Blank Slate (13 page)

“I wasn’t going to leave you alone, Clarissa,” he said. “I planned on going with you, keeping you safe, helping you. I didn’t lie to you.”

Langston’s hand was rough against her cheek even as his touch was featherlight. His thumb brushed her cheekbone as his palm cupped her jaw.

“I’m trusting you with my life,” he said quietly, reminding Clarissa of the loaded weapon pointed at his heart. “Trust me in return.”

Clarissa couldn’t take her eyes from his. He seemed so sincere. Could she trust him? Did she have a choice? Would he betray her?

Even with all these things running through her mind, there was a deeper reason she didn’t want to leave, one she’d refused to think about back at the marshal’s car. The truth was she didn’t want to leave him. Clarissa was an utter fool to feel that way; she knew Langston didn’t feel anything for her, but she couldn’t make herself give him up. She’d have to at some point, she wasn’t stupid, but not just yet. Right now, he was all she had.

Lowering the rifle, she flicked the safety back on before looking back up at Langston. He hadn’t moved away. If anything, he was closer now, though his hand had dropped back to his side.

The fact that he’d seen her cry embarrassed Clarissa. She wasn’t weak and didn’t want him to think that of her. “I’m not some weepy female who can’t take care of herself,” she muttered, dropping her chin so she wouldn’t have to look him in the eye.

“I got that,” Langston replied.

“I’m just tired. And…really don’t want to go to prison.”

“I got that too.” Langston reached out and took the rifle from her hand. She didn’t resist relinquishing the weapon, and neither did she resist when he cautiously wrapped an arm around her.

Unsure but obeying the gentle pressure on her back, Clarissa stepped into Langston’s embrace. She tentatively slid her arms around his waist and rested her head against his chest. She was rewarded when his hold tightened, and he settled his chin on top of her head.

O’Connell’s body was stiff against his, reminding Erik of a wild animal, hesitant and poised to run. He doubted she was the type of person who allowed others to see any weakness or vulnerability, with or without her memory intact. Her survival in the world she inhabited depended on it.

A few moments passed, and he simply held her, saying nothing. Ever so slowly, she relaxed into him. Erik tried not to think about how well the curves of her body fit against him. This was about comfort, not sex. He’d bet his next paycheck that O’Connell could really use a friendly hug right about now.

Considering what she’d been through — losing her memory, being captured, attacked, and nearly abducted — she’d held up remarkably well. It amazed Erik. Even though she had nothing and no one, she was determined to hold on to her freedom. He’d always known Clarissa O’Connell was an incredibly intelligent woman, albeit of a criminal bent, he just hadn’t understood until now how truly extraordinary she was.

“What happened in the car?” he asked. “Did he attack you?” Erik had noticed the car had been pointing the wrong direction when he’d pulled O’Connell out. Had the fake marshal hoped to get her to talk by hurting or threatening her?

Pulling back slightly, O’Connell looked up at him. “He’d stopped the car so he could ambush and kill you.” She gave a slight shrug. “So I killed him instead.”

Erik looked at her, utterly taken aback. “You realize you could have waited until he’d killed me and then easily gotten away from him,” he said.

“I just figured if anyone was going to kill you, it should be me.”

The mischievous glint in her eye made his lips twitch. Damn. Hearing a woman casually discuss killing him really shouldn’t be a turn-on. Something about that was very wrong, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

His gaze was drawn inexorably to her mouth. The hug that had begun as platonic was rapidly turning into something else. Erik was loath to let her go, even as he knew he should; his conscience screamed at him inside his head that O’Connell was a fugitive and thief. Her trust in him was precarious at best.

O’Connell seemed to sense the rising tension. Her tongue darted out nervously to wet her lips, and Erik’s gut clenched in response. She moved to step away, but Erik’s hold unconsciously tightened, preventing her escape. Her gaze darted up to his, questioning. The saline in her tears had turned her eyes a brilliant emerald.

The shrill ring of Erik’s cell phone shattered the moment. O’Connell jumped, startled. Erik reluctantly released her before digging the phone out of his pocket.

“Langston,” he barked, watching as O’Connell disappeared around the car and climbed back into the front seat.

“Hey, it’s Kaminski.”

Erik’s attention was jerked away from where it never should have been in the first place.

“I’m glad you answered,” Kaminski said, lowering his voice. “I wanted to warn you.”

“Warn me about what?”

“About Clarke. It’s weird. He’s saying some strange shit…”

“Like what?”

“About you, man.”

