True Lies (23 page)

“I shouldn’t have told you.”

No, he shouldn’t have, she thought, her mind reeling. “That’s why you lost control, that’s why we...did what we did.”

“What we did was because of
us,
Emma. You and me. We weren’t thinking of the past, or the future. We needed each other because we needed to reaffirm life.”

“And surviving.”

He paused. “Yes. Surviving. We both carry around the scars of our past, and we've both found our own ways of dealing with it.” He pried one of her hands away from his waist and raised it to his lips. His breath puffed warm and rapid over her knuckles. “It’s late. We’d better get some rest.”

Emma had never felt more connected to another human being in her life. She didn’t want to release her hold on him. She wanted to pull his head to her breasts and let their bodies spin them to the sweet oblivion they had shared before. But they couldn’t make love. Because if she gave in to the urging of her heart at this moment, that’s what the act would be called. And she couldn’t love him. Not him. Please, not him. A tear slipped from beneath her tightly closed eyelids and soaked into the soft fabric of his shirt.

A shudder rippled across his back and he dropped her hand. “Go to sleep, Emma.”

Her arms felt empty as she let them fall to her sides. The cold of the night rushed over her the moment she no longer touched him. Shivering, she eased into her sleeping bag and turned away, curling up on her side. The spruce boughs rustled as Bruce stretched out behind her. The air crackled with emotions held back, with dangerous words left unspoken, with the invitation neither of them was willing to utter. Together, but apart, they lay motionless while the embers of the fire faded to blackness.

Chapter 12

T
he noise of the engine rose from a roar to a throaty scream as the truck rounded the curve. Logs creaked against the crib of steel ribs that enclosed them, gravel flew from the deeply treaded tires and clouds of dust billowed behind the wheels like a smoky white parachute. Bruce waved his arms over his head, then jumped off the road and braced himself for the rush of air as the truck rumbled past.

Emma coughed and squinted against the dust. “He doesn’t look as if he’s going to stop.”

“Give him a minute. Fully loaded like that it’s going to take him a while to slow down.” Red lights flashed on as the brakes hissed. Bruce grabbed their gear and loped along the edge of the road. “Come on.”

The truck didn’t manage to stop until it was halfway to the next bend. They caught up to it just as the door on the passenger side squeaked open.

“Where the hell did you two come from?” A powerful aroma of oil, sawdust and spearmint rolled outward as the driver leaned toward them. Straight black hair fell over his forehead. From beneath bushy eyebrows his dark brown eyes focused carefully on each of them in turn.

Bruce put on an awkward, harmless, unthreatening smile that Emma recognized immediately. “Man, am I glad to see you. Our van died a few miles up that trail. I’d appreciate it if you could give us a lift to a phone.”

The truck driver shifted a wad of gum the size of a golf ball to his cheek, causing one corner of his drooping moustache to twitch. “Sure. Climb on up.” The engine growled as he leaned back into his seat and shoved the gear lever. The truck shuddered and began to move forward. “Let’s go. I'm working on bonus.”

Emma quickly grasped the handle beside the door and swung herself onto the narrow step. The wheels hit a pothole, throwing her into the cab. Bruce leapt to the step behind her, tossed their belongings to the floor and steadied her with his hands on her waist. “There’s only the one seat,” he said, raising his voice over the increasing noise of the engine. “I'll slide in and you sit on my lap.”

It was all she could do to remain upright as the truck started to pick up speed. The trees beside the road marched past. Bracing her arm against the dashboard, she waited until Bruce slammed the door shut and maneuvered himself into the seat. The wheels hit another pothole and she fell backward against his chest.

“Hang on,” he said, wrapping his arm around her waist. He angled his knees to one side and positioned her securely on his lap. “Are you okay?”

She had to loop her arm around his shoulders for balance before she twisted her head to look at him. “Sure. Are you?”

His face was so close to hers she couldn’t miss the trace of strain around his eyes. With each bump in the road, some part of her rubbed or brushed or bounced against some part of him. “I'll be fine,” he answered tightly.

She looked away. She couldn’t ignore the forced contact of their bodies, but she had to try. They both had to try.

