She braced herself. She’d acted like a brat last night. “I need to apologize for what I said.” Her gaze hit his feet and she blinked. He wore socks—a first in their short acquaintance.
“Forget it. I have to go out. Don’t answer the phone.” He shot her a scowl.
Forget it? How could she?
“Aren’t you curious to see who was calling you?”
He looked at her like she was crazy. Then he grabbed a cup of coffee and an expression of bliss crossed his features as he took a sip. “Damn, if you didn’t talk so much, I’d keep you around for your coffee and your cooking.”
“Yeah, I always wanted to be someone’s housekeeper.” She lifted an unimpressed eyebrow, but felt a weird sliver of pleasure at his words. No one had ever offered to keep her around before. Not for any reason. She wasn’t an easy person to get along with. Ironically, neither was he.
He grinned and all those body parts that had been dormant for eons started to jiggle for attention. Crap—this was not what she needed.
“Where are you going?” Anna crossed her arms over traitorous nipples. Her nightshirt hung to mid thigh and she wasn’t wearing anything except panties underneath.
“I have a meeting in Port Alberni.” His expression didn’t encourage questions.
“I want to come too.”
“No.”
“Why not?” she asked.
He blew out an exasperated breath. “Look, I’ll be back by dinnertime. You just enjoy the rest.”
That was what normal people did. Relaxed on the beach, built sand castles, and enjoyed the view. She paced the kitchen floor. “I’m already bored out of my skull.”
“You’ve only been here two nights.” He sounded incredulous and it made her smile.
“I have nothing to do.” God, she hated being a whiner, but being idle was driving her crazy. All her books were in Cauldwell Lake. Her garden. Her home. She’d had e-books on her phone, but that was toast. This summer she’d planned to redecorate her office. Summer was her time to get things done, and yet here she was trapped doing nothing, with no end in sight, and she couldn’t settle.
“You’d never have survived prison.” His shirt matched his eyes and the effect was mesmerizing.
“That’s why I don’t break the law.” She didn’t want to be mesmerized. He had beautiful everything but it didn’t change the fact that he wasn’t the sort of guy to fall for.
“Fine, come with me but”—he ran a frustrated hand though his too long hair—“in case you’ve forgotten, you’re supposed to be in hiding.” He went into the laundry room and pulled a ball cap off a peg, and dusted it off by slapping it against his thigh with a whack. “Wear this.” He tugged it over her hair. “You’ve got five minutes to get ready. As much as I hate this guy, I can’t be late.”
She dashed up the stairs, making sure her shirt didn’t ride up and flash the guy. “Who is it?” she called.
“My parole officer.” He followed her and she knew she was blushing even though he couldn’t see anything. Or maybe he could because his eyes gleamed when his gaze met hers at the top of the stairs. She closed the bedroom door and hurriedly pulled on a denim skirt and a blue shirt that didn’t match her eyes. Brushed her teeth, took a swipe at her hair, and grabbed her pocketbook. When she came out of the bathroom she noticed the handgun was missing off the bedside table. Brent must have removed it—which was fine with her. She didn’t like guns and wasn’t sure she could actually shoot another human being anyway. She met him coming out of his studio carrying two huge canvases wrapped in bubble wrap and brown paper.
“Is that a bribe to keep you out of prison?”
“If that’s what it takes.” A line cut down one cheek as he grinned.
She sighed. She needed to stop making him smile.
“If you must know, Miss Sarcasm, they’re original pieces for an exhibition someone’s running of my work in New York City.”
She noticed a slight tinge of scarlet touch his cheeks. “Impressive stuff.” She let him lead the way down the stairs.
He looked back over his shoulder and she told herself not to fall for the charming rogue persona. “People are crazy, what can I say?”
“Some more than others,” she agreed. He laughed and her heart gave a little tumble. She didn’t tell him she had one of his paintings over her bed at home and that it was better than therapy when it came to helping her relax.
