Mountain Investigation (11 page)

Then he slammed and locked the door, and headed back out into the main room. Edgy, greedy need licked along his nerve endings like fire, and he knew if he didn’t get some space, he wasn’t going to like what happened next. But where the hell was he supposed to get space when he was locked in with just the person he needed to get away from?

“Gray,” she said from behind him.

He held up a hand to forestall whatever was coming next, but didn’t look back at her because he wasn’t sure what would happen if she kept talking. “Not now. Please, Mariah, not now. Just go to sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”

He expected an argument, and a hard, hot piece of him might have welcomed it. But for the first time since he’d met her, she took the coward’s way out, saying only, “Good night, then.”

He held himself still, standing rigid in the center of the main room until he heard her bedroom door close.

Then he dropped down onto the sofa, put his head in his hands, and tried to remember his damn priorities. He wasn’t there for her. She was there to help him bring down Mawadi and the others, nothing more. There
couldn’t be anything more, he reminded himself. Not until he’d taken care of the business at hand. And then? Well, then he and Mariah would go their separate ways.

He knew from personal experience that physical attraction didn’t make a solid foundation for a lasting relationship when the two people involved had nothing but chemistry in common.

M
ARIAH SLEPT FITFULLY
, her slumber broken up by dream fragments and nightmares. Each time she awakened, she tried to relax, tried to lull herself into a state where she could call forth Lee’s questions, but to no avail. Maybe she was trying too hard. Who knew? All she knew for sure was that she was wide awake before dawn, physically exhausted but mentally restless.

The knowledge that Gray was out in the main room kept her in bed for longer than she would’ve stayed there otherwise, partly because she didn’t want to wake him if he were sleeping, and partly because she didn’t want to deal with him, period. He made her feel so many contradictory things all at once, in one big messy knot of uncertainty. She felt safe with him, yet vulnerable; empowered yet weak; sometimes needy and feminine, other times practical and unsexy. She didn’t know who she was around him, didn’t know how to act.

She lay in her bare bedroom, replaying the kiss they had shared, remembering the sensations he’d sparked, and the emotions.

She had come into her marriage relatively inexperienced, and while sex with Lee had been pleasant at first,
even exciting at times, those good times had quickly shifted to power plays and manipulation. It had taken her months to figure out what had changed, and longer than that after the bombings and her quickie divorce to separate out the guilt from the sex and rationally work through what he’d done to her, and how. She’d consulted a therapist, and though it had profoundly unsettled her to share intimate details with a stranger, the sessions had helped her find her center and her balance.

She didn’t fear sex, she’d decided, but neither had she desired it for some time. The therapist had assured her that her libido would return eventually. It was just her luck the damn thing had decided to come back online now, and with a totally unsuitable man. Still, she couldn’t escape the memory of how his mouth had felt against hers, how his lips had felt on her skin. As they’d kissed, he’d been focused only on her, and on the heat they’d made together.

And she so wasn’t getting any closer to remembering what Lee wanted from her, lying there thinking of another, far better—though no less complicated—man.

Muttering under her breath, she got up, got dressed in yesterday’s clothes, used the bathroom and then headed for the kitchen, in need of a serious caffeine hit to counteract the effects of the long night and the preceding days.

A light was on in the main room, though Gray appeared to be asleep, lying on his back in a sprawl of leashed male strength. He’d swapped his ruined suit for worn jeans and a long-sleeved shirt that gapped open at the throat, and he wore thick socks against the snap
in the mountain air. His boots sat close at hand and his holstered weapon rested on an end table. The sight was more reassuring than intimidating, though Mariah found it a bit of both.

“Bad dreams?” he said, sounding wide awake, though he didn’t open his eyes or otherwise move.

She was grateful he’d kept his eyes closed; she didn’t want to start the day by being caught staring. Then again, the fact that she’d stopped dead in the middle of the living room had probably been a good clue.

“I wouldn’t mind the bad dreams if they were at all productive,” she answered. Forcing herself to get moving rather than watching him any longer, she tossed over her shoulder, “You want coffee?”

His jaw went tight, and something that looked like anger flashed in his eyes when they opened. “I’ll fend for myself.” He rose and headed for the bathroom, seeming to have come fully awake in an instant. When he returned to the main room, he pulled on his boots, donned his holster and grabbed the jacket he’d hung near the front door. “I’m going to check in with the others. Be back in a few.”

“Will it bother you if I make enough breakfast for everyone?” she asked, having gotten a definite edge off his tone when he’d turned down her offer of coffee.

“Suit yourself.” He didn’t look at her as he unlocked the front door, snapped a quick radio check at the team outside and left, closing the door behind him with an emphatic thunk of wood on wood.

When he was gone, the air should’ve felt softer and less tense to Mariah. She should’ve welcomed the few
minutes of privacy, the moment to be alone. Instead, the cabin felt empty, and the atmosphere hummed with the same tension as before, only worse now, as though her psyche were determined to make her acknowledge that things had changed, that maybe being alone wasn’t what she wanted anymore.

But she’d fallen into that trap once before, following the urges to New York, and from there into marriage. She’d learned her lesson, hadn’t she?

Working on autopilot, she made coffee, grimacing when she pawed through the grocery bags and checked the refrigerator. The brands weren’t the ones she would have chosen, the selection somewhat haphazard, serving to drive home the reality she’d been trying to avoid facing since the previous night, when she’d stepped inside the cabin and felt like the space wasn’t hers anymore. Lee had destroyed her photos and knickknacks. He’d eaten her food, sat on her furniture and done heaven only knew what else to her personal space. And whatever the crime-scene analysts hadn’t needed, the cleaners had taken care of. Her home had been stripped of character, her touch erased, leaving her to start over yet again.

