Pursuit (16 page)

Oh yeah. Haine was the kind of man who’d have made a real effort. Clearly, it hadn’t worked out, and Haine was reduced to digging up flower beds and killing cats. He was spattered with blood, hair wild, eyes showing their whites.

Barrett stepped back in disgust. Some men simply didn’t know how to control themselves.
Good thing I have Haine by the short hairs—the guy is fucking crazy,
he thought.

San Luis

April 26

Matt took a long, cold shower. He needed it. He couldn’t remember when he’d wanted a woman more and when she’d stopped him, he’d nearly howled in frustration. But she wasn’t being a tease. Her face had gone white, and she’d trembled. So he’d focused hard on the bullet wound in Charlotte’s shoulder and calmed himself down.

Charlotte was in trouble. That beautiful woman, who’d wanted to throw herself into the ocean to save him when she couldn’t even swim, had an enemy out there somewhere. Someone who had tried to kill her once and maybe was planning to hurt her again. His Angel was on the run here in San Luis.

Smart girl. This was a good place to go to ground. A lot of the foreigners were drifters, artists. Most refugees escaped from something, if only cold weather, a bad marriage, or a dead-end job. It was the kind of place where no one asked questions. So she’d instinctively chosen well.

Mexico had a 180-day tourist visa, and Matt was as sure as sure could be that a lot of the foreigners here had run over the time limit of the permit, but as far as he knew, the local cops didn’t enforce anything. She could stay here for almost forever if she didn’t tangle with local law enforcement.

Matt rummaged in the neat kitchen, putting together a breakfast of tea, yogurt, and fresh fruit, fiercely missing the bacon and eggs he usually had at Lenny’s. He worked slowly, making reassuring kitchen noises she was sure to hear, to give her time to put herself together.

That air of mystery was real. She was in trouble, probably a lot if someone was willing to shoot her. That didn’t matter. He knew how to deal with trouble. Welcomed it, even. Oh, yeah.

Suddenly, Matt felt an infusion of energy run through his body. He’d been drifting for way too long now, consumed with putting himself together, unable to see past the next set of push-ups. Living day to day, hour to hour. But now he had a mission again—protecting Charlotte—and it felt damned good.

To protect her, Matt needed a data dump, fast. You can’t fight an enemy you don’t know anything about. He hated going into a fight blind and never did unless he was forced to. She was a woman alone, on the run, with no resources that he could see. Another woman would have angled for protection, probably through sex—God knows he thought about it enough—but not his Angel.

The hairs on the back of his neck stirred. She was here. He could feel her, he could
smell
her.

Turning slowly, he kept his expression bland, trying to look innocuous. Man in a kitchen, cooking. Nothing threatening about that. Too bad he hadn’t thought to put on an apron. She was watching him somberly, arms crossed tightly over her midriff, as if she were cold. It wasn’t cold. Yesterday’s storm had given way to a glorious, warm morning. She wrapped her arms around herself in an instinctive gesture, meant both to provide comfort for herself—though he was more than willing to do it—and to protect the vital organs.

“Matt—” She stopped, as if uncertain of what to say. Her eyes searched his, as if uncertain of her welcome. Did she think he was the kind of guy who got angry, maybe violent, when he was rejected? Matt couldn’t hurt her if he tried. He’d rather rip out his own throat. He needed for her to understand this.

Well, sometimes body language was better than words. He walked up to her, slowly, and bent to give her a warm kiss. He kept his hands by his sides and didn’t touch her anywhere except with his mouth.

It took a moment, but she kissed him back, rising a little on her toes. Her tongue stroked his, and it felt like an electric jolt straight down to his groin.
Whoa.
The point of this exercise was to reassure her, not for him to get all hot and bothered. He lifted his head.

“Good morning.” Matt kept his voice low and even.

He turned back to the counter, where he had been slicing fruit. Turning his back to her was a signal that he wasn’t tracking her, pushing her. “Sit down, and I’ll feed you breakfast.”