Erik paused in stowing the rifle back inside the car. “What do you mean?”

Kaminski’s voice lowered even further. “He’s saying you’ve gone off the reservation. That you’re involved with this chick, Clarissa O’Connell. He says you killed two guys in some cabin in Colorado and killed the marshal I sent to pick her up. What the fuck, Langston? I mean, I know we’re not buddies, but I just can’t see you doing this shit no matter how hot the babe.”

Erik listened, confused. What was this? Did Kaminski suspect that Erik might be on to him since the abduction had gone bad, hence the attempt to divert suspicion away from himself? But was Kaminski that clever? Erik’s immediate thought was no, he wasn’t, but perhaps his judgment was clouded by his own dislike of the man. He decided to play along and see where it led.

“I killed some men, but since they were trying to kill me and abduct my prisoner, I deemed it necessary,” he replied evenly.

“That’s not the story Clarke’s spinning,” Kaminski said. “Just…don’t trust him. I have a bad feeling.”

“He’s sending a helicopter for O’Connell. I’m to have her on it this evening.”

“Listen, let me look into it, see if it’s legit. I’ll call you back.”

“Sure. Sounds good.” Erik ended the call and stood for a moment, thinking. This was an odd turn of events. Clarke had been on this case and after Solomon for years. It made much more sense that Kaminski was trying to cover his own ass than Clarke being compromised did.

For now, Erik would head to Branson and wait to hear back from Kaminski. If he was “looking into it,” then there might be yet another ambush. Only this time, Erik would be ready.

Clarissa covertly watched Langston as he drove. He’d pushed the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows, and she studied his forearms and hands. He must work out; the muscles in his arms were too well-defined for someone who didn’t. His hands were large. Strong. Capable. Much like the man himself.

It had been a surprising relief to lean on him, to give in to the overwhelming need to trust him. The hell of feeling so alone and without a single friend had abated when she was in his arms.

Clarissa felt her face heat, and she quickly turned to look out the window. The hug had been unexpected, a comfort that warmed the ice in her veins and eased the feeling of being hunted. She hated being afraid. She’d rather fight than just be scared. At least then she was proactively defending herself. Not knowing who or what might come after her next made the fear nearly paralyzing.

Then suddenly the embrace had turned into something entirely different.

The heat in his eyes, the hardness of his body as it pressed against hers, all of it had combined to steal her breath. She’d wondered if perhaps she’d been imagining it and had thought to take a step back before she embarrassed herself, but he’d stopped her. His hold had tightened and his gaze had fallen to her mouth. Had he been about to kiss her?

Then the damn phone had rung before she could find out.

It was probably for the best anyway. He was an FBI agent. She was a wanted fugitive. To think they could be together was like saying maybe a shark could go vegetarian. It just wasn’t going to happen.

Clarissa glanced at Langston again. His hair had burnished red tones in the bright sunlight streaming through the window. The mirrored shades he wore suited him and gave him a mysterious air even as the gun holstered to his side added a dangerous edge. One arm rested on the console between them, slipping into Clarissa’s space. His other elbow was braced against the door as he drove one-handed.

Yum. A night with him would surely be something to remember. And considering her shortage of memories…

No. Not going to happen except in her fantasies. Langston may be attracted to her, but his convictions of right and wrong would prevent him acting on it, she was sure. Which was too bad, she thought, her eyes lingering on his denim-encased thighs.

“So you’re coming with me tonight?” she asked, partly to reassure herself, partly to get her mind off the track it had been happily breezing down.

“Yes.” He glanced at her. “I promise.”

The way he said the words was different from most people, as though he really meant them. Clarissa mused that she’d probably finally met a man who kept his word. So they really did exist, though few and far between.

“It would be really helpful if you could regain your memory,” Langston said.

Clarissa raised a sardonic brow. “Ya think?”

The corner of his mouth turned up for a brief moment, and Clarissa felt a shot of pleasure that she’d amused him. Lord, if she wasn’t careful, she was going to have it in a bad way for him.

“Maybe if you just relaxed, it would help,” he suggested. “Things have been pretty…tense since the accident.”

“The other night I dreamt something, a memory,” she said. “But nothing last night.” Not knowing anything about herself, even her own address, was getting old quick.

“Last night you nearly died,” he said grimly.

Clarissa didn’t want to think about last night. If she did, she could still feel the icy water closing over her head.

“Who was on the phone?” she asked.

“Remember that partner I told you about?”

“The one you disagreed with about me?”

