Blank Slate (16 page)

Thirty minutes later, they were on the road after stopping at a gas station to fill up and grab some coffee and food. The sun hadn’t been up for long but was already bright enough for Erik to don his sunglasses.

“How long until we get there?” O’Connell asked, sipping from her steaming Styrofoam cup.

“Nine hours, give or take.”

“And taking me to your mother’s is a good idea because…”

“Because first, we need cash. She’ll loan me some money. Second, we need time to figure out our next move. Third, no one will look for us there. It has no ties to you.”

“And your mother’s not going to mind you bringing home a fugitive?”

Erik hesitated. He hadn’t thought of that. “Let’s not…discuss that with her,” he said.

“Then who am I and why are we visiting your mother?”

O’Connell’s matter-of-fact questions irritated Erik. “Listen,” he said, “I don’t want to upset my mother. She’s been through enough as it is. We’ll just say you’re a…friend…and leave it at that.” Right. Because his mom wasn’t going to be insanely curious about him bringing a girl home. Shit. He really hadn’t thought this through.

“All right, sheesh, chill,” O’Connell said. “We’re friends. Fine.”

Blessed quiet for a few minutes before, “How did we meet?”

“What?”

“If we’re friends, we had to have met somewhere. She may ask. So how did we meet?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. Just make something up.” Lying to his mom didn’t sit well with Erik, but he had no choice.

“So we met at a strip club. I was one of the dancers. You wanted to save me.”

“For God’s sake, no!” Erik spluttered. “Don’t tell my mother something like that!”

Clarissa laughed. It was way too easy to get under Langston’s skin. Maybe the nine hours locked in a car with him wouldn’t be so boring after all.

“We’ll say we met…at church,” he said.

Clarissa snorted. “When was the last time you went to church, Langston?”

“My mother thinks I go every week,” he answered, evading the question.

Clarissa rolled her eyes. “I bet. Okay, so we met…at church. Do I sing in the choir?”

Langston’s grip tightened on the steering wheel and he didn’t answer. Clarissa grinned.

“Okay, so if we’re friends, why aren’t we involved?”

“What?”

“Well, we met at church so I must be a good girl, the kind of girl your mother would approve of, so she’s going to want to know why we’re not dating.” Clarissa gasped. “I know! It’s because you’re secretly gay, right? And I’m your quirky-but-straight BFF and you’ve confided in me that you’re having all these conflicting feelings—”

“I’m not gay! What the hell? Don’t tell my mother I’m gay!”

Clarissa slumped in her seat, overtaken by a fit of giggles at Langston’s obvious horror.

However, the sudden ring of Langston’s cell phone made her amusement vanish.

Langston looked at the display, then glanced at Clarissa before answering.

“Langston.”

Clarissa chewed a ragged nail as she listened. Whoever was on the other end of the line was very likely the person who either tried to have them killed or was out to arrest Langston.

“I’m sorry, sir. I can’t say…no, sir…she’s unharmed…it was an ambush…Xavier Mendes…I believe he’s working with Solomon, sir…I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t do that.”

Langston winced, holding the phone slightly from his ear, and Clarissa heard the tinny sound of someone yelling on the other end. She tried to make out the words but couldn’t. After a moment, Langston cut them off and his voice was like ice.

“Sir, with all due respect, someone ambushed me and would have killed me last night. Whether or not you choose to believe it, the FBI has a mole in their office, specifically as it relates to this case. Until such a time as you discover and apprehend that person, I’ll keep the witness safe. I’ll be in touch.”

Langston ended the call, turned the phone off, and tossed it onto the dash.

Clarissa eyed him. The sunglasses hid his eyes, but the set of his jaw and the tightness of his body betrayed his anger. She didn’t particularly want to antagonize him further, but thought it would be prudent to know what was going on, especially as it greatly concerned her immediate future.

“So I guess you won’t be getting that pay raise,” she joked halfheartedly, hoping to break the tension.

Erik glanced at O’Connell. She looked vaguely nervous.

“Clarke wasn’t particularly on board with my change of plan,” he said, which was putting it mildly. The man seemed more concerned that O’Connell was not yet on her way to DC than the fact that one of his agents had been ambushed…twice.

