When he eased away, he caressed her cheek, her jaw, his fingers trembling. His expression was unreadable in the afternoon shadows that cut deep across his face. “Mara, about last night.”
Her stomach squeezed. Here it comes. She couldn’t head him off with a protest that others were listening. The other sea-lion watchers had moved off toward the street. A lone man stood beneath an awning perusing a guide book but he was too far away to hear their conversation. “What do you mean?”
“You. Me. We have this connection, and I can’t ignore it. And neither can you, although you try to.” He leaned closer so his intense gaze bored into her. “Sweetheart, having you come for me more than once is a major turn-on, but seeing you fight it isn’t exactly an ego booster. Care to tell me what that’s about?”
She averted her gaze but couldn’t focus on the sea lions. “You’re imagining things.”
“You said that last night. Didn’t wash then. Doesn’t now. You have a damn good memory but mine’s not bad. I recall you saying something to your sister about not being like your mom. Am I getting warm?”
She bent her head and chewed her lip. This family secret was so personal. But personal was what they’d been last night and many nights before. “My parents met in San Francisco when Dad was just starting out with Global Insurance. I don’t have all the details. But Mom was the hostess in her brother-in-law’s restaurant. She’s doing the same job again. They married eight weeks later and moved to Maryland. She was pregnant. Cassie and I did the math a long time ago.”
“A whirlwind courtship. Nothing wrong with that. The marriage lasted, didn’t it?”
“The marriage lasted but not the relationship. It’s like that Johnny Cash song. Something about marrying in a fever and then the fever burns out. She let passion overrule her brain and fell for a totally incompatible man. They never agreed about anything. Not politics. Not household matters. Not us kids. Nothing.”
“Big fights, or what?”
“Sometimes. Most of the time, one of them gave in, usually Mom. She’d mutter to herself in Korean and slam a door or something.”
She hadn’t thought about it in a long time but now saw how the tension had affected her and Cassie in different ways. Cassie became confrontational and defensive but was always looking for love with the wrong man. Just like Mom.
And herself? She wanted love and caring and common interests with the right man. Did that make her the perfectionist Cassie’d always accused her of being? She had no answers. Not today. Not with Cort standing beside her, so strong and sexy and distracting.
He rubbed his nape as he mulled over what she’d said. “I get how you know about the incompatibility. You lived it every day. But you know about the sex thing how?”
“When I was about twelve and Cassie seventeen, she overheard them talking. Arguing was more like it, I guess. She explained it to me. I vowed right then never to let myself fall for a guy strictly because of sex.”
“An intelligent decision. Just like you. But you’ve taken it to an extreme conclusion. So you hold back on good sex and the pleasure two people can give each other on the off chance sex tips the balance with the wrong guy?” The scar-dimple in his cheek winked at her, a sure indication he was having fun with this topic. A whole lot more than she was.
She shook her head, pulled her hair back and up to cool her neck, which was hot for some unaccountable reason. So were her cheeks. Dammit. She avoided his eyes, or he’d see too much. “You make it too simple.”
“Sweetheart, nothing about you is simple.”
She chanced a look. This time he wasn’t grinning. She let her hair down and continued. “Last night was the aftermath of an emotional day. I was exhausted. So were you, after the flight west. The whole thing with Danita Inglish and the two attackers. We’d been through a lot together. I felt... overwhelmed and a bit frightened by my strong reactions to our lovemaking.” She stopped there, before she dove into a quagmire.
He kissed her palm. “I’m glad it wasn’t me who scared you. But who knows what Cassie really overheard and what you understood from her explanation? You were a kid. You should ask your mom for the truth.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Absolutely not. Would you dare to ask your mom about her sex life with your dad?”
“No need. I heard them too many times through the wall. They loved each other. I know because they told me. Love’s no guarantee people agree on everything. Or much of anything.”
