Ruthless Cross

by Barbara Freethy

  "It can be a comforting beat," she agreed. "I often sleep with the windows open. But I have to admit that I like watching the water more than I like being in it."

  "You're missing out. Being farther away from the shore gives you a new perspective."

  "But it's deep and there could be sharks. Have you ever run into one?"

  "No."

  "And you're not scared that you will?"

  "Terrible things have happened in my life that I never expected, that I never worried about. Those events taught me not to try to predict the future. I just deal with what's in front of me."

  "That's a good philosophy. Is it really that easy?"

  He smiled. "No. But it's a goal I keep going after."

  She nodded, falling silent for a moment. Then she said, "It's not that cold out, even for January."

  "The benefit of living in Southern California."

  "I bet London was a lot colder."

  "It was also grayer and wetter."

  "Does your mom still live in England?"

  "Yes. She lives in Bath now, a cottage very near to where Jane Austen lived as a teenager. She's written a couple of novels that she managed to get published by a small press. They aren't bestsellers, but they found their way onto some bookstore shelves, including the place where she works part-time. She met a new man last year and they've been dating for a few months. I haven't met him yet, but she told me he's a good man. I hope that's true."

  "She sounds happy."

  "She is now. It took a while for her to get there. My dad's betrayal was very painful. She had no idea she'd fallen in love with a criminal. It wasn't even that he was a thief; it was that he left us to save himself. She couldn't forgive that."

  "How did she feel about you going into the FBI to look for your father?"

  "She didn't like it at all. She was afraid I was going to find him and afraid I wouldn't. She didn't want me to spend my life chasing his ghost or being caught up in the same world that had ripped apart our family. Of course, I didn't listen to her. I was obsessed when I was younger. I wanted to see his face again. I wanted to confront him for everything he'd done. I wanted him to have to see me, to have to hear what he did to us. And there was a part of me that wanted to put him in jail, to make him pay." He could still feel that fiery anger.

  "I'm a little surprised you haven't been able to find him, given your connections."

  "He went deep underground, somewhere far away from here. I'm sure he changed his name. And I suspect he had enough connections in the black market that he was able to find enough money to start over."

  "Do you think he's still doing what he was doing?"

  "I don't even know if he's alive, so speculating about anything else is pointless."

  "Well, I'm glad your mom was able to get her life back together, and that she might have a new love now. Trusting another man wouldn't be easy for her." Callie paused, tilting her head as she gave him a thoughtful look. "What about you? I know you've moved past your father's betrayal, but what about Olivia. Have you moved past her death, too?"

  "Both events happened a long time ago, Callie."

  "That's not an answer. Have you had any other long-term, serious relationships since Olivia?"

  "First of all, Olivia and I only dated about six months before she died, so long-term wasn't that long. We were kids. We were crazy about each other, but we were young."

  "And after she died…who came next?"

  He frowned at her pressing question. "I had one relationship in my twenties that lasted about a year but wasn't meant for forever. Since then, I've been busy with work. I travel a lot. I work unpredictable hours. I get obsessed with a case and I can't think of anything else until it's solved. None of those things make me a good boyfriend. Believe me, I've been told that a lot by the women I have dated."

  She laughed. "I'll bet."

  "So, I prefer to keep things light, easy."

  "In other words, you're like most guys I know," she said dryly.

  "I hope not. I'd rather be one of a kind."

  "Sorry, but I've heard this song before. Everyone uses work as a reason not to commit, but that's never the reason. It's always about the person. When you find someone that you want to see every single day of the week, then work doesn't matter. That's my opinion, anyway."

  "Didn't you tell me earlier that you've been too busy to date, too, that you've been building your career?"

  "Well, I didn't say I wasn't like everyone else," she admitted.

  He appreciated her candor. Callie was not a woman who played games, and that was refreshing. Although, they weren't dating, so perhaps that's why they could be more honest with each other.

  "Love scares me," she continued. "I've seen what love has done to my mom. All those emotions can be overwhelming and exhausting. I'm not sure I need that in my life."

  "You're not your mother."

  "I've always been a little afraid that I could be like her. When I was younger, if I started to cry, I'd immediately force myself to stop. I thought if I broke down even a little bit, I might fall completely apart. I did everything I could not to let myself get too involved, too caught up in anything or anyone."

  "Because if you didn't allow yourself to care, you couldn't be hurt." He thought that was a rather sad way to live, but he completely understood her fears.

  "And there would be no tears," she added. "No endless harangue of whining and crying and feeling like I was in a black hole that I couldn't get out of."

  "That kind of isolation can prevent you from living a full, rich life," he said, not liking the way she'd put her emotions on ice.

  "But I won't end up in a psych ward."

  "You wouldn't end up there even if you did let go a little. Your core is steel, Callie. Beautiful, determined, stubborn steel."

  Her gaze widened in surprise. "No one has ever described me that way."

  "Maybe you've never let anyone see you that way. But I see you."

  Their gazes clung together as the air between them sizzled. He felt an irresistible pull in her direction, and he shut down all instincts warning caution. He'd always liked to live dangerously, and tonight was no exception.

