One Wrong Move, page 14
“There was this bully in fifth grade, and my older brother taught me how to fight.” She smiled.
Her face lit up so cute. “What?”
“He always told me, if it looked like a fight was coming, go in swinging. Pop the guy before he could even swing.”
“Good advice.” He chuckled. “And did you?”
“Yep. That guy never bullied me again.”
“You punched a guy in school?”
“Yep. On the playground at recess. I got sent to the principal’s office, but he never bothered me again.”
He prayed, thanks to Andi’s shot, the man would never bother them again, but he knew better. They’d just stirred up the hornet’s nest.
“You’ve got blood on your sleeve. . . .” She stepped forward to examine it. “Are you okay?”
“Just a flesh wound.”
“He got you?”
“Barely brushed me.”
“Let’s get you cleaned up. Where do you keep your first-aid kit?”
“In the hall bathroom.”
“Okay, come on, mister.” She waggled her fingers, and he followed. He would have argued, but with Andi Forester, he knew it would be a lost cause.
She flipped on the light switch, and he directed her to the kit under the sink.
“Okay, take a seat.” She patted the counter.
He leaned back and sat on the edge, taking in the sight of her as she fished through the red plastic box.
A sliver of bark clung to her right cheek, pine needles in her hair, and were those brambles or thorns on her yoga pants?
“Here we go,” she said, pulling out several alcohol wipes, a gauze patch, and tape. She blew a stray hair from her face, revealing a small twig stuck at her temple.
“Hang on,” he said, and with tenderness pulled the twig from her hair.
“Lovely,” she said, when she saw what it was.
“Yes, you are.” He swallowed. Had he just said that out loud?
Red flushed her cheeks, but she didn’t look away.
Something moved inside of him, and his focus dropped to her lips. Sweet and full. “Don’t hit me again,” he whispered, reaching up to cup her cheek.
“Why would I—”
He swallowed her words. He moved tentatively at first, but as she returned the heated kiss, he deepened it, snaking his arm around her waist and pulling her tighter to him.
Time disappeared until the chiming of the doorbell interrupted what was the best kiss of his life.
She inched back, her lips pink from his kiss.
He feared she’d pull back farther, make an apology for giving in to the kiss, but she did neither.
The doorbell rang again.
He fought the nearly consuming urge to pull her back in his arms and ignore the world.
Thoughts raked through his mind. When exactly had he completely fallen for Andi Forester?
THIRTY-THREE
“HEY, JOEL. Thanks for coming out,” Christian said, joining him outside while Andi ran in to grab a sweatshirt—the chill in the fall air nipping now that they’d cooled off from the chase.
“Of course,” Joel said. “I’ve always got your back.”
“I appreciate it, man.” He clamped Joel on the shoulder.
“I’m sorry you guys are having such trouble. Hard to believe two art thieves are taking it this far.”
“Yeah. Definitely not a normal heist situation. Rarely do they get violent other than when the thieves go in with guns and take out security guards at the bigger museums, but even then, murdering anyone is nearly unheard of.” He rubbed the back of his neck, still trying to put the puzzle pieces together and coming up at a loss as to why they had found themselves in the midst of such a dangerous game—a deadly game. Poor Alex.
Joel nodded. “Three heists in a row, or two plus an ambush, definitely isn’t the norm either.” He tucked his hands in his tan pants pockets. “You think they’ll hit another gallery?”
“I hate to say it, but, yeah, I’d bet money on it.” He shifted his stance, keeping his footing firm—something he hadn’t felt since this case began—stability. “I doubt they’ll go back for more from Tad, but I have a bad feeling this is far from over.”
Joel rocked back on his heels. “Unfortunately, I agree.”
“Poor Alex,” he said, “I still can’t believe she’s dead. And for what?”
“What’s your guess?” Joel asked.
“I’m not sure. Maybe she saw someone or something she shouldn’t have, recognized one of the thieves from them casing the joint.”