New sea lion watchers joined them on the wharf, likely early diners at the many seafood restaurants and raw bars. Because it was getting late, the two of them left the wharf and headed up Taylor Street toward the cable car turntable. Beyond, sunlight skidded across the rooftops of candy-colored Victorian houses lining the vertical streets.
Cort glanced at her as they walked along. Fear of passion? Maybe. Her parents’ fights had stressed her childhood, just like his, for different reasons and in different ways. Her face was so expressive and her eyes revealed everything. Not this time. She was still hiding something, something she deliberately omitted from her revelation. Emotional overload? Crap. What the hell did he know about women’s emotions? Not much. Probably smarter of him not to try to find out. Getting in any deeper with her would lead nowhere either of them wanted to go.
But he’d never known sex to be so powerful, so all-encompassing. And he had to wait hours for the night.
They crossed the street, but this time the turntable stood empty. The tracks ribboned up the hill, empty. The ticket attendant said the next cable car was due in about ten minutes. Five other people stood around with tickets in hand. He followed Mara around the barrier and sat on a planter big enough for an oak tree.
She turned to him, her eyes bright with purpose. “Okay, now it’s your turn. You’ve talked a lot about Leon. Is there a reason you’ve avoided talking about your mom?”
His breath hitched. Yes, there was a reason. Pain. But he’d opened the door. He tucked her arm in the crook of his elbow while he composed himself. He got through the day easier when he avoided remembering how he’d failed his mom. “Fair enough question. I don’t talk about her because her death is my fault.”
“What? That can’t be. You were in prison when she died.” Her disbelief almost but not quite mitigated the shame that bubbled up after he spoke the damning words.
“Exactly.” He swallowed against the tightness that gathered in his throat. “First I should tell you this isn’t my first visit to San Francisco.”
“Whoa, really?” She gaped at him with a look of disappointment. “If you’ve seen Chinatown and Fisherman’s Wharf, you should’ve told me.”
“If I’ve been to either place, I’ve forgotten. I was eight.”
She gawped. “So San Francisco was one of the many places you lived with your parents?”
He hadn’t thought about that time in forever. Being here propelled him to relive the year. Painful memories. “Leon moved us here in pursuit of some big score. I have no idea what his target was. I do know I never got to ride on a cable car. Mom pronounced it too expensive. Never mind that Leon always had plenty of dough. She did temp work when she could so she had her own money. She tried not to spend his. I can’t recall where we lived—a row house away from the city center. We usually traveled by streetcar and bus. I took a city bus to school.”
“How long did you live here?”
“About a year. Just long enough for me to get used to the routine. Then something happened with Leon’s big plans—maybe he scored, maybe not—and we split in the middle of the night.”
She gave his arm a squeeze. Maybe she’d sensed his bitterness. Hiding his emotions from her wasn’t working.
“Tough on a family, a nomad life like that,” she said finally.
“Back then I thought of it as a big adventure. Now I think the stay was more of a fiasco. Might’ve been when my mother started drinking.” A band tightened around his chest. His eyes stung as he fought the memories.
She s
aid nothing. Just waited quietly, her hand secure on his arm.
Somehow the pressure inside him eased enough so he could keep going. He spilled all that had festered inside him for the years since the warden told him his mother had died. Accidental, he said, a combination of tranquilizers and vodka. A long downhill slide that might have begun here or earlier. He’d been too young to know.
“First she had daily cocktails. Next she needed a “pick-me-up” at lunch. Then a little here and there all day. At first I wasn’t conscious of her descent into an alcohol haze. Too young and stupid, I guess. She kept up a façade of calm stoicism.”
“You were just a kid. I can’t imagine how alone you must’ve felt. How helpless.” Her understanding gave him the strength to continue more or less calmly. “And Leon?” she asked.
He snorted his scorn. “Too involved in his schemes and redesigning the stolen gems into saleable jewelry that I wonder whether Leon even realized his wife was going under. After the divorce, she got worse. I became her caretaker.”
“And took care of yourself, I imagine.”