His explanation didn’t seem to satisfy her; the nail she chewed grew even more ragged than before.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I…just…why are you doing this?”

Erik was startled. “Doing what?”

“This.” She gestured between them with her hand. “You’re going to ruin your career by helping me. Or get killed.”

“Possibly.”

“So why, then? I can’t figure out why you’re not just dumping me on the side of the road, or hauling me in so you can clear your name. I’m nobody to you except a thief.” The confusion on her face would have been cute if her questions weren’t so serious.

Why
was
he helping her?

“Because,” he said finally. “It’s the right thing to do.”

“The right thing to do?” She sounded incredulous. “Erik Langston, FBI agent and former Boy Scout, thinks aiding and abetting a wanted thief is the right thing to do?”

“Until you recover your memory, you’re useless to the FBI,” he said, trying to justify his logic. “Once you can remember what you took from Solomon, you’ll be able to help us nail him.” All of which was true. She didn’t have to know about the compulsion he now felt to protect her, and he certainly didn’t need to acknowledge it.

“So you’ll help me so long as there’s a possibility I’ll turn out to be useful,” O’Connell said, and now Erik detected a slight bitterness in her voice, but he wasn’t going to lie to her.

“Yes.”

“And what if I don’t recover my memory and my usefulness ceases to be an option?”

Erik didn’t know how to answer that, so he didn’t.

“Thought so,” she said grimly, and fell silent.

It was silent for a long time.

It was after dark when they pulled into a little subdivision on the outskirts of San Antonio. Clarissa was roused from her drowsy lethargy by the slowing of the SUV’s speed, and she sat up in her seat, rubbing her eyes.

“Are we there?” she asked, her voice husky with sleep.

“Nearly.”

Langston had driven all day, despite Clarissa’s offers to take a shift. How he’d kept going, she had no idea. Even now, he didn’t seem tired. The man was a machine, she thought ruefully.

A few moments later and they were parking in the driveway of a brick two-story home on the corner of the cul-de-sac. A large tree obscured the front of the house, but it looked like a nice place to Clarissa. A place she could see Langston growing up in.

She got out of the car while Langston grabbed the duffel bags and rifles; his pistol remained in his holster. Clarissa wondered if his mother would be surprised to see her son on her doorstep toting numerous weapons and a strange girl.

Following him to the front door, she waited while he rang the doorbell. After a moment, the porch light flipped on and the door was flung open.

“Erik!” a woman exclaimed, throwing her arms around him.

“Hey, Mom,” he said, awkwardly trying to hug her back. “Surprise.”

“It is a surprise! I thought you weren’t coming home for the holidays? That you had to work? What happened to your face?” She retreated while she talked, and Clarissa followed Langston inside the house.

“Goes with the job sometimes, Mom,” Langston said.

The woman gave a disgusted
harrumph
, then her eyes widened when she saw Clarissa. “Erik! You’ve brought a girlfriend home. How wonderful!”

Clarissa could get a good look at her now, and she immediately liked her. Langston’s mom was about her height and appeared younger than Clarissa would have thought, maybe early fifties. Slim with dark-silver hair pulled back in a clip at the nape of her neck, her eyes were warm and friendly. Her face was wreathed in a welcoming smile as she surveyed Clarissa.

“And what’s your name, dear?” she asked.

“Mom, this is Clarissa,” Langston said, unloading the bags in the foyer. “Clarissa, this is my mom, Vivian.”

Clarissa held out her hand, but Vivian waved away her hand and pulled her into a hug instead.

“I’m so pleased to meet you, Clarissa,” Vivian said.

Clarissa was stiff with surprise and had no chance to respond before Vivian released her.

“Um, yeah, same here,” Clarissa managed with a wan smile.

“Mom, Clarissa’s just a friend of mine,” Langston interjected, eyeing where Vivian had her arm around Clarissa’s waist.

“Don’t try to pull that one over on me,” Vivian said with a laugh. “I’ve been waiting years for you to bring home a young lady. Now come in. I’m guessing you two are probably hungry.”

With that, Clarissa was ushered into the kitchen and sat at a table in a breakfast nook while Vivian began pulling dishes out of the refrigerator.

