Waking the Dead (40 page)
It was, Cait realized with a sense of bemusement, as close to an apology as she was likely to receive. And because she could empathize with the woman’s experiences to some degree, she felt herself thawing. “Like I said this morning, we’ll pursue all leads. See where they take us.” But she was as certain as she could be that they wouldn’t be leading to Zach Sharper.
Andrews nodded and headed for the door. And Cait let her go, a realization bringing a pool of trepidation with it. Sharper had issued an invitation today. One he no doubt wanted to rescind by now. But she was going to his place, regardless.
She had a feeling that her welcome would make the one Andrews received from him look positively friendly by comparison.
When he ignored her knock, she walked right in. He’d left the door unlocked. Didn’t think she’d have the balls to come after Andrews had worked him over today. But if there was one thing Caitlin Fleming didn’t lack, it was balls. No doubt she collected them from the men she’d stomped on over the years.
He watched her come through the door and halt when she saw him in the recliner, regarding her over the top of his beer bottle. Thought he saw a jitter of nerves in her expression before she deliberately smoothed it. And that calm composed mask shot his temper from simmer straight to boil.
“Plans have changed.” He took a drink, lowered the bottle to give her an insolent stare. “Turns out I’m not in a picnicking mood.”
“I think I can guess what kind of mood you’re in.”
“Shouldn’t be hard. Seeing as how you’re the cause of it.”
Because he was watching, he saw the flash in her eyes. But her movements were loose and easy as she crossed the room to sit on the couch. “You know better than that.”
“Do I?” The words burned, so he took another sip. The beer didn’t appreciably dissipate the scorch in his throat. The betrayal in his chest. “I knew what to expect with Andrews.”
“I couldn’t warn you she was coming . . .”
“Don’t recall asking you to. As a matter of fact, I don’t recall asking you to do much of anything, although”—he raised the bottle in a mock salute—“there are a few things you’ve thought of on your own that I have to admire for sheer creativity.”
A slow flush crawled to her cheeks. And her face may still have been composed, but her eyes weren’t. A vicious sense of satisfaction filled him at the sight.
“Fuck you.”
“That you did. Up, down, and then . . . over.”
“How do you figure me for the bad guy in any of this?” She bounced off the couch, fists clenched at her sides. Dispassionately, he took a moment to note that she looked good with a mad on. There was a twist in his gut at the recognition. Of course she would. “Because I asked some of the same questions of you a few days ago? This is a serial murder investigation. Was I supposed to intervene on your behalf with Andrews? Would it matter to you if I said I did? And she didn’t give a shit.”
“I don’t need your intervention.” He shoved up from his chair and crossed the room until he stood before her, his hand tightly gripping the throat of the bottle. “I don’t need a damn thing from you. I can handle Andrews. Hell, I have been handling her all along with her half-baked accusations. But I gotta hand it to you, Slim, I wasn’t expecting you to arm her with more ammo against me. Didn’t see that one coming.” He made a gun with his fingers and put it between his eyes. Jerked his head back as if feeling a bullet. “So yeah. Count me as another sap too dazzled by a pretty face and”—he raked her with a gaze deliberately insolent—“a killer body to see what was right in front of him.”
She pushed her face close to his. Looked for all the world as if she’d like to take a swing at him. “You couldn’t see what was right in front of you if it were written on the end of your nose. I’ve never seen a man so willfully stupid.”
“Stupid? Maybe I’m mistaken. Maybe I misheard Andrews when she said you’d looked into my military record. Used my training . . . my missions . . . and somehow twisted that to make me out to be someone with the skills to snap necks, I’m told.” He cocked a brow, the fury pumping through him now, a scalding flood of heat. “See, the sheriff isn’t quite as close-mouthed as you are. But then I supposed confidentiality is off when you think you have the prime suspect in hand.”
Something in her seemed to ease. “You’re not the prime suspect.”
“No?” He cocked his head. “Sure seemed like it today. But after you’d fed her that info about my military record, I’ll bet she was hard to hold back.” He stared at her for a moment, willing her to respond. Feeling like a kid with the strength of the longing. “Or are you going to tell me she was able to dig into confidential military files on her own?”
“No.” Her gaze was steady. “I pulled some strings. Or at least got my boss to.”
The admission hit him in the chest like a fast right jab. Suspecting it was one thing. Hearing it was quite another. “Well, guess that was faster than sleeping with me and hoping I’d spill my guts after a good blow job.”
He caught her wrist before her fist connected. No ladylike slap for her. He’d expect nothing less.
“I didn’t ask for details of your missions. I didn’t need the information.” She jerked away from him and he released her. It wasn’t wise right now to be touching her. In any way.
“Right.” Like she’d put the brakes on getting too much info if she had an inside channel. Something raw and unchecked was prowling in his chest. He wasn’t ashamed of anything he’d done for his country. But back in the States the parameters changed. From a safe civilian distance it was easy to misconstrue the nature of acts half a world away. Easy to pass judgment on the ones making those sort of split-second decisions that had ramifications for entire teams. The thought of Cait sharing those details with Andrews made him want to punch something.
“Believe whatever the hell you want. And Andrews has had that information about your military record for days, so you’re blind if you think that knowledge all of a sudden made her want to slap cuffs on you.”
He didn’t believe her. Why should he? And what she was saying didn’t make sense anyway. “Something sure as hell convinced her recently. She was ready to break out the interrogation tools.” He gave her a humorless smile. “Pretty sure she would have enjoyed it.”
Her eyes were murderous. “Believe me, I know the feeling. Your prints were on one of the bags, Sharper.” His face must have been as uncomprehending as he felt because she went on. “From the cave? Your print came back as a match when they ran the elimination prints. That’s what got Andrews hot on your trail. And the fact that I just told you that makes me an even bigger idiot than she accused me of being.”