“Some. When the FBI arrested Leon and then me for the Gramornia theft, she had to be hospitalized. A wake-up call for Leon, but too late.”
“He must’ve felt remorse.”
Ever the optimist about people, misplaced in Leon’s case, but her words comforted him. “Never knew him to regret a damned thing. When that all went down, I never wanted to see him again. The court kept him locked up but they let me visit my mom in rehab.” He didn’t add he’d been wearing handcuffs and an ankle monitor.
She’d wept in his arms. “I warned Leon years ago. I begged him. And look what he’s done to you.”
“She got better for a while,” Cort said, “but she was alone. I deserted her. I failed her. By giving in to Leon, I betrayed her. If I’d been with her, I could’ve stopped the slide.” His breath hitched and he couldn’t continue.
“What was your mother’s name?”
“Monica.”
“A good strong name. Cort, your mother started down her self-destructive path when you were little. None of it was your fault, not her drinking, not her death. If you want to blame someone, blame Leon. He betrayed you both, first teaching you to pick locks and then dragging you into the robbery. I wish he wasn’t dead so I could tell him exactly what I think of him.”
She leaned her head against his shoulder, and he felt the tension in his chest ease a bit more. They sat like that until the cable car arrived.
***
Forty-five minutes later Cort held the door to the condo building for Mara. Seeing the city was great but the memory-lane session hit him like three rounds with The Rock. If he could, he’d avoid accompanying Mara tonight. He wanted to hang out in the condo with his feet up.
In the lobby, the security guard hailed them from his circular metal and glass desk.
“Ms. Marton, a guy came by just a few minutes ago with an envelope for you.” The middle-aged guard was thin but with a pot belly that made him look pregnant.
The exhaustion weighing on Cort forgotten like yesterday’s weather, he looked sharp at the guard, as did Mara.
“Where is it?” she asked. “The envelope?”
The guard shook his head. “He wanted to take it on up but I told him you weren’t in and I’d deliver it when you returned. He wouldn’t leave it with me. Said he’d be back.”
Mara nodded and thanked the man. She started across the carpet toward the elevator.
“Wait,” Cort said. “Did this delivery man know the unit number?”
“Nope, he asked me. But I know better’n to give out that information.” He narrowed his eyes. “You think it was some sorta scam?”
“Was he wearing an official uniform, like UPS or Fed Ex?” Mara asked.
He looked upward, thinking. “Blue pants, blue shirt, no insignia.”
Cort’s gut tightened. “What did he look like? Black, white, brown, old, young?”
“White. Thirty, forty. Average height. Nothing special. Couldn’t see his hair ’cause he was wearing a Giants cap. Official, black cap with the orange S and F.”
Mara blinked at the guard’s statement and opened her mouth, shut it again.
Cort’s fingers curled into his palms. Damn sports fan, the guard remembered the cap better than the phony delivery man’s features. “Did you see his truck?”
“No vehicle. But there was another guy. I noticed him earlier, just standing across the street. Looked at his watch like he was waiting for somebody so I didn’t worry. When the delivery guy left, this other guy sorta followed him. Hung back a bit, you know, then slouched along a ways behind him.” The guard shrugged in a self-deprecating gesture. “I could be wrong.”
“What did this second guy look like?”
“Never got a good look at him. Too far away. But he didn’t wear no cap.”
The knot in Cort’s gut said the Centaur agent named Rousso had found them. Or it could be Colonel Yerik even though Cort had fed him bullshit about having to appear to search to satisfy the FBI.
Chapter 20
Cort flexed his fingers and splayed his hands on the desk, giving the guard a hard stare. “I appreciate the heads-up. You did the right thing. Under no circumstances are you to allow anyone to go up to the unit. You got that?”
The man’s eyes widened at the flinty tone. He jerked his head up and down several times in a passable bobble-head-doll imitation.
