Unlawful Contact (12 page)

For a moment she watched him, the look in her eyes telling him to go to hell. But when she spoke, her tone was softer. “So you haven’t found them?”

He shook his head. “Not a trace.”

She glanced away, a worried look on her face, and he knew she was thinking it through, weighing the reality of the situation against her concern for Megan and Emily. A part of him wanted to use persuasion, to apply pressure by reminding her how helpless little Emily was, how vulnerable Megan was, to do all he could to influence her. But he knew the price she’d pay if she were caught, and so he kept his mouth shut.

This had to be her decision.

She met his gaze, and he could see she was still pissed off. “Helping you could constitute a felony, and I know enough about prison to know I never want to end up there.”

“Smart woman.” He bit back the other things he wanted to say, a tension rising in his body that had nothing to do with his pent-up lust or her outright rejection. She was his best, surest, fastest way of getting into DOC records and finding the son of a bitch who was after Megan. If she turned him down…

“I’ll listen to what you have to say, but you’re going to have to answer my questions, too. And no promises that I’ll do anything. Got it?”

He released the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Got it.”

“Just let me get dressed.” She started toward her bedroom, then turned to look back at him, her anger still palpable. “And just to be clear—what happened a few minutes ago will
never
happen again. I understand you must be eager to get your hands on anything female after six years of having only men to play with, but—”

Before she could say another word, he had hold of her jaw, his face a hair’s breadth from hers, rage pounding inside his skull. “Is that what you think? You think I spent the past six years fucking men?”

“I-I…” Her eyes flew wide.

“The truth is I spent the past six years protecting my own ass, and when I wasn’t looking over my shoulder, I was thinking about
you
!”

Her face was frozen in an expression of shock.

Stunned by his own reaction, he released her and stepped back. “Get dressed.”

She all but ran.

M
ARC PACED
S
OPHIE’S
living room, furious with himself. He’d gone too far, given away too much. Worse, he’d acted like an asshole. She’d made a smart-ass comment because she was pissed off—understandable, given all that he’d done. Instead of letting it pass, he’d come unglued, grabbing her, dumping his guts, shouting in her face.

Whatever I feel it’s for the boy you were in high school, not the man you are now.

Well, there was a good reason for that, wasn’t there?

She’ll help you now for sure. Good thinking, dumbshit.

Once again, he hadn’t been thinking at all.

Christ!

He drew a deep breath, tried to slow his heartbeat, his body almost vibrating with the aftershock of his own anger. Her words had hit him where it hurt, unleashing something inside him that had taken him completely by surprise. But it wasn’t her fault. She had no way of knowing what those six years had been like—six years spent watching his back, wondering when the next attack would come, knowing that the guards would watch and laugh and do nothing.

How many times had they tried? Twenty-some-odd? He hadn’t counted. He’d fought them off every time, sent more than a few of them to the infirmary, ended up in the infirmary himself. Over the years, they’d gotten bolder, more aggressive, more violent, and he’d known it was only a matter of time before they got the best of him and turned him inside out.

Far from using another man as his piece of ass, he’d fought hard not to become one.

Why you fightin’, Hunter? Afraid it’ll hurt? Afraid you’ll like it?

Fists and feet. The flash of a shank. Searing pain. The guards’ laughter. Blood and water mingling, disappearing down the drain.

Something twisted in Marc’s gut, left him feeling short of breath, shaky, nauseated. He walked to the window, cracked it open, sucked in cold air, fighting to clear his mind.

He was out of that place. He was out. He was
free
.

But when the cops caught him…Christ, if they caught him…

Jesus!

He’d have to face that again.

But this time he’d be ass out, his life worth less than a pack of smokes. The guards would want him to pay for escaping and making them look like fools. They’d want revenge for what he’d done to Kramer. Hell, Kramer would be all over him. Not right away, of course. They’d throw him in solitary for a few months of meditation. Then, after he was out, they’d set him up, put a hit on him, and give him a one-way pass to the morgue.