Her movements rife with fury, she wheeled around and headed for the door. And even though her final words had his anger abruptly dwindling, he let her go.
Because he couldn’t afford this welter of emotion crashing and careening inside him. He was better off . . . far better off . . . when he hadn’t cared about a blessed thing. Nothing outside his house. His business.
He was sure as hell better off before he gave a damn whether Caitlin Fleming had sold him out for a case.
“I come bearing gifts.”
Insects circled the porch light in slow death-defying orbits. The illumination was the only spear of light in the utter darkness. It haloed around Sweetie, who was wearing the winsome expression that was especially endearing. Spotlighted the white wax paper bag bearing the familiar logo. The Sweet Shoppe.
“You remembered.” The pleasure pushed aside the resentment that had pricked at him since their fight.
“How I acquired my nickname? How could I forget?” The bag was lowered. A note of uncertainty entered the voice he loved so much. “I know it’s been a long time since I’ve brought you something special, but am I still your sweetie? Or have you decided you can never forgive me?”
Ever mindful of the eyes that could be watching, he stood aside to allow entry. Waited until the door was locked and closed before pressing that sexy body between his and the front door. And there was a desperation in their kiss. Maybe because of their argument and maybe, maybe fueled with guilt because of his lapse afterward. He’d make it up to Sweetie tonight. They’d make it up to each other.
All too soon, Sweetie slipped hands up to his chest to wedge a bit of distance between them. “Easy. I can stay for a while tonight so there’s no hurry.”
Pleasure bloomed. Having more than a few stolen minutes with his lover was an even better treat than the fudge in the bag. He slipped an arm around Sweetie’s waist and felt a quick burst of excitement when they walked, arms entwined to the living room.
“Cops were all over McKenzie Bridge today.” And although Sweetie tried for a matter-of-fact tone, he could hear the concern layered beneath it. “The town was buzzing about it. They were showing pictures of two of them. How in hell did they identify them? I can’t understand it. What else do they know?”
“Nothing, or else we’d hear more. There’s no way any of it leads back to us. I was careful. So were you.”
“I know. Still . . .” Sweetie paced the length of the room, the bag hanging from the long sensitive fingertips. “I don’t want to place you in danger. I think we need to consider Plan A.”
“Of course.” He was still trying to soothe. Still trying to be the strong one. “Someday . . .”
“I mean now. Or at least soon.”
He froze, almost unable to comprehend. They’d waited so long. Sometimes it had seemed as though they would never be together. Like it was all a fool’s dream and all he’d have, all they’d ever have, were these moments together.
Sweetie was still talking. Nervous. Pacing with quick driven movements. “It’ll have to be the way we talked about. I’ll go first. You’ll follow. But not in six months. That might be too long to wait. Maybe four?”
“I can say I’m moving to Portland. To be closer to my dad in the nursing home.” That story had been told so often sometimes he even believed it was true.
There was a tug of regret at the thought of leaving this place. His old man’s fate had been sealed when his sainted mother had been buried in the garden. Without regard. Without regret. Left to the grubs and insects and whatever animal sniffed around to dig and dig and carry off a limb. He’d planned the bastard’s death since the moment he’d seen the coyote running off the property with Mother’s ulna in its jaws.
“Good thinking. Right. And you remember where we’ll meet. And the route you’ll take? You can’t fly directly there or you’ll lead them right to me . . .”
A belated sense of joy eddied inside him. Higher and higher until he felt ready to drown in it. At last. At long last. He crossed to his sweetie and tenderly laid two fingers against those beautiful lips for a moment. “I remember it all. And you remember how to let me know if the plan changes?”
One slow sober nod was his response. “But first you have to take care of Fleming. She’s a threat to us. Even if we leave the country, with her help I’m afraid they could find us. She’s all that stands between us. The only thing keeping us apart.”
Of course she was. He saw it so clearly now. Sweetie was absolutely right, as usual. And there was nothing he wouldn’t do to salvage their future together.
“Leave Fleming to me. She’ll be dead within twenty-four hours.”
Sweetie released a sigh. “I’m depending on you. I always depend on you.”
Heart singing, he forgot about Barb Haines’s body, still waiting for the bugs. For the painting. For disposal. Forgot about the worry of not seeing his lover for four—only four rather than six!—months. Didn’t consider yet how he was going to do away with Caitlin Fleming. The details weren’t important.
He thought only of the beginning of their life together. Soon now. Very soon.
“Let me show you what it will be like. The two of us. Alone. Rich. Blissful.”
Slowly he cupped Sweetie’s jaw, his breath hitching when his palm was kissed. But he wouldn’t be diverted. Not by the buttons marching down that chest he liked to lick and nip and explore. Not by the belt, surely worn to tempt and taunt.
The leather was undone. The snap unfastened. And the zipper inched down one tooth at a time.
When he’d released Sweetie from the clothes, he ran his tongue over the velvety shaft and murmured against it, “Soon, my love,” before taking him in his mouth.
And knew he’d never been happier.
Chapter 18
Damn, damn, damn.
Cait fairly flew around the Landview motel room getting ready for the day. She’d overslept, and it suited her to lay the blame for that squarely at Sharper’s feet. The glaring numbers on the alarm clock had seemed to mock her throughout the long sleepless night until she’d thrown a pillow over them to block out the sight of the time passing while she’d lain awake. As a result she’d woken groggy and fuzzy headed, a feeling the bracing shower had only partially dissipated.
To make matters worse, she needed to do laundry. She only had one more set of clothes in her bag here, and she had no idea when she was going to find the time. Maybe the Landview offered a cleaning service. Hearing voices in the hallway, she rapidly walked to the door and pulled it open, wanting to catch the maid and ask her.
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