Hiding His Witness (13 page)

Mark knew the last town where she had lived, and he’d find then scour her apartment for clues about her location. He would pay big money for information about her.

He stopped at nothing to punish those who betrayed him. And in his mind, she had betrayed him deeply. She’d run out on him the day of their wedding, escaping from the salon, the first chance she’d had away from him and his bodyguards in months. She’d sat at the pedicure station, her feet massaged by the bubbling water, and the moment the nail technician had closed the door to her private room, she’d pulled on her shoes, grabbed her handbag where she’d stuffed some essentials, popped the window open and run for her life.

Carey closed her eyes. She needed to get some sleep. Despite what the Truman family claimed, they weren’t safe with her here. This could be the last good night’s sleep she’d have for a long while. She snuggled under the covers, reveling in the soft feel of the sheets. Tonight, she wanted to dream of Reilly holding her and waking up beside her.

A car door slammed and her eyes flew open. She glanced at the clock radio on the bedside table—3:00 a.m. God help them. This was no hunter. Mark had found her. She tore away the blankets and came to her feet.

Mark would arrive with a fleet of trained killers, and he would kill anyone who tried to protect her. Carey wouldn’t let the Trumans come to her defense again and risk their lives to protect her. She couldn’t escape Mark now, but she’d fight with everything she had and not let him hurt the Trumans. If she went outside, Mark didn’t have a reason to come into this house and slaughter them while he looked for her. Carey tugged on a pair of sweatpants and grabbed an old baseball bat that Reilly had in the corner of his room.

It felt heavy in her trembling hand, her knees weak as she took the stairs to the main floor. She swallowed to keep the bile down and refused to lose her courage. She hefted the bat over her shoulder, gripping it with both hands. She’d meet Mark head-on, swinging and fighting like hell, screaming and making a ruckus, alerting the family and giving them time to protect themselves.

She barreled out the front door, shrieking with alarm, ignoring the blast of cold on her bare feet, and swung at the man coming up the stairs. He was not getting to the Truman family. She’d protect them with her life.

He let out his breath when the bat slammed into his gut, the impact causing him to take a step down. It wasn’t Mark, but it was no doubt one of his goons. She lifted the bat to strike him again and froze at the menacing look on his face.

His eyes narrowed in deliberate calculation and he disarmed her within seconds, tossing the bat over his shoulder. He snagged her around the waist, and she fought like a lioness, kicking at his shins, attempting to knee him between his legs.

Had the Truman family heard? Were they arming themselves or running for the safe house? Were there more men stationed around the perimeter of the house?

“For crying out loud, Brady, let Carey go.”

Carey stopped thrashing at the sound of Reilly’s voice and Brady turned her in his arms, setting her on the ground forcefully. She whirled to the porch where the Truman family stood watching her and Brady with perplexed expressions.

“Brady?” she asked, her stomach falling to her feet. “You’re Reilly’s brother?”

Brady rubbed his stomach, wincing. “Is this my welcome home party?”

Carey covered her face, mortified. She’d attacked Reilly’s brother. Reilly came to her side, wrapping her in a blanket and lifting her off the ground. “What are you doing out here? You’re going to get frostbite.”

“I thought he was coming to attack us,” Carey said, her mortification spreading bone deep.

Doc stood on the porch, an amused expression on his face. Jane was watching her and Reilly with interest, and Harris was howling with laughter. Only Brady looked furious. She was too embarrassed to meet Reilly’s gaze.

“Never thought I’d see the day that Brady got his tail kicked by a girl,” Harris said, slapping his knee, barely able to remain standing upright.

“She caught me off-guard. I called Dad to tell him I was pulling in and he didn’t mention we were keeping a wolverine for protection,” Brady muttered.

“I’m s-sorry,” Carey said. “I thought you wanted to kill me.”

“Darlin’, I don’t even know you. Why would I want to kill you?” Brady asked. His slow drawl made it obvious he was more than a little irritated she had slugged him with a baseball bat. Carey’s guilt went up a few notches. Everyone must think she was deranged.

“Why don’t we go inside and talk about this?” Jane asked. “I’ll make some tea and we’ll catch Brady up.”