“That’s the one. I think he’s been compromised. He arranged the marshal pickup. He could have very easily told someone about it and set up the ambush. Except he says the SAC, Clarke, is telling everyone I’m aiding you and murdered those men trying to get you away, that I’ve gone off on my own.”

That sounded pretty close to the truth, in Clarissa’s opinion.

Langston must have read her thoughts on her face because he said, “And no, that’s not what I’m doing. Something’s not right. I don’t trust the FBI right now to keep you safe. Someone has an agenda, and it’s not justice. I’m just not sure what it is or who’s behind it.” He glanced her way. “Until I do, you’re staying with me.”

Although the possessive words were meant in an entirely platonic fashion, Clarissa couldn’t help the curl of pleasure they produced in her belly.

“Get some rest,” Langston ordered. “You’re going to need it, I’m sure.”

Clarissa did as he said, leaning back against the seat. The sun was warm on her skin, and she sighed. She hadn’t relaxed in what felt like a hundred years. The fact that she could do so only because she knew Langston would keep her safe was something she didn’t want to dwell on. Doing so would only drag her in deeper with him. They’d part ways soon, she was sure of it. She needed to keep that in mind.

It was nice to have the help, and the company, but she knew you really could only count on yourself.

“T
hey’re comin’ for me, darling.”

Clarissa stared as her father hurried around his bedroom, throwing clothes into an already stuffed duffel bag.

“What do you mean? What happened?” The job her father and brother had pulled the night before had gone south; she knew that. Both of them hadn’t said much since they’d gotten back in the wee hours of the morning.

Her father turned and looked at her, and for once his eyes weren’t bleary from too much whiskey. “A man died, lovey.”

Clarissa’s jaw gaped. “What? What do you mean?” Never before had someone died on one of their jobs.

“A security guard,” he answered, resuming his rushed packing. “It happened so fast, lovey. Awful thing, it was. An accident, at that. Wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“What about Danny? Are they comin’ for him too?” A shot of fear went through Clarissa. Would the coppers take both her dad and brother? They’d go to prison and she’d be left utterly alone. Or worse, they’d send her back to juvie. No way was she doing that. It had been miserable enough without her computer, but having to put up with the other teens there had been near maddening. All of them in for petty theft, substance abuse, or other forms of teenage delinquency. None of them had known her crime, and she hadn’t enlightened them. Frankly, there had been no one there worth telling. Immature idiot children, the lot of them.

“No’ if I can help it,” he said.

Just then Danny poked his head in the door. “Dad, they’re here!” His face was white with panic, which scared Clarissa. She’d never seen Danny afraid of anything. At twenty-five, he was her invincible older brother, always outsmarting the coppers and bringing home his stolen treasures to show off to Clarissa.

Flynn O’Connell froze in his packing just as a knock sounded downstairs.

“We know you’re in there, O’Connell! This is the police! Come out peacefully with your hands up.”

Clarissa’s heart was in her throat as she watched her dad. Flynn was looking at Danny, and something unspoken passed between the two of them.

“Take care of your sister, me boy,” Flynn said roughly. “Do right by her. Prison’s no place for a girl.”

Realization hit and Clarissa panicked. “No, Dad!” She ran to him, and he caught her up in his arms. Flynn O’Connell was many things, a drunkard, liar, and thief, but he loved his daughter.

“I know I haven’t been the best dad for ya, lovey,” her dad said, his rough hand smoothing her hair. “But try to remember me well.”

Clarissa was crying, holding tight around his waist as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. He was right; he hadn’t been a great dad, not having any idea what to do with a girl. His quick temper had put an end to the relationships he’d had over the years, though he’d never raised a hand to Clarissa.

But he and Danny were all she had.

The cops yelled again downstairs, banging on the door even more fiercely.

“Take her, Danny,” Flynn said.

Clarissa felt Danny prying her arms from her dad.

“No!” she cried. “Dad, wait! Don’t go!” Tears poured down her face, but Danny held her fast as Flynn gave them one last look before disappearing through the bedroom door.

Clarissa drew in a breath to yell again, but Danny clamped his hand over her mouth. She tore fruitlessly at his fingers. She had to get to her dad, couldn’t let him just give himself up, leave them forever. She fought Danny, but he was too strong.

“Shhh, Rissa, hush. They’ll hear you.”

She could hear the men talking downstairs, heard her father go outside and car doors slam. Soon she heard the crunch of gravel as they drove away. Clarissa slumped against Danny, exhausted and sobbing.

