Just Beyond Reach

by Candace Irvin

  He knew that he should break it. Deny it. But he could not. For was this not the very demon that plagued him most of all of late?

  Joe pushed his free hand thorough his hair as he walked into the bedroom to sink onto the side of the mattress, the truth of it biting into him as he admitted it out loud to Miguel for the first time, even as he admitted it to himself. "No, I cannot guarantee I will not avenge them."

  "You see, then? You should not be here. Joaquín, the photos I sent were good. You know this as well as I. What will you see in person that you cannot see from them? Indeed, even if his face had jarred at your mind, you were twelve years old; this man was thirty-five. We cannot trust the memory of a child in grief, most especially one that is twenty years past. Not with an accusation such as this."

  As much as he hated ceding to his brother logic, he did. "Agreed."

  Miguel must have sensed his reluctance. For when his brother spoke again, Miguel's voice took on the soothing of their aunt's in the years following the murders. "I know this helplessness does not sit well with you. But you must trust me."

  Miguel was right. The helplessness ate at him most of all.

  But trust?

  Did he truly trust his brother to do what was his own task by right of being the eldest—as well as the one who had witnessed the worst of the horror?

  Joe tightened his grip on the T-shirt, recalling the day he had stumbled through the door of his childhood home ill to his stomach—and then, as the most horrific of evils greeted him, to become even more so. Though two hours the later, Miguel had been next through the door. It was Miguel who had helped him to set his mind to rights. Miguel who had decided the others should not see. Miguel who had headed their brothers off at the end of the dusty block and taken them to their neighbors' home.

  And it was Miguel who had helped him to restore to their mother what little dignity there was left for her to possess, albeit in death.

  Two boys who had become men that day.

  Together.

  Yes, he trusted Miguel. He always would.

  And so, he finally answered. "I do. I trust you." But his voice was hoarse, a shadow of itself.

  "Good." As was his brother's.

  They swallowed in unison, then drew their next breaths—again, in unison. Knowing that in thought and in spirit, they truly were together. But as Joe dropped his gaze to the shirt in his hands, as he spread it out over the hollow in the pillow where Teresa's head had lain and traced with trembling fingers those bold letters that had once held such promise, his resolve quaked as well. "Is there nothing I can do to help?"

  The plea was shameful, but he did not care. Miguel would forgive him the weakness.

  As his brother did, for the response was quick. Firm. "There is. Stay with Tessa. Mi hermano, I know you worry for her. Now most of all. Look after her. Allow her to look after you."

  The first two, he would always do. But the last?

  He could not burden her so.

  Again, the silence. This time, it was his brother who broke it. "Are you there?"

  "Please, I cannot. You know this. Just as you, of all, know the why."

  "Then…you still have not told her?"

  "No."

  Nor would he. Especially now. Teresa had need of her wits about her this week more than ever. Though, if he could but show her the horror in his mind. Not to frighten—all right, yes, perhaps to frighten—but mostly to prove to her before it was too late that good did not always vanquish evil simply because it was good.

  There were days when the evil won.

  And, then, there were the days when it won and it smiled.

  "Joaquín…I must go."

  He glanced at his wrist, at the scuba watch Teresa had given him this birthday past, and noted the hour. Best that he be on his way as well. "Go then, Miguel. I wish you Godspeed. Call when you can."

  "I will. And remember your promise. Do not come unless I ask. Years ago, you gave all for me—indeed, for all of us. Now it is time for me to give back to you. Have no fear, there will be justice. On the graves of our parents, I swear it." With that, his brother severed the connection.

  Joe settled the phone carefully into his lap and sat staring at it for long minutes afterward. Sí, he remembered his promise. He would wait.

  For now.

  Shell-shocked.

  Tess had heard the term often enough through the years. Had even seen it firsthand—in her nursing and DEA lines of work. Well now she had the personal sensations to go with the professional diagnosis.

  Clammy, dazed.

  Numb.

