Hunted (7 page)

Ignoring the comment, Zoe headed through to the courtyard. The trickle and splash of the fountain grew louder until she rounded the corner and the courtyard opened up. Old, weathered brick walls lined all four sides, right up to the top of the two-story building. Pots and hanging baskets dotting the space overflowed with fuchsias, impatiens and Boston ferns she hand-watered every couple of days. The private haven smelled cool and damp, a refreshing change from the scents found just outside her front gate.

“Wow,” Clay said as he got his first look at it. “Very cool.”

“Isn’t it? I love it here.” She gestured to the table, chair and ottoman she’d tucked into one shady corner. “I get sunlight here from about eleven to five or so, but most of it stays near the top of the walls. I usually have my morning coffee down here or up on the balcony, then sit here with my laptop where it’s nice and cool.” He nodded, still taking in the space. “The rest of the place is even better.” She unlocked the bright cobalt-blue door set into the rear brick wall and pushed it open. A swish of blessed coolness greeted her, courtesy of the air-conditioning.

She flipped on the light switch inside the door, disarmed the security system and stepped aside to let Clay in. He came through into the foyer, surveyed everything with a single visual sweep. His movements, body language and expression were as economical as his language, she’d noticed. He gave what he needed to get his message across, nothing more, nothing less.

“This is mostly just storage and stuff down here,” she said, moving past the heavy antique wooden furniture. “The owner’s a collector, left most of his stuff here for me to use. He’s got some amazing pieces, but I had the movers put out my favorites and shift everything else out of the way because most of the furniture’s too heavy for me to move by myself.”

The ancient wooden stairs creaked beneath her feet as she ascended them, the faint mustiness of an old home underlying the scent of the Murphy’s Oil Soap she used to clean all the wooden surfaces. At the top landing she moved toward the galley-style kitchen set into the back of the apartment and turned to face him. “So, this is me.”

Clay turned in a slow half-circle, taking in the place. “Yeah, it is.” His gaze landed on the far wall of the living room, fastened on the framed vampire print she’d hung over the couch. “Very you.”

It was. The interior was painted a deep, rich red, almost a burgundy. The perfect backdrop for her assortment of spooky décor. Bats and skulls and ghosts, a few Victorian-era items that tickled her fancy or sparked her imagination. Clay walked over to the bookshelf on one wall, perused the leather-bound volumes she’d lined up there. “Pretty dark stuff, Zoe.”

She shrugged. “I like dark.” And she
really
liked the darkness standing in front of her right now. Not dark merely because of his hair color and tan skin, but because of the darkness he carried inside him. A fellow loner, like her.

He stopped in front of her collection of ravens, all perched atop the bookcase to keep watch. She stepped closer, wondering what he found so fascinating about them, and caught the faint twitch of his mouth that she now understood was his smile. “What?” she asked.

He turned his head toward her. “You’re a raven.”

She blinked. “Pardon?”

He nodded up at the little murder of crows she’d created. “Dark hair, observant. Scary intelligent.”

“You think I’m scary intelligent?”

He made a little noise of affirmation and kept studying the birds. “I watched a documentary a few weeks ago on crows. The things they do are incredible.”

Zoe crossed her arms. “That’s true. But they’re also incredibly opportunistic and like shiny things.”

He turned back to her, amusement lighting his eyes. “What, you don’t like shiny things?”

“Well, some—” She broke off as she realized what he’d said. And, more importantly,
not
said. “Wait, so you’re saying you think I’m opportunistic too?”

“No, I
know
you are,” he confirmed, taking her aback as he mimicked her stance and folded his arms across his chest, drawing her attention once again to those beautiful muscles. He lifted a dark eyebrow in a gesture she could only describe as sardonic, yet there was still a gleam of male interest in his eyes. “You really going to stand there and pretend you didn’t bring me up here hoping to get me into bed?”

Well, wow.

His directness momentarily put her at a loss for words, something that rarely happened. For two seconds she thought about protesting, laughing it off, but decided that would not only be immature, but stupid. Clay was jaded, had some serious trust issues with women in general. Thanks to Eve, he thought she and most of her gender were manipulative and conniving. Zoe wasn’t going to prove him right by lying now. Her whole plan was to show him she was nothing like his ex, so meeting his directness head-on was the only way.

