Unforgivable (22 page)

“If you’re hungry, there’s soup,” she said, dividing the water between two mugs. The little bits of marshmallow melted and made white swirls on top.

She turned around, and he was watching her with that predatory look again. He didn’t touch her, though, just reached out and took a mug.

“There’s tomato. Some chicken and rice, I think.”

He looked into the cup, then put it on the table with a clunk.

“We need to talk,” he said.

Mia didn’t want to talk. Talking was the very last thing she wanted to do with him. This could well be their only night together, and she wanted to savor it.

Because a night was just a night. Anything more would border on Relationship Territory, and he didn’t want to go there. Knowing that, she wouldn’t cling to him. She couldn’t, not if she wanted to maintain her self-respect. So that left her with tonight.

“Is there something you want to tell me?” He watched her, still waiting for the answers she’d promised him.

“I’m cold.”

“You’re
cold
?”

She took her mug of cocoa and crossed the room to the fireplace. She sank onto the sofa and folded her legs beside her.

He joined her near the fire, but he didn’t sit down. Points for him for being wary. He probably figured she was going to try to distract him, which she was.

“You never explained how you found me,” she said.

“I told you, I looked.”

“You didn’t just look. I covered my tracks. I’ve been using cash. And a fake ID.”

He crossed his arms. “Yeah, well, you left out a few things, babe. Once I knew you were at White Oak Cabins, it took me about five minutes to find you. Next time
you want to get lost, maybe try a town with more than three hundred people.”

“How’d you know about the cabins?”

He watched her, obviously weighing how much to say. “You left a note in your kitchen.”

“I most certainly did not!”

“You left the notepad. Same thing.”

She blinked at him. “You’re telling me you broke into my house and …” She frowned. What had he done, exactly?

“I didn’t break in. And yes, I swiped your notepad and got the phone number from the little indentations in the paper. Basic detective work. So what? I probably could have gotten the same info from your phone records if I’d looked.”

She pictured him standing in her kitchen, rubbing a pencil over her notepad, figuring out where she’d gone. And she should have been angry. He’d let himself in, invaded her privacy. But instead, she felt blown away. He’d searched for her and been worried about her. He’d snatched her out of the sights of a gunman. She still couldn’t believe it.

“Truth time, Mia. Who are you running from?”

She looked away. “I don’t know.”

“What are you running from?”

“I don’t know that, either.” She said it quietly, staring into the fire. She remembered the flames swallowing up Ashley’s clothes. Dread gripped her. How had she let herself get into this mess? And what would he think about her when he knew?

She gazed up at him, his face half-lit by firelight, his expression hard. She wanted the expression from before that told her she excited him and made his blood rush.

She put her mug on the floor and shifted to her knees. His gaze narrowed as she unbuttoned the top button on her shirt.

“Mia. We’re not done talking.”

Another button. “I know.”

Something sparked in his eyes, and she didn’t know whether it was anger or desire. Not that it mattered.

“Tell me something.” She reached the last button and let the shirt fall open. All she really showed him was a narrow strip of skin, but it was enough. “Is this really a safe house?”

He eased closer but didn’t touch her. She rose on her knees until she was only a breath away from him.

“Because if it
is,
that means we’re safe, right?” She rested her index finger on the buckle of his belt and slowly traced it. “We’ve got all night to talk and … whatever else.”

She leaned forward and rested her forehead on his chest. His muscles tensed beneath his T-shirt. She pressed a kiss there.

He drew in a breath and released it slowly, with control. “Mia—”

“Because I couldn’t help noticing that you sort of jumped in front of a bullet earlier. For me.” Those fathomless brown eyes were looking at her with so much heat she thought she’d melt. “And I never even got a chance to say thank you.”

The man pulled up the long private driveway and slid his battered Buick between a souped-up Escalade and an Audi, both black. Good to see his fucking tax dollars at work. He walked across the driveway to the back door,
ignoring the state trooper and the PR flack who stood on the patio having a smoke break.

He hiked the back stairs to the spacious office that sat above the four-car garage. Jeff Lane was alone, as expected, and he was on his cell phone. He had his sleeves rolled up like someone who’d had a tough day at work, but he had a relaxed smile on his face. Probably had a girl on her knees under that big desk.

Lane’s smile faded as he entered the office. He strode up to the desk, pulled the phone from Lane’s hand, and disconnected the call.

“I want my money.” He tossed the phone onto the leather sofa behind him.

Annoyance sparked in Lane’s eyes, but he managed to keep his cool. “I assume you’ve finished the job?”

“Change of plan. I want to get paid first.
Then
I finish the job.”

Lane sighed, very put upon. He got up and crossed the room to a granite bar.

The man was relieved to see that Lane hadn’t heard about the botched attempt. With a little luck, he never would.

“Scotch?”

“Whiskey.”

Lane poured two and handed him a short glass with an L monogrammed on it. “I thought we agreed—”

“You’re stalling,” he said. “And the price just went up. I want six figures.”

Lane chuckled, as if they had some private joke together. He returned to his chair and leaned back, setting the drink on the desk in front of him. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were getting greedy.”

“This is the last time, too. Then I’m out. You have any more problems after this, call someone else.”

Lane smiled. “No one’s ever really out.”

“I am.”

He sipped his drink smugly.

“And I want my money tomorrow, or I’m out before this even gets done. I don’t think you want those kinda loose ends.”

Lane watched him for a few moments, as if debating his strategy. They both knew there was nothing to debate, because for once, Lane wasn’t calling the shots. He was between a rock and a hard place this time, and he knew it.

