No Turning Back (22 page)

I felt battered and worn as I drove home. My hands stung and itched from the cuts and then from wearing latex all evening. The cuts on my thighs hurt and my arms ached from hanging from the tree as well as from all the work I'd done tonight. I could feel that my cheek was very tender and my eye was starting to throb. And, to top it off, I was embarrassed and ashamed of my reaction to Kade. He was a dangerous man, a killer, and I'd melted in his arms like a lovesick teenager a mere twenty-four hours after begging Blane to make love to me. I'd never thought of myself as someone who could be labeled as easy, but it seemed I was veering close to that territory. My head was filled with silent recriminations.

I couldn't wait to take a shower and go to bed, stress and alcohol making my head throb. Before I could do that, I had to stop and see if CJ had found anything.

I knocked on her door, the frigid air making me shiver. The temperature had dropped and I could see my breath. My hand was poised to knock again when the door opened, revealing CJ wreathed in a cloud of cigar smoke.

"Thought that was you," she said around the cigar clenched between her teeth. "Come in." She stepped back and I scooted inside gratefully. Smoke or not, it was warmer inside than out.

The apartment looked completely different from when Sheila had lived there and I looked around curiously. CJ seemed to really like black. All her furniture was black leather, her tables a mix of black lacquer and glass. I saw a desk with a black marble top in the corner. She had a laptop sitting on it as well as three large flat screen computer monitors.

CJ plopped herself down on the couch and gestured for me to do the same. "I'm still copying the drive so I haven't had much of a chance to look at the data," she said, surprising me.

"Really?" I asked. "I didn't think it would take so long."

"The drive was damaged and wouldn't spin up," she replied. "I put it in the freezer for a while and now it's working, but the copy is going real slow. It'll probably take another couple of hours."

"Okay, thanks," I said. Then I remembered Kade. "Um, is there any way to erase the data on the disk after you're done? Someone else wants it and I don't want them to have whatever is on there." CJ eyed me speculatively for a moment, then nodded.

"Yeah. The only sure way to really get rid of the data is to overwrite the drive. An erase doesn't really delete anything. The sectors are recoverable, especially if you know what you're doing. I can fix that, if you want."

"Thanks," I said gratefully. I felt grungy and was tiring quickly so asked to use her bathroom. CJ helpfully pointed it out. After scrubbing my face free of the thick makeup, I felt much better and more awake.

"That asshole left quite a shiner," she said when I returned. I grimaced. The bruising on my cheek and eye from James this morning was very noticeable now. "So," she said, taking another puff of her cigar, "are you going to tell me what's going on or what?"

She was right. I'd dragged her into this – she should know about Mark and Sheila. I sighed.

"I think I need a drink first," I said wearily. Without a word, CJ got up and went to the kitchen, returning with two glasses and a bottle of bourbon. Splashing some into each glass, she handed me one. I sipped it for a minute or two, then launched into my story, telling her about Sheila and how I'd found her dead. Then about Mark and how the cops had decided he'd killed her and committed suicide, ending with my near escape from his house today and Kade demanding I turn over the drive tomorrow night.

When I finished, I tipped the bottle and gave myself another generous pour, drinking it down quickly. I rationalized that I needed it to help me sleep tonight. Otherwise, thinking about Kade, Jimmy, and the dead man in Mark's house would keep me up all night.

"I'll go with you," CJ said abruptly.

"What?" I asked, surprised.

"Tomorrow night," she said. "I don't think it's a good idea for you to go alone. You need someone to watch your back." At first I was glad; it would be great to not be alone. Then I remembered Sheila and Mark, and knew I couldn't let that happen to CJ. Regretfully, I shook my head.

"I can't let you do that," I said. "I shouldn't even have involved you this much. It's dangerous."

CJ snorted. "Of course it's dangerous, which is why we should help each other." I started shaking my head again and opened my mouth to speak, but she interrupted me. "You're tired. Go home and go to bed. Come over in the morning. I'll know more and we can argue about it then." I smiled. She sounded as stubborn as me, but the part about going to bed sounded good.

