Standing in the Shadows (35 page)

"Hey." He held up his hand. "Hello! Earth to Erin! You're my girlfriend now. Your problems are now my problems. No question."

She looked down at her hands, letting her damp, tangled hair hide her face. "We've only been together for two days."

"It doesn't matter if it's two days. It wouldn't matter if it were five minutes. And it's not a question of having to, or wanting to. It's just the way it is. So don't fight me. Because you'll lose. OK?"

She gave him a teasing smile. "Oh, my hero."

He rolled his eyes. "Please. Spare me. Cat, sister, mother, any other relatives to take care of? Grandmas, aunts, cousins?"

She shook her head. "None of them will have anything to do with us since the trial. It's like we have the plague."

Connor's hand crept higher, his fingertips brushing her nipple. She grabbed his hand, sliding it back to her belly and holding it firmly there. He let out a wistful sigh. "OK. The asshole relatives can go fuck themselves. It's just as well. There's only so many hours in the day."

She flopped onto her back, giggling. All the things that had so much power to hurt and sadden her before now just seemed ridiculous, with Connor's energy and humor to buoy her up. She slid out from under the quilt, slapping his hands away. "I have to take another shower," she said. "You stop that right now, Connor. Be good."

"I'm always good, baby. Want to see?"

She eluded him, still laughing as she fled to the bathroom.

Connor was fully dressed and waiting by the door when she came out. "I saw a grocery store down the block," he said. "Let's run down and grab some makings for breakfast. I'm starving."

She smiled at him as she toweled herself off, resisting the urge to cover herself. He was her lover. He could look at her body all he wanted. He'd seen it all, from every angle, and he'd loved it The heated, appreciative glow in his eyes made her almost forget what he'd said.

"You run on down while I get dressed," she said. "The keys are on the shelf by the door. I'll stay. Cindy might call, or my mom."

He dropped the keys into his pocket. He looked troubled. "Do you know how to use a gun?"

"Dad showed us," she admitted. "He took us to the gun range a few times. I never liked them, but I can use one."

He crouched down and took a small, snub-nosed revolver out of an ankle holster. He held it out to her. "Keep this with you."

She backed away, shaking her head. "Connor, no. I'd—"

"Take it, Erin."

She knew that stony tone of his voice. She sighed, and took the gun. Whatever made him feel better.

He dismantled the squealer and unbolted the door. "Don't open up to anybody but me. Anything special you want from the store?"

"Some milk for my tea, please."

"You got it." His grin flashed. The door clicked closed.

She sank to her knees, boneless. The gun dropped to the rug.

Connor's absence changed the energy of the room so completely, it was like a pillar had been pulled from the roof. The need to stand up to him, to be strong and dignified, was gone. She huddled on the rug, half laughing, half crying. She couldn't breathe. Her heart had blown up to the size of a beach ball, and left no room for her lungs to expand. Her wildest dreams had come true. Connor McCloud was her lover, and what a lover. God. No amount of erotic fantasizing could have prepared her for a man like him. For sex like that.

The gun caught her eye. She picked it up with two fingers and placed it on the dresser. Time to get dressed and face the day, to be strong and tough and adult. She couldn't afford to be overwhelmed.

A phone rang while she was pulling on her jeans. Not her phone. She looked around, and realized that it came from the pocket of Connor's canvas coat, still flung over one of the kitchen chairs.

It could be Sean, calling with news of Cindy. She lunged for the phone. Several condoms and a bunch of her lost hair-pins came out with it and scattered across the floor. She stared at the display. She had no way of knowing if the number displayed was Sean's, but she couldn't risk missing his call. She flipped open the mouthpiece. "Hello?"

"Who's this?" a deep, puzzled male voice asked.

"This is Erin," she said. "Who is this?"

There was a long, astonished pause. "Erin Riggs?"

"Is this one of Connor's brothers?" she asked.

"No. This is Nick Ward."

Oh, God, no. Nick, one of her dad's colleagues from the Cave. Nick, the tall, black-haired guy with melting dark eyes and dimples. Answering the phone had been a disaster. "Um, hi, Nick. How are you?"

"Where are you, Erin?" There was an edge to Nick's voice.

"I'm at home," she told him. "In my apartment."