Twenty minutes later, wearing Reilly’s T-shirt, the blanket he’d wrapped around her, sweatpants and an oversize pair of Reilly’s slippers, Carey sat next to him on the couch as he filled Brady in on the serial killer and the reason Carey was staying with them.

“What I don’t understand is why she came barreling out of the house at me,” Brady said.

Carey played with the edge of the blanket, rolling it between her fingers. “I figured if I attacked him first he wouldn’t come into the house and hurt anyone else. It’s me he wants.”

“You thought if you attacked the Vagabond Killer, he would leave us alone?” Harris asked, his nostrils flaring.

Not the Vagabond Killer. Mark. But they didn’t need to know that. The general principle was the same. “At the time, yes,” she said. In retrospect, like the incident in the alley that had gotten her into this mess, it might not have been the best idea to go tearing after a would-be killer.

“What about you? If he was a murderer, he would have killed you,” Reilly said.

Carey looked around at the equally intense faces of the Truman family. At least Brady looked less angry with her and more confused. “Maybe, but I had the bat—”

“Which I tossed to the ground in two seconds,” Brady said.

“It was me who brought him here. I’m responsible,” Carey said, pointing to her chest insistently.

“So it was a suicide mission,” Reilly said.

She glared at him. “I made a split-second decision. I tried to help. These things don’t always turn out how I hope.”

Reilly came to his feet and paced. “What’s his name?”

Carey took a sip of the tea Jane had prepared. It was harder to lie to him now than when she’d first met him. “I don’t know. I just saw his face.” He was calling her out. She heard it in his voice. Her reaction to Brady coming home tonight was the final straw. He wasn’t taking any more vague responses to his questions. He wanted Mark’s name.

“Not the Vagabond Killer. The man you’re running from,” Reilly said.

No one else spoke a word. “I told you I don’t want to discuss the past. I think it’s better if I leave. I don’t want to get into this.”

Reilly whirled. “Like hell.”

“Reilly, calm down. You’re scaring her,” Jane said.

“You have more than one criminal after you?” Harris asked, lifting his eyebrow.

Carey looked at her lap, her eyes brimming with shame and tears. “Yes.”

“I think now would be a good time for you to tell us about him,” Reilly said through gritted teeth.

“I can’t.” She folded her hands around her cup of tea in her lap, fighting the tears of frustration that pooled behind her eyes. Reilly and his family wanted to help, but they couldn’t. Mark was beyond the law. He was untouchable.

“What is it about him that scares you? Is he wealthy? Famous?” Harris asked.

Carey looked at Reilly, feeling betrayed he’d brought this up again. Why didn’t he understand she was protecting them? “He has money.” There. She’d answered.

“How do you know he’s looking for you?” Jane asked, concern dotting her words.

Carey bit her lip. She didn’t want this to turn into a guessing game where the Truman family slowly unraveled her secrets and exposed Mark’s identity. “I’m sorry that I attacked Brady. It was an accident. I appreciate everything you’ve done.” She let her eyes wander around the room, landing on the face of each Truman. Her throat grew uncomfortably tight. She came to her feet. She could pack and be out of the house in ten minutes. “It’s best if I leave before anyone else gets hurt.”

The family exchanged looks, communicating silently with one another. Reilly spoke for them. “If you aren’t ready to tell us the whole story, we’ll accept it. For now. But you’re mine—that is, ours—to keep safe. You’re not leaving here until we’re sure you’re going to be okay.”

She nodded, knowing if she spoke, the tears she struggled to contain would break free. This family owed her nothing and yet here they were, giving her their loyalty.

“Why don’t we leave them alone to talk this over?” Doc suggested.

The family murmured their agreement and all except Reilly filed out of the room one by one, Jane stopping to hug Carey good-night. Reilly stood with his feet braced apart, watching her.

“What can I say?” Carey asked, a tear slipping down her cheek. She wiped it away with the heel of her hand. Tonight accented the fact that she had stayed too long. Mark could have found her. Mark could have hurt the Trumans.

When he spoke, his voice was gentle. “I want you to tell me the truth.”

Her heart ached. “I can’t.”

