Ruthless Cross

by Barbara Freethy

  "It can be, but it's worth it."

  "You love it, don't you?"

  "More than I imagined I would. I started out just wanting to bring my dad down, pay him back for what he did to me and my mother, but it became a lot more. My work hasn't really been about him in years. It's about doing my part to keep people safe. And if I can't keep them safe, I can find out who hurt them and make sure it doesn't happen again."

  "I'm impressed."

  "I'm not trying to impress you," he said, his blue gaze meeting hers.

  "Maybe that's why you're impressive. Your mission is clear in your head, and it's a selfless, generous mission. You put your life on the line for strangers. You probably don't get much credit for anything you do."

  "I don't look for credit. In my job, staying in the shadows is a good thing."

  "I've noticed that you don't wear a uniform or an FBI jacket. Why is that?"

  "My task force operates in a more surreptitious manner. We go undercover a lot. We move through cases in ways that our more public agents cannot. We become whoever we need to be to get a job done."

  "That sounds intriguing. Tell me more."

  He gave her a speculative look. "Is my job that fascinating, or are you stalling a little, Callie?"

  He was really a little too perceptive at times. "I do find your job interesting, but I guess I'm stalling, too. I want to see my mom, but I'm also afraid."

  "That she'll hate you for putting her in the hospital?"

  "There's that, but it's more that I'm afraid of how she'll be. I don't want to see her lost and confused and sad. I've seen her that way too many times. I want her to be who she was last week, before all this happened."

  "I get it. Maybe she will be."

  "I doubt it. It always takes time for her to recover, more time than I ever want or expect."

  "Who stayed with you the last time, when you were sixteen?"

  His question took her back to a very unhappy and lonely time. "I stayed by myself. When concerned health officials asked who I was with, I lied and gave them a neighbor's name or the names of my friends' parents. I was old enough that no one was too concerned. They were worried about my mother more than me."

  His expression turned grim. "That's not right."

  "I was fine. I could drive by then. I could cook for myself, and I'd always done the shopping and the banking. I knew all the credit card numbers and the passwords. I was perfectly capable of being alone."

  "But you were alone and that had to be hard."

  "It wasn't easy," she admitted. "But I got through it."

  "Were your friends there for you?"

  "I tried not to tell anyone. Eventually, it came out. Most of my friends were there for me. Some just wanted to make fun of my mother behind my back. But I survived and my mom got better, and we moved on."

  "You're a very strong woman."

  "I don't often feel that way," she murmured, not sure why she was revealing so many of her secrets. "I just fake it. It's easier. When people ask you how you're doing, they don't really want to know. They just want to hear you say you're fine. So, I'm fine."

  "Well, when I ask, I really want to know. Don't tell me you're fine, if you're not."

  "Did I tell you I was fine? I think I've shared a lot of other emotions with you. For some reason, I can't seem to lie to you."

  He gave her a faint smile. "You know a lot of my secrets, too. Things I've shared with only a handful of people. We both have something to lose."

  "Which makes it easier to trust each other. I thought when you first told me about your dad that that was why you were telling me, so I'd trust you, so I'd talk to you about my mom. You were playing me."

  "I did want to get you on my side," he admitted. "But my original intent faded fast after I realized what you were dealing with in terms of your mom's mental health."

  "When she tried to jump off the balcony."

  "I saw your face and your pain. It was a brutally real moment. While I couldn't say then or even now that your mother had nothing to do with Arthur's death, I knew that you were innocent, and I couldn't play you. I had to hope you'd be willing to cooperate with me because it was the right thing to do and the best way to protect your mother."

  "I'm still here."

  "But it hasn't been one-sided, Callie," he reminded her. "You were there when I walked into Olivia's room for the first time in fifteen years. I also told you not only about my father's past, but the fact that Gretchen thought she'd seen him outside the gallery. You have as much on me as I have on you. And you could be playing me, too, so that I go easy on your mother."