Half an hour later, they were rumbling along the dusty gravel logging road in Brent’s truck. It was royal blue with rust around one wheel arch and a foot-long crack in the windshield. Not what she expected from a wealthy painter.
Brent’s brooding silence and tight features didn’t invite idle chitchat. They hit a rut that had her airborne and he thrust his arm across her chest in an old-fashioned protective gesture that had her flinching away from him. A flush burned across his cheeks.
“Sorry,” he said, giving her an unreadable look from under his lashes.
“It’s OK.” She wished she didn’t automatically freak when a guy touched her. Not just with him, but men in general. She noticed something different about his profile. “You shaved.”
He rubbed his chin. “Usually I can’t be bothered, but I try not to look like a Neanderthal for the people who can put me back inside.”
“So if you break the conditions of your parole, you go back to prison?”
“Yup.” His shoulders tensed. He obviously didn’t want to talk about this.
“What about your gun?” Anna asked.
“What gun?” Brent deadpanned.
The gun was a parole violation. She’d probably known that but it hadn’t registered until now. The fact he’d given it to her at the cabin was an even bigger sign of trust than she’d realized. He’d handed over the power to put him back inside, and from what she knew, that was the last thing he wanted.
“How long are you on parole for?” What she really wanted to know was why he’d killed his father. Brent didn’t seem like a bad person—maybe a little scary, but not evil. So what had caused him to take a life?
His lips turned down. “For the same amount of time my dad’s dead. Forever.” He made it sound like he deserved every minute, and yet…there was something about him that made her want to believe in him—or she was the biggest fool to ever walk the face of the earth.
“If you could go back in time,” she asked quietly, “would you change what you did?”
The tension in the cab stretched as taut as a fifty-pound shark on a ten-pound line.
“No,” he said finally.
Her stomach clenched.
That simple word reminded her of all the reasons she needed to be careful around this man, at a time when she was just beginning to relax her guard.
Brent sat in the parole officer’s waiting room in Port Alberni and stared at the institutional green walls and matching linoleum. This place was nothing like prison, but it held the same tinge of fear and grimy unease that was a constant reminder of that demoralizing institution. Prison was meant to be punishment, but knowing he’d killed his father had been punishment enough. The rest had been torture.
The guy opposite had a nervous tic and way too much energy than was sensible while visiting your parole officer.
Brent held his gaze for a second and moved on. The other guy did the same. Not a connection, just an exchange of information. Don’t fuck with me. The secretary opened the door. “Mr. Carver.”
Brent stood and walked into the office. Anna had gone to pick up a bunch of supplies from Walmart. He certainly didn’t want her in this soul-sucking place. The secretary sat back down with a smile, but the parole officer didn’t even look up as his pen whizzed across paper.
Until last year he’d been down to reporting every three weeks, which had been bearable. After Gina’s murder, even though he’d had nothing to do with her death, they’d upped it back up to weekly. Pain in the ass.
“Anything to report, Carver?” The guy’s abrasive tone irritat
ed Brent, but he’d dealt with worse over the years.
“No, sir.”
The guy slowly raised his head and gave him a gimlet stare. “How’s the painting?” He made it sound like Brent did finger painting for elementary students. Although it must grate like a horsehair jockstrap to know the con you were in charge of could earn more by doodling on a napkin than you made in a week.
He gave a slow nod. “Got a big exhibition in the States next week.”
A cruel smile played on this guy’s lips. “Pity they won’t let you in.”
Jerkoff. “Oh, they’ll let me in.” He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. Noticed the secretary checking him out from under her lashes and gave her a wink. “They already gave me a visa, but no way in hell am I going to New York City. Or missing my appointment with you.” This was a great excuse to feed his agent. Goddamn parole officer won’t let me go—
“If it’s to further your career, I’ll sign off on the visit.”
Now that was twisted. Why couldn’t he have his old parole officer back? She’d been strict but didn’t like to pull the legs off spiders. “I don’t want you to sign off on it. I don’t want to go to NYC.”