S
HAKEN
, S
OPHIE SAT
on her bed, still in her robe, her gaze fixed on her locked bedroom door. All she had to do was grab her cell phone from its charger and dial 911. The police would arrive in a few minutes, guns drawn, and take Marc away. As a law-abiding citizen, it was her
duty
to turn him in. So why couldn’t she bring herself to do it?

Megan and Emily.

If she turned Marc over to the police, there was no chance that he’d ever find his sister, and Megan would be on her own, left to face anyone who might be after her without her brother’s help. And with a baby to care for, no money, and no place to live…

But even as her mind clutched at that excuse, Sophie knew it was bull. The last thing Megan needed was to be on the run with another escaped convict, especially if she was in danger. She’d be better off back in prison, where she wouldn’t have to worry about food or shelter or safety, where she could get help with her addiction, where she could try once again to rebuild her life. As for Emily—there was no doubt she’d be safer in the arms of her Mennonite foster parents than on the streets, cold and hungry.

And still Sophie couldn’t bring herself to reach for her phone.

Truth was she didn’t want to call the cops. She didn’t want to stop Hunt from finding his sister. She didn’t want to cause a confrontation that might end in his killing someone or being killed himself, especially if there was any chance that Julian would be involved. She didn’t want to be the one responsible for sending Hunt back to prison.

You think I spent the past six years fucking men? The truth is I spent the past six years protecting my own ass!

She’d never seen anyone get that angry that fast. Except that it hadn’t been anger she’d seen in his eyes. It had been…desolation, anguish, torment.

Sophie wasn’t naïve. She’d been covering prisons for four years. She knew what happened inside those walls. Most of the time it was consensual—two inmates turning to one another for sexual release and perhaps even comfort. But there were men—and women—who thrived on hurting other people. They ganged up on other inmates to beat, maim, rape.

She had known when she’d seen his scars that he’d been in at least a few prison fights. Officer Green had told her as much the day she’d gone to interview him. As a former DEA agent, Marc would certainly have been a target for violence, especially at the hand of inmates he’d helped put behind bars. But she hadn’t imagined that anyone would try to
rape
him.

Had they succeeded? Marc was big and physically powerful, but he wasn’t invulnerable. If he’d been outnumbered, injured, or taken by surprise…

She couldn’t stand to think about it.

She got to her feet, let her bathrobe slide to the floor, caught her reflection in the mirror that hung on her closet door. Her lips were still swollen from his kisses, the skin of her chest flushed pink, her hair a tangled mess. She looked like a woman who’d just had great sex—except for the worry in her eyes.

She raised her fingers to her lips, felt the lingering heat of his kiss. What kind of power did he hold over her body and emotions to make her respond the way she had? She’d almost had sex with him, for God’s sake!

When I wasn’t looking over my shoulder, I was thinking about you!

She hadn’t spent
every
day of the past twelve years thinking of him—just a lot of them. But she
had
measured every man she’d dated against him and found them lacking. And every so often, she’d dreamed about him.

The two of them were caught up in memories. That had to explain it. That night twelve years ago had been special for both of them, and their reaction to each other was nothing more than a messy collision of past and present. It was that simple.

It wasn’t simple at all.

That’s why you’re hiding in your bedroom, Alton. You’re afraid of him.

Yes, she was afraid of him—but not because she thought he might hurt her. Even his outburst a few minutes ago hadn’t truly frightened her. It had taken her by surprise, but she hadn’t thought for a moment that he would actually harm her.

No, she was afraid of him because of how he made her feel.

Angry with herself, she jerked open her closet door and yanked out a pair of jeans and an old navy blue sweatshirt. She dressed quickly, then brushed her hair and braided it.

She was done hiding. She was done acting like some kind of passive victim. She was done letting him call the shots. As of this moment, she was in control of her life again, not Marc Hunter. She would ask her questions, listen to whatever he had to say, and then…

And then she would have to make a decision.