“Can’t? Or won’t?”

He was making this impossible. Couldn’t he see she was doing her best to keep herself and his family safe? “A little of both.”

“What are you afraid is going to happen? This ranch is one of the safest places for you to be right now. No one will find you here. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Half of her fear was Mark finding her here, hurting her or the Trumans. As difficult as it was to admit, the other half was her fear that Reilly would despise her if he knew the truth about her life before she went on the run. The man she’d almost married was a career criminal. Her father had died after living a life of crime. A friend had died because of her. Compared to the Trumans, her family was terribly selfish. “I know you want to help me. And I know you need me to identify the Vagabond Killer. But I gave you the sketch. That’s really all you need. I’ll give a written testimony and I’ll keep my eye on the news. When you’ve caught him, I’ll contact you.”

Reilly snorted. “I’m not that naive. Once you’re in the wind, we’ll never find you again.”

Carey tapped her heel against the floor. Reilly wasn’t that easy to convince. “Can’t you see that I’m doing this for you? Because I care about you and your family?”

Reilly stepped closer, extending his hand and taking her by the elbow. “Promise me you’ll stay for a little while longer. Give yourself a chance at a future that doesn’t including running.” His voice was low and thick.

The contact was electric, and his strong hand on her arm made her feel secure. Getting used to his protection was a mistake. She wouldn’t have it for long. Lifting her head, she met his gaze and was temporarily mesmerized by the heat blazing in his eyes. Lying to him wasn’t an option. He’d see through her. “How long is a little while?”

Reilly closed the distance between them. He removed the teacup from her fingers, set it on the coffee table, and then took her hands. “Until I say.” He brought her hand to his chest and rested it there, freeing his and encircling her waist. His touch unhinged her and the last of her resistance crumbled away.

She lifted her head, offering him her mouth. He brought his down and brushed his lips across hers. There. She needed this, the physical comfort of Reilly’s touch. The air around them crackled with emotion. She closed her eyes and waited for him to deepen the kiss.

Instead, he pulled away.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, surprised at how breathless his kiss had left her.

He raked a hand through his hair and took a step back from her. “I can’t figure you out. I don’t know which of you is the real Carey.”

For a brief moment, she nearly corrected him with her real name. It felt odd to think about her real name. For so long, she kept that part of her buried, tucked away from the life she led now. “I’m always real.”

“You fought a serial killer to help a stranger. You worked with a sketch artist when you could have run. Baseball bat aside, you’re sweet to my family and yet you don’t trust us. You close yourself off. You don’t let anyone inside. Tell me who you are and let me see the real Carey.”

She wouldn’t let his kiss or his touch persuade her. Safety, hers and the Trumans’, was her first priority. “I told you. I can’t. And you agreed you wouldn’t press me.”

A muscle worked in his jaw. “I agreed I wouldn’t press you about the past. I want to know who you
are.
Present.”

A technicality. “I’m sorry, Reilly. I can’t tell you anything more than I have.” Her heart nearly shattered to speak the words. They drew a thick and heavy line between them, the distance lengthening with every utterance. She wanted to draw him closer and she wanted to keep him safe, a complete contradiction.

“Then I’m sorry, too. Because if you stopped running from everyone for a minute, you might find that you could actually be happy.”

Chapter 7

D
espite the late night, Reilly made the trip to Denver early the next morning and arrived midafternoon. He flashed his badge at the uniformed police officer who stood guard at the entrance of the DPD. Inside the squad room, chaos ruled. Volunteers and police officers working the phones sat at long tables, telephone and computer cords spilling to the floor. Information from each call was being recorded into a central computer system and analysts were reviewing the data and looking for commonalities that might lead to the Vagabond Killer’s capture.

Every desk in the squad room was occupied, some with more than a few officers clustered around, reviewing data and discussing the case. The conference rooms were filled with men and women in suits, whiteboards displaying names and faces of victims. The team from the PR department was standing in the back of one of the conference rooms, taking notes and conferring among themselves.

“We’re doing our best to keep the media out of the thick of this,” Vanessa said over her shoulder to Reilly, weaving through the crowd toward the lieutenant’s office.