He heard her let out a pent-up breath in a long sigh as she decided she could handle breakfast with him. He almost let out a sigh himself when he heard the scraping of a chair as she settled at the kitchen table.

It could have gone either way. She could have told him to get lost. She could have thanked him for fishing her out of the water, then told him to get lost. Or she could accept his presence in her house. She’d opted for the latter. That first decision was over. She’d moved on to another decision branch.

Matt’s prime priority now was to keep her safe, and to do that he needed to stay close to her. Brutally blunt with himself, always, he also knew that besides keeping her safe, he was eager to get into her pants—though that was Priority Number Two, which was way into the future because if he tried to get into her pants again, and she rejected him, he could more or less kiss Priority Number One good-bye.

To accomplish his goals—both his goals—he needed to stay as close to her as possible, and so he needed to keep it in his pants, for now.

Matt had been pretty much used to getting his way all the time in the Navy. Mainly it was because he was an officer, but the fact that he was a better shot than most and that he was damned good in CQC—Close Quarters Combat—didn’t hurt, either.

None of that was going to help him now.

Charlotte definitely wasn’t going to follow his lead because he shot straight and could wrestle most men to the ground. No, she was a lady, and ladies needed charm. He was in deepest, deepest shit here, because he didn’t have any charm that he knew of. Charlotte sat gingerly at her small kitchen table, watching Matt’s wide back as he fiddled over the stove. He was taking an amazingly long time to prepare what looked like coffee and sliced fruit.

She dreaded having him turn around. Pretty soon he was going to ask some questions she couldn’t answer. So it was either lie or simply remain silent. She hated lying and wasn’t good at it, so the only alternative was dead silence. Matt Sanders had saved her life, and however much she owed him the truth, she simply couldn’t give it to him. She’d love to, though.

For a brief, searing moment, Charlotte was fiercely tempted to simply let go of her burden. Sit down across from him, across from that calm, strong presence, and talk. Just go ahead and tip her problems into those broad, capable-looking hands. Once she did, though, there would be no taking it back. Once she confided in him, his reaction would determine her life.

Of course, his reaction might well be—
let me protect you while we figure out how to prove
your innocence.
That’s what would happen in a perfect world, but Charlotte hadn’t been in a perfect world since her father had first been diagnosed with cancer. In no perfect world would Philip Court have been allowed to get cancer. This world was harsh, and bad things happened.

Because, of course, Matt’s reaction might well be—
you’ve got to turn yourself in to the
authorities.
Charlotte had no intention whatsoever of doing that until she was certain she could prove her innocence. Not as long as there was a chance of her being locked up while awaiting a trial for murder.

It would be nice to trust the system. Nice to feel that since she actually
was
innocent, that would make all the difference. Everything would be so simple then. All she’d have to do was go back to Warrenton, tell the chief of police what had happened and then go back home. But she knew better. Innocent people were locked up all the time. Whenever Charlotte thought too deeply about the trouble she was in, it made her panicky and terrified.
She
knew she hadn’t done anything wrong, but that wasn’t enough. Anyone who didn’t know her, didn’t know how desperately she had loved her father, could probably easily believe a district attorney arguing that she was a spoiled heiress who’d grown tired of being a nursemaid, tired of putting her life on hold for a sick father. It was easy to imagine a jury of workingmen and women wanting to slap down a young woman who’d never held a job in her life. Charlotte hadn’t had time to find a job. She’d interrupted her studies to care for her father.

Charlotte had never thought of caring for her father as a sacrifice. She loved him. He was the most charming and adorable man she’d ever known. Dropping her life to spend time with him as he ended his had been a privilege, not a sacrifice. In this modern world, however, who would believe that? On paper, Charlotte became a very wealthy young woman upon her father’s death, though she’d have gladly spent every penny to keep her father alive.

Robert had poisoned the chief’s mind, too.

If the chief of police, who’d known her, at least superficially, all her life could believe her capable of murder, so could Matt.

“Coffee,” he said, sliding the cup over to her. “Though judging by your supplies, you’d rather have tea.”

