Unforgivable

by Laura Griffin

  “You sure we’re not being followed?” She heard the quiver in her voice.

  “That was a rifle shot. Came from the woods north of the gas station.”

  “So he’s—”

  “Probably on foot.”

  For minutes, they drove in silence. Mia closed her eyes and tried to get her breath back. She did, but she still felt the adrenaline pumping through her veins, making her shaky and hot and nauseated.

  The truck slowed. Ric pulled over onto the shoulder and turned to face her. Those black eyes bored into her, straight into her soul.

  “Who was that?” His voice was tight with fury.

  She stared at him. She opened her mouth to answer, but then Sam’s face flashed through her mind and she clamped her lips shut. She couldn’t tell anyone her suspicions, not even Ric. Not until she knew if she was right.

  “Answer me, goddamn it!”

  She swallowed. “I don’t know.”

  He watched her for a long moment, then looked away and cursed.

  “How did you find me?” she asked.

  “I looked.”

  He took his phone from the console and started dialing.

  “What are you doing?”

  He cut a glance at her. “Saving your ass.”

  CHAPTER 13

  The phone call was short, clipped. Even if it had been in English instead of Spanish, Mia doubted she would have understood what was going on. After disconnecting, Ric tapped some info into his GPS and swung back onto the road, leaving a spray of gravel behind them.

  “Where are we going?”

  He kept his gaze on the highway.

  “I’ve rented a house on the south rim of the lake,” she said. “All my stuff’s there.”

  “Forget your stuff.”

  She stared at him.

  “I’m taking you to a safe house. The Bureau has one not too far from here.”

  “You called the FBI?”

  “I called my brother.”

  “The FBI agent.”

  He just looked at her. He’d probably figured out by now that she didn’t trust cops. Of any flavor. If there was one thing she felt certain of, it was that the man who’d carjacked her and killed Frank Hannigan and staged Sam’s kidnapping was a cop. Besides carrying a gun identical to Ric’s, the man knew way too much about way too many things not to be some sort of law-enforcement insider. Current or former cop, Mia didn’t know, but either way, he had connections.

  She took a deep breath and stared through the windshield, resigning herself to a new fate. A safe house. With Ric. How was she going to investigate this thing with him babysitting her?

  Or maybe babysitting wasn’t what he had in mind. She darted a look at him. His face was hard, determined. And she could tell just from looking that it would be pointless to attempt an argument right now.

  Mia opened the console and then the glove box before finding a stack of fast-food napkins. She moistened one with saliva and used it to dab away the blood on her palms.

  “What about my truck?” she asked, as calmly as she could manage. Her hands were still quivering, and she felt as if she’d just downed about six espressos.

  “That was yours?”

  “A friend rented it for me.”

  He glanced at her, and she would have bet a thousand dollars that he was wondering if the friend was a man. He could continue to wonder, because she wasn’t getting Alex involved, not after everything she’d done to help her.

  “I’ll have Rey take care of it,” he said, meaning his brother.

  “But how will he—”

  “He’ll take care of it.”

  And that was the end of the conversation. Mia returned her attention to her scrapes.

  Soon he turned onto another narrow highway and headed west. The country was dry, rugged. The dark green cedars peppering the hillsides were the only spots of color on the wintry landscape. Ric turned south again, then west. Barbed-wire fences lined the roads. They passed through hills and canyons inhabited by livestock and the occasional ranch house. Mia tried to calm herself by looking out at the scenery, but of course, that didn’t work. Nothing worked. For the second time in two weeks, someone had shot at her.

  The truck slowed, and she saw a black dot on the horizon. It was a Chevy Suburban pulled over beside a huge oak tree. Ric eased onto the shoulder and parked behind it. A man got out and went around to the back, where he opened the tailgate and started unloading boxes.

  “What’s all that?” she asked.

  “Provisions.” Ric opened his door, and Mia reached for hers. He caught her arm. “Stay here.”

  He left her there with the engine running, reeling from that last little blow. He didn’t want her to meet his brother. What did that mean, exactly?

  The two men transferred the boxes to the bed of the pickup, and Mia watched their movements with interest. Same height, same build. Even the telltale bulge under Rey’s jacket was the same, and she wondered if there were other Santos brothers and if all of them were cops. She thought Ric had mentioned something once about a sibling in the military.

  When the stuff was transferred, they stood talking for a moment. Rey cast a glance her way. She wished she could read his expression behind those sunglasses, but the Santos men seemed to keep their emotions shielded.

  Ric rested his hand on his brother’s shoulder and said a few final words before returning to the truck. In that one stark instant, she realized that the two were close. Very. Brothers in the strongest sense of the word. She felt a flutter in her heart and a twinge of longing.

  The door squeaked open, and Ric was back without a word. He pulled around the SUV and tapped the horn, and then they were back on the road, speeding toward their destination.

  “How much farther?”

  “Not much.”