Vivian kept up a steady monologue as she worked, talking to Langston as he came and sat next to Clarissa at the table. “And you know the Wilsons, just down the street? Their oldest boy, Jason, remember him? Well he just got married not two weeks ago. Isn’t that nice? I went to the wedding. Beautiful ceremony, and such a sweet girl. Now Mrs. Carmichael from church — she used to babysit you when you were little — she’s been diagnosed with lung cancer, isn’t that awful? And never smoked a day in her life. Where’s the fairness in that, I ask you? Oh, and rumor is that Betty and Lewis Foster are getting a divorce. Supposedly he’s been having an affair with some paralegal in his office. Personally, I hope she takes him for everything he’s got, the cheating ass…” And on it went.

Occasionally, Langston would say something, but for the most part, his mother talked, filling him in on the latest gossip and news while she heated up food. Finally, she set two steaming plates in front of them. The smell of ham filled the air and Clarissa’s stomach growled appreciatively. She dug in as Vivian took a seat opposite them.

“So tell me,” Vivian said. “Where did you two meet? How long have you been together? Will you be staying long?”

The rapid-fire questions made Clarissa glad her mouth was filled with food. Langston would have to step up.

“We’re not together, Mom,” he said. “Clarissa just needed a ride to DC and I was in the neighborhood…working. Thought I’d swing by here while we’re on our way, stay a couple of days.”

“Oh.” Vivian looked crestfallen as she looked from Langston to Clarissa, the one word containing a world of disappointment. Clarissa actually felt kind of bad. Then Vivian’s eyes took on a slightly crafty look. “That sure is an awfully long way to drive someone who’s just a friend, Erik,” she said.

Langston shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah, well, Clarissa is…afraid of flying. And I’m just a nice guy, what can I say?” He smiled tightly.

Vivian just smiled back before turning her attention to Clarissa. “And what do you do for a living?” she asked. “Are you an FBI agent, too?”

Langston choked on his food and Clarissa shot him a dirty look.

“I’m in acquisitions,” she directed toward him, slapping his back with perhaps slightly more force than necessary. “Freelance. Right, Erik?” Her smile was like saccharine.

Her use of his first name didn’t go unnoticed it seemed, as his face darkened under her gaze.

“Well that sounds…interesting,” Vivian said, her brow furrowing.

“So what have you been doing, Mom?” Langston quickly changed the subject and Clarissa smothered a grin.

“Well, Lee Anne and I are planning to go on that cruise, you know.”

“That’s right. When do you leave?”

“The end of the week.”

“Where is it going again?”

Vivian talked about her upcoming cruise to the Bahamas while Langston and Clarissa ate. She’d never been on a cruise before and was really looking forward to going, especially with Lee Anne, who was such fun and had been on several cruises before…

A full stomach and the long day had Clarissa covering yawns before too long, and her eyes were heavy.

“Goodness, I’ve been prattling on and it’s obvious you’re both exhausted. Driving will do that to you. Let’s get you settled.”

To her surprise, Langston took Clarissa’s hand as they followed Vivian up the stairs to the second floor. Was it an unconscious gesture? Or was he just being considerate in front of his mother? Either way, the warm feeling it gave Clarissa in the pit of her stomach disturbed her. Her hand was swallowed by his; the warm calluses on his palm gently abraded her skin, making her much too aware of him.

“Here you go,” Vivian said, stopping in front of a room.

Langston seemed to hesitate. “Clarissa can sleep in the guest room, Mom.”

“Oh no she can’t, sweetheart,” Vivian said. “I’ve been using it for my craft projects. It’s a complete mess and unsuitable for company. You’ll have to stay in your room, I’m afraid.” She smiled.

Langston stiffened. “I can sleep downstairs on the couch then. Clarissa can have my room.”

“You’ll do no such thing! I have plans in the morning, a couple friends who pop by for coffee and a chat, and don’t want you sacked out there in my living room.” Vivian opened a nearby closet and pulled out a stack of blankets, which she loaded into Langston’s arms. “You’ll just have to sleep on the floor.”

Clarissa caught a twinkle of mischief in Vivian’s eye as she turned away, and wondered if Langston’s mom might be trying her hand at playing matchmaker.