“What were you folks doing out here?” the driver asked, his voice a near shout.

“We're on vacation.” Bruce pressed her to his chest in order to angle his right hand toward the other man. “My name’s Prendergast. This is the missus.”

He lifted his hand from the shift knob for an instant to clasp Bruce’s. “I'm Smitty.”

“Thanks for picking us up.”

“No problem.” His mustache twitched rhythmically as he concentrated on chewing his gum. With the air rushing through the open windows, the crunching of the gravel beneath the huge tires and the roar of the engine, there was no more chance for conversation. Smitty kept his attention on the road, for which Emma was grateful. By now they were traveling fast enough for the trees to blur. Shadows lengthened and fingered across the windshield while one bumpy, dusty mile blended into the next.

They were dropped off much the same way as they were picked up. The wheels barely stopped moving long enough for Bruce to grab their gear and jump out. He held up his arms to catch Emma and swung her to the ground beside him as the truck jerked into motion once more. She shook her head in an attempt to clear the ringing in her ears, then looked around to study their surroundings. A white church spire poked above the rooftops in the distance. On the other side of the road there was a gas station with old round-topped pumps, a restaurant with a weathered soft drink sign over the door and a handful of stores. On this side she saw a bank and a post office. She had missed the sign at the edge of the small town, but this could have been Castlerock for all she cared.

“We made it,” she said. “We actually made it.”

“I never had any doubts.”

A pickup truck rattled past. A mournful beagle sat in the back, turning its head to stare at them. Emma brushed the dust from her jeans and straightened her shirt.

“You look fine, Emma.”

She glanced up at him quickly. “I'm surprised that dog didn’t bark.”

He didn’t smile. The blond stubble on his cheeks shifted as his jaw clenched. “It would take more than two days in the bush to dull your looks.”

She could say the same about him. Even more. The sun had darkened the light tan on his face, making the startling blue of his eyes more intense. The wrinkled, ripped shirt only added to his aura of rugged masculinity. She hitched the string from the sleeping bag over her shoulder and looked away. “Thank you.”

“It was a statement of fact, not a compliment.”

“Thank you, anyway.”

“Would you like some dinner?”

“Sounds good to me.”

“There’s a restaurant across the road. After we eat something, we can check into the motel I noticed when we came through town.”

“How are we going to pay for it?”

“I've still got my wallet.”

“They might not serve us, considering what we look like.”

“I've still got my badge, too.”

Of course, he’d have his badge. Can’t forget that badge. She pressed her lips together and fell into step beside him as they crossed the road. The exhilaration of making their way out of the bush unscathed was short-lived. Reaching this town meant more than a good meal and a hot bath, and they both knew it.

* * *

The motel was a long, low, salmon-colored building set into the remains of the woods that encroached on the outskirts of the town. A large station wagon with a baggage carrier attached to the roof was parked in front of one room, a dusty truck cab minus its trailer was in front of another. Business was slow, so even with no vehicle and questionable luggage, Bruce hadn’t had any trouble obtaining a room.

Wisps of steam and the scent of the motel soap wafted around him as he paused in the bathroom doorway to rub his hair with a towel. The place had the impersonal, anonymous neatness of any number of motels in any number of small towns that he’d passed through. A television was bolted to the wall in the corner, the color scheme was a bland beige and rust, and the double bed was made up as tight as a cracker box. How many nights had he spent in his own bed this year? He couldn’t remember. He never objected when the job had taken him away from home for months at a stretch. The apartment wasn’t really a home, though. He had no home, not anymore.

The mattress creaked as Emma sat on the edge of the bed to comb her wet hair. Bruce tossed the towel over the shower rod and pulled on his shirt, uncomfortable with the silence. She had barely spoken during their dinner at the restaurant, but then, neither had he. Oh, they’d been hungry enough to ignore the curious stare of the waitress and polish off steaks that could have choked a lumberjack, but that wasn’t why the conversation had died. The tension between them was getting worse. He didn’t know why he was putting off this phone call. They’d been in town for almost two hours now. Their time together was nearing an end. He had to forget how she’d shuddered in his arms, and how she’d cried against his back....