“Nope. Not denying it. So how do you feel about that, then?”

His other eyebrow rose and she knew she’d surprised him with her bluntness. Good. She had plenty more surprises in store for him if she had anything to say about it. If he’d just give her a chance.

He looked away. Disappointment hit her like a fist, surprising in its strength. “You know why that can’t happen.”

“You’re worried about what Tuck will think,” she guessed. It sure as hell wasn’t because he didn’t want her. She knew he did, and the way his eyes kept dipping to her cleavage was in direct contrast to his words.

His gaze slid back to hers. “It’s not gonna happen, Zoe.” The words were sure. Final.

She tilted her head. “You’re not even going to tell me why?”

“Doesn’t matter why. We’re not going there.”

The disappointment swelled, growing into something sharper, something resembling loss. Until that moment she hadn’t realized just how much she’d pinned her hopes on the chance of a fling that led to more with him. Part of her was convinced that once he let her in that far, she’d have a shot at the rest. Though she wanted to press, find out what the problem really was, she sensed if she pushed now he’d pull back into himself and she’d lose him for good.

Taking a deep breath, she gave a small shrug as if it didn’t matter and turned toward the kitchen. “Okay.” The hardwood floor was cool beneath her bare feet as she headed for the fridge. “I’m kinda hungry. Want something to eat?”

“No, I’m just gonna meet up with the guys,” he said, already texting one of them on his phone.

Realizing that all her plans for the night had just gone up in smoke, Zoe pulled out a platter of chilled watermelon and set it on the counter. As she was pulling back the plastic film covering it, her cell rang inside her purse, hanging from the post at the top of the stairs. She crossed to get it. It was rare for her to get a call this late at night so she expected to see Celida’s number on the screen, but instead saw it was a fellow volunteer from the shelter. She took the call and answered.

“Hey, glad I caught you,” Liz said, sounding a little out of breath.

“Everything all right?”

“Not really. It’s Leticia.”

Zoe stilled. “What’s wrong?” She was conscious of Clay looking at her but didn’t glance at him.

“She’s gone.”

“What? Gone where? Did he find her?”

“We don’t think so. Something spooked her a little while ago. She said she didn’t feel safe here, took her son and left.”

“On foot?” It was the middle of the night and if her dangerous ex was out looking for her, that seemed like a stupid thing to do. Very unlike Leticia.

“She might have caught a cab, I don’t know. I’ve tried calling and texting but she won’t answer. Can you try? She seems to listen to you. See if you can talk her in to coming back in for at least the night and we’ll talk about her options more in the morning.”

“I was coming in to see her first thing,” Zoe said, alarmed at this turn of events. If they lost contact with Leticia now, they’d likely never hear from her again. “I’ll call her.”

“Thanks.”

“No worries. I’ll let you know if I get hold of her.” After she disconnected, she immediately pulled up Leticia’s number from her call display.

“Everything okay?” Clay asked from over by the bookshelf.

“Bit of a work emergency.”

“A writing emergency?” He sounded confused.

“No, at the women’s shelter I volunteer at.” She waved at the stairs. “You go ahead, I have to make a call. I’ll lock up after you leave.”

“I’ll stay.”

She didn’t ask why, not wanting to waste time even though she was curious, and stepped out through the sliding glass door onto the balcony, sitting on the quilt she’d spread onto the antique daybed before dialing. She almost sighed in relief when Leticia answered. “Are you and Xander all right?”

Leticia let out a long exhale. “Yeah, we’re fine.”

“Are you guys somewhere safe?”

A short laugh answered her. “There’s nowhere safe anymore.”

Zoe frowned, not liking the edge of panic she heard in the woman’s voice. “Why did you leave the shelter?”

“Because staying in one place for too long makes me feel like a sitting duck. I won’t risk my son’s life that way.”

“Okay, I understand,” Zoe said, keeping her tone level even though she wanted to reach through the phone and shake the other woman. “Can I still meet with you? To talk?”

A pause. “I can’t wait until morning like I originally promised. If you want to see me it’ll have to be tonight. Xander’s tired, he needs to sleep.”