  He slid his hand around the back of her neck. She didn't say no or push him away, so he leaned over and covered her mouth with his.

  It was a hot kiss on a cold, dark night, and it felt incredibly close to perfect. As he deepened the kiss, they moved closer together, their arms coming around each other in complete accord. There was something so right about kissing her. It was new and exciting, but it also felt completely familiar, as if they'd been kissing each other forever with a hunger that would never go away.

  The crashing of the waves perfectly reflected the turmoil of desire building inside of him. But just like the ocean, there was danger within the beauty of the moment. He didn't want to hurt her. He didn't want to get hurt.

  They'd both been fleeing the possibility of that kind of pain for a long time, and now they had crossed a line that they probably couldn't cross back. They'd opened the gates to something amazing and possibly terrifying.

  Callie pulled away first, her breath curling up like hot clouds in the chilly air. Her lips were parted, as she drew in a shaky breath, and he wanted back in that warm cavern of heat. He wanted to kiss her again. He wanted to strip away all the layers between them, get even closer to this beautiful woman who'd stolen the breath out of his chest from the first second he'd seen her.

  But Callie was sliding away from him, wrapping the blanket around her like a suit of armor.

  He watched her for a long minute, not sure what he wanted to say. She seemed to be suffering from the same lack of words.

  "You should probably go," she said finally. "It's getting late."

  He nodded, disappointed by the words she'd eventually come up with. On the other hand, they were dancing dangerously close to a precipice. It would be wiser to back away from the edge before things got too complicated. Although, he had a feeling it was a
lready too late for caution.

  As she stood up, he also got to his feet, then followed her into the apartment. The bright lights of her home reinforced their return to reality. But it also gave him another chance to look at her, to see the desire still glittering in her eyes.

  "Callie," he began.

  She shook her head, giving him a warning look. "Let's not talk about it."

  "Why not?"

  "Because some things should just be what they are in the moment. Tomorrow we have to get back to finding Arthur's killer and proving my mother's innocence. That's what we should focus on. You said noon tomorrow for Palm Springs?"

  He was impressed with her immediate return to focus, something he usually excelled at. "Yes. That should work."

  "Then I'll see you tomorrow."

  "Are you going to be all right here by yourself?"

  "I'll be fine."

  "You can call me any time," he said, even though he knew she wouldn't call.

  "I have your number, but I'm just going to go to bed and hopefully catch up on the sleep I missed last night." She crossed the room and opened the door.

  He paused in front of her. "Just for the record—that moment we had was amazing."

  "But it shouldn't happen again."

  "Maybe it shouldn't," he said, as he walked into the hallway. "But, somehow, I think it will."

  Flynn didn't sleep well, tossing and turning with both thoughts of Callie and questions about Arthur. He got up around seven on Sunday morning and did what he always did when he needed to make sense of his life; he went surfing. He wasn't alone on the ocean. There were dozens of weekend surfers in wetsuits paddling their boards out to the break, but he kept his distance from the crowd, wanting to be on his own.

  As he sat on his board, looking for just the right wave, he couldn't help thinking that it wasn't a wave he needed, but some hard leads. He had a few clues: Arthur's second phone, the pictures of the paintings, the mysterious Layana, the Palm Springs property that hadn't come up on the list of Arthur's assets, the calls between Arthur and Gretchen, and Arthur and Marcus Vitelli. There was also Victoria Waltham's suggestion that his father might be back in business, that piece of info allegedly having come from Arthur.

  He didn't want his dad in the middle of this. His relationship to Arthur was enough of a conflict of interest. If his father was involved, he'd have to take himself off the case, and even though his team was good, he wanted to lead the investigation.

  There was also the issue of the break-in at Arthur's house. Had that person been looking for the phone and the photos or something else entirely? Did they know about the house in Palm Springs? Would it be cleaned out by the time he arrived?

  And then there was Callie. Her beautiful face had been in his head all night.

  He'd kissed women before to get what he needed in the pursuit of justice. But all he'd wanted last night was her. He didn't know if she believed that. Deep down, she still didn't trust him, and he couldn't completely blame her. He was sending her mixed messages, because he had mixed emotions. Getting personal with her had enabled him to learn things more quickly, but it had also made him vulnerable, because she knew things about him, too. And vulnerability was a weakness in any investigation.

  Actually, he considered it a weakness in every part of his life, which was why he so rarely shared his past with anyone. No one outside his friends from Quantico knew about his father. His high school friends, who had been around at the time of his father's disappearance had disappeared long ago. In his present-day life, discussion of his dad never came up. If someone asked, which was rare, he simply said his parents were divorced and his father was out of his life. They never pressed for more details.

  But he and Callie had gotten very deep very fast. Maybe it was knowing what she was dealing with that had made it easier to open up. They'd both revealed parts of themselves that rarely saw the light. He didn't want to abuse the trust she'd put in him, and he hoped she felt the same way.

