Wise Moves (4 page)

She tapped her finger on the reception desk. “Doesn’t that cut into your profits?”

Damn, but she was a cautious one. “The faster I get this job done, the better impression I make. I want Sheridan as a reference so I can build business in the area.”

She folded her arms over her chest. “Your offer is very tempting—”

“I pay in cash at the end of each day,” he said quickly before she could say no.

Her eyes brightened. Ah, there was the magic word—cash. She couldn’t be pulling down much here. And if she were living on the run, she’d need all the cash she could scrape together.

“Okay.”

Dane grinned. He held out his hand. “Then it’s a deal?”

Reluctantly she took his hand. “It’s a deal.”

He held her hand an extra beat and then released it. “Great.”

She pulled her hand free. “When do you want to get started?”

He shrugged. “No time like the present.”

She nodded. “I’ll just change.”

“Perfect.”

Without a word, he watched her dash up the back staircase.

Last night he’d been watching the place. He’d caught a glimpse of her trim body on the second floor before she’d closed the shades. Her living here would make her easier to monitor tonight. Easier to contain.

Today he’d get her fingerprints and give them to Lucian.

Tomorrow Lucian would confirm her ID.

He hoped she wasn’t Elena Benito. Kristen Rodale struck him as a good person. And he didn’t want to drag her into his dark world.

But if Kristen turned out to be Elena, he’d set aside whatever warm feelings he had.

He was going to catch Benito. No matter who he had to use.

Wednesday, May 16, 1:25 p.m.

K
risten pulled on a pair of faded jeans and a white T-shirt. She neatly folded the yoga pants and top that Sheridan had given her and put both in her knapsack, which she always kept packed.

Her movements were deliberate, slow, a holdover from her days growing up with her brother. He hated disorganization and sloppiness and he’d expected her to be perfect. Her hand slid to her cheek as she remembered a time when he hit her so hard she’d have sworn her teeth had rattled in her head. He’d been angry that day because she’d left her shoes out in the middle of her bedroom. He’d tripped on them when he’d come into her room to wish her well in school. But the stinging red mark he’d left on her face had meant she couldn’t go to school that day or the next. She’d been fifteen years old.

Kristen curled her fingers into a fist. Anger boiled inside her as she remembered how she’d cowered in front of him that day so long ago.

As she zipped the knapsack closed, she forced the memory from her mind and replaced it with Dane Cambia’s quick smile. His deep voice swirled in her head. He’d said all the right things and seemed like one of the good guys. And she liked him.

Kristen put on her sneakers and went downstairs. She came into the reception area just as Cambia closed a flip phone and tucked it back in on his belt holster. Instinct had her tensing.

He heard her and turned. Even white teeth flashed. “That was fast. I was just on the phone with the hardware store. Wanted to make sure the lumber I ordered had arrived.”

Feeling foolishly paranoid, she shoved her hands in her pockets. “Time is money, I suppose.”

“You are right about that, Miss Kristen.” He hitched his head toward the side door. “I’ve got my sledgehammer in the truck. The way I figure it, I’ll knock down walls and you can drag debris to the construction Dumpster out back. I just checked, and see it’s arrived.”

“It came this morning.”

“You mind helping me unload a few supplies from my truck? Many hands make light work.”

She was glad to have something to do. “You’re the boss.”

He grinned before heading out the front door. She followed. When she reached the front stoop, she paused and looked from right to left. Her stomach knotted. She’d not had this sense of anxiousness in months and was surprised she felt it now. Dane stood by a white van, the back door open. The van gave her pause. She’d heard they were soundproof—the perfect place to put someone if you wanted to snatch them.

Dane had shifted his gaze from her to the van’s interior. He started to pull out tools, totally relaxed.

What had gotten into her today?

She hurried down the stairs to the back of his van. Carpenter’s tools filled the neatly organized interior—hammers on the right, nails in labeled drawers, saws hanging from hooks. But what caught her attention was the condition of the tools. They were well used: the hammers nicked, the drop cloths spattered with paint and the circular saw’s handle worn. The wear and tear was tangible proof that Cambia was indeed a carpenter.

Her spirits lifting, she brushed bangs out of her eyes. “What would you like for me to carry?”

He handed her a drop cloth, eye protection and gloves as he hefted a large sledgehammer and crowbar out of the back. “This should be all we need to get started.” He locked the back of the van and tucked his keys in his jeans pocket. “After you.”

She headed back up the stairs, through the main door and into the small room. “So do we just tear the wall down?”

“I’ll cut the electricity to the room and then start removing the drywall. After that I’ll go for the studs and frame work.”