  Within minutes, they pulled onto a dirt road that curved through some low hills. They reached a metal gate with a rusty chain securing it in place, and she was reminded of her trip to the abandoned factory. Ric jumped out to undo the lock. It was a combination lock, and he knew the code, courtesy of his Bureau connection, no doubt. Mia was tired of feeling useless, so she scooted behind the wheel and drove through the gate so that he could reattach the chain. Then she moved back into her seat, and he navigated the rest of the way to their destination.

  Mia had never seen an FBI safe house before, never even imagined one. But even the dullest imagination could have envisioned something more impressive than the modest stone building nestled at the base of the next hill. It was less than half the size of her bungalow and flanked on either side by scraggly mesquite trees. She glimpsed a tiny shack behind it that she desperately hoped wasn’t an outhouse.

  “This is it?”

  Ric rolled to a stop. “Yep.”

  They got out and started unloading gear. Rey’s brother had supplied them with some basic groceries and a duffel bag that contained God only knew what. Mia carried a carton of items, and Ric heaved the duffel onto his back. She followed him to the front door, looking in all directions for any sign of human habitation nearby. But it was just hills, rocks, and scrub brush as far as she could see. Only a lazily circling hawk witnessed their arrival.

  Ric used a shiny brass key to deal with the sturdy lock—the only hint she’d seen that this was anything other than a ramshackle cabin. He pushed open the door.

  Mia gave him a tentative glance before venturing inside. The room was dark. It smelled of must and something else that eluded her. Pine cones? A tiny kitchen dominated one end, and Mia deposited her box on the small wooden table. She took off her cap and her jacket and dumped them on top of the box as she scanned the room. Two metal folding chairs, a sink, a range attached to a propane tank. In the fading afternoon light and with just one window above the sink, the place was almost dark.

  “No electricity?”

  “Nope. This place doesn’t exist.”

  Ric dropped the duffel bag near the fireplace on the other side of the room. Then he went
back out.

  Mia’s anxiety grew as she gave the house a more thorough inspection. No electricity, no fridge, no telephone. Aside from the table and folding chairs, the only furniture was a worn brown sofa near the fireplace. The door off the kitchen led to a rudimentary bathroom, at least.

  She glanced at Ric as he ferried two more boxes, stacked one atop the other, into the house. When he went back outside, Mia peeked behind the last unopened door, which had to be a bedroom.

  It was tiny and cold. No windows. A stripped-down single mattress leaned against a wall. The room looked like a closet but felt cold enough to be a walk-in freezer.

  She bit her lip and turned away. She wouldn’t complain. That they were there at all was surely a favor to Ric. And to her. She knew she should feel grateful, but she still hadn’t gotten her head around the situation.

  Someone wanted to kill her. She was hiding in an FBI safe house with a man who was extremely ticked off at her and had the effect of making her want to throw thirty-two years of prudent decision making out the window whenever she got near him. And his presence was going to make it difficult for her to accomplish the one thing she really needed to do, which was to figure out who was threatening her.

  Panic bubbled up in her throat. Mia glanced around at the little cabin and did what she always did when she felt panicked. She started cleaning.

  Jonah ignored the little bong party taking place on the balcony as he mounted the metal staircase leading to Sophie Barrett’s front door. It swung open before he reached it.

  She regarded him from behind some expensive-looking shades as she dragged a suitcase over the threshold.

  “If you’re here for a panty raid, you’re going to be disappointed. The interesting stuff is packed.”

  She paused to lock her apartment, giving Jonah a chance to look her over. She wore a clingy sweater the color of Astroturf, tight jeans, and a pair of pointy green shoes that looked beyond painful.

  “Weekend getaway?” he asked.

  “Something like that.” She turned to face him, hitching her purse up on her shoulder. “And I’ll tell you exactly what I told Ric Santos. Leave her a message, and I’m sure she’ll get back to you at her earliest convenience.”

  Jonah picked up the suitcase and headed for the staircase as a trio of stoned college kids watched from their deck chairs.

  Sophie mumbled something he didn’t catch. A few seconds later, he heard her heels clacking on the concrete behind him. “Are you always this—”

  “Helpful?”

  “I was going to say creepy. How’d you find out where I live? I haven’t had my license updated since I moved here.”

  “Nice place, by the way.” He waited for her at the foot of the stairs, then set off for her Tahoe. It was parked near a pool that could have used a truckload of chlorine. “You rent by the week here?”

  She stopped beside her SUV and fisted her hand on her hip. “For your information …” She trailed off as she stood there, glaring at him. At least, it felt like a glare. Kind of hard to tell behind the glasses.

  “For my information?”

  “Forget it. It’s none of your business. Why are you here, Detective?”

  Aha. She’d been checking up on him. The other night, it was Officer Macon.

  “It’s about Mia.”

  “I told you, she’s—”

  “Someone tried to kill her today.”

  That glossy red mouth dropped open. The shades came off, and he was staring at a pair of wide blue eyes. “What?”

  “Someone took a shot at her.”

  “Where is she? Is she okay? What happened?”

  “She’s fine,” he said. “And she’s in protective custody.” Not officially but close enough. She was with Ric, and he was in extreme pit-bull mode.

  Sophie sagged against the side of the Tahoe and blinked into space. All of the color had drained out of her face.

  Damn, he’d shocked her. “You all right?”