“C’mon, Rissa,” he said. “They’re gone. We’ve got to get out of here before they come back.” He let her go, and Clarissa sank to the floor, wrapping her arms around her legs and resting her head on her knees. “Rissa? Are you listening to me? We have to go.”

“Go where,” she asked tonelessly. She didn’t know where they would go or how they’d pay to get there. Despite the thieving, they had little money.

“I don’t know, but we have to get away from here. We’ll find a job, get some dough, maybe go to America.” He knelt down next to her. “You’d like that, wouldn’t ya?”

Clarissa didn’t answer. Her world was falling apart. Again. She thought she’d guarded herself well over the years, never letting any more of Dad’s girlfriends get too close, not after Mary. And she’d been right to do that. Eventually, they all left. And now, even Dad was gone. The hole in her chest she’d thought was healed now gaped, and she realized it had never healed, merely patched over.

“We’s all we got now, Rissa,” Danny said quietly. “Best look after each other. Unless ya don’t want to come with me?”

Clarissa looked up at Danny, panicked. His expression was compassionate, though his gaze was shrewd.

“O’ course I’m comin’,” Clarissa said. “You’re not leavin’ me.”

“Ya know I’m a thief,” he cautioned her. “If ya come, you’ll have to earn your keep.”

“Ya been usin’ me to steal since I was small,” she said with a snort. “Not so much be changin’, I’m thinkin’.”

“Then let’s get out o’ here,” he said, standing up. Holding a hand outstretched to her, he helped her up. “Only pack what ya can carry in one bag.”

Clarissa nodded, swiping her hands across her eyes.

Satisfied that she understood, Danny turned to leave. “Twenty minutes tops,” he tossed back as he headed down the hall.

Clarissa gazed around the room, in somewhat of a dazed shock. In the space of ten minutes, her world had been turned upside down. Dad was gone. And there was no time to grieve, no time to even accept what had happened. She had to pack and leave the only home she’d ever known, probably forever, and all she could take was what could fit in one bag.

Hurrying to her father’s room, she pulled out his bottom dresser drawer, digging and unearthing the contents until she found what she wanted. A gold pocket watch dangled from a chain. It was a gift from her mother before she died. She had to take this. A little of both her father and mother she could carry with her.

Clarissa slipped the watch into her pocket and hurried to pack. Even with Flynn’s admonition to take care of her, she wouldn’t put it past Danny to leave her behind. Careless and reckless to a fault, she was sure the last thing he wanted was to be responsible for a sixteen-year-old girl. It was a good thing she was useful to him. She grabbed her laptop. It went in a backpack all its own.

She felt the tears come again but forced them back. No time to cry. Time to go. Time to run…

Erik was loath to wake her, but it had been hours since she’d eaten and it might be hours yet if they didn’t grab something now.

“O’Connell, wake up,” he said, giving her a gentle shake.

She mumbled in her sleep, frowning. Erik leaned closer, trying to make out what she was saying.

“Don’t leave me,” she muttered. “I’ll be good.” She frowned even more fiercely, her lower lip puckering out like a child’s, and tears leaked from the corners of her eyes.

All of it sent a chill through Erik. She was dreaming again, and not of unicorns and rainbows. The idea of O’Connell begging anyone for anything was unsettling, but at some point she’d begged someone not to go. Who? Her father? Brother? Friend? Lover?

The last thought sent a flash of jealousy through Erik, which was utterly ridiculous. What, was he going to pretend she’d never had a lover? And he shouldn’t care anyway; it wasn’t as though he had any claim to her.

“Wake up,” he repeated, shoving those thoughts away. He shook her a bit more roughly this time.

O’Connell’s eyes shot open, and she jerked upright, breathing hard. Her eyes were wide and fearful, her expression confused.

“Do you remember what you were dreaming?” Erik asked.

She turned his way, her eyes clearing as she focused on him.

“Yeah, a bit,” she said.

Erik noticed her accent was much more pronounced when she spoke, the Irish lilt softening the consonants.

“They were arresting my…dad, I guess. And my brother was there. We were packing…”

Her voice faded and her gaze grew distant.

“So do you remember?” he asked.

O’Connell slowly shook her head. “The dream, it’s familiar, but I can’t remember it in context, ya know? It’s like watching a movie without knowing the beginning or how it ends.”

Erik was disappointed but still encouraged. “At least you’re dreaming. I think your memory will come back any day now.”

O’Connell nodded, still appearing deep in thought.

“Let’s get some food,” Erik suggested.

It wasn’t until he was paying the check for their dinner that his cell phone rang. It was Kaminski.

