Pursuit (36 page)

Luckily, it was the time of evening in which Mexicans came out in force on the streets. There were at least twenty other people around. The big guy noticed them all, but Barrett didn’t stand out in any way. He continued talking into his dead phone, eyes unfocused. Still with his arm around her, the big guy walked Charlotte Court down to the beach. Barrett didn’t follow.

His time would come. Soon.

San Luis

May 7

“I need to ask you something,” Matt whispered in her ear late in the evening two days later.
He wants to talk?

No way. Her heart was still racing, her muscles had turned to water and her brain to Cream of Wheat.

“Mfff,” she answered into his biceps, pulling her hand out from under the covers to wag a forefinger back and forth.
No
.

Amazing how only minutes before she’d been supercharged with energy as they made love. Infused with it, tingling with it.

Her heart and her mind and her body had been completely open to him—as they had been since she’d confessed. Making love with him was all-consuming, it was as if he filled her heart and mind, not just her body.

She was still in mindless free fall from her climax, lost in the sensations of her own body—

and he wanted to
talk
?

Matt tightened his arms around her as he turned them over in bed. It was mean of him, because she’d actually had to move a muscle. Several muscles. But soon enough she was slumped on his chest, her head had found her favorite spot on his shoulder, and she was sliding deliciously from stunned pleasure to sleep when he lifted her up by the shoulders and shook her lightly.

The beast.

“Charlotte, open your eyes.” She shook her head, eyes scrunched shut. “Come on, open those gorgeous eyes of yours.” Annoyingly, he tapped her on the nose. With a deep, heartfelt sigh, Charlotte opened her eyes and glared at him. “What?” she asked, aggrieved, and got an answering grin.

“We need to talk about what we’re going to do when Tom comes back.”

Charlotte laid her head back down on his shoulder, her new favorite place in the world, wide-awake now. “Depends on what he finds.”

“He’ll find what’s necessary to clear your name. Tom’s good. And we have to think beyond that, to what comes next.”

What comes next
. Who knew what came next? Charlotte could barely get her mind around the idea of Tom clearing her name. Matt’s face had turned somber. Her answer meant a lot to him. But she had no answer.

“I have no idea what comes next, Matt,” she said softly.

He angled his head so he could see her face. “Tom’s job offer is a very good one.” He watched her eyes carefully. “His company’s solid, and the money’s good, too. There might even be a partnership down the line. It would mean relocating to San Diego, though. And I don’t want to go alone. I want you to come with me.”

There it was. She’d been expecting it, and she hadn’t been able to come to a decision about what she’d say. At one level—
yes, I’ve never felt like this about a man before, of
course I’ll come with you
—was the obvious answer. But how could she say that? Her life was lying in shards around her. Even assuming Tom could clear her name—a megahuge assumption—there were a thousand things she needed to take care of in Warrenton. The company, the—

He’d been massaging her neck muscles, that large hand warmly rubbing, the long fingers reaching up to caress her scalp. His other hand had been travelling slowly up and down her back, but now, sneakily, he reached to cup her breast.

Heat zinged through her system, and her mind simply shut down as chills raced over her skin. Her stomach muscles clenched, and her breath caught when he absently rubbed the pad of his thumb over her nipple. Delicate intimate muscles clenched, as if she hadn’t just had a shattering climax. Her body was completely out of her control. When had that happened?

She frowned, knowing her face was flushed with desire. “You’re going to make me do whatever you want, and you’re going to use sex to do it, aren’t you?”

He made a low rough sound in his chest, a lion’s growl. His eyes—those intelligent chocolate eyes—were slitted and focused on her. “Yeah, if it works, use it, I always say. So, coming back to—”

They both froze as the cell phone Tom had given him rang. Matt had kept it constantly within reach these past two days, and all he had to do was stretch out his hand. He sat up, thumbed it open, and punched the red decryption button. “Yeah, talk to me.”

Charlotte sat up, too, pulling the sheet up under her arms, shivering, the languor and heat of sex completely banished. She watched Matt’s face but as usual, she couldn’t read anything. He listened carefully, saying only “Uh-huh,” at irregular intervals. Tom spoke for fifteen minutes, and Matt finally said, “Good job, Tom. I knew I could count on you,” and flipped the cell phone closed.