“Good night, you two. Sleep well!” In seconds she had disappeared through another door at the end of the hall.

“Cheer up, Langston,” Clarissa said conspiratorially as she pushed open the bedroom door. “At least I didn’t tell her you were gay.”

E
rik took a deep breath. Patience. Control. He followed O’Connell inside his bedroom, flipping on the light switch before dropping the stack of linens on the floor.

O’Connell stood in the middle of the room, surveying her surroundings. Erik felt a flash of unease. His mom had pretty much left the room untouched since he’d left for college, and it still contained much of the memorabilia from his youth.

Baseball and swimming trophies were displayed prominently on the bookshelves in the corner, along with photos his mother refused to put away.

“Nice acid-washed jeans, Langston.” O’Connell grinned as she held up a photo before replacing it on the shelf. “Looks like you were quite the competitor.”

Erik shrugged. “Kept me out of trouble.”

She glanced at him. “Somehow I doubt you were a wild child.”

Erik was slightly insulted, which was ridiculous. And yet, “I had my moments.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Oh really? Do tell.” She dropped down onto the double bed, scooting backward until she rested against the headboard. “Love the poster, by the way.” She nodded toward the door.

Shit. He’d forgotten about his old Captain America poster on the back of the door. How she was able to make him feel like an awkward fifteen-year-old with a girl in his bedroom for the first time was beyond him, but that’s exactly how he felt.

“So you were going to tell me about all the hell you raised when you were a teenager?” Her teasing smirk was both infuriating and a turn-on. Dammit.

“I got a speeding ticket once,” he blurted, wracking his brain. Despite his bravado, he actually had been rather well known for his straitlaced ways.

“Ooooh,” she breathed, her eyes wide in mock astonishment. “What a rebel. What else?”

The sight of her in his bed, albeit his younger self’s, was the stuff boyhood fantasies were made of, and he couldn’t look away. He would have given a limb to have had a girl like her all to himself when he was a teenager. Gorgeous, sexy, with an edge to her that whispered of danger and excitement. She was everything he shouldn’t want, and that just made her irresistible.

“We’d better get some sleep,” he said sharply, haphazardly spreading a blanket on the floor. “You can use this bathroom. I’ll use the one in the hall.” Erik was out the door before she could reply.

It wasn’t until he was toweling dry from another cold shower that he realized he had been in such a hurry to finally put some space between himself and O’Connell, he’d forgotten to grab some fresh clothes.

He wrapped a towel around his waist and hoped O’Connell was asleep by now as he entered the bedroom. As luck would have it, he could hear the water running in the bath attached to his room. She must still be in the shower.

Moving quickly, he dropped the towel and rummaged through a nearby drawer. He always kept a few things here so he didn’t have to cart a suitcase when he came to visit.

“Wow.”

Erik spun around to see O’Connell staring open-mouthed at him, the bathroom door ajar behind her. It looked like she’d helped herself again to his wardrobe, this time wearing an old Guns N’ Roses T-shirt, and that was all. Her penchant for going without pants was starting to wear thin.

“I thought you were in the shower,” he accused. His immediate instinct was to cover himself, but he squelched it. It seemed…unmanly somehow.

O’Connell didn’t answer, just stood there staring. Her gaze drifted across his chest before slowly dropping lower. Her mouth formed a little
O
.

“My eyes are up here, O’Connell.” Erik’s voice was harsh, but her unabashed admiration made him stand just a tiny bit straighter, not to mention the effect it was having on other parts of his anatomy. “O’Connell!” he barked when she didn’t reply.

“Hmmm?” She seemed wholly unconcerned with his irritation, and if he wasn’t mistaken, she’d inched closer.

Erik’s imagination kicked into overdrive of what he could do next, none of which he thought O’Connell would mind at all based on how she was devouring him with her eyes.

But it would be wrong and put him in an untenable position, given her status as his prisoner and a wanted fugitive.

Erik started toward O’Connell. Her gaze flew to his. He didn’t stop until he stood directly in front of her.

She stared at him, her green eyes wide and unblinking. Her breath came faster, and Erik could see the rapid beat of her pulse through the delicate skin under her jaw. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, and Erik’s gaze fell to her mouth.