“Her folks are all tore up about it,” Joel said, taking off his Stetson and clutching the tan felt cowboy hat in his hands. “Her mom said the funeral will be next week out in Tucumcari, where they live, where Alex is from.”
“Any leads on that front?” Christian asked.
“Herman Samuels said he was out doing his after-work nighttime walk the day of the heist and saw Alex pass by him in the passenger’s seat of a white SUV that was pretty banged up along the grill.”
“Exactly where the SUV that smashed into us would be banged up.”
“I’ll add that description to the BOLO,” Joel said.
Christian nodded, then shifted his thoughts to Alex. They’d survived the hit. She hadn’t. He exhaled his burgeoning anger. “Did Herman see who was driving?” The feedstore owner walked after closing up the store like clockwork, which at least helpfully established a solid timeline for them.
“He said it was a man, but he only caught a glimpse of him in the glow of the streetlights lining Main Street.”
Christian grimaced. They needed more. Alex deserved more. Anger chewed at him. During his stint in juvie, there’d been two killers in there. Two . . . kids, now that he looked back, who would get off at eighteen just because they’d committed the crime as juveniles. It didn’t always go that way, but it did for Ricardo and Timothy. Murdered a woman, and they were out in three years. It was straight-out injustice. He’d paid his time, too, but that guilt still clung to him. Kept him from moving forward.
As much as he was falling for Andi Forester—and given the kiss, she was falling for him as well—things couldn’t go any further until he told her. He preferred to leave his past in the past, but now that feelings were involved, and the possibility of things growing deeper existed, he had to tell her. He should have told her before kissing her, but he’d been so consumed in the moment.
He shifted his stance. Fear she’d want nothing to do with him settled deep in the pit of his gut, but he had no choice. This was why he’d avoided relationships. Baring his soul, his ugly past—just the thought was painful and filled him with shame.
“Did you hear me, Christian?” Joel asked.
“What . . . ?” He raked a hand through his hair. “Sorry . . .”
“All good, man. I was just saying that Herman said, after they passed by, they hung a right onto Comanche, and he didn’t see Alex in the car anymore.”
Christian’s muscles coiled. “He probably held her down once he caught sight of Herman.”
“My assumption as well.” Joel put his hat back on and tugged the brim in place.
“Herman notice anything about the man? Anything at all?”
“He said he got a better look with Alex not between him and the man. He said the man was on the taller side based on how high his head was in relation to the SUV roof and said he looked broad.”
“Anything else?”
“He said he had dark hair and, from what he could tell, dark skin.”
■ ■ ■
Andi slipped her hands into the sweatshirt pockets as she approached Christian and Joel talking beside the cars. The sun was warm and beautiful, but the fall air was crisp. “I thought I’d join you,” she said. “If that’s okay.”
“Of course,” Joel said, catching her up to speed.
“The SUV Herman saw sounds like the one that ran us off the road,” she said, looking at Christian, who nodded.
“And,” she continued, “the basic description of his height, build, and dark hair sounds rather like our intruder today.”
“You get a good look at the intruder’s face?” Joel asked, a hopeful glimmer in his crisp blue eyes.
“I wish, but no,” Christian said.
“Nope.” Andi nodded, wishing she had.
“He ambushed Andi,” Christian said, “but she shot him.” He looked at her with a smile . . . a proud one?
She hadn’t had anyone look at her like that in a long time, and it felt good. “I . . . um, got him in the shoulder,” she said, managing to shift her attention off Christian and back on Joel.
A sideways smile curled on Joel’s lips. “Is that right?”
“It was a great shot,” Christian said.
She shrugged. It had been a solid shot. It was good to know she still had the skills. It’d been too long since she’d been to a gun range. “We chased him, but he got away.”
“So, you know you’re looking for a man probably five-eleven. . . .” Christian looked down at her. When would she get used to him being a foot taller? She felt like a dwarf beside him at times. “Would you agree?” he asked.
