One Wrong Move, page 19
She nodded, heat flushing her cheeks.
Reaching up, he cupped her face, caressing her cheek with the pad of his thumb.
Butterflies pinged through her.
“I’m so glad,” he whispered, his lips inching closer to hers, their breath mingling.
“Me too,” she whispered back. The words had barely crossed her lips when he pressed his to hers. Ever-so-slow and tender at first, their kiss deepened. Emotion whiplashed through her as she clung tighter to him, pulling him close.
He slipped his strong arm around her, his sturdy hand splaying across the center of her back.
Heat infused her as his scent enveloped her—wild and free.
She kissed him back with all she had, never wanting the kiss to end. Time faded, the minutes swirling together.
Trill. Trill. Trill.
Noooo.
Christian pulled back ever-so-softly, his breathing hard. “That . . . we . . . that was . . .” he murmured, his forehead pressed to hers as the ringing of his cell stopped.
She nodded, her breath taken away. That kiss.
His phone rang again, his hand still resting on the small of her back.
No.
He sighed and peeled himself away. “I better . . .”
She nodded. Given everything going on, no matter how much she wanted them to ignore it, he needed to answer.
He looked at his phone. “It’s Joel.”
At this point, she feared what news might come.
FORTY-FIVE
HARPER FLIPPED A SWITCH on the hallway wall, and light flooded her home.
“Come on in,” she said, leading him down the short foyer hall and into what could only be described as a greenhouse with potted plants lining the perimeter of the space. Windows, two stories high, surrounded them. His gaze followed them up to the vaulted ceiling and a loft overhead. A jungle’s worth of flowering plants sat on the loft’s wide ledge, vines spiraling down.
A U-shaped sectional sofa sat flanked by two armchairs with those fluff-ball ottomans Riley loved. An area rug covered the tile floor, and a cool old trunk sat in the center of the seating arrangement. He smiled. Harper Grace hadn’t ceased to surprise him. She was one cool chick, and if things were different, if he were different, he’d definitely pursue getting to know her on a deeper level. “Nice place,” he said, following her in as she turned on more lights, strategically placed throughout the living space.
She looked up at him, her blonde hair spilling over her shoulder. “Thanks. I moved in a couple years ago, and I love it. You’ll see it in the morning, but I have the best view of the sunrise. If you’re up that early.”
“I’m always up for the sunrise. I don’t need much sleep.” It’d come from never really being able to securely fall asleep at night—always needing to be somewhat alert for what might come. A last-minute dash to a “safer” motel. A drive to a middle-of-nowhere town to hide from the last man they should have conned. It’d cost his dad’s life, landed his mom in jail, but thankfully hadn’t touched them. Though that fear always weighed in the back of his mind—that someone would harm his siblings.
“Cool,” Harper said, thankfully having no idea of the hardened memories streaking through his mind. “I’ll set the coffeemaker to go off at five.”
He chuckled. How did she manage that? To bring light into his darkness so easily. “I’m not up quite that early.” He rolled out of bed just before daybreak.
“Gotcha. Well, coffee will be waiting when you get up.”
“Thanks. Where should I put my pack?” he asked. Packing light was a safety measure he’d held on to since childhood. Be packed and on the road in under two minutes.
“Come on,” she said, moving for the back hall. “I’ll show you to the guest bedroom.” She opened the first door on the left and flipped on the light switch. “Here we are.”
A queen-sized bed with pink flowers across the comforter and white pillows that looked like shag carpeting covered the bed. He arched a brow and looked back at her.
“Sorry for the girly decoration. My niece comes to stay with me for a while in the summer, so I let her decorate the room.”
“Nice aunt.”
“I’ve got to be the favorite one, you know.” She winked.
He smiled. “Do you have a big family?”
“Five of us. Four girls and one poor guy who has to put up with all of us.” She chuckled. “Well . . .” She remained standing close to him, fiddling with a strand of her hair. “I guess I should let you get settled. It’s late.”
