Dark Waters (2013)
Page 3
Why me?
He had nowhere to stick his gun so he removed the pocketbook from her fingers and stepped back, keeping a wary eye on her bloodthirsty knee. She stood there stunned, trembling, and breathing heavily. He didn’t think it had anything to do with his dazzling good looks.
“You bastard.” Her chin snapped up. “You aren’t Brent Carver.”
He cocked a brow. “What makes you say that?” He searched her bag, more by touch than sight in the darkness. A cell phone, wallet, keys, tampons, tissues. No gun or shank.
“He’s a respectable painter. He’s not some nutcase who runs about in the middle of the night, waving around a gun, among other things,” she muttered darkly. “Attacking innocent, defenseless women.”
The scratches on his arm stung enough for him to snort out a laugh at that. Her eyes narrowed. He watched moonlight flow over her features, fine boned and delicate, except for the tight clench of her jaw.
There was no obvious threat in her pocketbook, but it didn’t mean he should let his guard down. He needed clothes. For some crazy reason, he was getting a little turned on by Miss Prim and Proper telling him who and what he was. It was probably being naked and within a hundred yards of anything two legged and female, but he didn’t want to scare her any more than he had already. He wasn’t a hound. Nor was he under any illusion about what she thought might happen when he grabbed her. Someone had jumped him in the shower once and lost their eye for the trouble. Hell, most people thought he was evil incarnate and that was the way he liked it. He reached past her and opened the door. “Inside. Now.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.” She tried to dodge aside.
He grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her across his threshold. “You want to meet Brent? I’ll take you to him.” Her eyes were so huge with fear she looked like she’d been electrocuted. But she’d come to him, she had to play by his rules.
CHAPTER 2
“Get your hands off me!”
An elbow in the gut made Brent let her go. Jeez, she was a touchy little thing. He rubbed his stomach. It wasn’t like he was creeping around her place while she was nude, because he was damn sure she’d be crying bloody murder and he’d be waving at everyone from the back of a police cruiser. This was his property. It was nighttime. He’d been in bed. Kind of.
“I don’t even know what I’m doing here.” The tiredness in her voice hit him differently than her anger had.
“That makes two of us.” He opened the door to the laundry room just off to one side and snagged a pair of clean jeans from the top of the basket. Resting the gun and her bag on the washing machine, he kept his eye on her as he pulled the jeans on and zipped his manhood back into place. Then he dragged a black T-shirt over his head, grabbed his gun and her pocketbook, and skirted past her into the living room. He didn’t turn on the light.
She hovered uncertainly in the hallway near the kitchen before following him through the moonlit house to stand beside the couch opposite.
Hair brushed her shoulders in a dark mess. Eyes, wide and bright as a spaniel’s but not as full of terror as before. Hands were tightly clasped, betraying nerves she was trying hard to conceal. She wore a blouse, edged with silver ribbon that glinted in the darkness, and shorts that hit mid thigh and showed off a pair of very fine legs. The sneakers on her feet were the only concession to trekking through the wilderness.
“What do you want with good old Brent?”
“None of your business. Where is he?”
She looked vaguely familiar but he couldn’t place her. “I’m his PA. Persuade me you need to talk to him and I’ll wake him.”
She shifted her feet. “It’s personal. I’d rather talk to him.”
Stubborn, that was for damn sure. “No one talks to Brent unless they go through me first.” Hell, he should hire a PA to deal with all the bullshit that came his way, but then he’d be stuck with someone in his house 24-7 and he’d rather not deal with people, period.
He watched the internal struggle play out across her features. Dark eyes narrowing over a cute snub nose, her sweet bow of a mouth thinning, the delicate line of her throat rippling as she swallowed her frustration.
Stymied.
He smiled grimly.
She leaned forward an inch. “I’m…er…in trouble—”
“Pregnant?” No one was pinning a paternity suit on his ass and he’d sure as hell remember doing hers.
“Don’t be an idiot,” she snapped.
Ouch. He absently rubbed his sternum. She started pacing the hardwood. “Although maybe I’m the idiot. I’ve come all this way on nothing more than one of his stupid whims.” She wiped her hands over her eyes. “Brent’s probably as trustworthy as my father was—”
“Was?” he interrupted sharply. “What do you mean was?” His mouth went dry because he suddenly knew where he’d seen her before. And he knew who her father was. He tried to swallow, but the muscles in his throat tightened like a noose.
Her eyes shimmered in the night, so young, so beautiful. Anna Silver. Her father had been his cellmate for five long years and had read her letters out loud to him so often Brent felt like he knew her inside out. But he didn’t. She was a stranger.
“He died.” Her voice cracked but he made no move to comfort her. A huge cavern of darkness opened up inside him, trying to consume him whole.
“I think he was murdered.”
His head jerked up. “What?”
She nodded toward her purse, which he handed back to her. “Last night I received a voice mail from him. That’s what I was trying to show you when you slammed me against the door.”
“I barely touched you,” he snarled.
