In the Arms of a Stranger (Entangled Ignite), page 12
Damn.
If JP intended to clear himself, he’d better forget his inappropriate reactions to Wade’s widow and start thinking straight. Maybe he did need her—to get to the bottom of the puzzle. Was that what the message had meant?
“Oh, wow. Congratulations, dude.” Kyle reached out and shook his hand.
JP jerked out of his thoughts, taking a few long seconds to figure out what the kid was talking about.
Oh. Right. Pregnant.
Yeah, he was definitely pond scum, he thought as they shook hands. “Thanks,” he said. “When did you say your dad will be home?”
“After midnight. You could catch him in the morning if you stay the night.”
Night. Yeah. Like that was going to happen. The thought of a whole night with Abby was enough to send his blood flowing south for hours, despite the burning groove in his side.
“I’ll see what Abby wants to do.” Besides get the hell away from me.
“I’ll leave my dad a note so he’ll know to expect you in the morning. You all have a place to stay or will you stay here at the house?”
Wade’s safe house. Well, it was why he’d come here. To search for something, anything, that would let him prove his innocence. Wade’s message only reinforced what he had to do.
“I think we’ll stay here tonight, don’t you, honey?” Abby said from the hallway.
She’d composed herself and come back out to continue the charade. There was a touch of heightened color on her cheeks. If she knew what he’d blurted out to these boys, she’d probably slap him.
“Sounds like a plan,” he said, in an amiable tone.
“See you around maybe. I promised to take my little brother to his ball game in the morning, so I might not be here when you talk to Dad.”
Both kids said good-bye, smiling at Abby, but JP didn’t like the way Joe looked at her.
Get a grip, he told himself. He was just a kid with no good sense.
“What’s rule three?” she asked as soon as JP closed the front door after them.
He didn’t want to tell her. If he didn’t, she’d go home, she’d never have to know all of it. But she’d come this far, proved she was determined. And she’d trusted him with the key.
He was sure there was something here to find. To do that, he needed her help.
“It’s one of the things Wade often repeated. Don’t have anything about work at home.”
She pushed out a breath. “It wasn’t at our home, so it must be here,” she said after digesting the phrase for a moment. “What are we looking for?”
“Hell if I know.”
She nodded and walked over to the coffee table. “But it’s something you need in order to get away from Brooks. Or something that will allow you to quit running. Which is it?” She paused for an answer, one she probably realized he wasn’t going to give her. She’d already tried once to get it out of him. “Would he have thought I’d find those papers? Or would he have thought you would?”
“Wade didn’t want you mixed up in his work.”
“That’s obvious,” she muttered. “So, why not tell you to look in the stall?” She shook her head. “But you never spoke to him. He called me.” She met his gaze. “Because he couldn’t reach you?”
“Probably. No doubt he’d had those papers stashed in Buck’s stall for years. He probably figured that was as safe a place as any.” And he’d talked about Buck all the time, letting JP know about the horse. Had that been deliberate? Probably.
“That makes sense,” she said thoughtfully. “But you didn’t need the papers to find this house. All you needed were his aliases and a location. You already knew his aliases, and Wade gave me the location to pass on to you.”
He paused a second too long before saying, “What are you driving at?”
“I’m not supposed to be here. I wasn’t supposed to know about this place. I was just supposed to stay home, be a nice, meek, compliant little wife, and wait for the big, bad spy to come and rescue me from whatever mess my husband might have left me in.”
Yep. That pretty much summed up the whole thing, JP acknowledged silently. That was exactly what Wade had wanted. Only they hadn’t been spies. They’d been something that sweet Abby in her safe, cozy world would never, could never, understand. And that was why Wade had never confided in her.
Before he could think of a suitable response, she continued.
“I don’t think so,” she said fiercely. “Not anymore. I waited for you for over a year, patient and compliant. I won’t be that person again. Never again.”
…
Abby hoped the little wobble she’d heard in her own voice wasn’t really there. She would be strong and take the initiative.
“There are bound to be bank papers,” she suggested. “We can probably find out which bank Wade used here. We should know that so Kyle’s father won’t wonder why you know so little about your brother.”
“Are you sure you want to go through Wade’s things?”
JP’s question solidified her thoughts. “No choice.” On several levels. She would also be honest, both with herself and with him. “Wade is dead, I’m not clinging to the past, but I won’t spend the rest of my life wondering what else I didn’t know about him.” And what I don’t know about myself.
Where had that come from?
He nodded, but she wished she hadn’t seen a touch of sympathy in his eyes.
“Let’s do it, then,” he said. “Where do you want to start?”
He was giving her some control. She was glad for that. And she did know Wade’s habits—at least some of them. She understood his sometimes bizarre filing system.
In the hours that followed, she learned a lot. Wade’s first wife, Mary, had died of cancer—according to the paperwork in the big desk in the living room. They hadn’t had any children. Cole didn’t have brothers and sisters anywhere. Thank God. She didn’t know if she could have taken that.
But JP still claimed it was just a cover.
