Dark Waters (2013)

by Anderson, Toni

  Brent was quiet for a long moment. “You’d put yourself in danger for a woman who forgot you existed? Who didn’t even notice you were raped and suicidal?”

  The words hit like a physical blow, but it said a lot about her inner resolve that she was able to answer him. She raised one brow. “Wouldn’t you?”

  He swore and looked away from her. Five minutes later he pulled over and made a call. Fifty-three minutes later, they were airborne.

  Jack hated hospitals. He hated doctors, stethoscopes, X-ray machines, hospital food, and, did he mention, doctors? The nurses weren’t bad though, especially the little blonde who’d offered him a sponge bath earlier. He’d refused on medical grounds, but got her number.

  “Jerkoff,” he muttered as the latest overeducated, egotistical specialist walked out the door.

  “Because he told you to rest?” His secretary crossed her legs and he found himself distracted for a moment. Who knew Ramona had legs? She was usually behind her desk whenever he saw her.

  “Because he wants to cut me open again,” Jack grumbled.

  “I’m not sure wanting to remove bullet fragments lodged near your lung makes him a jerkoff,” Trace said without looking up. “Although the whole god complex sure does.” He sat in a corner with three laptops up and running.

  “I thought he was nice.” Ramona pressed her lips together to hide a smile.

  “He was hitting on you as I lay here dying.”

  “You’re not dying,” Ramona chided. “God isn’t that kind to me.” Her prim smile told Jack she was joking. He hoped.

  “You going to use that number he gave you?” Jack asked her. Not that he cared, except his secretary dating his surgeon was a worst-case scenario he fully intended to avoid.

  Her lips quirked. “Maybe it depends on that raise you promised me.”

  “Blackmail. I’m dying and she’s blackmailing me.”

  “You’re not dying.” Ramona’s voice grew louder. Jack grunted and Trace slid him a slow smile.

  “You got anything yet?” he asked the cowboy. They’d met through Trace’s sister, whom Jack had dated for a couple of months. The relationship had fizzled out, but he still sent her flowers on her birthday for setting him up with her brother who was a freaking online wizard. Jack had just about figured out IP addresses and…yeah, that was about it.

  Trace pressed a finger to each temple. “A headache from trying to track money through so many different banking systems when someone went to a lot of trouble to wipe the trail clean.”

  “How did Davis Silver set up the accounts last time he stole that money?”

  Trace flicked him a glance. “He set up three separate private bank accounts in his name and was pretty damn sloppy about moving the money. A child could have followed that trail. Or even you,” he said pointedly.

  “Anyone notice I’m the injured party here? That I was shot?”

  They both made rude noises and he laughed, but it hurt. “So, either Davis learned a hell of a lot more about money laundering in the past decade or…”

  “Or someone else moved the money this time.” Trace nodded. He’d already figured that out.

  “You’ve run other bank accounts in his name, right?”

  Trace raised one brow. “It’s only because you got shot that I’m not punching you for that.”

  “Don’t let that stop you from trying, sunshine.” Jack grinned. It felt good to joke. It felt damn good to be alive.

  “Davis Silver always maintained his innocence.” Ramona’s hand went to her chest and she spoke softly. “What if he was never guilty? What if someone set him up nine years ago too?”

  “Then he’s the unluckiest bastard ever.” Jack groaned as he lay back against the pillow. He was worried about his client. And now he was worried about a man he’d never even met having been framed for a crime he hadn’t committed. Those were the worst cases. Miscarriages of justice ate him up inside.

  “Any chance you can find out the IP address that was used to create those accounts nine years ago?”

  “Nice thinking, boss, but they actually did that in court using Windows’s Primary Domain Controller’s SID—Security ID—which can identify both the individual computer and the user. It was a generic computer in the department where he worked.”

  Brent had asked if there was any way of proving his friend’s innocence. “Did the cops look to see if any other accounts were ever set up from that same machine?”

  Trace blinked at him. “Wow, that’s actually a real good suggestion.”