“Um, yes. But coffee’s fine.” There was an awkward mix of embarrassment and shyness, emotions she rarely felt.

Matt sipped and watched her, his dark eyes keenly observant. She had no idea what he was thinking.

She put her cup down. “Matt,” she said softly, “about before . . .”

He waved that away, crossing his forearms on the table and leaning forward. “You said he was alive.”

“What?” The abrupt change of subject confused her. “Who—oh.” The man who’d shot her. He’d asked whether he was alive. “Ahm, yes. I told you that last night.”

“Okay, Charlotte.” Matt’s eyes never left hers. “Let me tell you what I know. You were shot about two months ago, and you didn’t get proper medical care. Actually, from what I could see, you didn’t get any medical care at all. I can’t think it was because you didn’t have the money, because any emergency ward would have taken you in and, frankly, you look and you talk like you come from money. So that leaves fear. For some reason you were afraid to seek medical care because you knew that bullet wounds have to be reported to the police. So one of two things. Either you were on the run from someone, or you were on the run from the police.” His eyes gleamed in the morning light as he watched her. “And from your accent, I’d say that you are from the East Coast, New York State, maybe, so that means that you’ve traveled a long, long way to come here to San Luis. How am I doing so far?”

“Pretty good,” she whispered.

He nodded. “The rest has to come from you. I’ve Googled every single Charlotte Fitzgerald on the Web, and you’re nowhere. You might as well not exist for all the info I can find. Was he your husband?”

She couldn’t stop the words tumbling out of her mouth. “God, no.”

Matt nodded. “That’s very good because I spent a couple of hours last night running through some scenarios of you running from an abusive husband.” His lips tightened. “It wasn’t fun. I’m really pleased you didn’t marry the fucker.”

“No, I couldn’t.”

His gaze sharpened. “But he wanted to? He wanted to marry you?”

“Yes.” The word barely made it past the tightness in her throat.

“He’s still looking for you, isn’t he? You’re not out of danger.” It wasn’t a question. Charlotte’s jaws clenched. The coffee roiled in her stomach, threatening to come up.

“Can he track you here, to San Luis?”

She bit her lips so hard she wondered whether she’d draw blood.

Matt sighed. “I need to know what’s going on, honey. You’re going to tell me eventually, might as well be now.” He looked at her, waiting.

There was a huge boulder in her chest, weighing her down. Talking to him, telling him the truth would lift it. The temptation was enormous.

They sat in the silence of a sunny Mexican morning, listening to the faraway beach sounds coming in through the open window. It was warm, but Charlotte shivered. The silence was so deep it almost had weight and heft.

Finally, Matt closed his eyes and tipped his head back, letting his breath out in a long, controlled sigh. He got up, went into the kitchen, and came out with two plates.

“There you go.” He slid a plate in front of her, slid another plate across from her, and sat down in front of it. It wasn’t a bad breakfast, considering. A wonderful brand of Mexican yogurt she’d discovered, fresh mango, and slices of whole wheat bread. Perfect. There was even too much food.

Then she saw his expression as he looked at what was on the table and nearly laughed when a grimace crossed his face.

He hadn’t put on forty pounds of pure muscle in two months with yogurt and slices of fresh mango.

“I imagine you’re used to a more . . . hearty breakfast,” she said softly. His hard mouth lifted in a half smile. “Yeah. Lenny goes on food runs to San Diego and comes down with enough bacon and link sausage to choke a horse. You should be eating more, too.” He heaped sugar into his coffee, the teaspoon looking tiny in his huge hand.

“But the rabbit food breakfast is okay,” he said. “I’ll eat something afterward. I should stay light anyway, because I’m going right into the water.” He lifted his eyes, gaze hard and bright. “With you.”

Charlotte froze. “I beg your pardon?” He had shifted to warrior in the blink of an eye. It wasn’t so much a question of facial muscles tightening, it was more like steel suddenly flashing. She glanced out the window. It was a sunny day, but a brisk wind was blowing. “I don’t want to go swimming. It’s too chilly. The water will still be cold.”