S
OPHIE SAT ACROSS
from Marc at her kitchen table, doing her best to act like drinking coffee in the middle of the night with an armed murderer, who also happened to be killer-sexy and a former lover, was nothing new. Telling herself this was just another interview—deep background, off the record—she took notes while Marc told her what he’d done so far in his quest to find Megan and Emily.

He seemed to dominate the small room, his shoulders broader than the back of the chair, his long legs filling the space beneath the table, his height obvious even when he was sitting. His face was emotionless, the look in his eyes inscrutable, both contradicted by the tension that rolled off him in thick, dark waves. Although he was sitting a good four feet away from her, she could still smell him—that mix of man and spice that seemed to emanate from his skin. Or maybe his scent had rubbed off on her.

“I questioned her old friends, checked the women’s shelters and soup kitchens, cased the shooting galleries off East Colfax, even tracked down the pusher who got her pregnant, but no one—”

“You know who Emily’s father is? There’s no name on the birth certificate. I thought even Megan wasn’t sure.”

“Of course Megan knows. She wasn’t that strung out. She probably just didn’t feel like sharing that information with your readers. The guy is a dealer, an addict.” He pinned her with his gaze. “A loser.”

She ignored his attempt to throw her own words in her face. “What’s his name?”

He shook his head. “Oh, no. If she’d wanted you to know, she’d have told you. Besides, you’ll probably try to track him down, and I don’t want you near him. He’s dangerous. Even if you did find him, he’s not going to tell you anything he didn’t tell me. My methods of interrogation are more…persuasive than anything you can dish out.”

Sophie glanced up, almost afraid to know more. “You didn’t hurt him.”

“Not as much as I wanted to.”

“You’re awfully comfortable with violence, aren’t you?”

“You’d be surprised what a man can get used to.” He spoke the words casually, but there was nothing casual about them.

The truth is I spent the past six years protecting my own ass!

Sophie took a nervous sip of coffee, set her cup down, glanced at the clock.

Five minutes to midnight.

“The bottom line is that I’m out of leads and out of time. If I can’t find her, I need to find out who’s after her—and that’s where I need your help.”

She cleared her throat, spoke slowly, articulating each syllable. “Anything I do to help Megan will be done legally.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to break the law, Sophie.”

“Your being here is asking me to break the law.”

“I broke in. You’re blameless.”

“I should have called the police—”

“Why didn’t you?” His gaze seemed to pierce her.

Realizing she’d once again revealed too much, she ignored his question. “What exactly do you want me to do?”

“DOC did an internal investigation at Denver Juvenile after Megan reported Cross. It turns out that she wasn’t the only girl he and his buddy brutalized. I need that report. I need to know the identity of Cross’s accomplice, as well as the names of the other victims. It’s possible that she’s hiding with one of them.”

Sophie didn’t tell him that she’d already requested documentation on all such reports. She didn’t want him to get the wrong idea. The fact that she was already investigating his claims didn’t mean that she would share information with him.

She stood, walked to the counter, and emptied the dregs of her French press into her cup. “DOC will redact the girls’ names because they were juveniles at the time. At best you’re going to get the name of this alleged accomplice. What are you going to do with that information once you have it?”

“I’ll track him down and make damned good and sure he doesn’t pose a threat to my sister or any other woman.”

That’s exactly what worried her. “Will you kill him?”

He answered without hesitation. “If that’s the only way to protect Megan, yes.”

She walked back to her chair and sat. “In case you’ve forgotten, it’s against the law to end someone’s life because you think he raped your sister.”

“And if I
know
he raped my sister?”

“Rape isn’t a capital offense. Besides, that’s what judges and juries are—”

He leaned forward, his face inches from hers. “I know all about judges and juries. Don’t preach to me about trusting the system. If the system worked, my sister wouldn’t be out there on the streets with her baby running for her life!”

Sophie held his gaze, refusing to be intimidated. “I won’t give you information that will enable you to commit murder.”