  Jack felt smug and tried to sit up straighter, but ended up curled over in pain.

  Ramona fussed over him. “You need that bullet fragment removed. Before it does real damage and gets into your brain or something.”

  “You worried about me, Ramona?” He tried to smile, but fuck if it didn’t hurt. “Fine. Call the damn doc and tell the butcher he can operate.” Ramona buzzed the nurse.

  Jack turned to Trace. “Do the search, even if it takes all night.” The pain in his chest was getting worse, nearly overwhelming—and he’d actually thought he’d be getting out of this death trap soon. “If you find anything at all, call the client ASAP. If you can’t reach him, call a woman named Holly Rudd. She’s in his file.” Jack’s vision was starting to fade. That couldn’t be good. “If you can’t reach anyone else, tell the goddamn Chicago PD, but do not reveal our client’s name…” And then he was gone, sinking under waves of faltering vision and screaming machines as people rushed around him.

  The first thing Katherine registered as she drifted back into consciousness was a deep, bone-biting chill that penetrated the light fleece she wore. Then pain. Her hands were swollen and numb, the hard plastic cutting into her wrists, but at least her hands were now in front of her. Her ankle bones rubbed against one another with bruising pressure. Her hip throbbed every time she tried to shift or get comfortable.

  Had she been in a car accident?

  There was a gentle rocking motion that made her feel nauseous—not a good idea while wearing a gag. It was dark except for a small strip of light beneath a door. The room felt small, like a closet, the floor felt hard, but not concrete hard.

  Where’s Harvey? A short sharp burst of panic shot through her and she thrust her legs sideways, desperately searching. She connected with something warm and solid and immediately quieted. Was he breathing? She wriggled closer, pressed her body against his back to feel whether or not his chest was moving. Yes. Thank goodness.

  Her touch must have woken him because he rolled over. Even though they couldn’t see one another’s faces in the darkness, he reached out and took her icy fingers in his, massaging them gently. He shuffled closer, offering his warmth and comfort. She squeezed his hand in gratitude. What a mess.

  Harvey managed to spit out his gag and then she felt his fingers against her lips as he eased her gag down over her chin. “We’re on a boat?”

  “I think so,” she whispered. The last thing she wanted to do was attract anyone’s attention by making a noise. And that was the crux of her whole life, she realized. That’s what Davis had taken from her, and now these animals were trying to do the same.

  Katherine managed to turn around so she could peek beneath the door, but all she could see was what looked like a narrow corridor. And then a pair of black boots appeared and she cringed away from the light as someone opened the door. She found herself staring up at the hard handsome face of a man wearing mirrored sunglasses. He squatted, expression devoid of emotion. He lowered his glasses, and his eyes were the scariest thing she’d ever seen—far colder than the mirrored lenses. She scooted back next to Harvey and the guy grinned, but it still didn’t warm his eyes.

  “You planning something stupid?”

  Katherine shook her head vigorously.

  “Because there are all sorts of ways to make you compliant.” The suggestion in his eyes scared her to death. She wedged herself tight against Harvey.

  His dark gaze shifted between the t
wo of them and whatever he saw must have convinced him they’d behave.

  He closed the door and both she and Harvey let out matching sighs of relief.

  “Who was that?” Katherine asked.

  “I don’t know.” Harvey rubbed his chin against her hair. “But the devil comes to mind.”

  A shiver ran down her spine. “I’m so sorry I got you dragged into this.”

  “I got myself into this mess chasing after you.”

  When was she ever going to be anything but a liability?

  “But I wouldn’t change a damn thing, Katherine. The thought of you going through this alone makes me ill.”

  They lay side by side, pressed together for warmth and support. Ed would hate this. He’d probably hate the fact she was with Harvey as much as the fact she’d been kidnapped. Katherine didn’t know what to make of that.

  They were slowly taxiing along a runway in Victoria. Anna was shaking from a combination of nerves and lack of food. No matter how hungry she was, she couldn’t force herself to eat until she’d seen her mom.