His tall, broad form filled the doorway. It had been a long time since she’d looked at a man with desire. But unexpected warmth spread through her veins.

“What do you want me to do with this?” she asked, holding up the drop cloth.

He moved into the room past her to the wall that needed to be demolished. “Spread the cloth in the hallway to protect the hardwood floors. We’ll contain the mess as much as we can.”

“Right.”

“Where’s your fuse box, Kristen?”

“Basement. Far right corner.”

“Great. Be right back. Might want to shut off the computer if it feeds into this circuit.”

“Oh, yeah, right.”

She quickly shut down the computer. Seconds later the lights in the reception area went out. The bright April sunshine shone through the large front window and provided enough light to see.

Cambia came back through the reception area and went to the room marked for demolition. Kristen followed. He shoved his large hands into well-worn gloves and started lightly tapping on the wall with his hammer. He looked confident and relaxed.

She enjoyed watching him work. “What are you doing?”

“Looking for the studs—the supporting wood under the drywall. As I knock on the wall I can tell by the sound if I’m close to one.”

In the last nine months, she’d washed dishes, mucked out stalls, even tried to waitress, but she’d done nothing in construction and knew zero about it. “Oh.”

She spread out the drop cloth, careful that it covered all the hardwood in the entry hallway. Sheridan had had the floors redone just a year ago and had been worried that Cambia would damage them.

He put on his safety glasses and tossed Kristen’s to her. “Let’s get rolling.”

“Ready.”

“You stand clear, Miss Kristen. A hunk of drywall might hit you and we want to keep you safe.”

She stepped back. “Got it.”

“When I give the okay you can start collecting debris. For now just wait.”

“Okay.”

He lifted the hammer over his head and smashed it into the wall. The resounding crack sounded like gunfire and made her jump.

Cambia turned. “That noise scare you?”

“No, no, I’m fine.”

Who was she kidding? She would never be fine.

Cambia drove the sledgehammer, taking another hunk out of the wall. The energy of the strike reverberated through the hammer’s wooden shaft up into his arms. Since Nancy’s death, he’d been filled with pent-up rage and he’d wanted nothing more than to destroy everything in sight.

He remembered when his sister had first come to the foster home. He’d been thirteen, had lived in the home for two years and had fallen into a routine. Nancy had been ten years old. She’d had a broken arm and had been so afraid when she’d arrived. But instead of cowering, she’d given everybody, especially him, so much sass. At first he couldn’t stand to be around her, but Mr. and Mrs. Bennett, who’d raised fifteen foster kids over the years, had been patient. In time, her anger had faded and she’d started to lighten up.

He’d found out later that Nancy’s father had broken her arm. He’d been drunk and had hit her with his car when he’d zoomed out of their driveway. Eventually, the Bennetts got full custody.

Dane shoved out a breath. When Nancy had first died, he had played it by the book, going after Benito by conventional means. For months he’d waded through red tape as he’d tried to get to the monster. But he’d run into brick wall after brick wall and his frustration had grown steadily. A tremendous amount of effort and nothing to show for it.

But now, for the first time in a very long time he was doing something tangible. And it felt good. He hit the wall again and again. Within minutes an entire section had been stripped away. A sheen of sweat dampened his brow.

“So what did that wall do to you?” Kristen asked.

He took a moment to collect himself before he turned and faced her. She leaned on the doorjamb, her arms crossed under full breasts.

He wiped his gloved hand over his sweaty forehead. “Like you said, Kristen, time is money. The sooner I get this down the sooner you can start hauling debris out.”

She studied him an extra beat as if she wasn’t sure what to make of him.

He knew he had to lighten up, let go of the anger. He’d worked hard to make her relax around him. “Go ahead and put on those work gloves. I’ll be ready for you in a minute.”

Kristen nodded and pushed her hands into the gloves. “I’ll get a broom.”

“Sure.”

When she disappeared, he moved to the door to make sure he hadn’t scared her off. To his relief he heard her steps down the hallway as she returned.

He returned to hitting the wall. Soon, there was a pile of drywall that needed clearing and his arms ached.

When she reappeared with the broom, he said, “Have at it.”

He wasn’t quite sure what she’d do with the pile. By the looks of her she’d never done a day of manual labor in her life—Elena sure hadn’t.

But without a word, Kristen started to collect the larger pieces in her arms. He picked up an armload himself and followed her out the back. Outside, she slid the side door of the battered red Dumpster and dumped her armload of fractured drywall inside it. Her once pristine shirt was covered in white drywall powder, as were her arms. However, without complaint she headed back inside for another load.