“Clarissa,” he said, dropping his voice to a low growl.

“Yes?” she murmured.

“Turn around.”

“Turn…what?”

Erik took hold of her upper arms and turned her to face away from him.

“I’d like a little privacy, if you don’t mind,” he said. Yanking open a nearby drawer, he grabbed a pair of flannel pants and pulled them on.

“You know, Langston, you’re a real tease.”

Erik hid a smile at the irritation in her tone. She’d crossed her arms over her chest and looked every inch the petulant child thwarted from getting her way as she stood with her back to him.

“You can turn around now,” he said.

“Oh, go to hell,” she muttered, ignoring him entirely as she spun around, flounced to the bed, and got under the covers. She was still muttering to herself as she arranged the covers over her with quick, angry jerks, but Erik couldn’t hear what she was saying. He caught the word “
ass
” but thought she was probably using it as an adjective and not a noun.

Erik took the other pillow from the bed and arranged a place on the floor, turning off the light before settling down. The blankets did little to ease the discomfort of lying on the hard floor. Erik bent his arm behind his head and stared at the ceiling, uncomfortably aware of O’Connell only feet away in his bed.

“You don’t have to sleep on the floor, Langston,” she said. “You didn’t make me sleep on the floor, so allow me to extend you the same courtesy.”

Erik squeezed his eyes shut. Shit. Talk about waving a red flag in front of a bull.

“It’s all right. I’m good,” he said stiffly. Erik may have been able to sleep beside O’Connell in a bed four days ago and keep his hands to himself, but he didn’t trust that he could maintain that same control now.

“Jesus, Langston! You’d rather sleep on the damn floor than be in the same bed with me?”

Erik winced. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear she sounded hurt underneath the irritation.

“Go to sleep, O’Connell.”

Something soft smacked him in the face.

“What the — ” he spluttered, grabbing the offending pillow she’d thrown at him.

“Be glad I didn’t have something heavier nearby,” she retorted.

He was, actually.

“Now give it back to me,” she said.

“Forget it,” Erik said, tucking the second pillow underneath his head. That was slightly better. “You shouldn’t have thrown it. You should really learn to watch that temper of yours. Could get you into all sorts of trouble.”

“Langston! Give me back my pillow!”

“No.”

She started cussing a blue streak at him. Langston smirked, waiting. When she stopped, he said, “Try to watch the mouth in front of my mother, will ya?”

He heard her flop back onto the bed, and he was quite sure that if she’d had something else close at hand, it would have been launched at his head.

Something woke Erik. His eyes popped open and his senses were on immediate alert. He stayed still, listening. It was still dark, not yet morning.

A whimper, mumbled words from the bed.

Crying.

Erik was on his feet and by O’Connell in seconds. The streetlight outside sent dim rays slanting across her face, and he could see she was again in the throes of a nightmare. Her cheeks were wet with tears, her eyes tightly closed. She was curled into a tight ball, as though protecting herself.

He was loath to wake her, despite it being a nightmare. The more she dreamed, the better chance she had of getting back her memory.

“No…stop…don’t touch me…”

The words were mumbled but coherent and sent a jolt of alarm through Erik. “Don’t touch me.” What the fuck was she dreaming about? Screw that shit about not waking her.

“Clarissa, wake up.” He sat next to her, untangling the blankets that had gotten wrapped around her. “Clarissa,” he said again, taking hold of her arm. That got a reaction.

She sat bolt upright, yanking her arm away, then started fighting like a hellcat.

“Clarissa! Stop!”

She was silent, still in the grip of the nightmare, and Erik tried not to hurt her as he grabbed her arms, pinning them to her sides. He hauled her writhing onto his lap, her back against his chest. It took both his arms wrapped around her to hold her still.

“It’s me, Clarissa,” he hissed in her ear. “It’s Erik. I’m not going to hurt you.”

The words finally seemed to penetrate, and she went still in his arms. Her chest heaved as she struggled to catch her breath. Her entire body was trembling.

Erik loosened his grip on her, but didn’t release her. Her hair gently tickled his face and chin as he held her. After a moment, he said softly, “You want to talk about it?”

He didn’t think she was going to answer, but finally she spoke.