He swallowed, attraction sifting through him. “Sounds good,” he managed, not wanting her to leave. “I’ll see you at 0600.”
She nodded. “Sleep tight.”
A smile tugged at his lips at the expression. “Thanks. You too.”
It took her a moment, but she turned and headed back for the living room.
Entering the bedroom, he set his pack on the frilly bed and chuckled. If Riley saw where he was sleeping, she’d never stop razzing him.
He pulled his lounge pants out of the pack and set the bag aside.
Sliding his shirt over his head, he took the sniff test. It smelled like the firepit. He glanced to the adjacent bathroom. Best wash it out and save his second T-shirt for another day as he imagined they’d be hunkered here a while.
He pulled the sink plug, turned the water on, and pumped some of the hand soap in. Once it filled halfway, he shut off the warm water spewing in and stuck his shirt in, scrunching it about.
A knock sounded on the door.
“Come in,” he called over his shoulder.
“I forgot to give you some towels for the morn—” She stopped short.
He pushed the stopper bar down, and the water drained.
She cocked her head, a ripe blush on her cheeks. “What are you doing?”
“Washing my shirt.” He rinsed it out.
“I have a washing machine . . .” she said as he wrung the shirt out and hung it over the shower bar. He reached for the stack of towels in her hands.
“Right,” she said, passing them over.
He set them on the counter and used the small towel to dry his hands.
“Just routine when I travel,” he said. “I’m usually in motels without washing machines.”
“Very Jack Reacher.” She smiled.
As much as he loved the first Jack Reacher movie, he’d learned how to live on the road years before it released. Learned how to run and how to stay off-grid. It was no wonder Riley excelled as a skip tracer. She’d learned from a young age how to get lost and the tactics used to do so. All she did was think like the person she was tracking, and she caught them every single time.
“Well . . .” Harper murmured, backing up. “I better head to bed. Night again.”
He smiled. “Night, Harper.”
————
She closed the guest room door behind her and leaned against it. Wowza. She’d never seen a more beautiful man. Not beautiful in a girly way. No, there was nothing girly about Deckard MacLeod. He was all man. If she was interested in pursuing a relationship . . . but she was not. Why did she suddenly have to keep reminding herself of that?
Pressing off the wall, she shook her head. But if she was interested in a relationship, it would be with a man like Deckard MacLeod. He was strong, loyal to his family, intelligent . . . but haunted. By what, she didn’t know, and she’d resist the urge to pry. It was clear he was uber-private about his life. Guarded. But she ached to know, ached to see the hurt he wore like a cloak disappear.
She sank down on the couch and bowed her head, unable to rest yet.
Father, I pray for Deckard. For the pain I see etched in his eyes, always lingering there, even when he smiles. I don’t know what haunts him, but I can see it runs deep. I pray you’ll lift that burden from him. Let him breathe the fresh air of peace in you. In Jesus’ name I pray.
■ ■ ■
“Are you there?” Teresa asked.
Cyrus stepped outside, his partner asleep. Of course it would be raining. He stood under the overhang, far happier with their base for this heist. It was a serious upgrade from the trailer.
“Hello?” she said, her pitch rising.
“Yes,” he ground out.
“I have to say I don’t like this attitude. I think you’ve forgotten who you’re dealing with.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll remind me all about your husband and his thugs. Speaking of thugs, have you settled Enrique down to observe and restrain?”
“Perhaps.”
He clenched his teeth. “I’ve told you I need Casey, and that’s his condition. The guy and the girl stay alive. For now.” Though he was far more interested in the girl. If Enrique hurt her, he’d kill him. What happened to her was his choice, not the thug’s and certainly not Teresa’s. She’d already stolen a woman from his life once, he would not let it happen again. Andi Forester was his to do with as he liked.
“I don’t like it,” she said, her nails tapping incessantly on the other end. Always tapping one surface or another.