“What? What?” Charlotte reached out to touch his arm, to anchor herself. Her heart was pounding, and it was hard to breathe.

Matt placed his hand over hers and it calmed her, a little. “Okay, this is what Tom found out. He has plenty of law enforcement contacts in the Northeast, and he called in some markers.”

Charlotte shuddered at the thought of law enforcement officers studying her case. Tom would have to say where she was hiding. They could be already on their way here. She barely had time to panic before Matt squeezed her hand. “Tom went over the case with a good friend in the FBI. The friend was appalled at the behavior of the Warrenton PD.

“They ran a check on the gun that killed the nurse, though there were no prints. It had been wiped down. But the thing is—though the gun was unregistered, the bullet that shot Imelda Delgado matched a bullet found at the scene of an unsolved crime two years ago. A man had been shot in the kneecap. He was a recent hire at Court Industries—a lowlevel criminal who’d been boosting crates of material from the warehouse. Tom nosed around a little, and he found out that everyone suspected that the CI head of security—

Martin Conklin—had kneecapped the guy as a warning to others, but the guy wasn’t talking. Told the police he didn’t recognize the man who shot him. Tom paid him a visit and was . . . persuasive. So the guy is willing to swear under oath that the man who shot him was Martin Conklin. And the bullet that was recovered from this guy matches the bullet that shot Imelda Delgado. Slam dunk. And once Conklin goes down, he’ll take Haine with him. No one wants to do time for an asshole. Tom’s FBI buddy says that . . . well, to use a technical term, you’re home free.”

Home free.
Home. Free. Free to go home. A shudder began inside her, deep inside the core of her. The months of fear and grief and pain rose up like bile in her throat, her suddenly impossibly tight throat. A small sound escaped her, high and tight, a mewling whimper of emotion. Matt’s arms went around her, pulled her close, his big hand covering her head, as if to protect her. Another harsh bubble of sound she couldn’t suppress, and she broke down, crying out her rage and pain in great gulping sobs, crying so hard she could barely breathe.

Through it all, steady as a rock, Matt held her. He didn’t shush her or try to make her stop crying, as if understanding she needed this outlet as badly as she needed the air she was gulping in. He didn’t speak at all, simply held her tightly against him, offering the animal comfort of his body, instinctively knowing she needed the human contact as she was swept away on a tide of sorrow. One large hand covered the back of her head, the other anchored her waist, and his strength allowed her to let go.

She had no idea how long she cried—a minute? Ten minutes? She cried until there were no more tears, until the hot ball of grief in her chest subsided, until she could finally draw a deep breath.

Charlotte rested, spent, against Matt’s hard shoulder, wet with her tears. Her breathing finally slowed. “Better?” he asked quietly.

She nodded, surprised. Yes, it
was
better. It was as if she’d purged herself of something black and vile, something that had taken up an inordinate amount of space in her heart. The space was cleared now, and slowly the elements of her new life started to trickle in. First, Matt. Warm, strong, steady. Intriguing. Beyond sexy. Matt was part of her life now. And that life included freedom to move, an actual future with Matt in it, instead of the living from day to day that had been her life for the past months.

“Are you ready to listen to me?” Charlotte felt Matt’s chin move against her hair as he looked down at her. Amazingly, a big, white, laundered handkerchief smelling of starch appeared out of nowhere. Matt did handkerchiefs?

Charlotte sniffled and blew—well, honked—a little ashamed of the crying jag. She nodded and lifted herself up on her elbow. If he wanted to talk to her, he deserved to see her face.

“Okay,” he nodded. “First off, I love you. I think that needs to be said up front. Just get it out there.” He wiped the tears from under her eyes with his thumb. Charlotte’s heart gave a huge thump. His eyes narrowed as he saw her reaction. “I didn’t imagine that would be a huge surprise to you.”

It wasn’t surprise. It was recognition. The huge jolt your system gives when your life moves on to another track and you’ve just noticed.

