Becky held up her hand to silence her questions. “We’ll catch up tomorrow, It Girl.  Tonight you need a keeper and I think only a Marine is qualified for that job.”

Her wary gaze lifted past them all to where Michael waited with his duffel bag in his lap.  Her gaze locked onto his, communicating all the hurt of the past months that she was too tired to conceal. 

Becky noticed and winced.  “Let us take care of you a little bit.  That’s what we’re here for...family.  Isn’t that why you came back?”

She rubbed her hand against her forehead, unsure what to do with all of these strange sentimental people staring at her as if expecting some grand gesture.  How long had she been sleeping?  It’s like she woke up in a parallel universe. 

Becky caught the keys that Devon tossed to her.  “I don’t know how we’re going to handle him getting into this Jeep of yours, but we’ll make it work, I’m sure.  Are you okay to drive?”

“What are you talking about?” she finally asked.  “Michael isn’t coming home with me.”

“Yes, I am.”  He nodded at Devon before meeting her gaze again.  Now directly behind Becky, he grinned.  “I’ve been told that you were acting more dangerously than usual and need to be grounded for at least 24 hours.  I’m the man for the job.”

She stared at him, their argument fresh in her mind.  “That easy, huh?  Just like that you think I’m going to take you home with me?”

“Well, you’re his wife and we’re sick of his outbursts here. He’s very obnoxious, hard to handle, refuses to obey any rules.”  Becky’s lips twitched when she produced a stack of papers.  “He’s your responsibility.  I filed all the paperwork this morning...all you need to do is sign.  Of course, this means you’ll be getting the bill, too.”

She squinted at the three of them, suddenly feeling like the last one in on the joke.   Reluctantly, she took the papers from Becky.  Yep, they were real.  She swallowed the lump in her throat.

“Did you really flip off the security camera in a strip club hoping to draw Gannon out to play?” Michael asked with a crooked grin. 

“Maybe.”  She stepped from the vehicle and moved around them, making sure to give Devon a look that screamed ‘snitch’.  Spreading the papers on the hood of her jeep, she shook her head no.  “He doesn’t want to come home with me.”

“Actually, yes, I do.  We haven’t covered driving or basic household chores yet, but this is a transitional facility designed to teach me real life skills, isn’t it, Becky?”  He handed his duffel to her sister, the two of them looking suspiciously like a team. 

“Why, yes, it is, Michael. This is a transitional facility designed to help those with paralysis learn real world skills and provide them with on-going physical therapy to assist them in living with their new circumstance.”  Becky looked too pleased with herself.  Annoying as hell.