by Linda Warren
“C.J.!” he shouted, and she glanced back, a look of terror on her face as she saw the truck. She tried desperately to get out of the way, but the truck was upon her too fast. It zoomed by, knocking her to the ground. Tires still screeching, the truck disappeared into traffic.
Matthew was already running toward C.J.’s still body. He knelt beside her, his heart beating so fast he could hardly breathe.
She lay on her stomach, her black hair all around her. As he moved his hand to push back her hair, she stirred, half sitting up.
“What happened?” she asked with a dazed look, holding a hand to her head.
Relief swept through him. She was okay. A little shaken, but okay. His trembling hand smoothed hair away from her face. “Someone tried to run you over.”
“You shouted and I saw the truck,” she choked out. “I barely had time to get out of the way. If you hadn’t…”
Matthew saw the tears swimming in her eyes. He scooped her up in his arms, and hurried back into the clinic.
Several people ran to see what was happening. “Call the police,” he yelled. “Ask for Detective Beal.”
He carried her inside and carefully sat her in a chair. As Dr. Ryder examined her, Matthew paced the room, waiting. He removed his jacket and loosened his tie, pacing again.
Finally Dr. Ryder said, “She seems fine, but it might be best to get her over to the hospital.”
C.J. heard him. “I just need a few minutes to recover and then—” She stopped speaking as Detective Beal came through the double glass doors and Matthew quickly went over to him.
“What happened?” Beal pulled out a notebook.
Matthew ran his hands through his hair. “God, I wish I knew. This tan late-model Ford pickup came out of nowhere and tried to hit her. It made straight for her. It wasn’t an accident.”
“Someone’s still trying to kill her?”
“Evidently,” Matthew answered.
Beal studied Matthew’s haggard expression and said, “Let me call this in so we can start searching for the truck.”
In a minute he was back. “Could we sit down? I’d like to ask you both a few more questions.”
Matthew sat by C.J., taking her cold hand in his. They answered questions for the next thirty minutes. At the end C.J. asked, “Who would do this?”
“I don’t know, ma’am, but we’re going to find out,” Beal vowed. “I’ll check and see if they’ve found anything.”
When Beal left again, Matthew placed his arm carefully around C.J. She rested her head on his shoulder. “Why, Matthew, why?”
Beal came back into the room and interrupted. “The truck was found about a mile away. It was stolen. We’re running it for prints. Keep your fingers crossed.”
“There won’t be any,” Matthew said. “This was a professional. I feel it in my gut.”
“Could I speak with you a moment?” Beal asked Matthew.
Matthew got up and followed Beal some distance away. “If the person who tried to kill her finds out she’s still alive, he could try to finish the job.”
“Oh, God, I hadn’t thought of that.”
“I want a doctor to check her over, and then I need you both at the station to sign some reports. A policeman will escort you to the hospital and back to the station.”
“Thanks, Beal. I won’t let her out of my sight.”
“I’m sure you won’t,” Beal said.
BY THE TIME THEY FINISHED at the police station, it was late. Beal strongly advised against traveling back to Coberville in the dark. It was too risky. He persuaded them to check into a hotel with police protection.
The policeman who escorted them to the hotel was Officer Carter, a man in his early thirties with a ready smile. He was all business, accompanying them to the restaurant for a quick meal, then making sure the rooms were safe and secure. Afterward, he stationed himself outside their doors, reassuring them that no one would get past him.
C.J. looked like a shadow of the young woman who had stepped out of the Camaro this morning. Matthew was worried, although the Emergency Room doctor said she was fine. She had bruises on her head and arm that would heal in a few days, but she was clearly still shaken up.
They had rooms with an adjoining door. At first C.J. had asked to go home, but Matthew knew what she needed now was rest. She didn’t protest when he explained things to her, and that bothered him, too. It wasn’t like her to be so meek.
Matthew waited while she undressed and crawled into bed. All he could see was black hair framing a white face against equally white sheets. He picked up her limp hand.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked.
“Yes,” she whispered.
He held her hand, going over and over the events of the morning. Who would do this to her? Who wanted her dead?
As if reading his thoughts, she said quietly, “None of this makes any sense. The Townsends have their land and their money back. Why would they want to hurt me now?”
“Maybe it’s not the Townsends.”
Her eyes grew wide with disbelief.
“It could be anyone,” he told her. “That’s why we have to be careful until we find out who hired this guy.”
“Pete was right. I should have listened. Oh, no! Pete!” she wailed. “I have to call him. He and Harry are probably worried sick.”
“Don’t get upset,” he said in a soothing tone. “I called while you were in the ER. But you might want to call him yourself now—to reassure them.”
She did and felt much better after she’d talked to Pete. He’d wanted to come to Austin to get her immediately, but she’d calmed him down and promised she’d be home the next morning.
She was so tired she couldn’t think. Matthew would take care of everything, she told herself, feeling safe. The thought shocked her. She’d never depended on anyone, and yet, putting herself in his care was the easiest thing she’d ever done. She looked at his haggard disheveled appearance and raised her hand to lovingly touch his face. “You need to get some rest, too.”