“I was…in an apartment. I dinna know where. I think my brother lived there with me. He was gone…out on a job. Told me to stay put, he could handle it alone. I was worried. Danny always overestimated himself.”

Erik stayed quiet, listening. Her voice had regained the lilting Irish brogue, but was strained, as though the words were being pulled from her throat.

“A man was there…a friend of Danny’s. His name was Sam. I…I must have had a crush on him, I think. I was nervous, excited that he’d come by when Danny wasn’t home. He told me I was a pretty li’l thing.”

An awful feeling of foreboding swept over Erik.
Please, God, don’t let this be going where I think it is.

“He…kissed me. My first kiss. And he touched me. It was nice. Thrilling, even. I was stupid.”

Erik’s eyes squeezed shut as her voice turned cold. He forced them back open. “What happened, Clarissa?”

“He wanted me to take my clothes off. I dinna want to. I was scared. He grabbed me, tore my shirt. Hit me. I yelled at him, told him Danny would kill him. He said…he said…”

“What did he say?”

“He said he knew where Danny was, what he was doing. That he’d call the cops on him if I dinna let him…” Her voice trailed away.

Rage coursed through Erik like he had never felt before. It took everything he had to control it. O’Connell didn’t need his anger right now.

“So I did.”

O’Connell’s voice was toneless, her admission matter-of-fact, yet her body still shook in his arms. Erik wondered if she’d ever told anyone what she’d just told him.

“What happened then?” he asked, hoping Danny had killed the man slowly.

“You woke me.”

Shit. So he’d let her go through all of that again in her nightmares and she still didn’t have her memory.

Erik shifted her around sideways and tucked her head against his chest. She curled into him without protest, her trembling subsiding somewhat. She felt small and fragile in his arms, nothing at all like the same woman who had ruthlessly done what was necessary to free him last night. Erik had never known a woman with such strength and courage, who could still allow herself to be vulnerable with him.

Erik’s conscience was silent for once. At the moment, he couldn’t give a shit about keeping an “emotional distance” or that she was his prisoner. O’Connell was alone and hurting, yet had trusted him enough to tell him the horror of what had happened to her. And now, even after how Erik had treated her, she was allowing him to comfort her.

He was one lucky bastard.

And after all this was over, he was going to track down Sam and rip him limb from limb. Starting with his dick.

Erik shifted, pulling the covers back and settling her on the bed. Reaching down, he grabbed a pillow from the floor and tucked it behind her head.

“Erik?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t leave yet.” Her voice was a whisper in the dark, and Erik knew it must have cost her something to make that request. The lingering effects of the nightmare were no doubt worse than she was letting on.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” he said. He grabbed the other pillow and arranged himself next to her before pulling the covers up over them. He didn’t ask permission and she didn’t protest when he snagged her around the waist and tucked her spoon-style against him.

His arm settled in the curve of her waist, and Erik felt her body relax as she released a deep sigh. Her hand found his and she threaded their fingers together.

Erik’s chest suddenly felt too tight and the air too thick in his lungs. Whatever he had been repeating inside his head all day about keeping his distance from O’Connell, he couldn’t lie to himself any longer. He wanted to keep her, protect her, make love to her. He wondered how far he’d go to do all three, and just how much it would cost him.

Clarissa woke feeling more rested than she had in days. It took a moment to remember where she was, but the feel of Langston’s body pressed against her back, his arm curved around her waist to settle between her breasts, quickly brought back memories of last night.

A chill went through her as she recalled the too-real nightmare. She didn’t know what had happened to Sam, but if she got her memory back and she hadn’t already killed him, she would. She shivered, the fear and helplessness she’d felt in the dream still too present in her mind.

“You all right?” Langston’s voice was a husky baritone in her ear. His arm tightened protectively around her.

Clarissa smiled, amazed at how attuned to her he was, even while asleep. Hadn’t he just told her yesterday that he needed to keep a distance? And yet he’d thrown that all aside when she’d needed him last night.

“I am now,” she said, squirming until she faced him.

His hair was tousled from sleep, his jaw shadowed with whiskers. Clarissa abruptly decided Langston had the definition of “bedroom eyes.” He looked at her as though he had nothing but sex on his mind.