  He thought she did. She was a good person. She wasn't just pretty on the outside; she had a beautiful spirit. She loved deeply, especially when it came to her mother. But that depth of love scared her. She'd admitted that last night. She couldn't handle anyone else needing her in such a profound way. It was too much, so she stayed away from relationships.

  He stayed away from relationships, too, but not for the same reason. Well, maybe it was partly the same reason, he silently admitted. Although in his case, it was more about avoiding pain than need. The anger he'd felt when his father had abandoned them had been overpowering. He'd literally put his fist through a wall. And the grief he'd felt when Olivia had died had almost driven him mad.

  Both events had happened a long time ago, and he had moved on. He had cared about other women. He had grown up. He had become his own man. But now the door to the past had been thrown wide open, and he was being forced to step through it.

  "What are you waiting for—an invitation?" Wyatt asked, as he paddled over to him.

  Wyatt Tanner had joined his task force a year ago, and while they'd been rivals during their Quantico days, now they were tight. He had great respect for Wyatt's undercover skills. He was a chameleon: he could go into any situation, any environment, and own it. It was a true talent. Although, that talent had almost gotten him killed a few times.

  Beyond the job, he'd always felt a kinship to Wyatt, because Wyatt's father, an investment banker, had gotten himself and his clients and even his older son into serious financial trouble and legal trouble by playing fast and loose with the law. But unlike his father, Wyatt's dad had gone to jail, and his brother had as well. Wyatt had fortunately been too young to get caught up in the family business. He'd ended up working for the FBI, just as Flynn had.

  He smiled into Wyatt's curious brown eyes. "I was thinking."

  "That tends to happen when you're sitting on a surfboard. But did you come out here to think or to surf?"

  "I came out here because it's where I go for answers."

  "Find any?"

  "Not yet. I thought you weren't supposed to be back until later today."

  "Avery got an invitation to speak at UCLA tomorrow, and she wanted to take it, so we took an earlier flight and got in last night."

  "Cutting the honeymoon short for work? That's no good."

  "We had a great time. And two weeks was the longest I've ever gone without working in I can't remember how long." Wyatt paused. "I spoke to Savannah last night. She told me about your friend's death and the investigation. I'm happy to help. I have some time, unless you want me on something else?"

  "Actually, I could use you on this. Beck and Jax are working a trafficking case that's taken them to San Francisco, Caitlyn had to go to DC for her brother's wedding, and Bree has been consulting on a kidnapping case. Savannah and Lucas have been helping me, but I could use your sharp eye as well. We're also coordinating with the police and Damon's office."

  "Savannah said she and Lucas have been focusing on the judge's court cases while you've been concentrating on his connection to the art world."

  "Which is where I think this investigation is headed. Arthur was a private collector, a patron of the arts, and hidden away in his home, I found a second phone and photos of paintings, at least one of which was stolen years ago."

  "Where were they hidden?"

  "Under a floorboard in the room belonging to his daughter who passed away years ago."

  "So, not a place anyone would look."

  "Only someone who knew that his daughter used to hide things there."

  "Which was you. We're talking about the girl you lost."

  "Yes. There's also the fact that Arthur asked me for help before he died. I hadn't spoken to him in over five years when I got a call out of the blue that he needed a favor. He told me he was in a delicate situation and that someone was watching him. That's, unfortunately, all I got before he was killed."

  "His murder was dramatic and bold."

  "It feels personal a
s well. How did you know I was out here, by the way?"

  "I called you, and you didn't answer. Where else would you be on Sunday morning at seven a.m.?" Wyatt paused, his gaze thoughtful. "This case must be opening some old wounds, Flynn."

  "I can handle it."

  "Can you? The art world is tied to your father. The judge is tied to the tragic loss of your first love. That's a lot of the past for anyone to handle."

  "It won't be a problem."

  "Maybe you should step away. Let your team handle this."

  "I believe I told you the same thing when you were falling for Avery while you were running for your lives. You didn't listen to me then."

  "That was different." Wyatt smiled. "Or maybe it's not. Savannah says you've been concentrating on the judge's stepdaughter. I saw a photo of her. Very pretty."

  "She is attractive," he agreed. "She's also helping me. So, it's all good. If at any time I think I'm losing my objectivity, I will bow out, because justice needs to be served."

  "Then we're good. Are you going to Bree's for brunch today?"

  "Yes, but I'm just going to drop in for a short time. I have a few leads I want to follow up on. In the meantime, let's see if your surfing skills have gotten any better."

  "They're as good as yours any day," Wyatt snapped back.

  "Prove it," he challenged.

  "You're on."

  They surfed for almost an hour, conversing only briefly during ocean lulls, but mostly just enjoying the challenges of the waves.

  When they hit the beach, he headed home to change, as Wyatt did the same. He wanted to stop in at the office before he went to Bree's and do some work or at least get some balls in motion that could keep rolling after brunch and while he was driving down to Palm Springs.

  He called Callie from the car, but she didn't answer. It was only eight. Hopefully, she was still sleeping. She needed to rest, because he had a feeling it would be another long day.

  Chapter Eleven