"All right," I said, getting to my feet. "See you in the morning." The room tilted a bit and I saw CJ smirk.

"You a lightweight, eh Britney?" she joked, and I couldn't help laughing.

"Nice," I retorted. "I'll have you know I make a damn fine Britney Spears. And I can hold my liquor just fine, thank you very much. I've just had a long night."

"I bet," CJ said, walking me out. A few moments later, I was locking my door, closing my eyes and leaning against it gratefully. I hadn't been exaggerating. It seemed like forever since I'd woken up this morning in Blane's house. Bitterly, I wondered if the fairy girl was there with him now.

Hands closed over my upper arms. "Where the hell have you been?"

I started violently, my eyes flying open. Blane stood in front of me, his eyes blazing with fury.

"You should have been home an hour ago," he bit out. "Where were you? With that pretty boy bartender who had his hands all over you?"

My shock gave way to anger. "What is it to you?" I spat at him. "Shouldn't you be fucking your fairy about now?"

"Don't talk like that," he gritted out. "I didn't know Kandi was going to be there tonight." So that was her, the Kandi-with-an-i girl. Yeah, that fit the snobby bitch, I thought, not caring if I was being petty.

"That didn't stop her from telling me exactly what she thought of me," I said bitterly. "As if I haven't had enough of that today." That seemed to take the heat from his anger and I felt his grip on my arms loosen.

"So I heard," he said grimly. "You shouldn't have lost your job," he said more gently, and now his hands moved slowly up and down my arms in a soothing way. "I've taken care of things. You can come back to work on Monday." The part of me that had been worried about what I was going to do without that job sighed in relief. But the part of me that knew you couldn't get something for nothing raised its head suspiciously.

"Why?" I asked him. Blane looked momentarily confused. "Why?" I repeated. I stepped away, feeling the need to put some space between him and me and his arms fell to his sides as he watched me. "Why are you doing this?"

The questions that had hammered at the back of my mind all day now tumbled from my mouth in a torrent. "Why the apartment makeover? The new clothes? New furniture? Why are you even here?" Blane's posture stiffened as I spoke, his eyes narrowing at me. Normally, that would have warned me, but I was too confused and angry to stop.

"Am I some sort of project?" I continued. "A charity case for you? Just tell me because I don't know what you want from me." I crossed my arms over my chest and waited for an answer, bracing myself for words I probably didn't want to hear.

"I don't want anything from you," he said stiffly. "I told you last night that I would take care of you and that's what I'm doing."

I hated being reminded of last night and I felt my cheeks heat in remembrance, but I ignored it. "But why?" I persisted, exasperated that he kept dodging my question. "It doesn't make any sense. I'm nothing, no one to you, so why would you care what happens to me?"

"Because I like you," he finally said, and he sounded almost surprised at the admission. "And because you needed help and I'm in a position to offer it."

"And you want nothing in return?" I asked skeptically.

"Nothing."

"Right," I scoffed. "Because life really works like that." I knew better. I didn't know what Blane wanted, but I wasn't naïve enough to believe that, eventually, he wouldn't expect me to pay up.

The stinging in my hands recaptured my attention and I decided I was done with Blane, whether or not he was done with me. I hadn't invited him here and didn't even know how he'd gotten in, but I was ready for him to leave. Hoping he'd catch the hint, I turned my back on him to go into the kitchen. The room spun and I stumbled, my arm flying out to catch myself so I wouldn't fall and be humiliated even further.

Blane had his arm around me, steadying me, before I even had time to blink. "You're drunk," he said, a slight accusation in his tone that made me bristle.

"I've had a really bad day," I shot back defensively. "I thought I deserved a drink." Or two. Maybe five. Whatever. Blane's hand moved up to my shoulder and he squeezed. I thought it was probably meant to be comforting, but he had hit upon the spot where James had pushed me against the door and I yelped in pain.

"What?" he said in alarm. "What's wrong?" I just shook my head.

"It's nothing. Just a bruise." Reaching over, Blane flicked on the kitchen light and I blinked in the sudden brightness, raising my hand up to shield my eyes.