"Where's Connor? What are you doing answering his phone?"

"He ran down to the store on the corner to get some breakfast stuff." She was blushing like a tomato, even though no one could see her. "I thought this call might be from one of his brothers, so I…"

"Huh." He was ominously silent. "So, what's up, then? Are you two together?"

Images of their intense lovemaking over the past thirty-six hours swirled through her head. "I guess so," she said.

She hated the quaver in her voice. It proved she was still afraid, beneath all the giddy euphoria.

Nick cleared his throat. "Hey, Erin. I don't want to stick my nose in, but Connor… he's had a hard time of it in the past year or so, what with everything that's happened—"

"I know," she said.

"Uh, he's got one bitch of a score to settle with your dad. Oh, hell. I don't know what to say. You're a nice kid. Try to keep a little distance, OK? I don't want to see you get hurt."

Erin swallowed hard. "I'm not a kid anymore, Nick."

The key rattled in the lock, and the door swung open. Connor saw the phone in her hand, and froze in place.

"Connor's back," she said tonelessly. She walked over to Connor and held out the phone to him. "It's Nick."

He let the groceries drop to the floor and took it. Erin closed the door and carried the bags to the table.

She wished the apartment had another room to escape into.

The pinched look on Erin's face alarmed him. Connor lifted his phone to his ear. "Yeah?"

"What the fuck are you doing with Erin Riggs?" Nick snarled.

Connor waited several beats before he let himself respond. "We'll have this conversation another time," he said. "In person, so I can express myself fully. Until then, it's none of your goddamn business."

"Is this some kinky revenge on Ed? Seduce his baby princess, and thumb your nose at him? Try and stop me from behind bars, asshole, nyah nyah nyah? She's just a kid!"

"She's almost twenty-seven. Have you got anything relevant to tell me, Nick? Because otherwise, this conversation is over."

"I bet you told yourself she needed protection 'round the clock. What a great opportunity. And now you're nailing her, you self-serving asshole. That kind of protection she don't need."

"Fuck off, Nick. I'm hanging up now."

"Wait a second. I'm going to pass this info on, not to help you, and not as a favor, but just to make you feel like the opportunistic prick that you are. We got word from Interpol. One of the guys that broke out with Novak got nabbed in Marseilles yesterday. Martin Olivier. He confessed that Novak and Luksch were both in France, but he was found dead in his cell before he had a chance to say exactly where. Poison of some kind, they think, pending the autopsy. So it looks like the only person that Erin Riggs needs protection from is you."

Connor pushed his anger aside. His brain was too busy shifting into net-and-fish mode, taking in information, comparing, associating.

"It's a decoy," he said. "Can't you feel it? He's not in France. It's all theater. He's got business to take care of here."

"I might have known you wouldn't be interested in any information that doesn't fit your fantasy, you—"

Connor flipped the phone shut.

Erin was putting on the teakettle. She was pretending nothing had happened. The room was dreadfully silent, apart from the small clinking and rustling sounds she made in the kitchen. She grabbed a bowl and fork and opened the carton of eggs.

"I'll cook breakfast," he offered. "I'm good at it."

The smile she tossed over her shoulder was unconvincing.

Connor slid his arms around her waist, pulling her off balance so that she had to fell back against him. He removed the fork from one small, chilly hand, the egg from the other, and placed them in the bowl.

He covered her hands with both of his, warming them. He pressed his face into the damp satin of her hair. "It looks weird, from the outside," he said. "You and me, together. At least to Nick. Because of all the bad things that have come down."

She nodded.

"But from the inside, from where we're standing, it makes perfect sense," he said, with quiet force. "And it's beautiful."

He waited for a response, but she was mute. He lifted her hair, exposing the delicate curve of her cheek. He kissed it. So soft.

The thought rose up from the depths of his mind, from that part of him with which there was no arguing, no negotiating.

Nobody, but nobody was taking this from him. Just let them try.

He nuzzled her throat. "You with me, Erin?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"This thing we've got, it's amazing. It makes up for a lot."

She shivered, and he felt the exact moment that she softened and leaned back against him. Trusting his support. He was so relieved, he had to hide his stinging eyes in the cool, soothing dampness of her hair.