Perspiration glistened on the man’s shiny forehead. “Fortunately, I get to make the rules, not you, Carver.”
“And what happens if I don’t like your rules?”
The pen paused as small eyes gleamed. “You can always issue a formal complaint, but we both know how that would turn out for you.”
Not good.
Shit.
Anger welled up, but Brent forced it down. Never show reaction. Although this guy wasn’t the same as a guard, he had the power to send him back. Brent wasn’t ever going back. He took his slip of paper and folded it neatly into his wallet.
“You have a nice couple of weeks.” Brent saluted. Jackass. He smiled at the secretary and left whistling, just to piss everyone off.
He went out the front door and climbed into his truck. He drove over to Walmart and parked. Anna came out, looking as bright and pure and shiny as a newly minted coin. He touched his horn and she started walking over. His cell phone rang. It was probably his agent, so he answered because he’d just shipped his last canvas and was sick of the guy hassling him.
“Brent?”
The voice of the warden from the prison where he’d spent twenty years of his life shot through him like a knife that pinned him to his seat.
He cleared his throat. “What can I do for you, Warden?” They’d played chess and he’d even given the guy a few pictures over the years. Without the cooperation of the Prison Service, he wouldn’t have been able to paint, and Christ knows what he’d have done then.
“I’ve got some bad news for you”—Brent’s heart started pounding and his hands started to shake. Shit. And just like that he was catapulted into mind-numbing terror—“Davis Silver died a few days ago.”
Davis’s death. This was about Davis’s death. He didn’t have to go back to prison. Brent managed to get hold of himself.
“I received a call from the family.”
Brent frowned. Had Anna called the guy even though he’d told her not to?
“Saying they are going to organize a memorial service here on the island. I have some details…” The warden kept talking, but the details sounded off.
She hadn’t had time to arrange anything. They didn’t even know when the body was going to be released.
“Did you happen to mention my name to whoever was calling?” he asked.
“No.” Then there was a pause, a cough. “Well, I might have said, ‘Brent’…”
Oh, for fuck’s sake. Combine the prison and “Brent” and they had him.
Anna climbed in the truck and smiled. Some of the shadows had lifted from her eyes. The sun had kissed a little color into her cheeks, lightened streaks in her hair to dark gold.
She was beautiful. And someone was after her.
He scrubbed a hand over his face. He was about to drag her back to ugly reality. He’d have shielded her if he could.
“I appreciate the information, sir. When the family calls again, you be sure to tell them I’ll be at the memorial service.” Anna’s eyes widened and she opened her mouth to speak. He put his finger on her lips and the touch shot a flare through his body that had him hard in a heartbeat. Shit. They didn’t have time for distraction, not even the ones that would feel like heaven if either of them were ever foolish enough to go for it. His brain kicked in. “When did they call? Maybe I can catch them?”
“First thing this morning. I tried calling you at home, but then something came up in the courtyard.” Which usually meant a fight. “Caller ID said they were phoning from the ex-wife’s house.”
Brent blew out a breath of relief. Maybe they were still there. Maybe they’d get lucky and Finn’s fiancée could pick the guy up for B&E before he even hit the highway.
“Is there a problem?” The warden’s voice grew suspicious.
“No, sir.” Brent forced a little gruffness into his tone. It wasn’t hard, given his best friend was dead. Davis had been a good man with a soft heart who’d never belonged in prison. No way was Davis a thief, and now that he was dead, Brent was suddenly determined to prove the guy was innocent. “I guess I’m in shock. You know how close we were in prison.”
The man seemed to buy it and rang off with the promise to call again with more details when he knew them.
There was a long beat of silence. Hot sun pressed through the windscreen. There was a good chance his carefully constructed refuge was no longer safe. If it were just him, he’d have gone back, set up an ambush, and waited for the bastards to show up. He looked at Anna. He couldn’t risk it. Sonofabitch.