She wanted to believe him. But she couldn’t quite get there. Wade’s secret second life felt all too real. Real enough to make her think maybe… Good Lord.
Could he have a third life somewhere else…?
No, she wouldn’t go there. No way.
They found bank records and divided them. JP looked through his half for what seemed like an eternity. She watched him whenever she paused in her search, wondering how he kept up the intensity of his perusal, given how exhausted he must be. He hadn’t said a word about his wound. She hadn’t asked. She didn’t want to be concerned about him. She didn’t want the feelings she kept pushing away to interfere with why she was here. With him.
They hadn’t said anything to each other in over an hour. The only sounds were the shuffling of papers.
“Did he have a safety deposit box?” she asked finally.
“I haven’t found anything that indicates he did. There are no charges in his bank statements for one.” He put the statements away and widened the accordion folder to another section.
“What’s in there?”
“A mix of things. Receipts, appliance warranties,” he said, flipping quickly through the papers, then moving on to another section. He paused at one.
“Did you find something?”
He looked up and shook his head. “Just reading. There’s not a lot more. We’ve looked at almost everything in his files.”
“But there has to be something.” She looked around the living room, searching for some evidence of Wade, not just his things, but his personality. “He put the papers to this house in Buck’s stall. Buck was so important to him.” She thought about Wade, about how he thought. “If rule three meant to keep work and personal life apart, and if he chose the complete opposite of that, he would pick a hiding place that meant something special to him. Like Buck. Something he loved.”
She couldn’t help but see JP’s gaze move toward the picture of Mary.
“Her things, then,” she said.
He stared at her for a moment before speaking. “But she’s not real.”
She nodded, believing he was right—hoping he was right—but also knowing that Wade had spent time here. That he’d worn a wedding band with Mary’s name inside. “I’ll look,” he said, and walked into the master bedroom.
She finished her search of the paperwork she’d been examining. She could hear him moving things around, stood up, and peeked into the bedroom. JP sat at the sewing machine, bent over the drawers built into the sewing table.
“Anything?”
He turned toward her. “Not so far. How about you?”
“Just the usual things. There’s coffee in the kitchen. Want some?”
He smiled. God, why did his smiles make her want to touch his face?
“Sure.”
It gave her something to do, something besides search for a needle in a haystack. She’d looked in the kitchen cabinets before making her offer, but hadn’t really looked around. She took the time to do so while she waited for the automatic coffeemaker to spew out the brew. Taking two mugs from the cabinet, she rinsed them in the sink, staring out the window into the night.
The moon cast a shimmering glow on the bayou waters. It was a beautiful place. Wade’s sort of place. Quiet. Putting the wet mugs in the dish rack, she opened the back door and stepped out onto the deck. There was a comfortable breeze, warm and damp. Walking to the railing, she looked down.
Ideas began to form. What Wade loved. His horse, fishing.
There were steps leading down. She took them. She didn’t rush, couldn’t see clearly because of the moonlit shadows. At the foot of the steps, she continued onto a lower deck that led toward a small dock and a boathouse.
She almost gave up before she found the light switch. The single bulb came to life and lit the inside, though not brightly. A motorboat, the sort of thing a fisherman would use, hung suspended a few feet above the water. Waves lapped rhythmically at the sides of the boathouse.
On one side of the structure were the controls to lower the boat. She studied them, but decided against lowering the boat and getting inside. Best do that during the daytime. She’d examine the building itself. If Wade remained true to form, he would hide something in the building, as he had in Buck’s stall.
She began at one corner and scrutinized each board to see if there was any sign of a hiding place, something that could be moved to reveal a cubby of some sort. The side of the boathouse closest to the house nearly touched the reeds. As dim as the light was, she hesitated before kneeling down, imagining snakes, alligators, and other creepy crawly things in the shadows.
Wishing she had a flashlight, she bent down. The wooden planks were damp and rough. As carefully as possible, she ran her hands along the sides, then the flooring. By the time she’d covered one corner and one side of the boathouse, her knees ached and her right shoulder, still sore, pulled.
Nothing. She’d thought if there was something here, it would be on the side closest to the house. Maybe not. Maybe that didn’t make any sense. She stood, stretching.
The shock of something big and solid behind her made her gasp, a gasp she barely got out before a hand clamped over her mouth, robbing her of breath. Terrified, she pried at the fingers that dug into her lips, trying to scream, while digging her nails into the arm that held her around the waist.
“Stop it!” the man hissed, jerking her up off the rough boards, forcing her down with a cruel shake. “Stop it!”
All she could do was moan, her lips crushed against her teeth.
“Where is it?” he asked against her ear.
She only shook her head, or tried to.
“I’m going to let you talk. Don’t scream. Don’t make any loud noises. I will shoot you.”
She was so scared she felt frozen in place while he removed his hand from her mouth.
“Don’t scream,” he ordered again just as she sucked in a deep breath.
“Don’t turn.” He moved his arm from around her waist. “There’s a gun aimed at your back. All you have to do is tell me where.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t be stupid. You’re here. You know it’s here. All I have to do is take it back,” he said in an odd accent, as if he were trying to imitate a Southern drawl.
