Playing Dead in Dixie (27 page)

WES'S CELL PHONE TRILLED, jarring him out of a lazy half-slumber.  Carly shifted against him with a soft grumble, tucking her face into the curve of his neck.  Gently easing himself from her grasp, he rolled over and felt on the bedside table for his cell phone.  The number displayed on the lighted panel had an unfamiliar area code.  "Hollingsworth."

"Chief Hollingsworth, this is Agent Phillips of the FBI  There's been a change of plans."

Wes pushed himself into a sitting position, rubbing his eyes.  "What change?"

"I'm not flying into Atlanta tonight.  I got called back to New Jersey because there's been a development in the Manning case.  It's complicated, but the bottom line is, we've found all of Manning's files on his dealings with the various crime syndicates he was laundering money for.  Lottie's only use to us as a witness was to implicate Manning, but now that he's dead, she's not going to be called to testify before a grand jury."

Relief washed over Wes.  "Do Manning's associates know?  Will they call off the dogs?"

"From what I'm hearing, none of them see her as a threat to them.  She's not worth the trouble of tracking her down."

Wes looked down at Carly.  She lay curled into a naked little ball next to him, her face soft with sleep.  He stroked her hair back from her cheek, smiling as she made a grumpy noise and swatted his hand away.  "I'll make sure Lottie knows."

"She may want to stay out of New Jersey until the trial is over.  Just in case."

Wes smiled.  "I'll be sure to tell her that, too."

"I hear you had a rough night tonight, Chief.  Our guys down in Savannah didn't know whether to admire your bravery or have you committed to a mental institution."

"I don't intend to repeat it any time soon," Wes assured Agent Phillips.

"Manning's death is a benefit to society.  I know I'm not supposed to stay things like that—wouldn't be politically correct—but it's true.  So if you're second-guessing what you did, don't bother.  You did the world a favor."

Wes couldn't think of anything to say in response.  Intellectually, he knew that what Phillips was saying was true.  A man who'd try to kill an innocent woman and a crippled old man didn't need to be walking around free in this world.  And Wes had never been much for second guessing himself.

But life was a precious thing, and he'd taken it.  He wasn't going to get over that fact quickly.

He didn't want to get over it quickly.

"I'll let you know if we need you or Lottie to help us round out our paperwork.  I can reach her through you?"

Wes glanced at Carly again.  "I think so."

He hoped so.

Phillips rang off, and Wes disconnected, replacing the cell phone on the bedside table.  He rolled onto his side and pressed his forehead against Carly's.  "You asleep?"

She opened one eye.  "Yes."

"I have news."

She closed her eyes and groaned.  "What now?"

"It's good news.  Agent Phillips says you're off the hook.  With Manning dead, you're off the radar.  No grand jury testimony, nobody gunning for you. . . ."

Carly opened both eyes, searching his face.  "Really?"

He nodded.

She sat up, tucking the sheet around her bare breasts in an endearing show of modesty, a stark contrast to her earlier lack of inhibition.  "Exactly what did he say?"

He told her all he could remember about Phillips' phone call.  "He suggested you might want to stay out of New Jersey for a while, though," Wes added.

To his consternation, she frowned, bringing her knees up to her chest in a position he was coming to recognize as self-protection.  "So it's really over."

Anxiety snaked through him.  "That's a good thing, isn't it?"

She nodded.  "Of course.  I just—"  She pressed her lips together.  "I've been afraid of my own shadow for so long, I don't know how to feel relieved."

He stroked her hair.  "Give yourself a little time."

"Can we go back to Bangor in the morning?"

"Yep.  I'll call Floyd and Bonnie down at Floyd's cousin's place to let them know it's over."  He pulled her down between the sheets, tucking her spoon-style in the curve of his body.  Wrapping his arm around her belly, he pressed his nose into her damp, tousled hair.  "Go back to sleep.  We'll figure things out in the morning."

He made himself relax against her, closed his eyes and breathed deeply, filling his lungs with her scent, an intoxicating elixir of soap and sex.

As he drifted to sleep, he felt her press her cheek to his hand, one lone teardrop spilling over the back of his hand and sliding down his wrist.