Zoe blinked. This could be her only shot at talking some sense into her. “All right. Where do you want me to meet you?” Leticia named the place and Zoe promised to be there within forty-five minutes. When she walked back inside, Clay was still standing at the bookcase, his brows drawn together in an ominous frown.

“Where are you going?”

“Up to Mid-City. Have to meet someone.” She walked past him into her bedroom, took a light sweater from her closet. He was at the doorway when she came out.

“Who are you meeting?”

“A woman.”

The frown grew even more foreboding. “Not by yourself.”

“Yes, by myself. If I show up with anyone else, especially a man with your size and bearing, she’ll bolt, and I can’t take that chance.” She slipped the sweater on, walked past him to the stairs and put her phone back in her purse. “Tell the guys I’m sorry I couldn’t stay until they were done bar-hopping.”

He shook his head once. “You’re not going out there alone.”

While she appreciated the protective side of him, she didn’t have time to stand here and argue. “I’m fine. Gotta go.” Under normal circumstances she would have hugged him goodbye. She loved to hug, got a kick out of seeing Clay have to give into politeness and allow the contact, but after the way he’d rejected her she wasn’t in a hugging mood.

He took a step toward her, caught her arm. “It’s the middle of the night and we already saw one mugging up close. There’s no way in hell I’m letting you meet whoever it is you’re meeting alone.”

She shot him a glare. “I used to live in that neighborhood, and I can take care of myself.”

“With your pepper spray,” he said, disdain dripping from every word.

“I’m not going to need it,” she insisted, pulling her arm free.

He blocked her from going down the stairs, his expression fierce. “I’m serious, Zoe. You don’t go there alone. If you don’t want me with you, then ask Tuck. Pick one of us. Or I’ll call him myself.”

Struggling to suppress the snap in her temper, Zoe let out a deep breath. “You wanna come with me then?” Unfortunately that held none of the sexual innuendo she would have liked.

“Yeah, I’ll go.”

At least he cared enough to be concerned about her safety. She just wished it wasn’t because of his loyalty to Tuck. “Then you have to stay out of sight when I meet her. If you screw this up and she runs, I swear to God I’ll—”

He snorted. “I’m pretty good at the whole staying out of sight thing,” he said, his bland tone pointing out that he was a former SEAL.

“Fine.” Shouldering her purse, she started past him and down the stairs, actually relieved that she’d have him nearby. “Let’s get moving. I don’t wanna be late.”

Carlos pulled into the rest stop off the highway, parked in the shadows near a group of trees far away from any other vehicles, and cut the engine. Two minutes later, headlights appeared in his rearview mirror. The car turned into the rest stop, drove slowly toward him and parked to the right of his truck. He verified that the driver was who he’d been expecting, then got out. The smell of hot pavement and fresh cut grass swirled around him as he rounded the back of the truck.

Standing beside the car, his contact acknowledged him with a nod.

Carlos didn’t bother with any social niceties. With a man like this they weren’t expected anyway. “Did you find anything?”

Gill, an Indian immigrant in his early twenties, glanced around to verify that no one was watching or listening in before responding. “Her cell phone was deactivated this evening around six p.m.,” he said in a strong accent. “I can’t tell if she merely turned it off, or if she’s permanently disabled it. She might have bought a new one, or a throw away phone.”

“You could’ve told me all that over the phone,” Carlos growled, growing impatient. The longer Leticia had in terms of lead time, the harder it would be for him to find her. “What else have you got?”

Gill stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I traced her bank account activity. She withdrew two thousand dollars cash from her account at a downtown bank two hours ago. No credit card activity since yesterday and if she’s paying cash now it’s going to make her harder to track.”

Carlos’s hands tightened into fists at his sides. He’d put that money in her account last week to help her pay for her kid’s fucking braces. Now she was trying to use it to escape him. By trying to support her financially and be a nice guy, he’d given her the means to run. “What else?”

Gill reached through the open driver’s side window and withdrew something. A file. “I printed off a copy of her phone records for the last month. I took a look through it, highlighted numbers that seemed to keep coming up. See if you recognize any of them, and if the patterns make sense to you.”