“What is it?” She fidgeted with her skirt.
That guileless green gaze of hers was so direct, so honest. Davis’s daughter. Even though he didn’t want to be forced out of his home, Anna was his priority. Above all else, he had to keep her safe.
“They’ve found you.”
Her eyes flared with shock as she looked around and he handed her the ball cap from earlier and adjusted it over her hair. Curled a lock behind her ear. She sat completely stunned. “I’m sorry.” He’d promised her safety, and his arrogance had almost led the enemy right to his door.
“How?” She swung to look at him.
“Called the prison from your mother’s house pretending to be family arranging a service. Warden gave them my first name. It won’t take them long to find me.”
“I can’t believe Papa was right. I can’t believe someone actually followed me.”
“I’m guessing that there is a lot of money involved.” For once he wished Davis had been lying. He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. We need to get out of here.” They needed to find the evidence Davis had mailed to Anna and end this thing. Why the hell hadn’t he just sent the evidence to the cops? He didn’t like the idea of Anna being in danger and it was more than basic concern for a fellow human being. It was fast turning into something he couldn’t afford—not for any woman. He was a loner by nature. Preferred it that way.
“Here’s what I want you to do.” He gave her a list of things to buy. Burner phones, clothes, travel stuff. She left the car with another wad of cash and he watched her as she entered the building.
Then he dialed a number and did something he’d never before done in his whole life. “Finn.”
“What’s up?”
Words dried up on his tongue.
“Brent, you OK?” The concern in his brother’s voice cut through him. For years Brent had tried to push him away, but Finn had never given up on him. Christ knew, he didn’t deserve him.
“I need your help.”
“About damn time.” Finn’s tone turned grim.
It still didn’t feel right. “I’ve got someone after me.” He gave Finn Anna’s mom’s name and told him what the warden had told him. “If they aren’t there, I’m pretty sure they’ll be coming for me at the cabin tonight
.” Nighttime was always the best time to launch an attack.
“I’m surprised you bothered to call.” Finn knew he usually took care of business himself.
Brent’s lip twitched. “I’m trying to be a law-abiding citizen. Anyway, that’s not the problem. The problem is, I’m not actually there at the moment. I was wondering if Holly’s colleagues at the major crime unit would scoop up these scumbags?”
Holly was Finn’s fiancée—Royal Canadian Mounted Police Sergeant Holly Rudd—whose father was the top cop in British Columbia. She and Finn were getting married in September and although he’d never say it out loud, Brent admired her spunk and appreciated her dedication to his brother.
“Who’s after you, Brent?”
“They aren’t after me. They’re after a friend who got caught in someone else’s cross fire. She hasn’t done anything wrong.” He didn’t want to get his brother tangled in anything illegal, and until Brent had evidence Davis was innocent, Brent couldn’t prove the guy had altruistic motives for moving that cash. “These guys are players. Maybe ex-military. Probably armed. Definitely dangerous. Your people need to take care.” He didn’t want any dead cops on his conscience.
Finn was silent on the phone. “Freddy Chastain is based in Port Alberni for an investigation. I’ll sound him out, then talk to Holly.”
Brent gripped the phone. “I just need the place standing when I come home.” He didn’t care if it was riddled with bullets, he just needed four walls and a roof.
“Where you going?”
He didn’t want to go anywhere. “I have that exhibition in the States.”
“I thought you weren’t going to make that,” Finn said cautiously.
Brent snorted. “My parole officer thought it would be good for me.” It was a great excuse for B.C. Wilkinson to leave Canada, even though the thought of leaving the island crawled around his belly like fire ants.
He made arrangements to meet Finn in Victoria where his brother had opened his own scuba diving school and ran ecotours during the off-season. Hopefully the cops would find the guy who was asking questions sitting around Anna’s mother’s kitchen table, and put an end to this shit.
Dark Waters (2013) Page 10