“You realize, don’t you, that you’re all over the map with this,” Lane said easily. “First, you tell me the DNA woman’s a problem and we need to get rid of her. When that doesn’t work out, you tell me it’s okay because we need her help. Now you’re saying we need to get rid of her again. Which is it?”

“We need her gone.”

Lane’s expression hardened. “You know, I’m beginning to think I’m being lied to. You told me she didn’t see you.”

“She didn’t.” He remembered the flash of eye contact after she jumped from the Jeep and looked back over her shoulder. The sunglasses had slipped. It had been just an instant, but he was becoming less willing to take risks. He was way too exposed.

Lane gazed into his glass and shook his head. “I’d just as soon not part with that kind of money. And I’d just as soon not have another body on my hands. Why don’t you intimidate her?”

“I did.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“The problem is, she’s fucking a cop. It won’t be long before they put their heads together and figure this out. Then you’ve got two problems to deal with.”

“Who’s the cop?”

“The same one who’s in charge of the murder case.”

Lane’s eyebrow tipped up. “Which one?”

He gritted his teeth. “Both of them.” Lane knew he wasn’t happy about taking out a cop, but it had been unintentional.

He felt his composure sliding, felt the anger bubbling to the surface. Lane represented everything that was wrong with this country, and he hated the man’s guts. He hated even more that he took money from him. But he kept a lid on that hate. Emotion was a weakness, and Lane was looking for any weakness he could exploit.

Better to keep this a business transaction, cold and impersonal.

He downed the whiskey in one sip, and it scalded a path down his throat. He set the glass on the desk. “One hundred grand. Tomorrow. Then I finish this for you. You wait any longer than that, the DNA woman and this detective are going to figure things out, and everything you’ve built over the last twenty years is going to come crashing down around your head.”

“Oh, really?”

“Really.” He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “And then you’re going to be wearing an orange jump-suit and missing your whores and your Jameson and wishing you’d given me every dime I asked for and more.”

He towered over the desk now. It was a war of wills, and he won it because they both knew he was right.

“I’ll wire it tomorrow,” Lane said. “And then I want this over.”

The man walked to the door, hiding his relief. Six figures. It had been a shit day, but he’d salvaged it. He turned around, with his hand on the door frame. “Hey, by the way, I saw that nice black Audi down at El Patio.”

“So?”

“So, every badge in town hangs out there. Think about it.”

Lane waved him off.

He opened the door to leave. This guy’s ego was going to be his downfall. “I
will
get out. And next time you have a problem, I won’t be around to fix it.”

“Yeah?” Lane leaned back in his chair and looked amused. “Where will you be?”

“Anywhere but here.”

CHAPTER 15

She came awake slowly. He watched her. Ric had gotten up earlier to stoke the fire, partly for warmth but mostly so he could look at her in the light of it. He ran his hand over the generous curve of her hip, and her eyes drifted open.

He propped himself up on an elbow. She looked from him to the fire, then back to him again.

“What time is it?” She sat up and pulled the blanket over herself.

“Six.”

He held her gaze for a long moment and saw all of it come back to her, everything they’d done together, in sweet, raunchy detail. She swung her legs out of bed. At some point, they’d unfolded the couch and made it up with blankets, but it was a mess now. Ric would have been happy to mess it up some more, but she grabbed her shirt off the floor and pulled it around her. She gave him a self-conscious smile before slipping away to the bathroom.

So much for jump-starting the day.

He pulled on some clothes and went outside. The
air had a bite, which he needed pretty badly, and he did a quick survey of the perimeter before picking up the ax he’d left stuck in the stump near the tool shed. He hacked away at some oak limbs until his shirt was damp and his heart pounded. He had no idea where this pent-up energy was coming from when he’d spent most of the night not sleeping, but he needed to get rid of it.

Fireside Mia was gone, and it was back to reality. Last night had been about avoidance, and Ric was fine with that. He could think of worse ways to procrastinate. But he’d seen regret on her face just now. Embarrassment, too. And it pissed him off.

He returned to the cabin with enough wood to build a bonfire. She was standing at the sink in the light of the window, fully dressed. She’d showered already, and her damp hair was pulled back in a clip.

“I smuggled that evidence out of the crime lab and took it to an incinerator.”

He stared at her back.

“It’s gone.”

Ric dumped the wood onto the floor and walked over to where she stood. Her gaze was fixed on something out the window, but she didn’t seem to be looking at it.

“Say that again.”

“You heard me.” She turned to face him and looked braced for an assault.

“Sit down,” he ordered.

She sank into the chair and looked at him nervously. His alarm grew with every fidget of her hands. She wasn’t joking.

“Someone threatened you?” He had the insane hope
that she’d say yes, someone held a gun to her head. Why else would she do it?

“They had Sam. Or at least, they said they did, and I believed them.” She looked down at her lap. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter now. It’s gone. All of it. I watched it burn.”

Ric stared at her. Something about her calm infuriated him. She’d watched it
burn
. All that evidence. A bitter lump lodged in his throat.

He knew she’d been lying. He’d known it the second she’d started talking in Rachel’s office. At the time, she’d looked miserable. Guilty. And more than a little bit afraid of him, much as she looked now.

Ric turned his back on her and muttered a curse.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Say it to my face, whatever it is. I know you’re mad at me.”

“ ‘Mad’ doesn’t cover it.”

“Damn it,
look
at me!”

He turned around.

“He threatened Sam! What was I supposed to do?”

“But he’s okay now, right? It was some kind of scam?”

She surged to her feet, eyes blazing. “Don’t you dare question me! What would you have done if someone had Ava? If someone put her voice on the phone? You would have done anything!”