  "I can't deny that that thought did cross my mind early on. There I go, being honest again."

  "It's better this way. We both know what each other wants."

  "Is it better, Flynn? When we both know that we also want each other?"

  He sucked in a quick breath at her words.

  "And that's a crazy, ridiculous desire in the midst of all this," she continued. "We are so entangled with each other, and it's not just us, it's our parents, too—my mom, your dad. I worry where this is all going to end up."

  "I worry about that, too," he said, his gaze darkening. "But they're not us. We can't be responsible for them."

  "It's easier for you to say that. Your dad has been gone more than half your life, but my mom has always been there. Her problems are my problems."

  "I understand, but let's not borrow more trouble than we already have. I will find out what happened to Arthur. And then we'll figure out the rest."

  "What if you can't find out? This killer seems fairly invincible."

  "Failure is not an option."

  Looking at his determined jaw, she knew he really believed that. "You call me stubborn, but I think you might have me beat."

  "We have a lot in common."

  She shivered at that thought, because what they mostly had in common was their passionate lust for each other. Shadows entered Flynn's eyes as their gazes held for a long minute. She was moving into dangerous territory once more, and she had to call a halt. Because she did need to get to the hospital to see her mom. Pushing back her chair, she stood up and took her plate to the kitchen. "I'll just get my things, and we can go."

  "You can leave your clothes here. You can get your stuff later, after we see how today goes."

  "Well, I hope it goes better than the last few days," she said, putting her dishes into the dishwasher.

  He moved into the kitchen, setting his plate on the counter, and then surprising her by sliding his arms around her waist.

  "What—what are you doing?" she asked, her words coming out a little breathlessly.

  "I haven't kissed you this morning," he said, a purposeful gleam in his eyes.

  "Are we doing that? I thought we were putting all that on hold. And last night is a little hazy, but I'm pretty sure you turned me down quite forcefully."

  "Because last night was hazy." His gaze settled on hers. "I didn't want to take advantage of you. Not that you made it easy to say no."

  "You were quite the gentleman."

  "But today you seem better."

  "I am better," she said, feeling a tingle of anticipation. "But don't we have to go?"

  "One minute—make that two," he said, as he leaned in for a kiss.

  She closed her eyes, savoring the kiss she'd been wanting for what seemed like forever.

  And just like the last time, there was an instant spark, a strong, intensely emotional connection. She wanted to stay in Flynn's arms, linger in his kiss, disappear for a while into a beautiful, sexy world of emotion and feeling. But it ended all too quickly; Flynn was moving away.

  He gave her a hard look, his jaw tight, as if he was having a difficult time holding himself back.

  "I'd like to see you let go," she murmured. "I wonder what that would take."

  "Not much," he said shortly. "Let's get out of here before we do something we regret."

  "It might be a mistake, Flynn, but I don't
think either of us would regret it."

  "Well, we're not going to find out."

  "Maybe not now, but this thing between us…I don't think it's going away." She grabbed her purse and headed toward the door.

  Chapter Eighteen

  They didn't talk much on the way to the hospital. Callie wasn't sure what Flynn was thinking about—maybe their kiss in the kitchen, or perhaps his mind had already returned to work, to trying to figure out who had killed Arthur and the man in the hotel room.

  She needed to get her head together, too, because her mother was going to need her attention, and she had to be ready for whatever was ahead.

  As Flynn drove into the hospital parking lot, she said, "You can drop me off at the front door. There's no reason for you to come inside. My mom hasn't been cleared to talk to law enforcement, only to me. Dr. Clarke said he'll make that determination later today."

  "I wasn't going to come up to interrogate your mother, although I would like to speak to her when she's well enough to do so. My offer is solely for you—moral support."

  She saw the sincerity in his soft smile. "I appreciate that, Flynn. But I'm good. Just drop me off."