After an admonishing glare in Cort’s direction, Mara beamed her bone-melting smile. She shook the guard’s hand. “Thank you for being so alert. We feel safe with you on the job. Will you convey Mr. Jones’s instructions to the other security people?”
“Yes, ma’am, I sure will. You got it.” His relief at her blandishments was palpable.
Cort hustled her to the elevator before the mutual admiration session got out of hand.
“You didn’t have to yell at him,” she said in a low voice. “Or use the death stare.”
Shit, he might’ve overdone his warning, but she didn’t have to hit on the guy. “Between your good cop and my bad cop, he got the message,” he hissed.
Neither of them spoke in the elevator, although they were alone. Earlier she’d pointed out the security camera and a small mic. Security, crap. Too much like prison.
Once inside the condo, Cort tossed his plastic bag of souvenirs on a nearby chair. He heaved a sigh. Safety. For now. “What was that about the Giants cap?”
Crinkles fanned the edges of her eyes, testament to her worry. “When we were on the wharf, I saw a man wearing a Giants cap under the restaurant awning. He was studying a guide book.”
“Why didn’t you mention him earlier?”
She raised and lowered one shoulder in dismissal. “I didn’t think it was important. He was too far to hear our conversation and he didn’t seem to be paying us any attention. When we walked back toward the street, he was gone. You’re thinking it was maybe the man who killed Danita? Rolf Rousso?”
“It’s possible. They didn’t get her ring piece so maybe they’ve decided to go for mine.”
“Or they think I have one. The envelope was for me, remember.” She shrugged out of her jacket and marched to the kitchen. He followed, noting her trembling hands as she poured a glass of water and began to drink. She collapsed back against the counter, her face pale as paper. “Do you think it was a bomb or something?”
He opened the fridge for one of the bottles of green tea he’d bought earlier. What addressing the package to her meant, he could only guess. The likely threat only doubled his determination to keep her by his side and protect her. Damn the bastards and damn Leon for putting him in this situation. Fear for her scraped his spine.
He should’ve been looking for danger this afternoon. He’d been thinking not with his brain but with another part of his anatomy. He nearly exploded with the burst of profanity caroming inside him. Instead, he downed a healthy slug of tea. He should’ve opened a beer. If he could find any, a
shot of whiskey.
A deep breath evened his voice before he trusted himself to speak. “A bomb in an envelope? Maybe. More likely a ploy to get access. Who knows what they’re up to? Or if it’s Rousso or the colonel. But somebody knows where we’re staying. So how the hell did they find out?”
“Someone who knew what he was doing might use my credit card transactions to trace us as far as this street. Other than that, he’d have to ask in every building.”
“The guy across the street. Could your boss have sent somebody to watch over us?”
Her exotic eyes widened and she took a step backward. “A bodyguard? But that doesn’t make sense. How would that man know the delivery was to me? And if he’s protecting me—us—why follow the other man?”
“Good point. But you could call and ask.” There was a second call she should make. Now was a good time to find out if the suspicion prodding him was valid.
She blew out a breath and her mouth thinned. “Okay. It doesn’t hurt to ask.” She retrieved her bag from the chair where she’d deposited it and dug out her phone. “I’m going to freshen up for dinner.” She headed toward the stairs and he followed, enjoying the view.
“There’s another possibility, but you won’t like it,” he said.
She turned on the third step. “André.”
He smiled as he wound a finger in a strand of hair dangling by her ear. “I do like how your mind works. Damn convenient this international mogul hooked up with your sister at this particular time. I wonder if he’s still in town.”
“My mom might have told Cassie we were coming west.”
She looked so guilty he kissed her. “And she’d have told André.”
She looped her arms around his neck, easier because he stood on the step below her. But the anguish in her eyes said romance wasn’t on her mind.
“I should’ve told Mom to keep it quiet. What if her telling Cassie is what led Centaur to Danita Inglish? Then it’s my fault she was killed.”
Ring of Truth (Devlin Security Force Book 2) Page 18