“Yep.” She nodded. “And he had broad shoulders, which gave me a good target.”
“And dark hair,” Christian said. “It was hard to get a solid look, given the circumstances, but I think it was wavy.”
“Mind if I take a look where all this occurred?” Joel asked.
“Of course,” Christian said. He looked back at Andi. “You good coming?” he asked.
“Absolutely. Let’s go.”
“Much appreciated,” Joel said, before rolling a piece of gum in his mouth. The fresh scent of mint swirled in the air.
“Would either of you like a piece?” he asked.
“I’d like one,” Andi said, and Christian followed suit as they trekked across the backyard and started climbing the slope.
An hour and a half later, they returned to the driveway. Joel had collected casings. “I’ll need to clear the nine-millimeter casings from your two guns, then I can run his. See if we can pull any information from it. What kind of handgun make and model we’re dealing with. You said it was maybe a SIG Sauer?”
“I can’t be certain, but that would be my guess,” Christian said. “No idea on the make.”
“Certain SIG models take the .357 like I pulled from the tree,” Joel said, slipping his thumbs through his belt loop. “I’ll send this to the CSI lab in Santa Fe to run ballistics, and I’ll get someone up here to take a tire tread impression from where he was parked.”
“Thanks, Joel.” Christian clamped him on the shoulder.
“Oh. I almost forgot,” Joel said. “I’ve got that gala and heist footage for you in the patrol vehicle. I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll walk you to the car,” Christian said.
Joel turned to Andi and tipped his hat. “Ma’am.”
“Sheriff Brunswick.” She smiled. Normally, she detested the use of ma’am as she didn’t feel old enough for people to be calling her that yet, but in his western drawn-out drawl, it was endearing.
“I thought I told you to call me Joel,” he said, dipping his chin.
“Right.” She smiled. “Bye, Joel, and thank you.”
“Better, and you are most welcome.” He smiled, then turned heel and walked with Christian toward his SUV.
She took a seat on the edge of the stone patio. . . . Well, she didn’t know exactly what to call it, with its large fireplace and chimney standing at least twelve feet high, along with the side wings—one with an oversized grill, the other a prep station. She supposed it was an outdoor kitchen of sorts.
Not much later, Christian strolled back down the dirt path. He caught sight of her, and they both smiled. Man, he was handsome. But more important, he made her feel safe and strong and vulnerable and such a clumsy mix of emotions. It was crucial for her to not get tangled up in those feelings.
Tangled up. Warmth flushed her cheeks. The image of her and him tangled up in white sheets reading the paper on a Sunday morning flashed through her mind.
Whoa! What was she thinking? Get it together, girl.
Christian tilted his head. “Everything okay?”
“Yep. Why?” She smoothed the sweatshirt.
“You looked really happy, then your expression rapidly shifted.”
“Oh?” She tried to will her cheeks to stop flushing.
“Yeah. Like shock or surprise washed over your face.”
“Hmm.” She shrugged.
“So what are you thinking?”
“What do you mean?” she blurted out with something akin to a snap.
“Whoa.” He held his hands up.
“Sorry,” she said. “Just all stirred up . . . from the chase and all.”
“I get it,” he said.
She smiled and nodded. She needed to settle.
“I think we should watch the footage today. It’ll take hours, but it’s important to watch before we conduct our interviews,” he said.
“Agreed.” She nodded. “It may prompt questions we wouldn’t think of otherwise.”
“Or alert us if anyone tries to lie to us.”
THIRTY-FOUR
ANDI SETTLED IN on the sofa and got comfy as Christian headed to the kitchen.
“I’m going to make some popcorn,” he said. “Do you want some? It’s amazing.”
“Amazing?” She smiled. “Pun intended?”
“Actually, happy accident.” He shrugged on a smile.
“You like puns?” she asked, sitting cross-legged.
