“Richard and Maddie Stowers will be arrested by the end of the week. You can count on it,” she promised.
Burkhart’s face reddened. “Not by you. Let it go, Helms.”
Hell, no. Easy for him to say. He didn’t have a personal connection to the case. Nor did he have to interview trafficking victims and hear the pain in their voices and the horror in their eyes. She couldn’t save everyone, but she could and would save Jenny.
She snatched up her purse and marched to the exit, slamming the door behind her. James was sprawled on a bench in the hallway. For the first time, she was secretly glad he’d insisted on accompanying her on the trip to Atlanta.
He quirked a brow. “Bad news, I take it?”
“I want out of here.” The institutional-green walls and gray linoleum flooring, combined with the faint scent of industrial cleaner mixed with sweat and tobacco, were a sudden anathema.
“Couldn’t agree with you more.”
He matched her step for step as they left the building and climbed into her car. She turned on the engine and they headed into the late afternoon traffic.
“I’d hate to drive this every day,” he observed from the passenger side.
She cast him a wry smile. “We’re not even in rush hour traffic. Sure you don’t want to drive like usual?”
“Nope. It’s all yours.”
Well, at least she’d won that battle today. Wordlessly she weaved along the crowded interstate, stewing over the long day spent at the hearing.
James interrupted her thoughts. “You can always appeal their decision, you know.”
“And go through another kangaroo court?” She laughed dispiritedly. “Six years of stellar service—all down the drain on my first transgression.”
“Sounds pretty stiff. You should fight it, or at least file a complaint about the severity of the judgment.”
“Maybe.” But she couldn’t muster enthusiasm for the task. When had she stopped loving her job? It had happened so gradually. “I used to enjoy working undercover,” she said. “It was exciting and it felt like I was making a difference. Stupid, huh? For everyone I arrested, it seemed like three more criminals replaced them by the next week.”
“Would have been even worse on the streets if you didn’t catch the ones you did.”
“I suppose. But I get sick of the whole underground culture, too. And not getting to see my family as often as I want.”
“Now you’re free.”
“Now I’m broke.” A sudden worry assaulted her. “You really think Harlan will temporarily deputize me until the end of the week?”
He winked. “He’s my brother-in-law, so I have some influence. Lilah could make life hell for him if he didn’t help us out on this. Besides, you’re a great cop and he knows it.”
The words were a balm to her injured pride. Much as she’d grown to hate her job, she’d never been fired before, and the idea rankled. Maybe James was right. She should file a complaint and get her employment record cleaned up from this hit. Plus, it would have the added benefit of irking Captain Burkhart—always a plus.
It took forty minutes to drive the ten miles to her apartment, but at last she pulled into the parking lot and they headed up the stairs. While she was nearby, it’d be crazy not to pick up more street clothes, a fancy gown for the fund-raiser event and a few other little odds and ends.
They climbed the concrete stairwell and she dug the keys from her purse. A strong hand rested on her forearm. “What—?”
James frowned and cocked his head at the slightly ajar door. “You leave it unlocked?” he asked in a low voice.
She felt the blood drain from her face. “Maybe the landlord had to get in.” Not likely.
James drew his gun and stepped in front of her. “I’ll check it out.”
“Not alone you won’t.”
He shot her an irate look. “Just stay back.”
She unholstered her own sidearm and tried to squeeze her body in front of his. “Me first. It’s my apartment and I know the layout better than you,” she argued.
James muscled her behind him and slowly opened the door.
Books and sofa cushions littered the den floor. Every item on her bookshelf had been dumped and furniture was pulled away from the walls. James took a step in and she followed, her eyes sweeping from the kitchen to the dining room and balcony. The same mayhem from ransacking was everywhere, but no one was in sight.
That left the bedroom and two bathrooms to check. She carefully picked her way through the junk on the floor, sliding past James. He wasn’t happy about that, but could hardly argue the point.
The hall bathroom was empty, all the contents of her medicine cabinet toppled into the sink. Which left the bedroom—the only room where lights weren’t blazing. An unnatural stillness lifted the hairs at the back of her neck. If someone was in there, they knew she’d returned. She flattened herself against one side of the door, and James joined her on the other. She was about to enter, when he beat her to the punch.
He kicked the door and it slammed against the far wall. Charlotte flipped on the light switch.
Two men dressed head to toe in black, their faces hidden under dark ski masks, erupted from the closet. The two barreled toward them, so quickly she barely had time to catch her breath—much less shoot. One of the men chopped her arm holding the gun, and her weapon hit the floor by her feet. Strong arms grabbed her just above both elbows and then violently threw her to the side. She was airborne for two seconds before rolling clear across the bed. Her forehead smacked the bedpost and pain radiated through her head. Warm liquid trickled into her eyes and she swiped at them, seeking James in the melee.
Her attacker had fled, but James was wrestling on the floor with the other man. She had to help him. She located her gun and tucked it back into her holster.
“Go get the other guy,” James grunted.
“No way.”
“I got this,” he insisted.