But when tears threatened to blur her vision, she dashed them away, irritated with herself. “They’re just things. Get over it.”

Except Lee hadn’t taken only her things. He’d also taken a big chunk of her self-respect and her ability to trust, and he’d driven a deeper wedge between her and her parents. They hadn’t left because they’d needed to get away from Bear Claw. They’d left because they’d wanted
to get away from her and the intrusive media presence she’d brought into their lives. She’d tried not to blame them, but just as they’d stayed on the road when she’d wanted to settle down, and settled down just as she was ready to leave the nest, her parents had done what they needed for each other, not what she’d needed from them.

That wasn’t news, or even much of a surprise, but it had stung nonetheless. Was it so much to ask that someone care for her for her own sake?

“And aren’t we feeling self-pitying this morning?” she said aloud. “Get over it. You’re alive and in protective custody, and sooner or later this thing is going to break.” God willing. And when it did, when Lee and al-Jihad and the rest of them were all off the street, then she’d be free to start over. Again.

Needing to keep busy while her brain churned, she pulled together a basic breakfast from the supplies at hand, and refilled the coffeemaker after she’d downed her second cup. By the time Gray returned, she had prepared scrambled eggs and toasted bagels, and found paper plates and plastic utensils among the bagged supplies. She was trying not to think about what Lee had probably done to her dishes. They had been inexpensive warehouse-store purchases, but she’d liked the repeating motifs of birds and pinecones.

Gesturing with the package of plates, she said, “Can I impose on you to take these outside, or can the agents take turns coming in or something?

Gray scowled, temper lighting his eyes. “I told you we’d fend for ourselves.”

She would’ve snapped in response, except that she
thought she caught a thread of something else beneath the anger, a hint that looked almost like desperation, and told her this wasn’t about eggs, or even the case. Setting down the plates, she crossed to the coffeepot, very deliberately poured a second mug and carried it over to him. She held it out, partly a peace offering, partly a dare. “No,” she said, keeping her tone reasonable, “you said I should suit myself, which I did, by making breakfast for everyone.”

He stared down at her for a long moment. Then he muttered something under his breath, and took the coffee. “Seriously, it’s not your responsibility to feed us.”

“I need to do something, or I’ll go insane,” she said reasonably. At least she thought it was reasonable.

He dipped his head in a half nod. “That much I get. Okay. Thanks. I’ll let them know they can come in on a rotation.” But he didn’t leave, didn’t turn away, just stood there holding the mug of coffee, staring down at her.

Mariah held her ground, refusing the sudden urge to fuss with her hair or check if she had a smattering of bagel crumbs on her cheek. The damn electricity that had gotten them in trouble before sparked in the air between them now, as his expression went from fierce and annoyed to something softer. The sight of it brought a warm twist low in her belly, and her voice threatened to shake when she said, “If you’re trying to come up with an apology for being an ass, don’t worry about it. This isn’t exactly a normal situation.”

“Not an apology,” he said, “an explanation for why I’m not comfortable with the whole breakfast thing.”

“You’ve got a lifelong bacheloresque fear of having a woman cook you breakfast?” she asked, and for the first time she realized that while he knew some of the most intimate details of her life, she knew almost nothing about his.

“I was married,” he said, surprising her because she’d pegged him as the “never been married, never wanted to be married” type. He continued, “More than that, I liked being married. I liked coming down and smelling coffee and toast, or getting up first and putting something together for the two of us. That’s something I miss.” He paused. “The last time anyone made me breakfast was the morning of the bombings.”

Mariah sucked in a breath as the world closed in around her. “Your wife was in one of the malls?”

He shook his head, but his expression didn’t clear. “No, Stacy’s alive and well, remarried and living in L.A. We’d just gotten separated—it was her idea, though I think we both knew it wasn’t working. I went to stay with friends out here in Colorado—my college roommate, Ken, his wife, Trish, and their six-month-old baby, Catherine. My goddaughter.” He paused. Mariah would’ve said something, but all of the air seemed to have been sucked from her lungs, rendering her silent as he continued, “They wanted to cheer me up, so Trish made a big breakfast late that morning, we went and picked out a Christmas tree and then we headed over to the local mall so they could take Catherine’s picture with Santa.” He broke off then and took a long swallow of the scalding-hot coffee, but didn’t seem to notice the heat.

“Gray,” Mariah began.

“I was standing in line with them,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken, “and God help me, I was frustrated as hell, and getting mean. I was jealous of Ken—the guy who’d been my wingman in college, my good friend in the years since. He was so damn happy, he and Trish were so good together, and baby Catherine was so perfect…I couldn’t take it anymore. I said something to them—I don’t even remember what—and I took off. I just needed a minute alone, needed to find a way to stop hating my buddy for having everything that I wanted.” He spread his hands away from his body and looked at her, hollow-eyed. “I was sitting on a bench near this fountain, maybe a few hundred yards away, when the bomb went off.”

Mariah would’ve touched him, would’ve soothed him if she could’ve figured out how. But he looked so closed off, standing there with pain in his eyes and his body language telling her to keep away, that he didn’t want sympathy or understanding, didn’t want anything but to punish himself.

“Gray,” she said again.

This time he heard her. He looked at her, seeming to see her now, and his voice went harsh when he said, “So yeah, that’s an apology for my being less than gracious over your offer of breakfast. And it’s an explanation for a whole bunch of other things, isn’t it?”

“You’re not going to move on until you’re sure your friends have gotten justice,” she said, making it a statement rather than a question. Her chest ached for a family she hadn’t known, and Gray who’d suffered one
blow on top of another, for no other reason than he’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

In that, she thought, they finally had something in common. Neither of them had done the wrong thing to begin with, but the domino effect of decisions they’d made had led to terrible consequences nonetheless.