The Choice (8 page)

He’d done it, though. Killed Belinda. Her letters, her calls...all evidence demonstrated that he’d intimidated her, kept her a virtual prisoner. She’d been terrified of him toward the end, and they’d been alone in that bayou cabin he’d used for a getaway. Before the case had been closed, the parish officials had shown Jillian the file that was now conveniently ‘missing.’ There was no doubt of it. He might support a whole orphanage, give money to the homeless, be the patron saint of a whole city, but he’d still murdered her sister—and others—by virtue of his livelihood. He was a merchant of death.

And Cullinane was the man he trusted most. Cullinane knew the answers.

Answers Jillian didn’t dare ask for. Not from him, not even this sweet, harmless woman.

“Jillian? Ms. MacGregor? Are you all right?”

Jillian’s head snapped up, searching Alice’s kind eyes. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask her if she’d met a woman named Belinda, but... Her shoulders sagged.

She was alone in this. She’d chosen this route. No secret ally would sweep in to help her, there were no shortcuts. She had to keep quiet, dig for information, look for her opportunity—and keep her wits about her.

Raising her head high and straightening her shoulders, she smiled calmly. “Yes. Yes, I’m fine. I’ll leave you to your work.”

And turned away, feeling more alone than when she’d opened the door.

Chapter Six

Late afternoon shadows drifted across her bed. A knock sounded on her door, and Jillian stirred.

The knock came again, harder.

She sat up, muzzy from her nap. “Who is it?”

“It’s Fred. Get up. Boss wants you.”

Jillian shoved her hair back out of her face. Rising slowly, muscles protesting, she scrubbed at her face with her hands, grabbing her robe from the end of the pale peach bedspread. “Just a minute...I’m coming.”

Opening the door, she could see the signs of his disapproval, the smirk. Jillian straightened. “Yes?”

“Boss wants to go for a Sunday drive. Be ready in ten minutes.” He held out her weapon. “Cullinane says you don’t have to feel naked anymore.” Fred’s brown eyes glinted, and she fought the urge to hold her robe closer.

But she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. She took her weapon, meeting his gaze with chin lifted. “Fine.” She started to close the door.

He shot out an arm to block it. For one instant, she felt a frisson of fear.

The beefy blond man looked uneasy. Finally, he blurted out, “You’re...different.”

She cocked her head, waiting. “And...?”

He studied her, shook his head. “I don’t know. You made me look bad,” he said, glancing at his foot. “You shouldn’t have been able to do that.”

Jillian didn’t know how to handle him, what to say. These men could make her life even harder if they wouldn’t accept her. She didn’t need any more obstacles.

“Nobody’s taken Cullinane down in a long time.” He shifted uneasily on his feet, then glanced up, a slight grin curving his lips. “You might be all right.”

Jillian grinned back, sighing inwardly with relief. “Thanks...Fred, right?” She glanced down at his foot. “I—I’m sorry about your foot. I’d been asleep, and I...”

He waved off her words. “Forget it. It was the other guys laughing at me that hurt worse than anything. But after today, well...Cullinane beat you good, but that fall took the heat off me.” With another grin, he stepped away, drawing the door closed. “Uh, the boss is waiting.”

Her spirits a little lighter, she flew into action. No way was she giving Cullinane a chance to chew her out for being late. When she got downstairs, though, Cullinane was nowhere in sight, and neither was the limo she’d ridden in the night they went to Chez Nous. In its place was an SUV, Hafner waiting at the passenger door.

“Would you do the honors and drive?”

Startled, Jillian hesitated. “I don’t know the area.”
And I don’t want to be alone with you.
No, that was wrong. That’s exactly what she needed. Yes. She could get this over with and leave.

Though she might spend the rest of her life running.

He waved a hand toward the driver’s seat. “No matter. I do.”

She shrugged. “You’re the boss.” But no time to plan, no strategy. Resolving to be vigilant for her opening, Jillian climbed into the seat, adjusting it to fit her.

Hafner settled into the seat beside her, then she heard the left rear door open and glanced in the mirror.

Cullinane. Of course.

Jillian ground her teeth in frustration. She should have known he’d never let her do this alone. Glaring into the mirror, she challenged him. “Perhaps Cullinane would rather drive? You do prefer to be in control, isn’t that right, watchdog?”