He sat back, rolled his eyes, as if she were being ridiculous. “How do you think I should handle it? Have a beer with him and ask him to leave my sister alone?”

“Let me expose him in the paper. If this accomplice really exists and he truly did what you say he did, Megan and the other alleged witnesses can help me bring him to justice. I’m not sure what the statute of limitations is on sexual assault on a minor, but I—”

“In case you’ve forgotten, Megan is missing, and even if we managed to find her, she couldn’t handle that.”

“Megan is stronger than you realize, and she trusts me.”

“She didn’t trust you enough to tell you she’d been raped at Denver Juvenile or to tell you who Emily’s father was, did she? Besides, she’s more fragile than you know.” He reached over, covered her hand with his, stroked the back of her wrist with his thumb. “Even if she were tough as nails, I wouldn’t want you to get caught up in this. I just need you to go under the radar and get me that report.”

Sophie jerked her hand away, her skin tingling where he touched her. “I’ve been caught up in this since you held that gun to my head! Do you think I’d track down the report for you and just hand it over—no news coverage?”

She could see from the look on his face that that’s exactly what he’d been thinking.

Then his frustrated frown curved into a smile. “Does that mean you’re going to help?”

“Not so fast, Mr. Pistol Pants.” She flipped to a blank page in her reporter’s notebook. “I told you that you’d have to answer my questions, too. Remember? And no lies.”

“Well, okay, then.” He leaned back, crossed his arms over his chest, and grinned. “But when you say ‘Pistol Pants’ were you referring to my firearm—or my gun?”

M
ARC WAS IMPRESSED
. For forty-five minutes Sophie had grilled him about the shooting with the relentlessness of a DA. How long had he known Cross? Why had he called Cross that morning? Was it normal for him to wear his sidearm when off duty and at home? Had he ever used his position to acquire and sell drugs? Who would want to plant drugs on him and why?

He’d read her articles while in prison, following her career from a distance, and he’d known she was good. Even so, he couldn’t help but be amazed. If she ever got sick of journalism—not likely—she’d make one hell of a detective. He answered her questions carefully, more than a little distracted by the miracle of just being near her.

He’d known Cross for a little more than a year—since his first day on the job with DEA. He’d called Cross that morning and asked him to return a set of socket wrenches he’d borrowed. Yes, it was standard for him to keep his firearm loaded and on his person even when off duty; he had a permit for concealed carry. Hell, no, he’d never bought or sold drugs.
Ever.
The coke had been planted on him because some asshole wanted to avenge Cross by discrediting him, creating a motive for murder, and making sure he went down for good.

She wrote down his answers, then pored over her notes, tapping her pen against the fullest part of her lower lip—the part of her lip that he’d nibbled just a few hours ago. “When did you find out that Cross had raped Megan?”

And all at once Marc saw the trap she’d laid at his feet. She’d asked him the other questions before asking him this one, giving him all the rope he needed to hang himself.

Hadn’t he known she was good?

“We’re still off the record, right?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“I’m trusting you with Megan’s life, Sophie.”

She seemed to bristle. “I keep secrets all the time. It’s part of being a journalist.”

“Okay, then.” He drew a deep breath, steeling himself. He’d never told anyone what he was about to tell her, not even his attorney. “I didn’t know until Cross was standing in my living room. Megan had come over for supper. She and I had been reunited for about six months, and she’d been clean for about sixteen weeks—her first attempt to break free of her addiction. Cross stopped by to drop off the socket wrenches. Megan saw him from the kitchen and collapsed in hysterics.”

No! No! Make him go away! Please, don’t let them hurt me!

Sophie watched him through eyes soft with concern. “What did she tell you?”

“She told me that Cross had been a guard at Denver Juvenile, had raped her almost daily during the time she spent there and had gotten away with it. But it didn’t come out in one coherent piece. I had to put it together bit by bit with Cross standing right there.”

“What makes you think Cross had an accomplice?”

Please, don’t let them hurt me! Make him go!