The need to help James warred with her need to catch the other intruder. They’d violated her sacred space. Every nightmare come true. If she didn’t catch the fleeing felon, she would always worry that he would return one night. And the next time she might not be lucky enough to have a partner by her side.
“Be right back,” she promised, racing to the stairwell.
The steps were slick with rain and she lost her footing, tumbling down the first flight. Ignoring the burning shinbone scrapes, Charlotte ran on and scanned the back of the property.
A silhouette in black crouched behind a garbage can. At first sight of her, the intruder took off running again, knocking over the dumpster can, spewing trash everywhere. But she was close enough—in shooting range—if her aim was accurate. Charlotte touched the gun she’d slipped back into her holster. You aren’t officially a cop anymore. You shoot the guy and you’ve got a mess on your hands.
The moment’s hesitation cost her a chance. He reached the street, blending with traffic and pedestrians.
She bent over, hands on knees, and took deep breaths that burned her chest. Get it together. James might need you. Charlotte straightened and ran back upstairs, ignoring the jabbing stitch in her side.
* * *
PAUSING TO REASON with Charlotte had cost him the advantage in the fight. The masked man fought with the desperation of a cornered animal. Trying to wrestle him back down was like trying to bathe an angry wildcat.
“Who the hell are you?” James panted as they rolled on the floor.
No answer.
The scent of sweat and cheap aftershave filled his nostrils and lungs. He fought against the downward spiral that might tunnel into another flashback. Keep it together.
Pain seared his left thigh as the man landed a vicious kick.
Had he momentarily blanked out and weakened his hold? James groaned and grabbed one of the at
tacker’s feet, trying to prevent another kick. Where was Charlotte? Fear pinched his gut. What if this guy’s accomplice stopped running and went on the attack? To hell with this wrestling match. Charlotte’s safety was his priority.
But he could accomplish one important victory—get a good look at who was behind the attack. If he was lucky, he’d find this criminal later. James released his grip and reached for the knit ski mask, ripping it off his face.
Startled gray eyes met his. James soaked in every detail possible—cropped brown hair, ruddy complexion, a hawk nose, thin lips. His gaze dropped lower and hit the jackpot—on the right side of his neck was a dagger tattoo. The mark looked to be a crude prison job with its lack of detail and grayish-black coloring.
The guy rushed the doorway and James gave chase. Halfway down the stairs, he spotted Charlotte coming toward them—alone and seemingly intact, but blood trickled down her face. Relief chased down his neck and spine. The man she’d been chasing was nowhere in sight, but she was now in the direct path of the gray eyes.
“Look out,” he shouted.
Too late. The intruder never slowed, but he raised one muscled arm and knocked her out of his way. In horror, James saw her petite body absorb the pounding of concrete until she lay motionless at the bottom of the stairwell.
“Charlotte!” He rushed to her prone body and pushed the hair from her face. In the space of mere minutes, hell had unleashed its fury. She was pale, the whiteness contrasting with the crimson ribbons of blood on her face.
She groaned. “You okay? Did they get away?”
“Yes, on both counts. How bad are you hurt? I don’t want to lift you if anything’s broken.”
She struggled up onto one elbow and drew several shuddering breaths. “I think I’m okay. Give me a minute.”
“That’s one nasty cut above your left eye.” He pulled a handkerchief from his jacket and gently dabbed at the open wound.
She flinched and reached for his arm. “Stop. I’m going to try to stand.”
He supported her weight on one side of his body and she sagged against him. “This is officially the worst day of my life,” she joked. “Lose my job and then get the crap beat out of me. Now I get to return to my destroyed apartment and pick up the mess.”
“Leave it. I’ll lock up while you wait in the car. Where’s the nearest hospital? You need stitches.”
“I won’t argue with you this time. We can stop at a doc-in-the-box on our way back to Lavender Mountain.”
James quickly locked up her apartment. Slowly, they returned to the cruiser, his arm bracing her around the waist. “Think you might have sustained internal injuries?” he asked anxiously. Each time pain flickered in her green eyes, he sank lower into guilt. At last they reached the car and he carefully tucked her inside before entering it on the opposite side.
James keyed the engine and turned up the heat. Charlotte leaned back in the seat and flipped the mirror down. “Holy crap, I’m a mess. I promise I don’t feel as bad as I look.”
She faced him. “So what’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong? Everything. You’re hurt and it’s my fault.”
“Don’t say that.” She pointed to the cut on her forehead. “That was caused by an unknown assailant. Not you.”
“Yeah, an assailant who escaped me.”
“We were surprised by an attack and neither one of us is to blame. I noticed you were limping. What happened?”
“Bastard landed a lucky kick.” He gripped the steering wheel and stared out into the rainy darkness.
A warm, soft touch on his right hand startled him, and he glanced down. Charlotte’s small hand caressed his tense fingers, which were white at the knuckles.
“I’m okay,” she whispered, her breath clouding the air. “Those men did enough of a number on us without us piling on and beating ourselves up.”
“Back there. I might have lost it for a couple of seconds in the fight,” he admitted. “I’m not sure.”
