Against the Edge (The Raines of Wind Canyon) (15 page)

Sixteen

T
he stark white hospital room, its only window looking out on another concrete wing of the building, was beginning to wear on Claire’s nerves. At least the fresh-cut flowers on the sill and lined up on tables countered the antiseptic smells.

Most of the colorful bouquets had come from Ben’s friends in Houston: Sage and Jake; Trace Rawlins and his wife, Maggie; yellow daisies from Sol and the office manager, Annie Mayberry. A huge bouquet of exotics had arrived from Alex Justice and his bride, who were still on their honeymoon in Costa Rica.

Flowers had come from Johnnie Riggs and his wife, Amy, and a bouquet with a silly G.I. Joe balloon floating above it came from Tyler Brodie. That, of course, was the one Ben liked best.

At night Claire returned to the La Quinta Motel, a few blocks down the street. Sage and Jake had waited with Claire the entire first day until Ben’s condition was stable enough he could be moved to a private room.

They’d turned out to be amazing friends. Before they’d left, Jake had spoken to the police, clearing up the matter of Ben’s involvement in the shooting. Ben had given a statement and been interviewed by a pair of detectives named Holloway and Sparks. That had led to an arrest warrant for Duke Hutchins for attempted murder. Troy was wanted for the abduction of a minor.

Sage had insisted on sending the company jet back to pick Ben up when he was discharged from the hospital, which had happened that morning. As soon as Ben was officially released, they would drive to the executive terminal at the airport, drop the rental car and board the plane.

While Ben dressed in the clothes she had brought him last night—a pair of jeans and a navy blue T-shirt retrieved from his duffel in the back of the Tahoe—Claire walked out into the hall to answer a call on her BlackBerry. Checking the caller ID, she pressed it against her ear.

“Mom! It’s great to hear your voice.”

“Hi, honey. Dad and I are just back from the cruise and getting settled in. The trip was wonderful. Rome was spectacular, and oh, we loved Barcelona.” Her mother went on to describe all the wonders they had seen and the fabulous museums they had visited. “I wish you could have been with us.”

“Me, too, Mom. Maybe next time.” It certainly would have been less stressful. “I’m glad you had such a great trip.”

Her dad took the phone. “Everything’s good back here. How are things at your end of the country?”

No way was she telling her parents where she was or any of what she was doing. Not until this was over. Her dad had a heart condition, not too serious, but he had to watch what he ate, and stress wasn’t good for him.

“Oh, just same ole, same ole.”
I’m at the hospital with a man I slept with but you don’t know. He’s recovering from a bullet wound in his side.
“Just working hard, doing a little travel for my job.”
Oh, and did I mention I was assaulted while I was helping the man you don’t know search for his son—who may have been abducted by a white supremacist?

But none of that came out of her mouth. Her dad talked a little longer, then her mom got back on the phone to say goodbye. “You’re still coming home for Thanksgiving, right?”

“Absolutely,” Claire said. She told them she loved them and hung up the phone.

She loved her parents, but she enjoyed her independence. And she wasn’t ready to tell them anything about Ben. She wasn’t sure she ever would be.

She started to stuff the phone back into her purse when it rang again. She checked the number, but it didn’t look familiar. She pressed the phone against her ear.

“Hello, Claire. I’ve missed you.”

Her fingers tightened around the phone. “Michael.”

“I went by your apartment before I left the country, but you weren’t home.”

“You’re back in Colombia?”

“I won’t be here much longer. I’d like to get together when I get back, talk things over, see where we stand.”

Claire’s gaze shifted toward the door to Ben’s room. “We stand exactly where we stood when you left the country the first time. It’s over, Michael, and I’m moving on. You need to do the same.”

“I love you. I’m not willing to throw what we had away.”

She couldn’t deal with this now. Not with everything else that was going on. “I wish things could be different, but they aren’t. I have to go, Michael. I’m sorry.”

A couple of seconds passed. “I’ll call you when I get back. I love you, Claire.” The line went dead. For several long moments, Claire just stood there with the phone against her ear.

There was a time Michael’s vow of love and his determination to make their relationship work would have meant everything. But in the months since they’d parted, her life had changed. She’d had time to consider what she wanted, discover what was important in her life. She didn’t think Michael could ever give her those things.