Marc rubbed his face with his hands, the wrenching sound of Megan’s sobs echoing in his mind, making his gut churn. “Several times, she said ‘them.’ Not ‘him,’ but ‘them.’ God, if you’d have seen her—she was so broken up. Jesus!”

Marc had never felt more helpless than he had that afternoon. Once again, he’d let Megan down—and this time it had destroyed both of their lives.

For a moment, Sophie said nothing, leaving him to rot in memories he wished to God weren’t his. Then she set her pen down and looked at him through eyes that held…

Jesus—was that
pity
?

“So you and Cross got into an argument, and you pulled your gun and shot him in a blind rage, just like you told the police?”

Marc squeezed his eyes shut, gritted his teeth, unable to stop the scene from replaying itself in his mind.

Come on, Hunter! I had no idea she was your sister. Hell, I didn’t even know you! Besides, you know how chick inmates are—bored and horny, dreaming of dick. Every time you walk by their cells, you know they’re hoping you’ll give it to them.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

Marc drew a steadying breath, opened his eyes, found Sophie watching him. “He admitted it, Sophie. He admitted that he’d raped her—and he laughed about it.”

She swallowed, and he could see she was upset. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m not sorry he’s dead, but if I had
planned
to kill him, would I have shot him in my home with my own weapon and then turned myself in? Cross and I were federal drug agents, for God’s sake! All it would have taken was a bit of time and patience, and I would’ve been able to arrange for him to die a hero’s death on the job.”

She seemed to think this through. “There’s no mention in the police report that Megan was there.”

Was there any detail she hadn’t noticed?

He hesitated. “I sent her home. I shoved her out the back door and told her to run home. She was so fucked up, so afraid. I wasn’t even sure she’d be able to find her way home, but she ran. She started using again that night.”

“She never told me, never said a word. I knew her time at Denver Juvenile had been rough. She never wanted to talk about it. But I never would have imagined anything like this.” Sophie closed her eyes for a moment, her sweet face an image of distress. Then she looked straight at him. “There’s just one thing I don’t understand.”

“What’s that?”

“Why did you keep this to yourself? You never once mentioned what Cross had done to Megan—not to the police, not during your trial, not even at your sentencing. You know the prosecutor never would have been able to get murder one from a jury under such mitigating circumstances, and you wouldn’t have drawn a life sentence.”

Marc felt the noose he’d made for himself tighten. “I didn’t want to drag her into it. She would have had to talk to the police, testify, endure cross examination, and I didn’t think she could take it. I wanted her to be able to get her life together.”

She glared at him. “So you threw your
own
life away.”

Was she
angry
with him?

“I knew I was going to prison, but I had no idea they’d plant drugs on me or send me away for life. I thought I’d get second degree—twenty years tops, out in six. If I had known…She’s my sister, Sophie. She’s the only family I have. I would do anything to protect her.”

“And now you think this unknown accomplice is out to kill Megan.”

“I’m sure of it.”

“Why?”

“After the shooting, we were alone together just once. She warned me that ‘they’ would come after her. I don’t think she understood that Cross was dead and gone. She told me that one day she’d disappear, and I would find her dead in a ditch. At the time, I thought it was nothing more than drug-induced paranoia. Then she was in and out of prison, and I had other things to worry about—her addiction and later the baby.”

“But then she disappeared.”

He nodded. “And left behind a stash of smack that couldn’t possibly have been hers. A half ounce? What addict would leave that kind of gold mine behind? And where did she get the money to buy it with no job?”

Sophie sat slowly upright, her eyes growing wide. “You think that whoever planted the coke on you six years ago planted the heroin on Megan. You think he’s the accomplice.”

“You got it.” Again Marc was impressed. “Megan must have seen him, must have known he’d found her and was coming after her. She took Emily and ran.”

Sophie wrapped her arms around herself as if to ward off a chill, and he thought he saw goose bumps on her arms. “You should tell the police—call anonymously if you have to.”