Blank Slate (18 page)

“Mom, please,” he said. “Time is short.”

“All right, all right, I’m going.” Vivian went upstairs and returned within moments, carrying a suitcase. Langston put it in the trunk of her car while she gathered a few more of her things. “Be safe,” she said, giving Langston a tight hug.

“I will.”

Vivian approached Clarissa and hugged her as well. Clarissa awkwardly hugged her back.

“Remember what I said,” she whispered to Clarissa.

While they watched Vivian drive away, Langston asked, “What did she say to you?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Clarissa replied stiffly, turning to head back inside. Langston followed her.

“Should I pack some food or something?” Clarissa asked.

“Shh.” Langston waved her silent. “Look.”

He pointed behind her, and Clarissa turned to see a little television nestled into a corner on the counter. The news was on, and Clarissa recognized the little shack they’d been in last night in Colorado. Langston grabbed a remote and turned up the volume.

“…four men dead, including two FBI agents and two locals,” the voice-over was saying. The screen flashed and pictures showed two smiling men.

“Those are the men I left to watch Mendes,” Langston said.

“Looks like that didn’t work out so well.”

“This man is wanted for questioning regarding the murders,” the anchor continued, and the photo changed. “Special Agent Erik Langston of the FBI.”

T
he silence was thick with tension as Langston drove. Clarissa thought maybe she should say something, but wasn’t sure what it should be. Langston hadn’t said much at all since they’d seen the news anchor declaring him a man wanted for murder. Considering how hard he’d worked at his job, the idea that he was now on the wrong side of the law had to be killing him.

And it was her fault.

Clarissa didn’t like the nagging guilt that thought produced, and she squirmed uncomfortably in her seat. It wasn’t her problem that Langston was determined to stick with her. She’d told him several times now to just let her go, that she’d figure things out on her own. It wasn’t her fault he had an overactive sense of responsibility toward her. With any other man, she’d say it was just a ploy to sleep with her, but Langston’s continued rebuffs negated that as a possible motive.

Best to just go ahead and address the elephant in the car, she decided. “So,” she said with fake cheeriness, “how does it feel to be a wanted man?”

Langston glanced her way. His expression was unsmiling and his eyes were unreadable behind the mirrored sunglasses.

“Just trying to lighten things up a little,” she muttered.

His only response was to turn his attention back to the road.

“Listen, I’m really sorry about all this,” Clarissa said. “But I’m sure you’ll be able to clear your name once you explain what happened.”

Langston sighed. “It’s not your fault. Mendes must have escaped, killed those men guarding him, and removed the bodies of his buddies. Though how he escaped, I don’t know. Unless he had help.”

“Help from who?”

“Kaminski,” Langston answered. “I’m almost positive he’s the mole.”

Clarissa frowned, thinking. “So you and Kaminski don’t get along, right?”

“Right.”

“Well, who was your partner before? Did you get along with him? Maybe he could help you.” Clarissa thought that an excellent idea.

“He can’t,” Langston said curtly.

“Why not?”

“He’s dead.”

Well, that was unexpected. Langston’s voice was flat, but Clarissa knew him well enough by now to realize he was deliberately being that way, hiding his emotions.

“I’m sorry,” she said, reaching out to lay her hand on his arm. He glanced her way. “How did it happen?”

“It was a robbery,” Langston finally answered. “A luxury jewelry store in New York. Two men walked in, pulled guns, demanded the gems. They were in and out in under two minutes. Unluckily for them, my partner and I happened to be nearby when the call came in. We saw them escaping in their getaway car and went after them. They crashed into another car, immobilizing one of the robbers. The other took off on foot.

“I stayed with the one who was injured, waited until the cops got there, which wasn’t very long,” Langston continued. “Then I went after my partner. I got there just in time to see him gunned down.”

Clarissa didn’t know what to say. Langston stared at the highway, the muscles in his arm stiff under her hand. Without a word, she slid her hand down to his, threading their fingers together. Langston didn’t acknowledge the gesture, though his grip tightened on hers.

“Did the guy get away?” she asked.

Langston shook his head. “I was able to take him down.”

There was silence for a minute. Then he said, “Peter was married. Had a kid. A little boy. I’m his godfather.”

Somehow Clarissa wasn’t surprised that the boy’s parents had chosen Langston to be their child’s godfather. When it came to role models, she doubted there was a finer one than him.

“The last thing he said was to watch over his son,” Langston said. “So I try and do what I can, which isn’t much since they moved away. She was from Ohio, so she moved back there not too long after he died.”

“How long was he your partner?”

“Four years. He died in my arms.”