  They’d made it through customs in Vancouver with the help of a tall, square-faced man who’d worn plainclothes but had an RCMP bodyguard and whom not a single person had questioned. Turned out Holly’s father was a big deal in the RCMP. A very big deal.

  She’d overheard Brent agree to deliver her into protective custody as soon as Anna had seen her mother. Anna fidgeted in her seat, unable to relax. Even before the seat belt signs were off, she’d grabbed her meager bag of belongings from under the seat, and was on her feet. Brent had left his new jeep and all their camping gear in a barn in North Dakota. She’d make sure he got it back if she had to drive it all the way here herself.

  Right now he was still mad at her. Her assumption that he was OK with people dying was selfish and insulting. Now that she was thinking rationally, she knew she’d meant to suggest finding bodyguards rather than hired guns, but her mouth had opened before her brain had engaged. The results weren’t pretty. Plus, he was worried about her for coming out of hiding and rushing home—although since she’d planned to go into protective custody anyway as soon as she’d seen her mom, she didn’t really know what the problem was.

  His features were set in tight, angry lines. He certainly wasn’t acting like he remembered a damn thing about last night.

  The airplane doors opened and they were striding along the flight tunnels into the small airport. Finn had arranged for them to pick up a car. He and Holly were en route back from Winnipeg and, apparently, not exactly the founding members of the Anna Silver fan club.

  Brent and Anna went to the rental desk and then tracked down their car in the parking lot. Anna got in the passenger side and placed her belongings in the backseat. She shifted in her seat and shot Brent a look from under her brow. He wasn’t talking to her. She’d screwed up.

  “Thanks.”

  He glanced at her sharply.

  “For everything, but especially for last night.”

  His brows crunched over those incredible blue eyes, but he still said nothing. The silence was full of brooding menace. Why was she forcing this issue? Her stomach rumbled and she placed her hand on it. There was a drive-through up ahead and he signaled. They pulled up at the window and he ordered coffee and muffins.

  “It helped,” she said when the server disappeared. Still he didn’t speak. Just placed the coffee in the cup holders and drove off. She wanted him to know how much it had meant to her. It hadn’t been just sex for her, and as they might have to go their separate ways in the near future, she needed him to know that.

  She’d expected a flippant “anytime” response. This moody quiet unnerved her. She turned and looked out the window, caught a glimpse of her reflection. God, she looked like crap. She pulled a face.

  The countryside was rugged, the trees a lush healthy green. A few miles farther down the road Brent pulled into a turnout that overlooked a vast stretch of ocean. His skin was pale, jaw locked so tight it could have been superglued.

  Then he spoke.

  “Next time you need a therapy fuck, find someone who doesn’t give a shit.”

  He got out of the jeep, slammed the door, and went to stand by the guardrail and stare out over the bluff. Anna sat stunned. She tried to steady herself with a sip of coffee, but her hand shook so much it spilled. She wanted to go after him, to comfort him.

  She made herself sit in the damn seat and not move a muscle.

  It was better this way. She was bad for him. It was better that he started to hate her, because there was no way they had a future together and he’d already sacrificed too much.

  So even though she wanted to go to him, to wrap her arms around him, and to tell him it hadn’t just been therapy, it had been amazing, she sat there. It would just drag him further into the mess of her world at a time she needed to push him away—for his own good. He finished his coffee and got back in the car, not looking at her. His admission that he felt something for her seemed to embarrass him, and that shamed her. Because he wasn’t alone. But she needed to make a clean break, and telling him how she felt about him would only make the parting even harder than it promised to be.

  It didn’t take long to get to the hospital.

  “Just drop me off at the entrance.” She forced the quaver out of her voice.

  He looked like he wanted to argue and then decided against it, as she already had her door open. “What ward is she in?”