THE CAR TOPPED A LOW RISE, and the town of Bangor came into view, nestled in a shallow, sun-kissed vale.  It was pretty in the morning light, Carly thought.  Like a bright new penny.

"Home sweet home," Wes murmured.

As their chauffeur-cum-FBI escort steered the rental car onto the road into town, Carly noticed a soft rushing sound.  It grew louder as they neared the edge of town, the rush becoming a dull roar, like wind in the distance.  A tingle of alarm rippled up her spine, lifting the hairs on the back of her neck.

She turned to Wes.  "Do you hear that?

He looked at her oddly.  "Hear what?"

The sound was loud now, impossible to miss.  Yet Wes looked unfazed, his eyes shimmer with affection as he gazed at the first buildings on the edge of town.  "That's the post office.  I saw a ghost there once."

Carly bent forward, tapping on the driver's shoulder.  "Don't you hear that?"

He glanced at her in the rearview mirror.  "I don't hear anything."

The noise had grown to an earthshaking rumble.  Carly twisted in her seat, trying to find the source.

Her heart shot into her throat.  Hurtling down the road behind them, a wall of water swelled and roiled, racing to overtake the car.  There was no escape.

Carly screamed as the tsunami swallowed the car, shattering the windows with its force.  Water gushed into the gaping holes, filling the floor of the car.  She pushed at the door of the car, but the pressure of the water held it shut.  In terror, she peered through the cascade of water, trying to find Wes.  But he was gone, swept out of the window by the force of the wave.

She reached for her seatbelt, tugging at the metal clasp.  But it wouldn't budge.  As the water rose to chest level in the car, she fumbled with the seat belt latch, her fingers shaking with panic.  She had to get out.  Heart clutching with terror, she clawed at the shoulder belt holding her lashed to the car seat, trying to rip it with her fingers.

Suddenly, a face pushed through the flood of water streaming in the broken windows.

Her mother's face.

Carly blinked hard, trying to clear the image from her head.  But her mother's face remained, pale, freckled, old before her time.  "What did you expect?" she said, her voice slicing through the roar of water.

"Ma?"

Bridget Sandano laughed, a sharp, bitter sound that rasped along Carly's nerves.  "It's a trap.  I tried to warn you!"

Carly yanked at the seat belt, trying to rip it from its moors as the rising water reached her chin.  But the belt only tightened, digging into her flesh and crushing her ribs until she could barely breathe.  Panic rose like bile in her throat, choking her as surely as the water rushing into her mouth with each gasping breath.

Her vision blurred, went red, then black.  Her heart hammered against her ribs.  But she kept struggling, desperate to be free.  Suddenly, the seat belt snapped, and she hurtled forward, stumbling, falling . . .

Her vision cleared and she found herself in a dark motel room, damp bed sheets twisted around her legs and Wes's arms snaring her against his chest.  She gasped for air, trying to calm the runaway cadence of her pulse.  Of the dream, only  fragments remained.  And panic, fierce and overwhelming.

She extricated herself from Wes's embrace, trying to move slowly, despite the jittery energy bunching and twisting through her muscles.  She slipped off the bed and padded quietly to the bathroom to retrieve her clothes, her nakedness only adding to her growing sense of vulnerability.

She couldn't do this.  No matter that every fiber of her body longed to crawl back into bed with Wes and pretend they could have that elusive happily ever after everybody dreamed about.  She knew better.

She should have gone days ago.

She dressed quickly, patting down the wrinkles left by a night lying crumpled on the floor by the tub.  She went back into the other room, pausing by the bed.

Wes hadn't awakened.  Her fingers ached to touch him, to trace the ridges and planes of his muscled torso, remembering the feel of his body sliding over hers as they made love.  She touched her cheek, still tender from the brush of his beard stubble against her face where he kissed her.

"I love you," she whispered, softly so he couldn't hear.

She wished love was enough.

The agent sitting outside the motel room gave a start when she walked through the door.  "What are you doing?"

She closed the door, quietly but quickly.  "Haven't you heard?  You're off duty."

"I heard you're off the hook up in Jersey," the agent corrected.  "That doesn't mean I'm off duty yet.  Not until we deliver you back home safely."

She lifted her chin, forcing the words past the lump in her throat.  "Bangor's not my home."

