The Marriage Profile (9 page)

“If you're talking about you and me—”

“I'm talking about Luke Callaghan and his little girl. If Luke thinks Del Brio has his daughter, he's not going to let something like the fact that he's blind stop him from going after Del Brio,” Justin explained. “And if Del Brio suspects that Haley is alive and he's kidnapped the kid to get at her, what chance do you think that baby has of seeing her next birthday if Del Brio finds out Luke is her father?”

“I didn't realize,” she murmured.

“Now that you do, I want your word that you won't say anything about this to anyone.”

“Of course.”

“Say it,” he demanded.

She looked up at him, met his gaze. “I promise not to say anything.”

“To anyone,” Justin prompted.

She thinned her lips. “I said I wouldn't say anything to anyone. Whether you believe me or not is up to you.”

Deciding he'd pushed her enough, Justin said, “All right.” He unhooked his seat belt. “I'll help you bring that stuff inside, and then I need to head back to work,” he told her, motioning to the files, baby blanket and stuffed animal.

“Don't bother,” she countered, and began trying to unhook her seat belt, which apparently was stuck.

“Let me get it,” he told her.

“I can do it,” she informed him, temper in her voice. She shooed his hands away, made a frustrated sound when the catch refused to release.

When she yelped because the thing pinched her finger, Justin pushed her hand away. “There,” he said as the catch gave, and when he looked up, he found himself close, too close to her. He wasn't sure if he moved that inch or if she did. All he knew was that suddenly they
were kissing. She tasted sweet and hot. She tasted familiar and yet new at the same time. He sieved his hands through her hair and drank her in. Her mouth fitted beneath his like it was made for him. Desire raced through him like a bullet. He slid one hand between them to cup her breast, and nearly lost it when he felt her nipple harden beneath the fabric and strain against his palm.

She tore her mouth free and gasped. “Justin, we…I…This is insane. We can't—”

Sanity came back in a rush. He jerked away, dragged in a breath. “You're right. This was a mistake. I don't know what I was thinking,” he admitted, irritated with himself, with her. He moved over to his side of the truck, needing some distance and a chance to clear his head. He rubbed a hand down his face.

“It was just a kiss, Justin.”

“Right. I know that,” he countered. “But it shouldn't have happened. I never meant to—I was out of line. I had no right to subject you to…” He was blabbering like a schoolboy, Justin realized, disgusted with himself.

“I said it's all right,” she told him. “It was only a kiss.”

But he'd wanted something to happen, Justin admitted. And judging by Angela's response, so had she. Only that was one road neither one of them should travel again—not if they had any sense. He let out another breath and tried again. “You're right,” he finally said. “It was just a kiss. But you don't have to worry, I promise it won't happen again.”

A
ngela pushed away from the combination desk and art table that she'd set up as a workstation in her condo and headed for the kitchen. Her stomach grumbled, a reminder that it was already after eight o'clock, long past dinnertime, and she hadn't eaten since breakfast. She pulled open the door to her refrigerator and eyed its meager contents. “Should have gone to the grocery,” she muttered, and retrieved a can of soda. Snagging the bag of chips and salsa from the pantry, she headed back to her work.

While she munched on the chips and salsa, she eyed the reports, statements, photographs and other items that she'd spread out across her workstation. But even though she tried to think about the case, tried to figure out what it was she was missing, her thoughts drifted back to Justin once more. In the two days since he'd kissed her outside in the driveway, he'd remained true to his word. It hadn't happened again. But his treating her like a stranger—or trying to—had done little to ease the sensual awareness between them. It was as though some inner radar went off in her every time they were in the same room with each other. Given the way Justin did his best to avoid being near her, she suspected he felt it, too.

The sexual chemistry that had sparked between them the very first time they met in training school was just as powerful now as it had been eight years ago. He wanted her, and didn't like the wanting one bit. The realization stung
almost as much as his bumbled apology for kissing her had, Angela admitted as she dunked the flat tortilla chip into the spicy red sauce. And if she had a lick of sense, she would stop thinking about Justin Wainwright and concentrate on this case. Because the sooner she found little Lena, the sooner she could go back to San Antonio and get out of Justin's life.

And maybe, maybe she could forget about him. Forget about the anger and hurt in his voice when he'd told her how much he'd loved her and how she'd shut him out. Forget the way desire had heated his eyes when he'd looked at her. Forget how his mouth had felt, hot and hard and demanding, when he'd kissed her. Forget the feel of his hands on her skin, strong and calloused, yet gentle.

Angela groaned and pressed the cold drink can against her cheek. She had to stop thinking about him. She had to—or she was going to drive herself insane. Putting the soda and snacks aside, she went into the bathroom, rinsed her hands and splashed cool water on her face. And then she headed back to work.