The two worked for the next hour, clearing out debris. When they’d removed most of the large pieces, he knocked more down. She carried more.

By four o’clock, they’d stripped the wall to its bones. And he could see that Kristen was tired. Her face was flushed, and sweat stained the front of her shirt.

“Let’s take a break,” he said.

She frowned. “But we aren’t finished.”

“The wall isn’t going anywhere and I could use some water. You got a kitchen in this place?”

“In the back. Follow me.”

As they moved up the center staircase of the shotgun-style row house, he noted she moved with her shoulders back, her hips swaying gently with each step. For the first time, he got a glimpse of the money and fine education Elena Benito had known.

Maybe she was the one.

“You move like a dancer,” he said as they entered the small kitchen. Elena Benito had loved to dance. She took him to a small apartment furnished with a bed and kitchen table.

Her hand on the kitchen cabinet, she hesitated. “I don’t dance.”

He heard the hesitation in her voice. “Could have fooled me.”

Long, delicate fingers wrapped around two white mugs that read Yoga Studio. She turned on the tap, waited until the water was cool and then filled each mug. She handed him his, careful that their fingers did not brush. “We don’t have glasses, just mugs, but they are clean.”

“Works for me.” He drank the water, amazed at how thirsty he’d become. “So what brings you to a place like this to work?” He noted the slight tension in her hands as they tightened around the mug.

“It’s a job.” She raised the mug to her lips and started to drink.

“Yeah, but what brought you to Lancaster Springs?”

She shrugged. “Lots of twists and turns, Mr. Cambia.”

“You from Virginia?”

She lifted her gaze up to his. “You are a very curious man.”

He grinned, mentally backing off. “You’re pretty. Can’t blame a guy for wanting to get to know you better.”

A blush added color to her cheeks. “I have a boyfriend.”

That caught him off guard. “Does he live around here?”

“Yes. You might meet him when he comes by to pick me up after work.”

Kristen had become a practiced liar these last nine months. Stories tripped off her tongue and sometimes she half believed them herself. Despite her attraction to Dane, it was best to keep him at arm’s length. Romance was a luxury she couldn’t afford.

“What’s his name?” Cambia refilled his cup at the tap.

“Mark,” she said easily. She’d used this made-up boyfriend before.

“Mark,” he said, testing the name. “What’s he do?”

“He’s a fireman.” The trick was to keep the lies simple so that the details didn’t trip her up later. “Are you ready to get back to work?” In truth, she hated the idea of dragging more of that white board outside. Her shoulders ached, as did her lower back. But the work was preferable to the questions.

Cambia stared at her over the mug’s rim as he drained the last of the water. He set the mug down in the sink next to hers. Then he seemed to change his mind, picked up the mug again and refilled it with water. “Let’s call it a night. We’ve gotten a lot done today.”

“Sure.” She couldn’t wait to crawl into a hot shower and let the warm water rush over her skin.

“Mind if I hold on to this mug?” He held it by the handle. “I’m some kind of thirsty. I’ll bring it back in the morning.”

“That’s fine,” she said.

“Sure.” He allowed her to lead and he followed her down the narrow hallway to the reception area. He stayed a few feet behind her but his presence surrounded her. She was aware of each deliberate step, the thud of his boots and his earthy masculine scent. He had the aura of a hunter.

Dane Cambia might be a carpenter now, but he hadn’t always been one.

He shoved his callused hands into his worn gloves. “So where are you and…what’s his name?”

She didn’t hesitate. “Mark.”

“Right. Where are you going this evening?”

“I don’t know. Dinner or a movie. We might stay in.”

“You don’t look like the type that would date a fireman.”

“What do you mean?”

“You look like you’d hook up with a lawyer or a doctor. Some guy with enough scratch to take care of you right.”

Carlos had been a doctor. “You make me sound shallow.”

He shook his head. “Not at all. I just know quality, even when it’s hauling out the trash.”

Again, it struck her that he was playing some cat-and-mouse game with her. “Do you have something you want to say to me, Mr. Cambia? I don’t appreciate your observations.”

He shrugged as he moved to the front door, and paused. “I was just making conversation.”

Kristen noted the powerful muscles under the old T-shirt. “You haven’t always been a carpenter.”

“No, I sure have not.”

“What brought you here?”

He flashed a grin. “There’s lots of construction in the northern Virginia area. It’s a good place to earn a living.”

The area was booming. Washington, D.C. residents were building weekend country homes to escape the rat race. “What did you do before you became a carpenter?”