Cold Target (37 page)

The father raised his eyebrows. “How much is the inheritance?”

“Several million.”

That was a guess on her part. Her trust fund that had come from her grandmother through her mother was worth approximately a million. She assumed she would inherit most of her father's assets, including the house.

She was very prepared to spend whatever it took to find her sister, then to divide whatever was left. Part of what was hers would go to the women's shelter.

The son perked up at the sum. He looked at his father.

“I'll go through my lists. I have a pretty good idea of who might be involved in adoptions,” the senior Hartley said. “If you like, I can hire an investigator to follow up on it. Or would you prefer to do that?”

“That would be extra, of course,” the son said.

“Of course,” she said, knowing that she didn't have much time. She had talked to the funeral home about plans for her mother's funeral, but some decisions had to be made in person. “How much?”

“The investigator we use on occasion charges a hundred an hour.”

She nodded. “Go ahead. I'll keep in touch.” She took out a checkbook. “Would a retainer for five thousand be sufficient?”

“Quite,” the older man said. “I enjoy mysteries. How much information do you have?”

“Her name was Marguerite Thibadeau. She would have been seventeen at the time and the birth would have taken place sometime in February of 1970. We don't know who the father was.”

“Anything else?”

“She was staying with an aunt.” She took out a notepad with the name and address on it. “The aunt died in a robbery three years ago. I looked for a birth certificate for the daughter but couldn't find one.”

“I'll see what we can do.”

She left the office, feeling that at last she might be making headway.

She looked at her watch. She would have a good supper tonight, then leave early in the morning.

She stopped in the office of the hotel and asked for the name of a good restaurant.

“If you're in Memphis, you need barbecue,” the desk clerk said. “One of the best is a mile away.” She gave detailed directions.

As she went to her room to wash up and put on her more comfortable driving clothes, she noticed a familiar car in the parking lot. A long, lanky figure lounged comfortably against it. A large dog sat obediently at his feet. It greeted her with a short excited bark.

As her gaze met Gage's, her breath caught in her lungs. Her heart skipped a beat, maybe three or four.

She had never been so glad to see anyone in her life.

Meredith's blue eyes widened in astonishment, and then a smile crossed her lips. Pleasure ran through him at her obvious pleasure at seeing him.

He had expected surprise. Anger. Defiance. He'd hoped for acceptance. He'd been braced for anything but the momentary delight in her expression.

“I would ask you how you found me, but you would probably say you're a detective.”

“I probably would,” he said as her smile awoke something bright and warm in him. “You keep running off on your own.”

“And if you found me, someone else could?”

“Will you stop reading my mind?”

“Why?”

“It might get you in trouble.”

“I think I'm already in trouble.” Her voice was husky, and the underlying sensuality of her words made it clear she didn't mean just the recent violent events.

She looked exhausted, as well she should be. But there was an indomitable quality about her, and she was still forging ahead. Alone.

That scared the hell out of him.

“Find out anything?” he asked.

“I might have a lead. An older lawyer who apparently knows everyone who ever practiced law in Memphis. He's going through lists for names of shady lawyers who might have been involved in black market adoptions.”

“It's going to be a rather long list.”

“That was a cruel blow.”

“Present company excluded.”

He found himself relaxing after the long, anxious drive. He'd imagined any number of scenarios, none of them good. He'd particularly worried about the fact that she hadn't talked to him before leaving.

“You brought Beast.”

“You're also observant.”

She grinned. “He's hard to miss. Where are you going to stay tonight?”

“Here. I bribed the clerk. I take it they're not too particular.”

“How did you find the motel? I didn't tell Sarah where I was staying.” Her eyes narrowed. “That
is
where you got the information?”

“Don't be angry at her. I wheedled it out of her only by saying you could be in danger.”

“But she didn't know about this motel.”

“She gave me the information about your great-aunt. I simply put myself in your shoes. I'm glad your mind works logically.”

“You mean yours does?”

He gave her what he hoped was an indignant look.

“I think we're both in a heap of trouble.” Her voice gentled. “How are you?”

“That's my question.
I
didn't just bury my father, lose my mother and get shot.”

“I'm numb. What did the shooting board say?”

“They're still investigating. I'm the departmental bad boy. I also suspect that another player is stalling a ruling.”

“Need a good lawyer?”

“I think your plate is full already. But there's no way they can go against four eyewitnesses. They just want to string it out awhile … tie my hands so I won't get involved in something they disapprove of.” His expression mocked such thinking.

She held out her hand. “Thanks for coming.”

“I would have been here sooner but Sarah said you wanted to be alone. She's been keeping me updated on your calls. Then I just found myself on the road.”

“I'm glad,” she replied simply.

Something intense flared inside. He intertwined his fingers with hers, feeling warmth creep through him, a kind of belonging he'd never known before.

He let her lead the way, Beast on his heels. He then took the key from her—the old kind of key, not a card key—and turned it in the lock. They stepped inside and immediately Meredith moved into his arms.

Moments later they were in bed and their lovemaking was frantic. Part of it, he told himself, was the survivor's need to feel. To know she was still alive. He didn't want to think about the other part.

He told himself not to take advantage.

But they were in the eye of a storm that wouldn't let them go. His need was explosive, and so, he sensed, was hers.

She had lost so much. Her family. Her sense of safety.

He had killed. That moment affected him far more than he'd ever expected it would. There had also been a split second when he thought he would die, and that the woman he cared about might also die.

He would never forget the surprise on Fuller's face. He suspected it would haunt him for a long time.

He needed her as much as she needed him, and that need fueled the attraction that had always linked them.