  Not even the Pacific sunset, nor the gentle lapping of the not-so-distant waves, could soothe the mist from her brain. Unfortunately, the ever-observant FBI agent behind her had caught on. She could feel Gray Daniels assessing her state of mind, even before the screen door to his house slid open, before his tanned, bare feet padded out across the weathered deck. Moments later, a muscular forearm dusted with sandy wisps snaked about her chest, frosted bottle of micro-brewed ale loosely in hand. The subtle aroma wafted up. Rugged, earthy. Much like the man now towering beside her.

  She wasn't interested in him either.

  Tess snagged the bottle anyway. "Thanks."

  "Penny for them?"

  She faked her best smile of the evening. "Trust me, you wouldn't want them." Hell, neither did she.

  "Try me."

  She sighed.

  "Okay, I'll take a guess. Let's see…the case. I bet you're wishing you'd just called me instead of wasting thirty minutes driving out here, then wasting another hour and a half on an over-grilled steak and wilted salad, only to have nothing to show for it."

  She thumped the back of her hand against the steel beneath his green pullover. "The salad was not wilted and the steak was perfect, and you know it."

  His crooked smile matched the melancholy in her heart. "Yeah, but I noticed you didn't argue with me about the wasted evening part."

  "Gray…"

  He held up his own bottle. "Nope, not looking for apologies, little lady. You just tell ol' Doc Daniels what's ailing you, and I'll see what I can do about rustling up a cure."

  She actually grinned at that.

  As did he.

  Gray Daniels was not old. What he was, was prime, Grade-A, Texas bluebonnet-eyed cowboy, and he knew it. Not to mention he was a bachelor to boot. When he'd been wearing his boots, that is. He'd shucked them an hour ago. Heck, even Gray's toes were studly. The only thing missing was the twang, but only because his voice resembled more of a low, lazy drawl. To top it off, the man was definitely interested—in her.

  So why couldn't she seem to return it?

  Except she knew why, didn't she?

  Just as she knew why she was guilty of killing the last two hours as listlessly as charged.

  Time. Joe had asked for time. The problem was, she didn't know how much time to give him. One hour, two? Six?

  Six hundred?

  Just how much time was long enough to gather up the shattered pieces of your heart and soul, and glue them back together?

  Hell, she didn't know.

  Unfortunately, she couldn't go back to the apartment until she found out.

  So here she stood, at a beach house not unlike a certain cruising pharmacy tech's on the outside—but not one iota like it on the inside. Gray's rugged, but gentle self was in every inch of the homey Texas-by-the-sea den and dining room behind them. He'd also made it clear that it was all up for grabs.

  Home, hearth…and heart.

  She brought the bottle to her lips and tipped back a swallow, hoping the ale would succeed in washing the guilt down with it—and promptly choked.

  "Easy."

  Gray snagged the bottle before she dropped it, setting it beside his own on the deck rail as he thumped her back.

  Several moments later, she'd finally stopped hacking and regained her breathing, but her eyes were still watering.

  She blew out a breath. "Thanks."

 
"You're welcome."

  "What's in that stuff?"

  "God only knows." His rich chuckle washed through her, soothing away the rest of the momentary panic—and some of the guilt as well. "My sister dropped off a six-pack yesterday. Her husband brought 'em home."

  "Well, I know why she pawned them off on you."

  He hooked his bottle from the rail and held it up, using the hurricane lamp burning in the den behind them to supplement the fading evening light as he read the label aloud. "California Sand and Surf Ale, Nature at Her Best."

  "Trust me; it doesn't live up to the hype."

  He returned the bottle to the railing and leaned against it himself. "How about the case? Is it living up to the hype?"

  She shrugged.

  "What about the officer in the booth?"

  "Still nothing. At least not yet. Joe stopped by the office after he dropped the family off in Los Angeles this morning to try to ID him. But with CBP being the largest uniformed law enforcement agency in the country—"

  Gray nodded. ''—It's gonna take a bit."