  “Ten,” Anna said. She didn’t want Brent’s obvious disapproval to mar her reunion with her sick mother. She didn’t want Brent upset or angry. She should never have gone to him for help, although if she hadn’t, she’d probably be dead. “If you’d rather, I can get a taxi into RCMP headquarters while you pick up your truck. You could still make your exhibition…”

  Holly had impounded the truck in a fit of fury.

  He shot her a look of blue fire, but didn’t bother to answer. He pulled a burner cell out of his jeans pocket and tossed it in her lap. No touching. She felt like a leper and knew she deserved it.

  “Your father asked for my help. Until Holly has you safely under her wing, I’m sticking.” Whether he liked it or not. Which he clearly didn’t.

  She tried to not let it hurt. “OK, just give me a few minutes to talk to Mom alone first.” She slipped his cell phone into her jeans pocket. He didn’t say anything. Just waited for her to get out.

  Her legs were unsteady as she walked through the large glass entrance of the hospital building. The last time she’d been here, she’d been in the ER and then locked up in the psych ward for a week. She shivered. That hadn’t been any fun.

  “Anna!”

  She whipped around at the sound of her name. Saw Ed standing near the coffee shop and hurried toward him. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a week. “Thank God you’re here.” He grabbed her arm and started tugging her toward a fire exit.

  She slipped out of his grasp but hurried beside him. “Is Mom OK?”

  “I transferred her to a private facility that has better doctors.” He wouldn’t meet her gaze.

  Panic clutched at her chest. Oh, crap, that had to be bad. Whatever else she thought of Ed, she had never doubted his devotion to her mother. They strode out the side door and into the parking lot. She looked around for Brent, but didn’t see him anywhere.

  “What exactly is it that is wrong with her?”

  His white sedan was parked three rows over. He steered her toward it.

  “Wait. I need to call someone and tell them where we’re going.” She pulled out the phone Brent had given her and dialed his number. Ed looked impatient enough to grab the phone from her hands. His skin was ashen and his lips were bloodless. Things must be bad with her mom. Brent’s cell was busy so she left him a quick voice mail. “What’s the name of the place?” she asked Ed.

  “St. Catherine’s.”

  Apt. “Never heard of it.” She told Brent to Google it and to meet her there. The space would do them good.


  She braced herself for bad news when she got in the passenger seat. “So what’s wrong with her?”

  “Breast cancer, so help me God.” He ground the words out like he was in physical pain.

  Not cancer. Please not cancer. Her mother had always been the picture of health.

  Ed’s hands were shaking. His first wife had died of breast cancer and now her mom? It wasn’t fair. Emotions bubbled in her throat, too terrible to deal with. She refused to believe her mom was going to die, although from the look on Ed’s face…

  And she wanted to reach out and lean on Brent, let him help her through another terrible moment in her life. Because she was selfish and a coward. Like he needed more trouble or anguish brought to his doorstep. She straightened her spine. She could deal with this. She’d dealt with plenty of bad things and she was stronger now. Strong enough for others to lean on her.

  “I need a coffee.” Ed sounded like someone had taken a saw to his vocal cords. They pulled into a Tim Horton’s and Anna looked around, the area familiar because it was near where her grandmother had lived. When she’d been growing up, she’d spent a lot of time here. Most of the shops had changed—a florist and coffee shop stood where the hardware store had been. The post office was still there, though.

  Her heart stopped beating for a moment, everything suspended. Then it raced triple time. Everything fell into place as she stared at the Victorian façade of the heritage building. Her father’s horrible apartment. Her old letters in that battered red box. The cryptic message from her father, “You’ll know.”

  She did know.

  And all of a sudden, she wanted it to be over. Then she could be with her mom, nursing her back to health, because she was going to get better, and they were going to have a proper relationship. Anna was done with living a life in small, unsatisfying pieces. She was going to talk to Brent too, because she had fallen for him and, assuming she lived through the next few days, she wanted to be brave enough to tell him that without any expectations. Maybe it would go nowhere. Maybe it was one of those crazy connections based on intense circumstances, but she finally wanted to find out. She’d hurt him and there was no excuse for that.