Dropping her phone back into her purse, she reached for the door to Ben’s room and walked inside. He was sitting in the chair instead of lying on the bed, his face pale and his beard heavy, desperately in need of a shave.

He looked hard as nails and more dear to her than any man she had ever known.

“What’s taking them so damned long?” he asked, fidgeting, anxious to be released.

One thing she knew: Ben Slocum was not a patient man.

“Paperwork. You might as well relax. That’s just the way it works. And by the way, good morning.”

He didn’t smile. By now she was used to that with Ben.

“I’m glad you’re here, Claire. We need to talk.”

Her stomach dipped sharply. She couldn’t miss the black scowl on his face. “Has something happened? Did the police call? Have they found Bridger?” She didn’t want to think what else that dark look might mean, or that something had happened to Sam.

“I spoke to Holloway. No news yet. They haven’t found Bridger or Hutchins.”

Which meant there was still no sign of Sam. “What then?”

He levered himself up out of the chair, clenching his jaw against the pain, reached out and took hold of her hand.

“I want you to go home, Claire, back to California. What happened out at that barn...you could have been the one who wound up in the hospital—or worse. I never should have taken you out there in the first place.”

“You didn’t have a choice, Ben. We had to follow Hutchins. He was our only lead. And it almost worked. Sam was there, Ben. We almost had him.”

“
Almost
isn’t good enough. Look, Claire, for the moment we’re at a dead end. There’s nothing either of us can do till we come up with something new. As soon as that happens, I’ll be back on Bridger’s tail.”

“I’m not going back, Ben. Especially not now. We know where Bridger’s headed. Once you’re feeling better, we can go down to Louisiana and start looking for his brothers. They can lead us to Bridger and Sam.”

“That sounds good, except we don’t know Bridger or his brothers’ real name.”

“We’ll find out what it is. Sol can help us. We can do it if we keep working together.”

Ben shook his head. “I’m not taking you with me. It’s just too dangerous. After what happened, I can’t believe you can’t understand that.”

“I understand it. I also understand that if I hadn’t been with you that night, you might have bled to death outside the barn. You might have died, and if you had, what would happen to Sam? He needs us, Ben. He’s in trouble and I’m not going to abandon him.”

He raked a hand through the wavy black hair he usually kept so short the waves didn’t show, but now it needed a trim. She had played the guilt card, which she hated to do, but she was desperate. She could help him, just as she had before. Ben needed her, even if he couldn’t see it.

“Please sit down,” she said firmly. “If you want to get out of here, you had better conserve your strength.”

A corner of his mouth edged up. “Since when did you get so bossy?”

“Since I saw you lying on that table in the emergency room. I figured right then, as much as you hate the idea, you need someone to take care of you—at least for the next few days.”

He sank down heavily in the chair. He might be well enough to get out of the hospital, but he was hardly in top fighting condition.

“So you’re planning to come back with me to Houston.”

“If that’s where you’re going, yes.”

He was quiet for a while. “You were good out there,” he said softly, as if it bothered him to concede even that much. “You should have gone straight to the car when you heard the gunshot and driven the hell out of there, but I’m glad you didn’t. You were tough when it counted. I owe you, Claire.”

She started to say he didn’t owe her anything, that they were in this together.

Instead, she said, “You owe me? Fine, then take me with you. That’s what I want in payment for your debt.”

His lips curved again. It made her remember how good it felt when he kissed her. It seemed a lifetime ago.

“You’re a hard lady, Claire.”

She smiled, certain she had won. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

He didn’t have time to argue before the door swung open and one of the nurses walked into the room pushing a wheelchair in front of her.

“Ready to go home?” Nurse Riley, a stocky woman with curly brown hair, asked with a smile.

“More than ready,” Ben said.

Exactly what Claire was thinking.

* * *

A cool October wind ruffled the leaves on the big sycamore in Ben’s backyard, a welcome change after the long summer’s heat. A storm was blowing in off the Gulf. Heavy black clouds rolled over the city, and the air was heavy and damp.