Frantic to say something to appease him, she said, “It’s in the house.” Where JP was. Where he could help.
The man laughed, a nasty laugh. “Just so you know, there’s no one up there now but my partner.”
They’d taken JP?
No, they didn’t want to take him anywhere. They wanted to kill him. Was that what this monster was—
Oh, God. The horrible certainty that JP was dead slammed through her.
They’d killed him. His life, his energy, all gone…
They’d kill her next.
Cole! She wouldn’t see him again. He’d never understand.
Think, she told herself. Think!
“Really, I left it in the house,” she said, sure her voice trembled. Sure he’d know she was lying.
Again, the man said nothing. She willed herself not to think about JP. About what they must have done to him. She wouldn’t think beyond looking for a chance to escape. If she could just run to the neighbor boy’s house, she might make it. She couldn’t think about JP and manage any coherent thoughts.
“Move,” the man said.
She stumbled on her first step forward.
“Don’t think about running,” he warned.
She bit back a hysterical laugh. She wasn’t thinking; she couldn’t. A band of fear crushed her chest. She stepped off the dock onto the lower deck. The stairs to the upper deck were a few feet away.
“Wait,” he ordered.
She stopped, moving her head slightly from side to side, seeing if there was some way she could get away. High reeds and mud lay just beyond the lower deck and dock on both sides. Full of snakes and alligators. No place to hide. She’d get stuck. He’d kill her. Or the gators would. The only hope was to go up.
And pray.
She heard a tiny beep behind her and braced herself. A second later, she heard static. “Cal, are you there?” the man behind her asked.
She heard the beep again. The static again. He was calling someone.
“Cal!”
Static filled the silence of the night.
A tiny glimmer of hope bloomed in her mind.
“Climb!” he ordered roughly.
She took one step up, then another.
“Keep going!” he said in a loud whisper.
Her legs wouldn’t support her. She was afraid of what she’d find at the top of the steps. Afraid she’d know then, know what they’d done to JP.
She could see inside the kitchen, where she’d left the door open. Two steps more and she’d be at the top.
That’s when she saw JP. Crouched low, just beyond the kitchen door. A gun with some sort of long thing on the barrel. The idea that it was a silencer flew through her mind, then he signaled her to get down. His mouth formed one word.
Drop.
Chapter 9
She dropped.
And for one horrifying moment, JP thought the bastard had shot her. But he hadn’t fired.
Fighting the fear raging through him, he ran forward. He’d already killed one man inside the house. But this son of a bitch could shoot Abby.
He cleared the door and was on the deck. Out of his peripheral vision, he saw her scoot as far left as she could, crouching, her side against the deck railing. Alive. Staring at him wide-eyed.
A muffled shot hit the door frame to his right.
He took a single shot, knowing he’d made a mistake the instant he pulled the trigger.
Aim to wound, he’d told himself. He had to know who these guys worked for.
But it was too late. Training, instinct, and years of doing a job he’d done countless times took over. The SOB tumbled down the stairs and onto the deck. Dead. He followed, his gun aimed at the crumpled body. He checked the man’s pulse, then searched him, but just as the one inside, this man carried no ID. No way to know who he was, who had sent him.
He looked up. At the top of the steps, Abby crouched low, hugging her knees, staring down at him.
He removed the silencer and holstered his gun as he walked back up. With the light behind her, he couldn’t see her face.
He stopped one step below her and squatted, his face even with hers. “Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice hoarse in the night.
She shook her head. She hadn’t cried. Or called out. She’d probably been too terrified. Her hair was disheveled, her T-shirt off one shoulder, revealing her bra strap.
She looked vulnerable, frightened. He’d left her alone. In his single-minded effort to find something to clear himself, he’d almost gotten her killed. Now all he could do was try to comfort. God knew, he hadn’t intended to touch her again, but he found himself reaching out to pull her T-shirt up over her shoulder, and moved his hand to her neck. She let out an audible, shaky breath. And reached for him.
That did it. He pulled her tight against his chest, wondering how he’d managed to do anything even half right when all he’d been thinking about was her. She settled against him, despite the awkwardness of their embrace, her face against his neck, her arms tight around him. He soothed her with long strokes up and down her back. “You’re sure you’re not hurt?” he asked.
She nodded, her head bumping against his shoulder. “Are you?” she breathed against his neck.
“I’m fine. Just fine.” Now that I know you’re okay. She had no way of knowing that this—and more—was what he’d trained for his entire adult life. No way of knowing how good at it he’d gotten to be.
He pulled away slightly, enough to see her face, still cast in shadow.
His intention was to reassure himself that she really was okay, to let her go, to deal with the two men he’d killed, but when his hands brushed her arms, smooth and chilled, he found himself running them up to her shoulders, to her waist. He pulled her to her feet, into his embrace. And kissed her.
She didn’t protest the kiss. If she had, he would have stopped—would have accepted that what he was doing was out of line. But she didn’t. And he wanted more than this, more than a kiss after deadly fear…