  She straightened. “No, I’m not all right. I’m totally freaked out! What is going on?”

  “We’re not sure. We’re investigating. But I wanted to warn you.”

  She stared at him, and he felt bad, sort of. He hadn’t meant to shake her up so much. But it was probably for the better. She needed to be careful. Everyone around Mia needed to be careful, including Ric.

  Jonah filched the keys from her hand and popped the locks. He pulled open the tailgate while she recovered her composure. A black guitar case and a box of CDs occupied the cargo space. He moved them over to make room for her bag. Then he walked back to the driver’s-side door.

  The attitude was gone now, replaced with worry for her friend.

  “What exactly are you all doing to protect her?” she demanded. “This is the second time. Can’t you arrest someone?”

  “We’re working on it.” He stood looking down at her, although he didn’t have to look far. She was at least five-ten, and that was without the heels. The fact that she wore them told him a lot about her confidence.

  “Stay away from Mia’s place,” he said. “No more house-sitting or errands over there or whatever. And don’t meet up with her, either. Not until we clear this up.”

  “I thought you said she was with Ric?”

  “She is.” In Jonah’s opinion, she was still a flight risk. “Just watch out, all right? Stay away from her house. You shouldn’t get mixed up in this thing.”

  She continued to look at him, and he started to get uncomfortable. He cleared his throat. “So, where you going?”

  The glasses went back on. “Houston. I’m singing tonight at the Coyote Lounge.” She tipped her head to the side. “You heard of it?”

  “No.”

  She sighed. “Well, it’s this famous nightclub in Montrose. Kind of a big deal.” She shrugged. “I’m a little nervous, to tell you the truth.”

  “I’m sure you’ll do great.”

  She smiled slightly. “How would you know?”

  “I don’t, I’m just guessing.”

  The moment stretched out, and they stood beside her SUV. He got the strangest feeling that she wanted him to say something.

  Hell, did she want him to come hear her sing? He felt tempted, if for no other reason than to get a glimpse of what she’d packed in that bag. But he knew shit about music, and he had more than enough work to do tonight.

  She pulled the door open and tossed her purse inside. “I’d better get going. I need time to change before I go on.”

  “Careful down in Montrose.” He didn’t know music, but he knew crime. “That can be a rough neighborhood, especially after hours.”

  “Don’t worry about me.” She slid behind the wheel and patted her purse. “LadySmith here always keeps me company.”

  Ric came back with an armload of wood, and Mia glanced up from her bottle of Comet as he stacked the pieces beside the fireplace. It looked as though their sole heat would be coming from a fire.

  She returned her attention to the filthy sink and scrubbed harder. When it was a slightly brighter shade of gray, she turned her efforts to the cupboards and stacked canned goods. She felt Ric’s presence across the room as she went about the task, but she refused to look up. She was afraid of what she’d see in his face. He had her. And he knew it, too. Now he was waiting, drawing it out, like a wolf circling its prey.

  He went outside again for more wood or kindling or who the heck knew what, and she cast a tentative glance at the fireplace.

  How had this happened? She’d been logical. She’d been resourceful. She’d sought out the aid of every one of the smart, capable experts she trusted. And she’d still ended up on the run, scared for her life, and totally reliant on a cop who would probably arrest her as soon as look at her. Obstruction of justice, evidence tampering, lying to investigators—she was guilty of every last one of those crimes, and somehow Ric knew it.

  Mia needed those lab results. Yesterday, she’d returned to the scene of the crime—her crime—with the evidenc
e kit Sophie had brought her. She’d recovered the barbecue tongs she’d dropped in her haste to leave. Now they were at the Delphi Center being tested for prints and possibly DNA. If someone found something, then at least she’d have a lead to offer investigators when she finally came clean about what she’d done and why.

  If she came clean. She knew it was the right thing to do, but she hadn’t gotten up the courage yet. No matter how she handled it, her confession would probably end her career.

  Mia made a neat row of canned vegetables beside the soup. Ric came through the door and kicked it shut behind him. He stacked another armload of wood, then crouched down and began arranging logs in the hearth. She heard the hiss of a match and the crackle of fire.

  Mia ran out of groceries to organize. She collapsed the boxes they had come in and tucked them into a corner in case they needed them later.

  “What are you doing?”

  She turned around. He was leaning against the back of the sofa, watching her. His jacket was gone now, and his stance was relaxed. But the glint in his eyes told her he was waiting, biding his time, and that she couldn’t lower her defenses for even an instant.

  “Just cleaning up. Taking inventory.” She hesitated. “How long are we going to be here?”

  “That depends.” He stepped closer.

  “On?”

  “How long it takes me to find out who’s behind this.” He hooked his thumbs in his pockets. “You want to help me out with that?”

  She ducked around him and went to the fireplace. The blaze had subsided. She pulled newspaper from a nearby stack and wadded it up, then kneeled down and fed it into the flames.

  “I don’t really know, exactly.”

  She heard the scuff of his boots behind her as she gazed into the fire. It was brighter now, but that was because of the paper. Everything burned hot at the beginning; it was getting it to last that was tricky.