“Doesn’t matter. My mind was a tilt-a-whirl a good thirty seconds after I crashed into the bedpost. As they say, shit happens. All we can do is our best.”
But what if his best wasn’t good enough? Some small part deep inside still felt broken from the war. It was getting better—much better—in large part because the insomnia had finally been laid to rest. The past nights he’d spent with Charlotte in his arms, he’d drifted into deep slumber. James loosened his grip from the steering wheel and held her hand, staring at their enjoined fingers. Every word, every touch from Charlotte was a balm to his spirit—that is, when they weren’t arguing. A smile curled his lips. Fussing with Charlotte was still more fun and invigorating than normal conversation with anyone else.
The rain came down harder, a metallic din that thundered above and around them. Water washed across the car windows in sheets. It seemed as though they were separated from the rest of the world in a warm, safe cocoon.
Her hand traveled up his arm, and even through the jacket, the contact set his heart pounding as loud as the rain outside. She brushed her mouth across the edge of his bottom lip. “There’s no need to hurry back. Let’s wait out the storm together.”
He kissed the top of her scalp. “If you’re sure the stitches can wait.”
“Kiss me and I’ll forget all about the cut.”
“I aim to please.” His mouth met hers. What he’d intended as a tender gesture escalated at once into a roaring desire and he pulled away. “Not the time or place,” he said with a frustrated laugh.
“Tonight, then.”
The promise and passion in her eyes wiped away all pain and all misgivings. Somehow, someway, they belonged together.
Chapter Thirteen
The last three days before the Stowerses’ fund-raiser event sped by way too fast. She and James spent most of their days outlining their plan of action for rescuing Jenny, and their nights...well, she’d never been happier. It was going to hurt like hell to return to her dreary apartment in Atlanta once this case was over. There was nothing there for her—no job, no lover and no friends. Her undercover work had consumed all her energy for far too long.
Charlotte checked the cruiser’s pull-down mirror and smoothed back the few stray locks that escaped the bun on the back of her head. Her dyed ebony locks had faded a bit from repeated washings, and the gallon of conditioner she’d used had helped the damage, but it was still a disaster. The stitches above her left eye were removed yesterday, but no amount of makeup could cover the nasty bruise.
James laid a hand on the top of her bare shoulders. “You look beautiful,” he assured her.
She smoothed a hand across the long green evening gown, thankful that its length would cover all her shinbone scrapes. Sure, she was being vain and embarrassed that James guessed her trivial concern. Crisply she closed the mirror and raised the sunshield flap to its original position. “Doesn’t matter what I look like—all that matters is finding Jenny. And you look pretty spiffy yourself, by the way.”
Did he ever. He filled out the tuxedo like nobody’s business. The suit emphasized his lean, muscular build and lent an elegance to his high cheekbones and strong jaw. Her admiration must have been clear because his eyes darkened and his gaze shifted to her lips.
“Don’t you dare kiss me,” she warned.
Teasing mischief danced in his eyes. “Afraid you’ll need to have me right here and right now if I do?”
“No, I just don’t want you to ruin my lipstick.”
“Liar.”
She knew what he was trying to do—lighten the tension before they entered the Stowerses’ mansion.
“Good thing our plan doesn’t include having to actually dance. That bruise on your thigh looks rough.”
Music spilled from the main level of the Falling Rock Community Clubhouse and every window was lit. It appeared so elegant and enchanting—i
f one weren’t aware of the dark underside that funded such privileged wealth. If she had her way tonight, the Stowerses would spend the rest of their years in a dark, damp cell with no music. And even that wouldn’t atone for all the lives they’d ruined. I’ll have Jenny home to you by dawn, she silently promised Tanya.
James lifted her hand and kissed the inside of her palm. “We’ll find Jenny and the others,” he promised. “We’ve got our plans in place.”
“Right.” She inhaled deeply.
“One more thing.”
She gazed once more at the glittering clubhouse, a hand reaching for the door, impatient to get started.
James placed a finger under her chin and gently turned her face to his. “I love you.”
“Wh-what?” No, oh no. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She’d let him get too close.
“You heard me. Does that really surprise you? I thought after last night...”
She swallowed hard. Last night had been magical. There’d been a certain tenderness along with the passion, emotions that she didn’t want to examine at the moment.
“Don’t love me,” she whispered. The hurt in his eyes matched the hurt in her heart. “I bring trouble to everyone. Can’t you see that?”
“I’ve told you before that I don’t care. We can face anything together.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Never mind. I shouldn’t have brought it up now.”
“You’ll always be special to me...the best friend I ever had.”
Friend? The word crushed his spirit. He wanted it to be so much more than that.
“James...” Tears threatened to ruin her carefully made-up face, and she couldn’t control the tremble in her lips.
“Sorry. Really. You don’t have to say anything.” He cleared his throat. “Is your mike secured?”
Relieved to get the conversation back to the job at hand, she checked to make sure it was safely tucked into the front of the low-cut gown. “Yes. Ready when you are.”
Appalachian Abduction (Lavender Mountain Book 2; Appalachian Magic) Page 14