“Neither do I.” He loathed being dependent on someone, but he needed Casey’s skills. All of them played a role for now—even Andi and Christian. In the end, it would be him holding all the goods and Teresa with the fakes she’d never see coming. Mostly fakes. He’d researched the items for years, had fakes made and stashed in each location near the true stashes. But with the recent collection at Tad’s Albuquerque gallery being added to the list by Teresa, he didn’t have time for his guy to fashion replicas, so those artifacts would be real, but it didn’t matter. He’d have more money to sail away into the sunset with than he could use in a lifetime.
The thought of one-upping Teresa heated his limbs. Finally, he’d pay her back for her cruelty, her mocking, and her killing Mandy. After what his girlfriend had done to him—leaving him holding the proverbial bag and landing him in the slammer—he’d plotted revenge but learned Teresa had already seen to it. But she was also his to do with as he willed. It wasn’t Teresa’s place. It was time she learned it.
“Are you still there?” she asked with an air of impatience.
“Yes. What do you want, Teresa?”
“Just checking on my investment.”
“I told you we’re set.”
“And you’re not taking too much heat? You can pull this off?”
So little faith in him. “I’ve got this.”
“We’ll see.” A blip interrupted their call. “I’ve got to go. Enrique is on the other line.”
He stiffened, wondering what the thug was up to now.
“By the way,” she said before cutting off their call, “that witch shot him.”
He erupted in laughter. “What?”
“They saw him watching, and there was some sort of chase, and she shot him in the shoulder, but I fail to see the humor in it.”
She would, but he didn’t. His feisty girl was even more spirited than he realized, and the thought heated his limbs.
The call dropped, thankfully. He had weightier matters to deal with than Teresa.
The door opened behind him, and Casey stuck his head out. “What are you doing out here?” he asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
“Grabbing a smoke.”
“I thought I heard laughter . . . talking.”
“Nope. Just me and a smoke.” He pulled one from his pocket and, cupping his hands over it in the rain, lit it.
Casey frowned. He wasn’t buying it.
Cyrus winced. He needed to be more careful. The last thing he needed was the pawn catching on to the real plan.
FORTY-SIX
HE’D KISSED ANDI, and it had been like no other kiss he’d experienced, though the list wasn’t long. Given his past, he’d always kept impenetrable boundaries in place with the two girls he’d dated, and neither of them lasted beyond a month.
Lord, you know I’ve prayed for you to bring the woman you created for me into my life in your timing. The way I feel about Andi . . . you know. You know my heart and my hurts, and I need you to lead me by your Holy Spirit. Give me wisdom and discernment. The thought of being vulnerable terrifies me, and after the attempts on our lives, the case terrifies me too, especially for Andi’s safety. The notes have been left for her, and she’s garnered enemies in the course of her career.
They needed to research all the men and women she’d busted, whether in jail or out on community service. One of them could be back at it, pulling her into this nasty game.
Help me protect her. I just found hope with Andi. Please don’t let it be dashed. And let my full hope rest in you, in your sufficiency to keep us safe and to guide us. To walk beside us and never leave us. Thank you, Lord.
He prayed he’d be able to protect her. Protect them for what was coming next, because his gut said the stakes were going to continue to increase. This game was far from over, and only growing more deadly.
■ ■ ■
The motel room reeked of smoke and rotting fruit. Deckard shifted through what was left of their food supply. He could go without food, but Riley was clutching her stomach, her unspoken sign of hunger. He reached for the bread bag, but only a moldy crust remained. Maybe he could cut that part off and still make her a sandwich. It’d been four days this time, and every time they left, he feared—and hoped—they wouldn’t return.
He shook his head, hating what he was going to do, but what choice did he have? He pulled out the few measly dollars he’d stashed under the top sheet of his mattress on the floor. He’d given Riley one of the beds. His parents claimed the other. Christian took the meager sofa, his long legs sprawled out over the edge. Good. He was asleep. His little brother wouldn’t know what he was about to do.