“I love you, too.” She didn’t even have to think of it. The words came welling up from deep inside her, and it was the truest thing she’d ever said.

He nodded again, his hard mouth lifted in a half smile. “Figured that might be the case. It makes what comes next a whole lot easier to say. I imagine you’ll want to go home to Warrenton. We could leave tomorrow, if you want. I know that there will be . . . stuff you have to deal with. The FBI’s going to want to talk to you. You’ll probably have to testify, but that will be down the line. You’ve inherited a company, you’ll have to do something about that. I’ll be with you just as long as it takes. But when you’ve cleared the decks, I want you to know that we’ll live wherever you want to live. If you don’t want to relocate to San Diego, well, I can find a job just about anywhere.”

His face wasn’t totally unreadable to her anymore. It was impassive, yes, but there’d been a tightening of his features as he made his offer.

Her heart simply melted. The tears rolled down her cheeks, big fat ones that plopped on the sheet.

“Hey,” Matt said, alarmed. “Jesus, what’s the matter? I thought—”

She shut him up by leaning forward and kissing him, a soft brushing of lips, lifting away before he took control of it and they ended up rolling around in the sheets again. Sex with Matt was wonderful, but there were things she needed to say.

“I wouldn’t mind living in San Diego at all. I don’t care where we live, as long as I can be with you. I can paint anywhere. And in San Diego we can come down to San Luis when we want. Maybe even buy a little house here. Maybe even this one.”

“Yeah.” He didn’t even try to hide his relief. “Yeah, that’s what I was thinking. So I guess that leaves just one more thing to wrap up?”

“Mm?”

He fumbled for her hand. To Charlotte’s enormous surprise his hand trembled. That big, broad, brown hand shook. Amazing. He took in a deep breath. “Charlotte Court, will you marry me?”

Her mouth dropped open, and her mind went blank. Oh God, oh God.

They stared at each other. A bead of sweat formed on Matt’s temple and slowly rolled down his face.

Marriage.
Marriage
. A lifetime with this man. This big, tough warrior, totally unlike any man she ever thought she’d marry.

Marriage. Children.

Marriage . . .

Yes.
A thousand times yes.

The word couldn’t make it past the boulder in her chest, so she nodded, the tears falling again, harder and faster than before.

She breathed in sharply and the word made it through her tight throat. “Yes, oh
yes!
” She threw herself at him.

He caught her.

San Luis

May 8

Barrett walked right by Charlotte Court on the marina.

Fuck!
There were very few people out. His hand touched his knife. One second. That’s all it would take. One second, the knife sliding like butter between her ribs, puncturing the heart, and she’d drop like a stone. Or a quick slice to the femoral artery. By the time she looked down at the blood pumping out onto her white linen trousers, he’d be long gone. She’d bleed out before anyone could come to help her.

It could be so easy. A flick of his wrist, and she’d be stone dead. He could even grab her, fall into the water with her, swim under the quay, and hold her under until she drowned.

None of these were even remotely possible as long as she was walking with the tall guy with the watchful eyes, who seemed to be with her twenty-four/seven. An operator. He walked like an operator. Either law enforcement or military.

The client had been clear that it couldn’t look like murder. Two days ago, Barrett had sent the message to the bulletin board.

Found C in Mexico.

Haine must have been living with his computer because the answer came immediately.
Perfect. It must look like an accident.

So slicing and drowning were out of the question with the operator around. Slipping something in her drink to make it look like a heart attack?

Might be hard because she was looking so well. Fabulous, in fact. Barrett found it hard to believe this was a woman who’d been shot, a woman on the run from the authorities. She was slightly pink from the sun, perfectly healthy, huge smile on her face turned up to the big guy walking beside her, holding her hand. Neither of them paid him any attention, which was good. But the operator seldom left her side, which was bad. Well, if you have an obstacle and you can’t get around it, you have to blast your way through it. Barrett had thought it through and he had a plan that included the operator. Charlotte Court couldn’t fall prey to a violent mugger and no one would believe she had had a heart attack or was sick enough to die.