  "Yup. Especially since the guy took pains to keep his cap low and his wraparound sunglasses on." Despite the fact that it had been near midnight at the time. And then there was that windbreaker. It had been unseasonably warm last night—close to eighty degrees. That too had definitely been donned and zipped to conceal the officer's ID.

  Though, granted, the bastard believed he was simply protecting himself from subsequent blackmail by the pollero Joe was supposed to have been.

  "What about the numbers on the green cards?"

  "No idea. Joe wasn't able to get a decent look at those either. Not without risking his cover." Tess winced as Gray snagged his as yet untouched ale and tipped it back, then smiled as he grimaced. At least he hadn't choked. "Are you really going to drink that?"

  "Hell, no. You?"

  She laughed. "Sorry, I'm not that polite of a houseguest."

  "Good." He held both bottles out over the rail and emptied them onto the sand. "Because I'm not that polite of a host."

  He set the bottles on the rail and faced her.

  She knew it was coming.

  Even before those clear blue eyes deepened to cobalt, even before he reached out and slid his warm, tanned fingers beneath her chin and tipped it up. Even before he arched those dark blond brows ever-so-slightly to make sure it was welcome.

  It was. After that dream she'd had, it sure as hell was.

  And then, it came.

  The kiss was warm and soft, with just the right amount of hunger to flatter and make a woman ask for more. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she realized Gray was really good at this, and somewhere else was the realization that she should definitely be enjoying it.

  But she wasn't.

  Unfortunately, Gray had picked up on that too.

  He eased them out of the kiss as smoothly as he'd eased them in and smiled gently. "Sorry."

  "Don't be. It's not you."

  "I know."

  If the words had been infused with even a hint of arrogance, she'd have decked him. But they weren't. Just bald honesty.

  "Can I add that he's a lucky guy?"

  She was almost afraid to ask. But she did. "Who?"

  His lazy grin broke out. "Who else? Joe."

  "Wh-what? How—who—"

  He flat out chuckled. "You. It's in your eyes, Tess. It has been all evening." His fingers stole to the corner of her mouth and drifted across. "Guess I just needed to know if he was in your kiss, too."

  "And, uh…" She swallowed. "Was he?"

  "You were there, honey. What do you think?"

  That was part of the problem. She didn't know what to think. Let alone what to feel.

  "Hey, cheer up. I never kiss and tell." His grin turned downright rueful. "Especially when I come out on the short end."

  "Oh, Gray—"

  "Relax. My ego's intact. I just wish your partner had saved me the trouble, let alone the embarrassment, when I asked. But I gather he's not into telling either."

  What?

  She stumbled back, nearly upsetting the bottles beside them. She ended up grabbing them with both hands and holding on for dear life as she shook the latest cloud of confusion from her head. "Are you saying you discussed me—with Joe?"

  "I…take it he didn't repeat the conversation?"

  "No."

  Gray's low whistle filled the gradually dimming deck, mingling with the soft lapping of the waves beyond. "Then I shouldn't—"

  "But you will. Now."

  Cobalt forged to steel. Silent steel. The man hadn't been kidding. He did not kiss and tell.

  Well, he hadn't kissed Joe, he'd kissed her.

  "Spill it, Agent Daniels, or you'll be hearing about all the juicy details of this case on the evening news—next month."

  "Damn, lady. You play hardball."

  "Don't you forget it. Now pitch."

  He frowned, but tossed the curve anyway. "It's not as underhanded as you seem to think. All I did was phone the man. Ask him if he was interested in dating a fellow FBI agent—of the female persuasion. She'd seen him around; I'd seen you…and, frankly, we'd both heard the rumors."

  "Lovely."

  "He denied them."

  Of course he would. After all, acknowledging any rumor about agents who were more than friends would only succeed in fueling those rumors, at least as far as their particular agency was concerned. Her fingers automatically sought out the spot directly above her right temple. It didn't matter that the migraine was only a seed. Something told her it was about to germinate and blossom—and soon.

  "You okay?"

  "I'm fine. What else?"