“I checked on the copter thing,” Kaminski said. “It’s bogus.”

“What do you mean it’s bogus?”

“I mean there’s nothing in the official channels about a helicopter transport request for you. Clarke hasn’t said a word about it.”

That was strange, but again, was Kaminski lying or telling the truth?

“I don’t know what’s going down,” Kaminski continued, “but I wouldn’t get on that chopper if I were you.”

“You think I should disobey a direct order?” Langston asked, skeptical. “And I’m supposed to believe that you’re trying to help me and not sabotage my career? Since when did you give a shit?”

“We may not like each other, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to look the other way with something weird like this,” Kaminski said stiffly. “You can take my advice or not, whatever. I just know if it was me out in the field and you saw something off, I’d hope you’d tell me, one agent to another.”

Langston grudgingly considered this. Kaminski’s argument was valid, but that didn’t mean he could be trusted.

“I’ll think about it,” he said, offering no commitment either way. “Thanks for the intel.” He ended the call.

If Kaminski was the traitor, then the path to safety was getting on that flight and escaping whatever, or whomever, he had lying in wait for them. If he was telling the truth, then it was a trap and getting on the chopper was a bad idea. Either way, Erik’s choice might get both him and O’Connell killed.

No pressure.

“Who was that?”

Erik looked up to see that O’Connell had returned from the bathroom, a somewhat gratifying occurrence considering what had happened the last time he’d let her use a public restroom.

“Kaminski,” he said. “We have a decision to make.”

Once they were back in the SUV, Erik explained what Kaminski had said as well as his doubts about whether he could be trusted.

“So if we show up, we’ll at least know who the traitor is, right?” O’Connell asked. “Kaminski or Clarke?”

“We should,” he agreed.

“Then let’s do it,” she said.

Erik glanced at her, trying to determine if her bravado was real or fake. He couldn’t tell. If she was scared, she concealed it well, which didn’t surprise him. She was a good liar, had to be, in her line of work.

The town was indeed a mere blip on the map, a blink-and-you-miss-it bump in the road. Langston had googled the location via satellite imagery, finding a place for them to park a ways from the heliport. After concealing the car, they approached on foot.

Night had fallen some hours ago and brought the chill of winter with it. Clarissa shivered in the cold, and she caught Langston glancing at her.

“I’m fine,” she whispered, anticipating his question, though “fine” was relative at this point. The next few minutes could go very, very badly.

There wasn’t really any grass, just dirt and scraggly weeds braving the dry terrain. Clarissa and Langston passed a couple of houses that had their lights on, and she could see people moving around inside, but mostly Langston kept to the shadows.

The howl of a coyote made the hair stand up on Clarissa’s arms, the lonely sound foreboding and ominous. Her ears seemed to twitch with every new sound, she was so keyed up. Uneven ground caused her to stumble, tripping into Langston, who steadied her. Without a word, he took her hand as he resumed his pace.

When they neared the heliport, Langston led her into the deep shadows next to a darkened house.

“Stay here,” he whispered. “I have a plan.”

The sound of his words was nearly drowned out by the roar of a helicopter approaching. They both watched as it flew overhead and settled on the ground about a hundred yards away. Its engine cut off and the rotors began to slow.

Clarissa grabbed Langston’s arm as he made to leave.

“Wait! Let me come with you,” she said, but Langston was already shaking his head.

“If it’s no good, I’ll give you a signal. Hightail it back to the car and get the hell out of here.” He handed her his keys.

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll just take these and leave?” she asked. The cold metal pressed against her palm as she clutched the keys.

His face was barely discernible in the darkness. “I’m trusting you.”

Clarissa shook her head sadly. “You’re a fool, Langston.” Why would he trust her? She certainly wouldn’t have had their positions been reversed.

“For having some faith in you?” he asked. His lips twitched in an almost smile.

“You could be walking into a trap,” Clarissa warned, ignoring his question. She realized her hand still gripped a fistful of his sleeve, so she let go. “What if they kill you?”

“Then no one on the planet will know where you are,” he replied.

His gaze was steady, and though Clarissa knew he meant that as reassurance, it was hardly comforting.

On sudden impulse, she leaned forward and pressed her mouth to his in a quick, firm kiss. When she pulled back, he looked as stunned as if she’d stripped naked and danced the hula.

“I’m Irish,” she explained with a shrug. “A kiss for luck.”

Langston jerked her into him, making her gasp in surprise. “Then I’ll take a real one,” he rasped.