Heading out into the dark, solemn night and locking the door behind him, he took off on foot for the Jiffy Mart, his plan firmly in place, despite how much he hated the thought of it. Riley needed food.
Entering the Jiffy Mart, he lifted his chin at the cashier—a teen reading a magazine, clearly bored in the wee hours of the night.
He made his rounds. Grabbed the couple items he could afford. A candy bar and a soda. But it wasn’t enough, given they had no idea when or if their parents would return.
While the cashier wasn’t watching, he noted the cameras and moved around them, slipping more food into his bag. Once finished, he headed for the register. Paid for the two items and headed back out into the night.
Guilt shrouded him as he walked back to the seedy motel in the Middle of Nowhere, USA. Overwhelming shame gripped him, his limbs tightening. The pressure on his chest increased until he couldn’t breathe. He fought the urge to cry, to scream, but he couldn’t hold it in. “Why?” he hollered to the sky, convinced no one was listening. They were on their own, and there was no rescue coming. “When will this stop? Just make it stop.”
A knock rapped. Was he back at the motel already? No. He was walking down a dark alley.
The knock rapped again.
“Deckard?”
Harper’s voice reached through to him, and he shot up in bed—his skin drenched in sweat, the blankets and sheets completely asunder. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Another stupid nightmare. Would they never cease?
Light streamed in from the hallway as the door cracked. “Can I come in?”
He straightened the blanket over him. “Sure,” he said, raking a hand through his hair—damp along the base of his neck.
He swiped his forehead as she opened the door fully and stepped in at a gentle, almost hesitant pace, wearing colorful cacti PJ bottoms and a matching T-shirt with a blooming cactus on it.
“You okay?” He scooched up to sit with his back against the headboard.
“I’m fine, but you didn’t sound like it. I heard . . .”
He took a steadying inhale. Great. She’d heard him. “It was just a nightmare. They happen.”
She moved to the side of his bed, hovering there.
He patted the mattress by his legs. “You can take a seat.”
“Thanks,” she said, doing so.
“I’m sorry if I woke you.” Embarrassment flushed over him. He rarely got embarrassed, but this was flat-out mortification.
“I’m not worried about that. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” Concern filled her beautiful green eyes.
“I’m fine. Just a stupid nightmare. They happen.” He repeated the line he used whenever he was in a situation like this. Though, being within earshot of someone else rarely happened. Usually it was just him and his demons.
FORTY-SEVEN
ANDI WOKE to the homey scent of cinnamon. And not just cinnamon but sweet icing too. She sat up. Cinnamon buns. Had Christian made breakfast for her?
Climbing out of bed, she cracked the door, hoping to get to the bathroom without being seen so she could at least brush her hair and teeth.
“Morning,” he said, making her jump. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you. Was just using the loo.”
“All good.” Wondering just how much of a mess she looked, she pressed her lips together, remembering the feel of his on hers. “Morning.”
“I made breakfast,” he said.
“It smells wonderful. I’m just going to duck into the bathroom, and I’ll be right out.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
She stepped inside the bathroom, closed the door, and looked into the mirror. Yikes! Her hair looked like a wookie. She grabbed the hairbrush Riley had lent her along with a new toothbrush and paste. Maybe while they were running around for interviews today, they could grab some items from her house.
Taking care of her hair, teeth, and deodorant—the vital three—she looked back in the mirror. Pale with dark circles. Great. She grabbed the tinted moisturizer and dabbed it under her eyes and across her face, giving her a little shine. She added a swipe of Burt’s Bees tinted lip balm, and with a deep breath, wondering what the day would hold, headed for the kitchen.
The scent of cinnamon buns infused the air, mingling with Christian’s outdoorsy aftershave. She wasn’t sure which smelled better.
“Coffee’s ready,” he said, gesturing to the pot.