Mr. Granite was back, full-force. Black mane forbidding, the silver streak a warning. The man whose eyes had darkened with desire could have been a figment of her imagination. This man didn’t evince even a grimace at the nickname.

Hafner laughed. “He does, indeed.” He turned toward his security chief. “What do you say, Cullinane?”

Voice stony, Cullinane responded, “Just drive, MacGregor.”

Shadows dappled the driveway as she pulled away, Hafner giving directions. They headed farther out into the countryside. Jillian concentrated on her driving, trying desperately not to be unnerved by the presence of a man she loathed beside her...and the penetrating gaze that met her every time she glanced in the rearview mirror.

When Hafner’s arm stretched out to rest lightly on the top of her seat back, she steeled herself not to shift away.

Hafner rolled down the window, drawing in a deep breath of air filled with scents of decaying vegetation, exhaust fumes, and the slowly-settling heat of the day. “Ah, this countryside suits me. I like the faint air of corruption that infuses everything.” 

She didn’t respond, focused on steering carefully. In the mirror, Cullinane’s hard visage greeted her, but she couldn’t read any expression there.

“Turn here, my dear,” Hafner gestured. As their bodies swayed with the abrupt turn, his hand dropped to her thigh.

Jillian flinched. Her glance shot up to the mirror to see if Cullinane had noticed, but Hafner’s voice jerked her attention back quickly.

A squirrel darted across the road. Jillian barely missed it, Hafner’s hand tightening on her thigh as the vehicle swayed.

She wanted to slap his hand away, to punch his lights out. She wanted to bathe away his touch, even though her jeans barred him from coming into contact with her skin.

But she had a goal, a job to do. Hafner had to trust her so she could get close, again and again, until the opportunity presented itself. Tamping down her disgust, she gritted her teeth, glancing back in the mirror.

Cullinane’s eyes burned her, his generous mouth set in a hard line, the flex of his jaw condemning.

Jillian raised her chin and glared back.

“Pay attention, MacGregor. There’s a car following us.”

Glancing in the mirror again, she saw he was right. She’d seen that car before, on the highway.
Focus, Jillian. Do this right.

In front of them, a car drifted across the white line. She hadn’t trained for evasive driving. 

A quick glance behind showed the car speeding up. The car in front hadn’t corrected its angle—it was headed straight for them.

“Get down, Klaus,” Cullinane snapped. “Hit it, MacGregor! See if you can get past them.”

Jillian’s fingers tightened around the wheel. She punched the accelerator, the vehicle reacting quickly. The car in front sped up, angling more. “I can’t make it,” she said through clenched teeth. “I’m headed through those trees.” Jerking the wheel hard, she prayed the vehicle wouldn’t tip over as she ran it across the uneven ground.

A shot pinged the roof. She wanted to reach for her weapon, but steering took all her attention.

“Stay focused,” Cullinane ordered. “Turn our side toward them when you have to stop.”

She saw him edging toward the other door, gun ready. Aiming the SUV at rougher ground where the cars behind them would have more trouble, she hoped she wouldn’t have to slow down to shift into four-wheel drive. They were gaining slightly.

Suddenly, a drop loomed. Too much to traverse, and solid cypresses at the base, the edge of the swamp too near. She wheeled the car around, leaving it running, and grabbed her weapon. Cullinane slipped out of the back, gun drawn and ready.

A shot hit the rear window, but it didn’t break.

“Bulletproof, thanks to my protector,” Hafner said.

Jillian climbed past him. “Stay down. I’ll see if I can help Cullinane.”

When she got out, though, he was nowhere in sight. The black car that had been chasing them closed the gap. Jillian crouched behind the wheel well, sighting in to shoot, when she was grabbed from behind, a hard blow to her arm knocking her weapon to the ground.

“Not bad, MacGregor. Your evasive driving skills could stand some work, but at least you didn’t panic.”

Heart pounding, rage shot through her body like a sniper’s bullet. She jerked away and whirled, chest heaving. Angry words rocketed to her lips. With great effort, she swallowed them, adrenaline still pumping.

The cars behind them slowed and stopped. Ron and two other men emerged. Hafner climbed out of the Explorer, grinning.

Only Cullinane looked displeased.

Hands on her hips, Jillian glared at him, fury still fighting to escape from her lips. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Turning insolently away from his regard, she leaned down and picked up her weapon.