The story was horrifying and heartbreaking and Clarissa thought she could understand more now of Langston’s deep antipathy for criminals. It was personal. No crime was without a victim, even if some of them were unintended. She thought of the security guard that had been killed in her dream, the one her father had gone to prison for, and wondered if he’d had a family. No doubt there had been people who’d depended on him, loved him.

And what about herself? What all had she done that she didn’t even know about, but had affected other people? Innocent people.

Dread formed a hard knot in Clarissa’s stomach. Suddenly, she wasn’t sure if she wanted her memory back or not.

Erik stopped at a tiny gas station in the middle of Nowhere, Louisiana to fill up. He handed O’Connell some money.

“What’s this for?” she asked.

“I need a hat,” he said. “They’ll have some inside. A baseball cap will do.”

She went inside and Erik gassed up the SUV. Erik would have gone in himself, but there might be cameras. He’d chosen this gas station because it looked like it probably hadn’t seen a technology upgrade in about fifteen years, but it paid to be careful.

O’Connell had just returned when he climbed back into the driver’s seat.

“Here you go,” she said, handing him a cap.

Erik took it, then did a double take. On the front, above the bill, were giant letters:

Got Wood?

He looked at O’Connell, who snorted in amusement.

“Couldn’t resist,” she said with a grin. “It was on clearance.” She reached behind her back and tugged out another cap she’d been hiding, then handed it to him. “Relax. I got you a Saints cap.”

Her teasing lightened Erik’s mood. That seemed to happen a lot. O’Connell wasn’t put off by his temper or morose silence. After reliving what had happened to Peter, he’d felt pretty damn bleak. But she’d made him smile with the ridiculous hat.

“I’m starving,” she said. “Is food on the agenda any time soon?”

Erik found another diner that had seen better days on the outskirts of Baton Rouge. O’Connell’s eyebrows climbed, but she didn’t say anything as they slid into a booth with faded, torn vinyl held together by duct tape. When this was over, Erik decided he’d take her somewhere nice, someplace where you didn’t order by a number on the menu.

The waitress came by for their orders and Erik took a sip of the steaming black liquid that was their version of coffee. Strong and bitter, it was a far cry from the gourmet blends he usually drank.

“So tell me, Langston,” O’Connell said, adding a splash of milk to her mug. “There’s no Mrs. Langston, but do you have a girlfriend? Ex-girlfriend? Friend with benefits?”

Erik choked on his coffee. “Friend with benefits?” he echoed.

O’Connell shrugged as she took a delicate sip of her coffee. “Your mom seemed to think you were unattached, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have an…arrangement with a friend.”

“No, I don’t have a friend with benefits,” Erik said. “And no, there’s no girlfriend. My last ex was three years ago.”

“Why’d you break up?”

Erik’s eyes narrowed. “What is this? Dr. Phil?”

“Just making conversation, Langston. Don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

Erik surveyed her. “Fine,” he said. “We broke up because she didn’t like how much time I spent working rather than being with her, and I didn’t like her enough to bother changing. We were together four months before we broke it off.”

“So how much time
do
you spend working?”

“A lot.”

O’Connell looked thoughtful, and Erik braced himself for whatever overly personal question she’d come up with next.

“So what do you do for sex? Just one-night stands? Or do you play a lot of five-on-one?” Her green eyes twinkled at the joke.

“Christ,” Erik huffed. He could feel his ears heating. It had been years since a woman had made him blush. “Is nothing off-limits for you?”

“Just wondering,” she said nonchalantly. “You’re good-looking, great body, have a steady job. You’re not into relationships, but I’m guessing you don’t have a hard time getting company for just an evening.”

“I’m not a man-whore, if that’s what you’re insinuating,” Erik said stiffly, though he couldn’t help the warm satisfaction he felt at hearing her describe him. “So you think I’m good-looking and have a great body?” he asked, his lips twitching into a half smile.

O’Connell looked him right in the eye. “Give me an hour and a can of whipped cream and I’ll erase all doubts.”

Holy shit. Erik hastily took another gulp of coffee, his mind building that image much too quickly. O’Connell’s mischievous grin made him want to drag her to the back of the SUV and finish what he’d started this morning.

He was saved from having to reply by the waitress delivering their food to the table, and he concentrated on eating. Anything to get his imagination to stop replaying the memory of O’Connell’s body underneath him, willing and ready. At the moment, Erik was having a hard time remembering exactly why he’d stopped.

“Tell me, Langston,” O’Connell said after a while. “Do you know…I mean…you have my file and all…”

Erik wondered what she was trying to ask. She was pushing her food around on her plate and didn’t look up as she spoke.