  "There's nothing else. That's it; I swear."

  She sighed and pressed her finger into her temple—hard. "The answer, Sherlock. What crucial clue did Doctor Watson offer up that solved the dating mystery for you and your fellow Feebie agent, once and for all?"

  "Joe said he was already involved."

  He'd lied to her.

  Tess clenched her hands about the steering wheel of her cover identity's Jeep as she forced herself to ease up on the gas. No sense risking a traffic stop on the freeway. Even if she did have her DEA credentials on her, she was in no mood to gold-badge her way out of a speeding ticket. Not tonight. Not with a damning set of water marks streaking down her face. She pulled her right hand from the wheel and scrubbed her cheeks. The tears finally under control, she slid her fingers to her temple.

  It didn't help.

  Neither had the sumatriptan tablet from the refill blister pack she'd picked up at the pharmacy after leaving Gray's. Her head hurt like hell.

  On the other hand, the migraine didn't have squat on the ache in her heart.

  She still couldn't believe that after six years, Joe had actually lied to her. Over a woman, no less. Lord, but that hurt. More than she'd ever thought possible.

  Question was, what was she going to do about it?

  Absolutely nothing. Yet.

  Sure, she could confront him. It might even make her feel better—for about two seconds. And then what?

  Watch him die a little more?

  No. She couldn't do it. The man had too much on his mind right now and way too much in his heart. Maybe that's why he'd lied. Maybe he just couldn't handle one more part of his life falling apart. Because Joe was falling apart. One look into his eyes in that kitchen had told her that. What she'd found had haunted her throughout dinner. Hell, it was still haunting her. And there was no way she was going back to the apartment to face it. Not while she was in danger of making it worse.

  Eddie. He was her only option.

  She hadn't planned on going. It was still a bit too soon. But short of finding a crowded theater to lose herself in for the next few hours, the job was all she had. She should probably be grateful she'd been so exhausted after the barbecue and too rocked after learning Joe had seen his parents' bodies to remember to tell him about the tech's latest get-together. Eddie had whispered
the invitation in her ear as they passed on the way out that afternoon. How any man could throw that many parties was beyond her.

  She was just grateful he did.

  Heck, she didn't even need backup.

  If Eddie stuck to his MO, there'd be plenty of folks to mingle with. Medical and questionable types alike.

  And if not?

  That would be obvious by the lack of cars before she even hit the door.

  See? Not a single reason for Joe to worry.

  It was settled then.

  Except for a few small, but crucial details.

  She passed the freeway off ramp for Chula Vista and closed in on the one for Imperial Beach. This exit she took, slowing the Jeep as she passed through the first intersection she reached, turning into the gas station just after it. At 2100, it was still crowded enough for her to seek out the farthest parking slot.

  Satisfied that no one would see, she switched off the Jeep's engine and snagged her bag from the passenger floorboard.

  Despite the dark, she managed to dig out her spare contacts and insert them via the rearview mirror. Thankfully, they went in smoothly, or she'd have been forced to head inside the shopette for a bottle of saline wash.

  That left her credentials and her weapons.

  She secured both her badge and her Glock inside the steel safe hidden within the Jeep's modified center console, and replaced the vinyl cover before tucking her switchblade into the inner lining of her leather bag. Glocks screamed federal agent, while the blade just plain screamed. Silently. And in some abusable ways. As did the emergency syringe and vial of sumatriptan stowed in her bag.

  And, since she'd taken the time to remove the label to the vial after she'd returned from Eddie's house the first time—just in case—she and her cover were now good to go.

  She rooted through the bag again, locating enough makeup to add the touch she hadn't bothered to apply for dinner with Gray, then grimaced down at her white camp shirt and jeans. While she could definitely use a skirt or even shorts, she wasn't about to risk stopping by the apartment for a change.

  At least the shirt was sleeveless.

  She released the top four buttons, drawing the point of the vee down to the juncture of the lace bra beneath.

  The resulting, bountiful valley would have to do.