He didn't prolong the foreplay. She was ready and so was he. Need drove them. Need for human intimacy. Need for each other. Need to live. To feel. To love.

His lips met hers as he lowered his body on hers. Hot desire raged through him as he entered her. Her arms wrapped around him, bringing him closer to her, and her body reacted to his every stroke. She caught his tempo and together they moved in a primitive dance that became a frantic, whirling race toward a peak he'd never reached before.

He felt her body shudder in climax, and he caught himself just before he did the same and quickly withdrew, spilling his seed on the sheet.

Then he lay back and held her, as her body trembled. “I'm sorry. I should have brought something. I was damned worried about you. Why in the hell didn't you tell me?”

“I'm not used to having people worry about me.”

“I can remedy that.” He showered her face with kisses, then moved to her neck. “You taste good,” he murmured.

“So do you.”

“You feel great.”

“Hmmmmmmm. Likewise.”

He touched her hair. It was soft and silky and smelled like roses. “Don't ever do that again,” he said.

“What?”

“Run off without telling me.”

She looked at him with eyes glazed by passion and lips slightly swollen from his kisses. “I felt like I had to.… I was a danger to you. If it hadn't been for me, you wouldn't have had to shoot Fuller.”

“He was a powder keg, Meredith, and nothing anyone did was going to defuse him.”

She shivered in his embrace, and he ran his hands up and down her arms.

“What about supper?”

She sat up. “Excellent idea. I haven't had anything since breakfast.”

“Me, either. Any ideas?”

“The clerk here told me about a barbecue place. She said you can't eat anything while visiting Memphis until you eat barbecue.”

“She's right.”

“You've been here before?”

“I like the blues. They have some of the best in Memphis.”

“You come up here for that?”

That reminded him how little they knew about each other.

He took a shower, and she joined him. She leaned against the wall as he soaped her, then she soaped him and they let the water rinse them off. They stayed there until the water cooled, then turned icy.

They took turns toweling each other as steam lingered in the small room.

He felt the stubble on his jaw. “I need to shave.”

“No, you don't. I like the outlaw look.”

The steam in the small room cloaked them. He caressed her face. “And I like the way the shower made your cheeks glow.”

They moved closer together.

“Barbecue,” he reminded her, his lips all too close to hers.

She nodded. “Yes,” she said. The heat between them remained. The desire. The need.

Hell, the raw hunger. He willed himself to step back. They needed to talk. And she hadn't eaten all day. Perhaps food would bring them back to their senses.

“I'll get dressed.”

“That's a hell of a good idea.” The air sizzled between them.

Then she seemed to break loose of the spell that had held both of them prisoner. She left the room with a look every bit as frustrated as his must be.

There was still tonight.

He would stop at the drugstore on their way back.

The thought enabled him to grab a towel, dry his hair with it and dress.

In less time than he thought possible for a woman to get ready, they were in his car. He told Beast to stay, and the dog looked disappointed but sat back on his haunches.

Ten minutes later, they were in a packed room that smelled like heaven.

He ordered ribs. She ordered a barbecue pork plate. They traded food, their hands touching. So did their gazes. They feasted on each other as much as they feasted on the food.

He kept telling himself it was the situation. They had nothing in common. Nothing at all. But the air between them remained dense, heated, explosive. He sat next to her in the booth, rather than across. He wanted to be near her, to touch her.

“What do you plan to do now?” he asked.

“Find the man in that photo.”

“You don't know he's the father. And even if he is, he may not know what happened.”

“No, but he knew my mother.” Her face was wistful. “Something happened between the time the photo was taken and the mother I knew. There was no laughter later.”

He wanted to say he had a lead on the young man. But he didn't.

A vague familiarity he couldn't mention yet. He'd tried to find the files of Dom's conviction years ago. He wanted to see a photo. Oddly enough, the files were missing. He hadn't had time to contact the prison for one.

But wouldn't Dom have shown a greater reaction to Marguerite Rawson's death if they'd had a child together? Gage couldn't help but believe he was reaching.

Still, he planned to talk to Dom once he returned. But first he had to ensure Meredith's safety. He intended to be with Meredith every moment. His suspension had been a godsend. Otherwise, he would have been tempted to tender his resignation. One, he thought, that would be accepted with pleasure.

He didn't mention any of that, though. Instead he ordered dessert.

She looked at him with a small smile. “Why aren't you twice as big as you are?”

“My coach always wanted to know that, too. He wanted big.”

“Coach?”

“I played football in high school and college.”

She looked puzzled, as if she were searching her mind for a previous mention of it. Hadn't that been in his file? But then why should it be? Hell, he'd never finished.

“What did you play?”

“Quarterback. Injured my knee in my junior year. Shot my ambitions to hell.”

“Ambitions?”

“I was going to be the next Joe Namath,” he said wryly.

“I was going to be the next Clarence Darrow,” she said with a wan smile.

He liked the way she said that. For the first time in years, the sting of failure faded. “Reality has a way of diverting ambitions, doesn't it?” he said. “Where did you go to school?”

“George Washington. My father wanted a son to follow in his footsteps.”

His hand reached out and closed over hers. “You're a damned good lawyer.”

“Even if I'm on ‘the dark side?'”

“I'm sorry for that remark. I saw what you did for Nan. And I've heard about your work at the shelter. You just always …” He searched for the words.

“Irritated you?”

“I wish it were that simple. Irritated. Challenged. Bruised my ego. Even worse, attracted me.”

She chuckled.

He looked at her suspiciously.

“Those are exactly the same words I would use as to my reaction to you.”

“The same?”

“Well, I might throw in that I thought you were arrogant and obnoxious.”