“You had no clothes on! And have a gun—”
“You’re damn lucky I didn’t shoot you. Christ knows, I’m starting to regret it myself,” he muttered the last. He tried not to think about Davis. It hurt. Like losing Gina all over again. “Ex-cons aren’t the sort of people you drop in on, especially at”—he glanced at the clock on the stove—“two a.m. How the hell did you get here?” He dragged his hand through his hair. The water taxi closed hours ago.
She looked away from him. “I flew into Vancouver late last night. Contacted a pilot I’ve used before who flew me into Victoria on his floatplane. I got a few hours’ sleep and then drove up here. When I got to Bamfield, I borrowed a rowboat to get across the inlet, and tied it to the public dock. I figured I’d return it before anyone noticed it was gone.” She kept rubbing her thumbs over one another, actions that belied her no-nonsense attitude. “Dad wrote to me once describing the house and exactly how to get here.”
Brent was intimately acquainted with how much Davis liked to write to his kid. But she was talking about hours of driving on rough logging roads in the Canadian bush at night. Anything could have happened. His stomach churned just thinking about it.
Moonlight flooded the room as clouds shifted across the sky; everything turned bright cold monochrome.
“It wasn’t that hard. Now go and wake Brent Carver so I can figure out what to do next.” The edge to her voice was back as if she were clinging to her temper by the thinnest of margins.
“I’m Brent.”
Something flashed in her eyes. “Oh, please. I’m not stupid.”
Brent figured there were all kinds of stupid, and went over to the kitchen drawer where he kept his wallet. He tossed it to her, not wanting to get too close in case he gave in to the desire to throttle her.
“If you’re lucky,” he sneered, upper lip curling because he’d rather bait her than think about her father, “I’ll show you my etchings.” She was pissing him off and he wasn’t known for his charm or patience.
She took out his driver’s license and squinted at him through the darkness. Damned if he was putting on a light so she could examine him more thoroughly. That thought brought a hot wave of sexual awareness bolting though his blood, and sweat broke out across his back. Great. Because twenty years of frustration wasn’
t torture enough.
She pursed her lips and stared him down. Not bad for a rookie.
Then it hit him. Davis was dead. His best friend was gone. His throat stretched taut as emotion crushed him. He strode to the window to stare at the sea that glistened with silver ribbons, anything to avoid dealing with the tsunami of grief that wanted to demolish him.
Davis had barely survived his first week in prison. Despite Brent being more than a decade younger than Anna’s father, he’d already been in jail for fourteen years when Davis had arrived, which made him vastly more experienced when it came to staying alive. He’d taken pity on the older guy, stood up for him, and taught him how to survive in a place where weakness meant years of humiliation or death. In return he’d found a friend in a place where they didn’t usually exist.
The sound of Anna’s breathing was louder than the surf. She was fighting for control, trying to manage what would likely be one of the worst days of her life, and he was being an insensitive prick.
“Why do you think he was murdered?” he asked gruffly.
He heard a rustle as she dug for her cell. The electronic ding as she turned it on.
“Anna, I’m in big trouble.” Davis’s voice punched him with memories. Five years in an eight-by-ten cell surrounded by Brent’s canvases and the smell of paint as they dissected each other’s lives from top to bottom, and watched each other’s backs. “But I didn’t do anything wrong, I swear it. I’m on my way to the FBI offices, but they’re too close. I’m never going to make it! They’re gonna kill me. They’re gonna be looking for their money. I mailed you the printouts but they don’t know where I sent it. You know. Take the information to the feds.”
What the hell had Davis gotten mixed up with?
“You need to get out of there until things quiet down. Dammit. I’ve done it again.” He sounded like he was crying now and it was noisy as fuck in the background. Brent’s fists clenched. “I love you and I’m sorry for everything. There’s only one person I trust besides you, you know that, right? Go to him, tonight. Tell him I’m cashing in those promises we made one another.”
Shit—anyone else he’d have told to go to hell, but Davis? He cleared his throat. “Any idea what he was talking about?”
Huge shadowed eyes met his and she shook her head.
“And he’s definitely dead?” The words sounded callous and harsh, spat out into the quiet room.
She swallowed twice before she answered. “Cops said he fell under a train at a subway station. Someone said they thought he was being chased.” A glistening streak bisected one cheek, but he’d never have known she was crying from her rock-steady voice.
He went over and grabbed his cell. “Play it again.”
Her lips tightened but she did as he asked. He recorded the message, then took the cell out of her hand and pulled out the SIM card. He strode over to the kitchen sink and ran the card through the garbage disposal.
She made a sound like a strangled warthog. “What the hell?”
“Until we figure this out, it’s better if the bad guys can’t track you. I’ll buy you a new phone. Does anyone else know you’re here?”
She shook her head and wrapped her arms tight around her waist.
“Did you use your credit or debit cards anywhere?”
“Only to book my flight to Vancouver. After that I paid cash.”
“And you didn’t tell anyone where you were going? You’re sure of it?”
“No one in the world knows I’m here.”
Brent blinked as she bolted for the door. What the…? He went after her. Slapped his hand on the solid wood when she tried to wrench it open.
“Leave me alone!” She frantically tugged on the doorknob.