  "All right." He drove into the circular loading zone in front of the hospital. "Call me or text me when you're done here."

  "I will."

  "Good luck, Callie."

  "Thanks. I know it's foolish, but I'm hoping for a small miracle."

  "I hope you get one."

  "Thanks. Bye." She got out of the car and closed the door, then headed into the hospital. She took the elevator up to the seventh floor, and then stopped at the nurses' station, which was necessary in order to access her mother's room while she was on a psychiatric hold.

  "Perfect timing. She's awake," the nurse told her.

  "How is she doing today?"

  "Much better. She's making good progress."

  Callie was happy to hear that, although progress made it sound like her mom had a lot further to go.

  The nurse let her into her mother's room with a reassuring smile. "I'm sure she'll be happy to see you."

  "I hope so," she said, as she stepped inside.

  Her mom was sitting up in bed, wearing her own nightgown and the robe Callie had brought from the house. That seemed like a long time ago, even though it had only been two days. Her mother's face was very pale, but her eyes were more alert and focused than they had been. Her gaze, however, also expressed disappointment and anger.

  Callie's heart sank as she moved next to the bed. "How are you, Mom?"

  "It's about time you came to see me, Callie."

  "I was here yesterday, but you were sleeping. Didn't the nurse tell you that?"

  "No. And I was sleeping because they drugged me."

  "You needed to rest. You were hysterical."

  "I can't believe you brought me here. You know how much I hate being in the hospital."

  "I didn't have a choice. You were not yourself."

  "Because my husband died right in front of me."

  "I know. It was horrific. You had every right to be upset. I was just worried about you, and I didn't want you to hurt yourself."

  "I wouldn't do that."

  She wanted to remind her mother that she'd tried to do exactly that, but she didn't know if that would be helpful at this point in her recovery. So, she changed the subject. "How did your session go with Dr. Clarke yesterday?"

  "It was all right. He's better than some of the doctors I've had. He actually listens and at least pretends to respect me."

  "I know he respects you. He wants to help you. It's difficult for anyone to get through something like this. But I can see you're doing better."

  "I don't know how I'm doing. When I first wake up, before I open my eyes, I think everything is normal. I can almost feel Arthur's body next to mine, his breath on my neck, his arms around me. He loved to hold me when we slept." Her mom wrapped her arms around herself. "He said he would miss me if he didn't. God, I miss him now."

  It was difficult to see the pain and love in her mother's eyes, not only because Arthur was dead, but because he'd cheated on her.

  "But then I come fully awake and I see this bare room," her mother continued. "This place that is not my home. And I'm alone."

  "You're not alone. I'm here for you. I'll always be here for you." She put her arms around her mom and gave her a hug. It scared her a little at how thin her mom was. Even before this horrible weekend, she'd been losing weight, a sure sign that she wasn't as happy as she needed to be to keep her mental problems at bay.

  "You're a good daughter, Callie. But sometimes you listen to the doctors when you should listen to me."

  "You weren't making sense, Mom. And I was worried, because there was an FBI agent in the house. He wanted to talk to you. I didn’t think you were in any condition for questions."

  "Has he found Arthur's killer?"

  "Not yet. But there are a lot of people looking. They want justice for Arthur. You don't have to worry about that."

  "Of course they want justice. Arthur was such a good man. And he died so young. I can't believe it, Callie. I'm alone again. I thought it would be years before I'd have to feel like this. It reminds me of when your father died, how lonely the world got."

  "It's hard to lose someone you love." She licked her lips, knowing she needed to talk to her mother about some difficult subjects. Seeing how alert and lucid her mother was, she had to assume that Dr. Clarke would give Flynn permission to speak to her as early as this afternoon. "Mom, we have to talk about a few things."

  "Like the funeral? Who's planning that? I should be doing it. I hope Moira isn't trying to take over. She can get very territorial when it comes to Arthur. She's just his assistant; I'm his wife."