Ignoring the codeine pain pills the doctor had prescribed, Ben sat at the computer in the bedroom he’d converted to a study, clenching his jaw against the throbbing in his side. Though the gunshot wound was healing, it still ached like holy hell, but the pills made him sleepy and he needed to stay focused, his mind sharp as he dug for anything that might lead him to Bridger.

In the Atlas Security office, Sol Greenway was working overtime trying to come up with Bridger’s real name.

Ben leaned back in his chair. The room was quiet, no classic rock playing on his iPod, no sound coming out of the speakers near the treadmill. His home gym sat forlornly beside it, the chrome weights gleaming with accusation.

His study served two purposes: a place to work cases when he was away from the office, and a weight-training area so he could stay in shape. He usually worked out five days a week, mostly heavy lifting and strengthening exercises, running on the treadmill to keep his heart rate up.

Since he got home, he’d been doing a little lightweight training, trying to build himself back up, but it wasn’t enough. He’d be glad when he was fit enough to get back to his regular routine.

With any luck, that would be soon. With even better luck, he’d also find a link to Bridger that would lead him to Louisiana or wherever the bastard had taken Sam.

Seated at the computer, Ben flexed his wrists, then rested them on the keyboard and went back to work searching the internet for white-supremacist groups in Louisiana. So far he’d found nothing that pointed to Bridger or his brothers, but he’d come up with a lot of interesting information, and knowledge was often the key to solving a case.

In the hall outside the study, light female footsteps sounded. Ben looked up to see Claire walking through the open door. Pleasure at seeing her slipped through him. Ben firmly ignored it.

She’d been staying in his house since they’d traveled back to Houston in Marine Drilling’s fancy Citation jet, fussing over him until it was driving him crazy.

“You’ve been at this for hours,” she said, her hands planted on her slender hips. “The doctor told you to take it easy.”

She looked so damned pretty. The bruise on her cheek was beginning to fade, and her bottom lip had healed. He was clearly feeling better because he wanted to suck on it, wanted to kiss that sexy mouth. Hell, he wanted to drag her down the hall into his bedroom and strip off her jeans and T-shirt, see what she was wearing underneath. He wanted to rip off another pair of panties.

She was driving him crazy, all right.

“I’m not the type to sit around, Claire. At least this gives me something to do besides lounge in bed and worry about Sam.”

In El Paso, he had tried to convince her to fly back to L.A., but he could have saved his breath. He knew how determined Claire could be when she put her mind to it. He hadn’t forgotten how she had hauled his sorry ass to the car then driven like a bat out of hell to the hospital while he bled all over the seat.

“I keep thinking we’ll hear something. Now that we’ve given them the plate number, the police should be able to find Troy’s truck and stop him.”

“Lots of cars on the road between here and Louisiana.”

“I know.” She leaned over his shoulder to look at the computer screen and he caught the soft scent of her perfume. The ache in his side was replaced by an ache farther down.

He’d always had a strong sexual appetite. Over the years, he’d been with dozens of women. He wasn’t interested in carving notches into his bedpost; he just never wanted to get in as deep as he had with Laura. He never wanted to feel the anger, hurt and pain he’d felt when he’d been stupid enough to fall in love. He didn’t want to risk that kind of emotional disaster again.

At least he hadn’t. Since that night in Phoenix, even with the chance of getting in too deep, the only woman he wanted in his bed was Claire.

Maybe he just hadn’t gotten a big enough taste of her.

Though she damned well seemed to have gotten her fill of him.

“Have you found anything?” she asked, pulling his thoughts back where they belonged.

“It doesn’t look like the fist and the 33/6 symbol on the brothers’ T-shirts pertain to any particular supremacist group. Wearing it just signifies a certain belief system.”

“Like a pink heart for breast cancer or a blue circle for diabetes.”

His mouth edged up. “Not exactly, but you get the idea.”

“So we can’t track the brothers by their T-shirts.”

“No.”

“How many white-supremacist groups are there in Louisiana?”

He thought of the article he’d read. “The Aryan Nations just set up its new world headquarters in Converse. That’s a small town south of Shreveport. Neo-Nazis, Klan, CSA and a group that calls itself The Order. They’re all part of the Nations.”