Picking up first the baby blanket and then the stuffed lamb that Josie Carson had given her, Angela made her mind go blank of everything but the little girl to whom the items belonged. “Talk to me, Lena. Talk to me,” she whispered. Closing her eyes, Angela held the blanket against her cheek and tried to pick up the dark-haired baby's aura.

It came to her in snatches. Laughter. The sound of a baby's giggles. The wonder at feeling the blond, silky hair. Lena's emotions, her baby's curiosity and joy continued to flash at Angela like strobe lights.

And then she saw her. Lena.

A dark-haired little girl, laughing, her chubby fingers reaching out for something. Angela frowned, tried to see
what or who coaxed the child, but she couldn't move beyond those outstretched fingers. Then more emotions hit Angela—surprise, fear, pain from something razor sharp—then darkness. At the sudden blackness, Angela wrapped her arms around herself. Caught up in the child's fear, Angela trembled. Tears ran down her cheeks. Instinctively Angela started to retreat from the overwhelming emotions, but she forced herself not to close the door. She had to relive Lena's fear, to listen to her weeping if she was going to find her.

When she thought her heart would break from the little girl's fear and distress and that she would not be able to go on, she heard it. Music. Soft, dreamy music that sounded like a lullaby. Suddenly new images flashed behind her shuttered lids—horses, a group of beautiful horses. A palomino, a black stallion, another with a snowy mane. A fence, some sort of track, an old wooden structure.

Concentrating, Angela tried to recapture a sense of the little girl. But instead of Lena, a string of new images assailed her, quick flickers that came in flashes. It was like trying to watch a movie with every other scene missing or slides in a projector being run at fast speed. Confused, she caught a glimpse of some sort of cave or cavern. Another clip showed her layers of dust. More slides revealed objects—groups of objects—heavy and rounded like the shape of a coin. Another blip of the screen and there was a cross, an old cup that had lost its patina. Unable to make sense of it, she stopped questioning what it meant. Instead she opened her eyes and did what she always did. She reached for her drawing pad and pencil and began to sketch.

Her fingers raced over the blank pages, trying to recapture what she'd seen in her mind's eye. And when Angela
finally put down her pencil and shoved away from the table, she was stunned to discover that nearly three hours had passed. Feeling drained, she stood and stretched her arms up over her head to ease the aching muscles in her back from sitting bent over her workstation for so long.

After getting herself a fresh soda from the kitchen, she returned to her workroom. And as she sipped the caffeine-laden drink, she viewed the sketches she'd made. The cave with the coins and cross, the cup and statues. None of it made any more sense to her now than it had when she'd first seen the images in her head. She set down the can of soda and began flipping through the rest of the pages in her sketch pad. She stopped at the pictures of the horses she'd drawn in a circle. Then she stared at the wooden fence she'd drawn. On still another sheet was the house—only she wasn't sure if it was a house. She shaded in the road she'd seen surrounding the structure. Then she went back to the sketch of the horses in the circle.

“A track?” she murmured. A track where horses were trained? Suddenly her heart began to race. Maybe this was where Lena was being kept, she thought. At some house or a place with a track for training horses. Excited that at last she was on to something, she hurried over and picked up the phone to call Justin. She began to punch in the number to the Wainwright Ranch, then stopped and hung up the phone. It was well past eleven o'clock. She couldn't call him this late, she told herself.

But as she glanced over at the little stuffed lamb on her worktable and remembered how frightened Lena had been, she picked up the phone again and dialed his number.

“Wainwright,” Justin answered on the second ring.

“Justin, it's Angela.” She waited a second, and when he didn't say anything, she repeated, “Justin?”

“Yeah?”

The gruff response did little to ease her nerves. “I hope I didn't wake you.”

“You didn't.”

“Oh, that's good,” she said, and wondered if she could possibly sound any more inane. She wet her lips, and quickly, before she lost her nerve, she blurted out, “I have something I need for you to see. It's a…picture of where I think Lena is being held. I realize it's late, and this could probably wait until morning, but I'm hoping you might recognize the place. Anyway, I was wondering if you could come over. Or I could come over to your place and—”

“I'll come there. Give me thirty minutes.”

And before she could thank him, the dial tone was buzzing in her ear.

 

Twenty minutes and several broken speed limits later, Justin pulled his truck up in front of Angela's condo. Except for the lights blazing in her place and the one on at the newlyweds', the rest of the block was in darkness. Judging from what he'd witnessed a few nights ago, the newlyweds were probably not asleep.

If he had any sense at all, Justin chastised himself, he wouldn't be thinking about what they were doing. Irritated by the direction of his thoughts, he shut off his lights and engine and exited the truck. He didn't even make it to the front door before Angela was pulling it open for him.

“Thanks for coming so quickly,” she said, and ushered him inside.