The sex two nights ago had been understandable, but what had happened last night had been a real mistake. Why the hell had he told her about Lizzie? He didn’t tell anyone. He’d closed off that memory as efficiently as he’d closed off his heart. Dredging it all up again should be reminding him of why he’d made the decisions he had, and why he wanted to be nothing other than what he was. Only it hadn’t worked that way. Now that he’d unearthed that memory for Emma, he’d been remembering other things, not just the pain. He’d been remembering what it had felt like to have a woman by his side, to see that warm glow of love in someone’s eyes, to know that he didn’t have to face life alone.

Yet whatever memories had been stirred up, it shouldn’t make any difference. It was only physical, the way Emma drew him. They’d both agreed that’s all it could be. They were almost finished with each other. Once he called Xavier, he would know where they stood. By tomorrow she’d be back in Bethel Corners and he’d be wherever he was needed. Dragging this thing out would only make it worse.

Taking a deep breath, he walked to the other side of the bed and picked up the telephone.

Emma must have been waiting for this. She tossed down the comb and braced her hands on her knees. “What are you going to tell him?”

“The truth.”

“Everything?”

“Everything that concerns the case.”

“What are you going to say about Simon?”

He put the phone back down, keeping his hand on the receiver. “Would you rather tell them?”

“No. I couldn’t. I’d feel as if I were betraying my brother.”

He’d known how she’d feel. After all, he understood her. “Your loyalty to your brother is misplaced.”

“No, it’s not misplaced. He’s the only family I have left, and I'll do everything I can to help him. I know I've probably made mistakes in the way I've tried to protect him, but my loyalty won’t change. We can’t help who we love.”

“He’s broken the law.”

“He gambled and was in debt. He was doing the smuggling to pay off what he owed. He deserves leniency.”

“Do you condone what he was doing?”

She angled her knee onto the bed and turned to face him. “Of course not. I might not like the law, but I know right from wrong.”

“Your brother’s fate isn’t up to me. Or you. If he wants to straighten himself out, then that’s up to him. Let it go, Emma. You've done all you could.”

Her chin lifted. For a moment it seemed as if she wanted to argue further, but then she swallowed hard and averted her face. He lifted the receiver to his ear and punched in the number.

The familiar gravelly voice came on the line after six rings. Time seemed to collapse on itself. Bruce felt an instant of disorientation until he automatically slipped back into the role he was more accustomed to. As concisely as he could, he told Xavier what had happened from the moment the Cessna had lifted off for the rendezvous in the St. Lawrence. Emma’s spine stiffened as he reported what he had learned about Simon, but he told everything, just as he’d said he would.

“Sounds like one hell of a mess,” Xavier growled when Bruce had finished.

“That’s an accurate assessment. What’s been happening at your end for the past two days?”

“Another mess. McQuaig pulled up stakes.”

“What?”

“Cleaned out the warehouse, got rid of the freighter, generally sank back under his rock. Something spooked him. Could have been that woman. You're sure she’s on the level?”

Bruce didn’t even hesitate. “Yes. I'm sure.”

“And you're sure she couldn’t have tipped them off?”

“Positive.”

“Okay. If that’s the case, McQuaig might just be playing cautious. As long as he thinks the Duprey woman is dead, he might be tempted to resume business. I'll send someone to pick you up tomorrow morning and bring both of you back to Bethel Corners. We'll firm up our plans then. Meanwhile, keep out of sight.”

“Why Bethel Corners?”

“Jurisdictional politics, couldn’t be helped. I'm due to meet Sheriff Haskin tomorrow.”

He frowned. “I don’t like Haskin.”

“Who would? From what I've heard, he’s a living, breathing stereotype of the small-town bully. He gives the whole profession a bad name, but we have to work with him.”

“Why?”

“He ran the plates on your 'Vette, dug around a bit and found out something was going on in his territory. We had to bring him in on the investigation.” Papers shuffled briefly before Xavier spoke again. “Do you think there’s a chance of Simon Duprey turning state’s evidence?”

“It’s possible. Why?”