“Jesus, lady, calm down.” Hysterical females were not his thing. She was stronger than she looked and he had to put some effort into keeping the door shut. But her eyes held raw panic that told him she was genuinely terrified he might hurt her. And she should be—she should be scared of a man with his reputation. She yanked so hard on the door handle he budged an inch. Not bad, considering he weighed at least a hundred pounds more than she did and was probably a good foot taller. He wanted to ease away but knew if he did, she’d run into the wilderness at night where anything could happen to her, and this wasn’t just some anonymous stranger—this was Davis’s daughter. He was stuck and he was pissed. He didn’t placate, he didn’t soothe. But he did keep his word.
“I can’t believe I listened to anything Dad said—”
“Why wouldn’t you listen to him?”
Eyes flashed. “My father was a liar and a thief who never gave a damn about how his actions affected others.”
“Are you fucking nuts? The guy was set up.”
“Oh, please.” She stopped tugging long enough to argue with him. That figured. “He stole a million dollars and got caught and never had the guts to own up to it.”
“You’re wrong.” Anger had him gritting his teeth. He gripped her shoulder, applying enough pressure to make her stop fighting with the damn doorknob. She quivered under his fingertips. Davis had asked him to keep her safe. He wouldn’t let the man down. “You’re the only thing he ever truly cared about.”
“Well, he had a funny way of showing it.”
The scent of her engulfed him and those huge frantic eyes made him want to tell her everything was going to be all right. But her dad was dead and he knew from experience it would never be all right again.
The two of them stood close in the darkness. Too close. The hollows of her collarbone and graceful line of her neck called to something primitive inside him, and he had to force himself not to react. She’d grown from the pretty teen he’d seen in photographs into a pretty woman—maybe even beautiful. But her oval face was punctuated by that stubborn jaw that would have told him she’d be trouble even if she hadn’t landed in his lap in the middle of the night. Harsh gasps made her breasts stretch the thin fabric of her shirt, but as her expression once again morphed into fear, he worked very hard not to notice.
Fear wasn’t the same as weakness. Everyone in jail was intimately acquainted with the difference.
“Look.” He held his hands aloft and stepped back. “You can leave any time you want. I don’t want you here any more than you want to be here, but…” Her bottom lip stuck out just enough to set off a chain reaction in his body that ended at his dick. Off-limits, partner. “Your dad was the only friend I had in prison and more like a father than my own.”
Maybe now wasn’t the time to bring up his biological father. There were bad people in the world, and closing your eyes and pretending they didn’t exist was for fools and children. Judging from Anna Silver’s expression, she already knew that. Unfortunately she was more scared of him than the guys who’d gotten her dad killed. He had to change that if he was going to help her.
“I’m not going to hurt you. You’ve been traveling for hours. You’re tired.” Christ, he wasn’t good at this shit. He went and grabbed his handgun and pressed it into her palms. She flinched. “It’s loaded. Do not shoot me. This should make you feel safe enough to rest until we figure out what the hell he was into.”
Her mouth dropped open and he tipped up her chin to close it. There was a weird kick in his gut from the physical connection. When was the last time he’d touched another human being that didn’t involve handcuffs?
Forget it. Not important.
“There’re spare bedrooms upstairs, take the first on the right. Stick a dresser in front of the door if you need to, get some sleep. But do me a favor—do not call anyone. Don’t e-mail anyone. Definitely don’t use your credit card in town. We’ll figure out this mess in the morning.”
“How do I know I can trust you?” She took a step back and weighed the gun with both hands. It was his turn to sweat.
“Hell, I didn’t say you should trust me. But I’m wealthy enough that I don’t need to sell you out to the bad guys.” He grimaced. “A bonus in my circles, believe me.”
Since Gina’s murder he’d lost his faith in knowing who he was. He just knew he wasn’t the heartless bastard he tried so hard to portray. He couldn’t chase this woman off until he’d figured out whether or not she was in real danger. But she sure as hell couldn’t stay here without him going bat-shit crazy.
Davis had sounded genuinely terrified in that message and now he was dead. If it were a coincidence, the timing sucked.
He opened the door.
“Where’re you going?” she asked, suspicion loaded into every syllable.
“To make sure the rowboat you borrowed gets back safely to the right dock and no one suspects you’re here. You have a rental car?”
She shook her head. “I stayed at my mom’s house in Victoria and borrowed her VW to drive up here. I left it outside the bar. My bag’s in the trunk.”
His brows rose in question.
“I didn’t talk to her. Mom,” she clarified. “She and my stepfather are on a cruise to Alaska. I left a message on her voice mail to tell her about Dad.”
Now that was cold.
She grimaced. “Told her I’d make the arrangements and come home soon for a visit. She won’t miss her car for at least a week.”
He held out his hand for the keys.
She went back to her bag, dug them out, and dropped them into his palm. “Don’t ditch it in the sea.”
He laughed, which felt strange. “I have a garage on the other side of the inlet. I’ll squeeze your car next to my truck.” Staring at her in the darkness was like remembering a dream. “I’m sorry about your daddy, Anna,” he said softly. “He was a good man.”