  "Nothing is happening yet. It's early days. There's no rush. Arthur wanted to be cremated. I saw that in his trust."

  Her mom's lip trembled. "Is he really dead?"

  "I'm sorry. I shouldn’t have said it that way. But, yes, he is dead. I'm very sorry. We will talk about his funeral when you're ready and I will help you plan everything. But the most important thing right now is to find the person who killed him. Do you know of anyone who was angry with him or threatening him? Did he talk to you about cases at work or something happening within the art world? Any small detail could be important."

  Her mom stared back at her, her gaze contemplative. "Arthur was acting strange all week. He took Wednesday off and went to Palm Springs on a whim. He never does that. And then he wanted to go back again on the weekend. I couldn't understand why he was so insistent about that. He was also on the phone a lot, but he would stop talking when I came into the room. I'm pretty sure he was talking to Gretchen Vale. She was at the museum event. I ran into her in the ladies' room. I actually asked her why she was bothering Arthur with so many calls."

  Her mother's words surprised her. "You confronted her about calling Arthur? What did she say?"

  "She said she was selling Arthur some paintings and the deal was complicated. But then she gave me a funny look and said that maybe I shouldn't ask questions, because I might not want to know the answers."

  "That's odd."

  "I thought so, too, but then she was gone. I kept thinking about it, and I wanted to know more, so I went looking for her. I started to think maybe she and Arthur were together, because I didn't see either of them. Victoria told me that Gretchen had asked about the sculpture in the Seville Room, so I went there, but the room was empty. When I came back into the grand hall, I heard screaming. Everyone was running. I didn’t know what was going on. And then I saw him on the floor." Tears spilled out of her eyes. "If I'd found him earlier, maybe it wouldn't have happened. Maybe I could have stopped it."

  "Or you could have been hurt yourself. Did you see anyone when you were looking for Gretchen and Arthur?"

  "I remember people pushing past me to get to the show while I was going the other direction, but I couldn't tell you who those people were. I so focused in on Gret
chen and Arthur." Her mom paused. "Why are you asking me so many questions, Callie?"

  "Because the FBI is going to ask you, and you need to be clear on your answers."

  Her mother's gaze narrowed. "Oh, my God, do you think Gretchen killed him?"

  "I have no idea." She'd actually been trying to tell her mother in a subtle way that she needed to protect herself, but, clearly, she'd been too ambiguous.

  "Maybe Gretchen wanted an affair, and Arthur refused," her mom speculated. "She was stalking him, harassing him. She couldn't take no for an answer. And when he wouldn't leave me, she killed him."

  "That's one possibility," she said, a little alarmed at how her mom had put it together so quickly, almost as if she'd come up with it before. She had a feeling Flynn was going to find the answer practiced, and she didn't want that. "Do you have any other ideas?"

  "I don't know. That one seems very strong."

  "What about Layana?"

  "What?" her mom asked in confusion. "The artist who painted Arthur's portrait? Why are you asking about her? Was she at the party?"

  "No." She paused, wanting to choose her words carefully. She didn't want to set her mom back with evidence of an affair at this point, even though her mother had already convinced herself that Gretchen was a possible threat to her marriage. But there were no facts to support that.

  "Callie, why did you ask me about her?"

  "Arthur's assistant, Moira, mentioned to the FBI that Arthur had spoken to Layana the week before he died. I was curious, because the portrait was done a long time ago."

  "I don't know why he'd speak to her now. Should I be concerned?"

  "I'm just trying to piece things together. Help the FBI find some suspects."

  Her mother gave her a suspicious look. "What aren't you telling me, Callie?"

  There was so much she wasn't telling her mom she had no idea how to answer that question. "I'm just looking for a motive, a reason for someone to want Arthur dead."

  "There's something else going on. You're worried. I can see it in your eyes."

  "I'm worried about you."

  "I know I struggle, and you often have to carry my weight, but I feel better."