“I love them,” he said. “As kids, we moved a lot, so Riley and I spent hours in the back of the car seeing who could come up with the better pun. It drove Deckard and . . .” He cleared his throat. “It drove Deckard nuts.”
She was about to press him on what he was going to say before he cut himself off, but he hadn’t pushed her, so she wouldn’t push him. As kind and relaxed as his manner was, his countenance spoke of a weight he carried. One of shame, perhaps. Deckard’s countenance spoke of pain and anger, Riley’s of fear and vulnerability. What had their parents done? No way three siblings struggled like that without something happening growing up. At least, that’d been her experience.
“I won’t be long,” he said, disappearing into the kitchen. “Make yourself comfortable.”
“Thanks,” she said.
He returned a moment later, catching her with her arms tangled in the sweatshirt yanked over her head. She composed herself and pulled her arms out of it, setting it aside.
Christian leaned against the doorjamb, his arms crossed, a bemused smile on his lips.
She was afraid to ask. “What?”
He lifted his chin. “Static cling.”
Oh sheesh. She smoothed her hair. “Lovely.”
“Yes, you are.”
She gulped down a swallow, and despite her best efforts to will her gaze away, it remained locked on him and his on her.
At some point the microwave beeped, breaking the spell, and she hopped to her feet. “Let me help you.”
“Thanks, but I think I’m good with the popcorn.”
“Right. How about I get us something to drink?”
“That’d be great. There’s a bunch of drinks in the fridge. Help yourself.”
A bowl of popcorn on Christian’s lap and two glasses of cider on the end tables later, they started the footage. It was a four-hour gala, plus a heist, so they had their work cut out for them.
“I’ll point out who everyone is as we go,” Christian said before popping a handful of popcorn in his mouth.
“That’ll be great. Let me grab my notebook and pen.”
Christian paused the footage. “Take your time.”
She hopped up, ran into his bedroom and grabbed her stuff, then paused. Dear Lord, guard my heart, because I feel it thudding outside of my chest, and I don’t know what to do about it.
After Jeremy, she’d convinced herself she wasn’t a good judge of character when it came to men. But he’d fooled everyone. A wolf in sheep’s clothing.
Christian wasn’t Jeremy. Maybe she could trust him. I’m scared, Lord, please hold my heart and direct me by your Spirit.
Returning to the family room, she sank down on the couch beside Christian.
He smiled. “You’re fast.”
“Thanks. I ran track in school.” Why had that come out? It was like her mouth was set on “share” more and more around him.
“I can see that.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes, really.” His smile widened.
“How’s that?” She loved how his smile lit his eyes—deep brown eyes.
“You’re always on the go.”
“Is that right?”
“Yes. Either physically or mentally.”
She arched her brows. “Mentally, huh?”
“Something’s always going on in that head of yours.” He smirked.
So he’d pegged her well. Curiosity rippled through her, wondering if she knew him as well. “Hmm. Well, let’s see what I know about you.”
“Okay.” He angled to face her better. “Take your best shot.”
“Let’s see. You’re pensive.”
He ducked his chin in. “Pensive. That doesn’t sound so good.”
“Thoughtful,” she said. “Is that better?”
“Much. I like the idea of being thoughtful. Anything else?” He shifted to face her better still.
“You love and are loyal to your family, you excel at what you do . . .” This was just going to go to his head, but he’d asked. “And you take things in stride, for the most part.”
He straightened, curiosity dancing in his eyes. “For the most part?”
She bit her lip, trying to think how to best phrase it. “You carry something around with you.”
He didn’t argue, which spoke volumes. “Why do you think that?”
“Because I know what it’s like to carry something.” She carried the weight and stigma of who they’d painted her to be. Her colleagues. Her then fiancé. Nearly everyone in her life. “But yours is different than mine. . . .”
“Oh?” His shoulders grew taut.
She wasn’t trying to upset him. She just hated seeing him hurting—and he was. The question was why. She reached out and brushed the hair from his brow.