Justin nodded, trying not to notice the fact that she was barefoot and wearing a pair of worn jeans that hugged her bottom and made her legs look a mile long. But with the light at her back, it was impossible to ignore the view of the curves beneath her shirt.

“I appreciate you coming all the way out here this late at night. I mean, I probably should have waited until the morning.”

Justin jerked his gaze to her face and realized now what he hadn't when she'd first opened the door. She was wired. Probably running on fumes, if he had to guess.

“But then I thought—”

“Angela, slow down,” he said firmly. “I'm here now. So why don't we go inside and you take your time and tell me about this picture.”

“Right. Right,” she repeated, and hurriedly shut the door. “I guess I'm a little excited.”

She was more than a little excited, Justin realized as he noted the shadows beneath those overbright blue eyes and what he suspected were tear stains on her cheeks. She'd probably been at it for hours and was on the verge of collapse. Not that she would admit to it. She wouldn't. Angela's ability to lose herself in a case had been one of the things he'd both admired and resented about her during their marriage. While he'd appreciated her dedication, he'd also hated the way she would shut herself off from him and everything except the case.

“Well, at first I wasn't sure it meant anything,” she began, growing excited all over again as she explained. “But then when I started going back over the pictures—”

She was like a kid, racing ten miles a minute, he thought. “Whoa! You're going too fast. Take a deep breath, Angel,” he said, the endearment tripping off his tongue as it had so often in the past. Without thinking, he caught her by the shoulders and ran his hands down her arms.

And just like that, heat exploded in his veins. He released her at once and took a step back. But not before those big blue eyes of hers locked with his. Not before he
heard that catch in her breath that told him she'd felt those sparks, too. “You said you had a picture you wanted me to see,” he pointed out, annoyed with himself because in less than a minute the past two days of reining in his desire for her was in danger of going up in smoke.

“Yes. It's in here.”

Determined to see the picture she wanted to show him and get out of Dodge before he did something stupid, he followed her into the den he'd seen for the first time a few nights ago.

“I suppose it would have made more sense to set up an office in the extra bedroom,” she explained, evidently noting his surprise at the changes. “But I liked it better in here.”

It wasn't difficult for him to figure out why she'd turned one corner of the room into her work area. The openness of the big room and the picture window on the far wall would have appealed to her. The fireplace, rug and pillows would have given it a cozy feel and made it feel less like an office. Accustomed to sizing up a scene quickly due to his law enforcement training, Justin noted the bulletin board with a map and arrows linking locations that she'd anchored to the wall in front of her workstation. A photo of Lena was pinned at the top of the board, a reminder he was sure, that the baby was depending on her. In front of the bulletin board sat an art table piled high with books, folders and reports. The baby blanket and stuffed lamb that Angela had gotten from the Carsons during their visit two days earlier was beside a stack of files. An open notebook filled with what he recognized as Angela's handwriting sat next to it. At the center of the table lay several art pencils and a sketch pad. “Looks like you've been busy.”

“I suppose so,” she said, as though only now seeing the worktable and the array of material.

On the edge of the table atop a napkin sat a can of soda that Justin suspected was lukewarm, an open bag of chips and a jar of salsa. Remembering her tendency to fuel up on caffeine and junk food, he chalked up her hyper state to tonight's diet. Walking over to the desk, he gestured to the snacks. “I take it this was your dinner?”

Angela blinked, then looked at the chips as though she hadn't a clue how they'd gotten there. “Actually, it was lunch and dinner,” she confessed.

He started to lecture her about taking better care of herself, but reminded himself that Angela Mason and her eating habits were no longer his concern. Instead he opted to ask, “So what is it you've found that's had you too busy to eat a decent meal?”

“Not everyone considers steak and potatoes a decent meal,” she informed him, and Justin told himself it was just as well that he'd put her on the defensive. “But to answer your question, I spent most of my evening going over the reports and statements, and didn't come up with much more than you or the FBI already have. Then I tried using Lena's things, to see if I could get a sense of what might have happened to her.”

Justin read the challenge in her eyes that he'd heard in her voice, but he remained silent and waited for her to explain.

After a moment she continued, “Josie said the day Lena was kidnapped from her nursery, that she found her gone when she went in to check on her during her nap. I think whoever kidnapped her had staked out the Carsons' place and knew Josie's routine. When Josie put the baby down for her nap, they snatched her.”

“We've always suspected as much,” he conceded. “But if Del Brio is behind the kidnapping, we haven't been able to link him to it. And believe me, I've tried. Since there's
been no ransom demand, we have to also consider the possibility that Lena's mother—whoever she is—is the one who kidnapped her.”

“It wasn't her,” Angela replied.

“How do you know?”

“Because whoever took Lena used something—a doll or a toy of some kind—as a means to get close to her without scaring her and then they snatched her. Once they had her, they covered her up with something so that she couldn't see. She was terrified,” Angela said, her voice little more than a whisper.