"What happened to you?" I winced at the tightly leashed fury in Blane's voice. Crap. He'd seen my face, and since I'd washed off my makeup in CJ's apartment, I knew my bruised cheek now showed up in the stark kitchen light. It didn't help that I had such fair skin anyway.

"It looks worse than it feels," I said quickly, turning away. I had reached the sink and started peeling the limp band-aids from my hands. Blane's hands settled on my waist and I could feel him behind me. His arms reached around to grasp my hands so he could turn them palm up. He didn't move for a moment and I closed my hands over the myriad small, angry red cuts.

"You went to Mark's," he observed in a flat voice.

I caught my breath. "How did you-" but he interrupted me.

"I saw his message to you on the DVD," he said simply, as if it was of no consequence that he'd come uninvited into my apartment and then gone through my things. Turning so my back was to the sink, I faced him.

"That was a private message," I hissed angrily. "You have no right to go through my things!"

"Don't I?" he said, and his eyes moved to my cheek. His hand came up, the fingers touching the bruised skin so gently it felt like the wings of a moth. My breath caught in my throat and our eyes locked.

"Tell me what happened today," he coaxed, and suddenly the urge to lay my burdens on him was overwhelming. I argued with myself that I wasn't supposed to trust him. Yet, he said he wanted to help me, and looking around my apartment, he already had helped me, much more than I could ever repay. So, with a sigh, I told him the story.

His hands returned to my waist and we stood there, bodies inches apart, as I told him about Diane firing me at James' behest, then about James showing up here. As dispassionately as I could, I stumbled over how he had attacked me and how CJ had scared him off. Blane's face gradually turned stony during this and I nervously looked away as I talked.

Since he'd seen Mark's message and already knew I'd gone to his house, I told him about finding the hard drive and nearly getting caught by Jimmy. His fingers bit into my hips when I got to that part. I finally finished the story with seeing the dead guy and having to escape the burning house from the second floor window.

"What did you do with the drive?" he asked. I hesitated. I didn't want to involve CJ's identity into this.

"I hid it somewhere safe," I hedged.

"You should give it to me," he said, and I rolled my eyes.

"You'll have to get in line," I said grimly. "Kade's already said I have to give it to him tomorrow."

"Kade?" Surprise edged Blane's voice and I remembered that I hadn't told him about Kade. "Kade Dennon?"

"Yeah," I said, "you know him?"

His lips thinned and he gave a curt nod.

"We've met." He didn't elaborate. Grasping my hands, he looked at them, then turned me toward the faucet again, running warm water over the cuts. It felt good and soothed the burning.

Gently toweling my hands dry, he asked, "Were your hands all that got cut?" I hesitated for an instant before nodding my head. It was an instant too long.

"Where else?" Blane asked in a tone that brooked no disobedience.

"My...legs," I said halfheartedly. "But it's fine, not a big deal. I'll just take a shower and they'll be fine." This wasn't quite true. I'd checked the bandages on my thighs tonight when I'd gone to the employees' restroom and several of them had been bright red from blood seeping through. I just wanted to clean up and put new bandages on. They'd be fine in a couple of days.

"You're not showering in this condition," Blane said.

"And what condition is that?" I retorted.

"Drunk," he said flatly. "You're liable to fall and break your neck. Go sit down," he ordered, pushing me toward a chair at the table.

"I'll be fine," I insisted, but he shot me a look that had me scooting hurriedly toward a chair.

Blane filled up a bowl with warm water and grabbed a kitchen towel. Crouching down in front of me, he quickly removed my heeled Mary Janes. With business-like efficiency, he peeled the tall socks over my knee and down my leg. The room was really spinning now and I didn't think it was all due to the alcohol I'd drank. His fingers were warm and rough against my legs as he searched for the elusive cuts.

"Where?" he asked.

"Hmm?" I had lost track of the conversation, my senses going into overload with him so near and touching me. Glancing up at me, whatever he saw in my face must have clued him in as to the directions my thoughts were taking because his jaw clenched tightly.

"Where are the other cuts?" he asked again, speaking slowly. The words penetrated my numbed brain and I felt blood heat my cheeks.

"Um...higher," I muttered, unable to look him in the eye.