“What did I tell you, Cullinane? Cool as a cucumber under pressure.” Hafner’s smug voice sounded. “She’s ready, even you can’t say she isn’t.” A taunting tone entered his next words. “I mean, any woman who can drop the unbeatable Cullinane...”

A grin crossed Ron’s face. Jillian wished she were looking at Cullinane right now. Slowly, she turned.

If looks could kill, she’d be toast. She didn’t care. This was sneaky, underhanded...

Effective. It had worked. Her final exam, and she’d passed it. She could see it in his gaze. He couldn’t turn her away now. She smiled sweetly. “Do I get an ‘A’, teacher?”

His grim visage revealed nothing. Nodding at the men behind her, he snapped out an order. “Ron, you drive back. Check the vehicle to make sure there’s no damage other than the window. Solly, you in front and the other car follows. Let’s get back to the compound, people. Fun’s over.”

He started past her. Jillian shot out a hand to stop him. “Cullinane, admit it.”

He towered over her, his closeness unsettling. The imperious eyebrow lifted. “Admit what?”

That I’m good, that I surprised you, that— Stop it, Jillian. You don’t need this man’s approval, you only need him to not interfere.
She dropped her hand. “Never mind.” She stalked toward the car, but his voice stopped her.

“You’re good, MacGregor. That what you wanted to hear?”

She turned back. “But you don’t like it.”

His face hardened. “No. I don’t. But I’m not paying the bills.” He rounded the car.

She didn’t care what he thought. Wouldn’t let herself.

The drive back seemed to take hours.

* * *

Shirtless and barefoot, Cullinane watched her sleeping. Unable to sleep himself, he cursed her ability to drop off so easily—but then, she’d had a very strenuous day.

He couldn’t send her away now. She’d proven herself, even he had to admit it. Hafner was jubilant, the other men accepting. Only Cullinane balked, with no other reason than his instincts to guide him.

But those instincts had kept him alive for a long time. He turned away from the monitor in disgust, wishing he could get a handle on what it was that bothered him so much about her.

Get real, Drake,
he chided, one hand swiping his hair.
She bothers you on every level.
He wheeled around to glare at the screen.

Jillian stirred, and the sheet slipped down, drawing his gaze down with it to the nipple about to be revealed. He swore darkly, jabbing at the switch for that monitor, dissolving the image into darkness.

You can watch for the sake of security, Drake, but not because she sleeps naked.

But how did he wipe the image from his mind, prevent himself from dreaming it? With a muffled curse, he moved to his room, popped the buttons on his jeans and stripped, then climbed into his own bed.

And tried not to wish he were climbing into Jillian’s. The feel of the sheets against his skin maddened him, too reminiscent of how little separated them...only a little distance down the hall, only the bare covering of two sheets on their bodies...

Only a lifetime worth of hunting a killer.

Growling, Cullinane punched his pillow and flipped on his side, closing his eyes....

And prayed for merciful oblivion.

* * *

The sun bright in the sky the next morning, Cullinane rapped impatiently at Hafner’s door.

“Who is it, at this godforsaken hour?”

“It’s ten o’clock, Klaus. Open up. We’ve got problems.”

Too many moments passed. Cullinane was reaching for the knob when the door swung open onto Hafner’s private lair. Cullinane barely registered the dark room, the sinister black and gold scheme. He thrust a sheaf of papers into Hafner’s face.

Hafner blinked sleepily and frowned, running fingers through his short gray hair. “What’s got you so riled up at this hour?”

“She’s a liar. Jillian MacGregor doesn’t exist.” Pacing, he tried to still the thoughts swirling around in his head. He’d known something wasn’t right. Now he’d proven it.

“So?”

Cullinane whirled in amazement. “So? You can ask me that, with this evidence? Have you lost your goddamn mind, Klaus? She’s not who she says she is—she could be anyone, ATF, FBI, an assassin sent by some of your less well-meaning admirers...she’s got to go.”

“No.”

Cullinane swore. It wasn’t likely she was any sort of government agent, but she could be working for someone who hated Hafner—God knows plenty of people did. If it weren’t so serious, he’d laugh. If he didn’t believe in the soundness of his cover, he’d almost think Hafner wanted to keep her just to confound him.