His eyes narrowed, as if he sensed the darker currents behind the statement.  "You're not meaning to leave, are you?"

"That's exactly what I mean to do."

The agent gestured with his head toward the room behind them.  "Is that okay with him?"

"It doesn't have to be.  He's not my keeper.  Neither are you."  She started toward the parking lot.

The agent moved quickly, catching her by the arm.  "Where do you think you're going?"

His words must have masked the sound of the motel room door opening, because it was Wes's low, tight voice that answered.  "Wherever she wants to go."

Carly turned slowly, her heart tumbling into the pit of her belly.  She made herself meet his dark, pained gaze.

"You didn't have to sneak out," Wes said softly.  "If you don't want to stay, you could have told me."

She blinked back hot tears.  "I thought it would be easier this way."

"For you, maybe."  Wes glanced at the FBI agent.  The agent immediately moved down the breezeway, stopping at the end of the building, out of earshot.  "You want to talk about this, or have you already made up your mind?"

"I can't stay any longer.  I should have left the first time I tried."

Wes passed his hand over his jaw.  In the clear, early morning stillness, she could hear the scrape of his beard stubble against his palm.  "And what happened last night—"

"Will probably be the only thing that gets me through the next few weeks."  Carly slumped against the brick wall of the motel's facade.  "I'm not a settling down kind of girl.  And you're not cut out to be a rambler."

"How do you know you can't be happy settling down?  Have you ever tried it?"

She shook her head.  "That should tell you something."

"It tells me you're a coward."

The words stung.  She glared up at him, wishing she could deny the accusation.  "Maybe I am.  But I don't know how to change."  She softened her tone.  "If anyone could have convinced me to stick around, it would have been you."

"Yay me," he murmured bitterly.  He turned to look toward the east, where pink fingers of light had begun to stain the dusky blue sky.  "Where are you going?"

"I have some loose ends to tie up on Atlantic City."

"Phillips said you probably shouldn't go back to New Jersey for a while."

"I won't be staying long.  I'll be out of town before they ever get a grand jury up and running for Dom's associates."  At least, she hoped so.

"And then what?"

She didn't answer.  She didn't know.

Wes's intense gaze moved over her, as tangible as a touch.  She felt naked beneath his scrutiny, bruised and vulnerable.

"Okay," he said finally.  He looked down the breezeway, catching the FBI agent's attention.  He motioned for the man to join them.

Carly watched the agent approach, knots forming in her belly.  He came to a stop in front of them, his expression wary.  "Can I help you?

Carly looked at Wes.  He met her gaze for a long moment, his eyes expressionless.  Then he turned to the FBI agent.

"Take her wherever she wants to go," Wes said.

Chapter Fifteen

Sarah Jane Burgess went home from the hospital the same day old Nate was finally released from the vet's office after almost two weeks of intensive care for the gunshot wound he'd suffered the night Wes had killed Dominick Manning.  Wes and his father volunteered to pick up the bloodhound while Floyd and Bonnie delivered Shannon Burgess and her brand new baby girl back to their own home in Hickory Woods.

Wes arrived just as his uncle was helping Shannon out of the car with the baby.  Big brother Jackson hopped up and down as he followed them into the house, talking a mile a minute.

Wes helped the old bloodhound out of the large crate strapped in the truck bed.  J.B. joined him at the tailgate, picking up the conversation they'd been having on the way from the vet.  "You didn't even get an address where to reach her?"

"No."  Wes pressed his lips together, tired of the entire subject of Carly Sandano.  She'd left.  She wasn't coming back.  And he sure as hell wasn't chasing after her.

"I heard the Hake girl say she'd like to at least send her a birth announcement.  Maybe you ought to look into it."

Wes threw Nate's leash into his father's gnarled hand.  "Here.  You want to exercise that hand some more, take Nate to do his business before he goes inside."

And leave me in peace.

J.B. took the leash, wrapping the end around his bad hand a couple of times for more traction.  "It don't get better by ignoring it," he muttered, walking the dog toward the edge of the yard.

Wes walked up the weathered steps of the sprawling wood porch and caught up with Jackson, scooping him up into his arms.  "You still mad it's a girl, buddy?"