“Do I know what?” he prompted.

“Those guys, back at the cabin, and the fake marshal. I killed them.” She finally lifted her gaze to his. “It seemed awfully easy. Too easy. And I was wondering if you knew…if I’d killed anyone else.”

Erik’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth. He was surprised at her question. He took a moment to think before answering.

“To my knowledge, you’ve never been involved in a crime where someone innocent was killed, no.”

“Then why was it so easy for me to kill those people?” O’Connell asked, her voice tight.

“Hey, don’t overthink it,” Erik admonished, reaching out to lay his hand on top of hers. “I’d guess you’ve had self-defense training, quite advanced training from what I’ve seen. If you’re trained well, then it’s supposed to be automatic, instinctual. It doesn’t mean you’re a killer.”

After the harrowing memories she’d dreamed about last night, Erik thought O’Connell had most likely decided that no one would ever rape her again and had taken steps to ensure it. Given what he knew of her personality, he doubted she’d let something like that happen twice, not if she could help it.

“Then what did Mendes mean when he said I had no conscience?”

Erik’s lips thinned. “Mendes is a paid assassin. I wouldn’t take anything he had to say to heart.”

O’Connell nodded, but Erik could tell she wasn’t eased by his comment. “What’s this about? Why do you care?” he asked. Why was she so concerned about her past?

O’Connell’s gaze was steady. “Maybe I don’t want to be a bad guy anymore,” she said baldly.

Erik’s breath caught, and he couldn’t help the hope that burned inside him at her words. “Why is that?” he asked, striving to be casual. He was just curious, that was all. It wasn’t that he was daring to hope her change of heart might have something to do with him.

“The job doesn’t seem to have a real long life expectancy, for one,” she said, ticking the items off on her fingers.

“True.”

“Not to mention there’s no health insurance. Or 401(K).”

Erik’s lips twitched. “Also true.”

“And I know not everyone is fond of those who make their living illegally.” Her eyes met his and Erik couldn’t hold back a tiny smile.

“That’s not exactly true,” he said. Her brows lifted in question. “You can…be fond…of the person, just not what they choose to do.”

“What if I don’t ever get my memory back, Langston?” she asked.

Erik’s gut tightened at the note of fear in her voice. “Don’t worry,” he assured her. “Even if you don’t, you’re not alone.”

The look of trust in her eyes made guilt hit him hard as he tried, and failed, to convince himself that he wanted her memory to return too.

It was just before nine p.m. when they rolled into Natchez. The coordinates Killall had given them were next to the river. Langston parked the SUV a couple of blocks away in a shadowy lot. Clarissa stood by the vehicle, taking in the quiet streets as she waited for Langston.

“I’ll be with you, just out of sight,” he said, emerging from where he’d been rummaging in the backseat. He shoved a newly loaded clip into his gun and racked the slide. “If he sees you with someone, it might scare him off.”

“I got it,” Clarissa said, rolling her eyes.

“Did you just roll your eyes at me?” Langston sounded affronted.

“Of course not,” Clarissa lied. “I admire the way you state the obvious.”

She’d hoped to make him smile, but his expression remained serious.

“Here, take this.” He tucked the gun in the back of his jeans and shrugged out of his jacket, then held it for her to put on.

The gesture, chivalrous and protective, was unexpected. Clarissa pushed her arms into the sleeves. Langston lifted her hair from under the collar and Clarissa shivered when his fingers brushed the skin on the back of her neck. The jacket smelled of him, which was surprisingly comforting.

“Be careful,” Langston said, pulling the lapels of the jacket closed.

Clarissa looked up at him. Their eyes caught, and for a moment she thought he might kiss her again. His eyes dropped to her mouth, but she flashed him a quick smile and stepped away.

“See you soon,” she said, then turned and began heading toward the river. An empty park, dimly lit by lonely streetlamps, was her destination.

She felt nervous, exposed. The name
Killall
didn’t exactly provoke thoughts of bunnies and rainbows. Clarissa reminded herself that Langston was nearby. He wouldn’t let anything happen to her. Though she disliked the idea of her safety being in someone else’s hands, she trusted him.

Burying her hands deeper in the pockets of Langston’s jacket, she headed for the trees that lined the park. She could hear the sound of the river below the banks. It was peaceful, and if she hadn’t been so keyed up, she might have enjoyed the walk.

There was a bench nearby, and Clarissa walked toward it. The cold of the metal soaked through her jeans when she sat down, and she huddled deeper inside Langston’s jacket. She felt as though she were being watched, and didn’t know if it was because of Langston or if Killall had arrived.