They stayed that way, suspended in a bubble of speechless intimacy until the teakettle started to squall. Erin took it off the hot plate, and Connor smoothly took over the breakfast preparations.

He was good at it, too. Shortly afterwards, they were feasting on omelets stuffed with peppers, onions, ham, and cheddar cheese. Connor kept sticking toast into her toaster, buttering and consuming it until the loaf was nearly gone. They were very quiet and subdued. Nick's call had wiped out all her goofy euphoria, but Connor's reassurances and his embrace had calmed her back down to almost normal.

Well, relatively speaking. As if she were qualified to define normal.

A key turned in the door lock. Connor sprang to his feet. A gun appeared in his hand as if it had materialized there, leveled at the door.

"Who is it?" she called, as the door swung open.

Tonia stood there, the cat carrier in her hand. She focused on Connor, saw the gun. Her dark eyes became huge. The cat carrier fell to the ground with a thud. An outraged yowl issued from it.

"Erin?" Tonia squeaked.

"It's OK, Tonia!" Erin whirled on Connor. "Put that thing away!"

He tucked the gun into the small of his back. An infuriated meow issued from the cat carrier, and Erin rushed to pick it up. "It's OK," she told the wary Tonia. "Really. It's fine. He's harmless. Come in."

"I thought you weren't getting back till this evening," Tonia said faintly. "I thought it would be better to bring back Edna and feed her here, since I have to work a double shift. I didn't mean to interrupt—"

"It's OK. You couldn't have known," Erin soothed her. "I'm so sorry Connor gave you a scare. He's kind of, ah, high-strung."

Connor looked disgusted. "High-strung?"

"That would be putting it charitably," she snapped.

"Connor?" Tonia's gaze raked him, up and down. "So this is the infamous Connor McCloud?"

His eyes were cool. "That would be me."

Tonia's sharp eyes swept over the apartment, taking in the disheveled bed, the quilt on the floor, the condoms scattered under the table. "You've been keeping things from me, you bad girl. You ended up with a bodyguard after all, didn't you? And something more besides."

Erin's face heated up. She opened the pet carrier door, and Edna bolted out and disappeared under the bed with a shriek. "I'm in for it," she said ruefully. "Emotional blackmail for a week at least."

"You've got to stop letting people make you feel guilty, honey. And you can start with your cat." Tonia stuck out her hand to Connor with a brilliant smile. "I'm Tonia Vasquez. Pleased to meet you."

He did not smile as he shook it. "Likewise."

Tonia turned to Erin. "Sorry I burst in on you, but I'm glad you're home. I was going to leave a note. Have you talked to your mom?"

"Not yet," Erin said. "I planned to run over there today. Why?"

"I tried to call you at the resort, but (hey told me that you never checked in." Her eyes flicked up to Connor's face. "Now I see why."

"Change of plans," Connor said.

"Why did you try to call me?" Erin asked. "What's going on?"

Tonia's eyes flicked to Connor, back to Erin.

"Don't worry," Erin said. "He knows what's happening. You can say anything in front of him."

"Is that so?" Tonia murmured. "Hmm. Well, the other night I was in the neighborhood and I thought I'd drop in and check on her. We've been pals ever since I helped you move, you know. I went there around eight, and the place was dark. So I pounded on the door for a while. Finally she came to the door, in her bathrobe. She was disoriented, as if she were heavily sedated. She didn't look good at all."

Erin pressed her arm against the empty, sucking feeling in her belly. "Oh, no."

"We made a pot of tea and chatted, and she kept saying she couldn't bear it anymore, seeing Eddie on the TV Eddie's your dad, right? Was she referring to the media circus during the trial?"

"No," Erin said bleakly. "I doubt that's what she meant."

"She felt faint, but she wouldn't let me take her to (he emergency room," Tonia went on. "She said she had a migraine. I ran upstairs to use the bathroom, and when I came down, I saw the photos." She paused dramatically, and shook her head.

Erin pressed her fingers against her mouth. "What about them?"

"The faces are gouged out with something sharp," Tonia said. "And then put neatly back into their frames and back on the wall. And the TV in the living room. This you will not believe. It's lying on its back with a fireplace poker sticking out of the smashed screen."