“I will,” he murmured, and watched her drift off to sleep.
C.J. SLEPT FOR A WHILE, then woke to the sound of voices. Matthew was talking to someone in his room. A warm feeling came over her and she listened closely to the other voice. Detective Beal.
“My men are talking to people in the neighborhood where the truck was left. Someone must have seen something. I’m also going to have a talk with the Townsends, to see if anyone acts suspicious.”
“I don’t think the Townsends are involved.”
“Why?”
“They got everything they wanted. They have no reason to want her dead.”
“Maybe someone didn’t count on the way the tests came out. Maybe someone wanted all the bases covered.”
“Could be.” Matthew sounded hesitant. “But it doesn’t ring true. No matter how the tests came out, the Townsends had nothing to lose. I just have a feeling that one of C.J.’s real parents has something to do with this.”
“But no one knows who her parents are.”
“Yes, and that’s the way someone wants it to stay. But I believe once we find out who hired that man, we’ll have some answers to the mystery of C.J.’s birth.”
Matthew’s words rattled around in her aching head. It couldn’t be true. Her real parents wouldn’t want her dead, would they?
Dear God, she didn’t want to know.
MATTHEW SHOWERED and put on a bathrobe furnished by the hotel, then checked on C.J. The lights were out and she was fast asleep. Good, he thought; it was what she needed. He tried the door, making sure it was locked, then went back into his own room. He lay down and stared at the ceiling. Sleep would not come easily tonight.
But he must have dozed off because he was awakened by a sound from C.J.’s room. He jumped instantly out of bed and ran in. She was thrashing her head from side to side, moaning, “No, no.”
He sat on the bed and tried to wake her gently. “C.J., it’s Matthew. Wake up. You’re
having a bad dream.”
Her eyes popped open and she had a glazed puzzled look, as if she didn’t know where she was. Her face cleared as events came rushing back and her trembling arms reached for him. “Matthew, please hold me,” she cried.
His arms went quickly around her waist, drawing her close. “It’s okay,” he murmured against her hair.
He didn’t know how long he sat there holding her trembling body, but he soon became aware that she was wearing only her bra and panties. He could feel the softness of her skin against his fingers as he breathed in the fragrant scent of her hair, her body. He was in trouble and he knew it. He should be concentrating on protecting her, not allowing his mind to fill with such delicious thoughts.
He leaned back slightly. “Can you sleep now?”
In answer she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. “Thank you, Matthew. Thank you for being here.”
“You’re welcome.” He kissed the side of her face.
They held on to each other, but Matthew knew he had to leave her and fast. She felt too good in his arms.
When he went back to his room, he heard something—a pop followed by a thud. He walked to the door, listening. There was a faint rattle, as if someone was trying C.J.’s door.
“Carter!” he called out. He wanted to open the door, but he had strict orders not to, under any circumstances. When he got no answer, he called again. Still no response, but the rattling stopped. “Carter, answer me or I’m calling Beal!”
Silence. He went to the phone and dialed Beal.
“Don’t open the door,” the detective ordered. “I’m coming over.”
Pacing the room, Matthew couldn’t take it any longer. He had to know what was going on outside in the hall. Finally he snatched up the phone and called security. He waited five minutes, then opened the door.
Carter was sitting in a chair with his head propped against the wall. He was asleep. “Damn,” Matthew cursed, and walked over to him, intending to give him an earful.
When he reached him, Matthew stepped back in horror. There was a single bullet hole in Carter’s head. Blood streamed down the side of his face. Matthew knew without touching him that he was dead.
“Oh, God, no!” he cried.
The elevator doors opened, and Beal and the security guard rushed out. Noticing Matthew’s pallor, Beal asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Carter. He’s…he’s dead.”
Beal went over to the policeman. “Damn, damn.” He drove one fist into the other. His eyes swung to Matthew.
“I thought I told you not to open the door!”
Matthew didn’t answer. He was too shaken by the sight of Carter.
“Are you listening to me?” Beal asked.
Matthew blinked. “Sure.”
“The man who’s been trying to kill C.J. has obviously been following her since the accident. He knows she’s here. You probably scared him off. We have to move her now.”
Matthew collected himself. The man—the intruder—had been trying to get into her room. If he hadn’t been awake, C.J. would also be dead. His whole body felt cold.
“Get her up,” Beal said. “I’ll make arrangements.”
Matthew ran into her room, turning on the light. “C.J.”
She sat up, bleary-eyed.
“Get dressed,” he said. “We have to get out of here.”
“What?”
“That man has found us. He shot Carter. Beal’s moving us.”
“Oh, no!” she cried, thinking of the young policeman.
“Hurry,” he called, and ran back to his room.
He dressed quickly and Beal appeared in the doorway. “Let’s go.”
Matthew darted into C.J.’s room just as she finished dressing. He grabbed her hand, and they headed for the door.
In the hall were ambulance personnel and two policemen with guns drawn. There’d been no sirens. Matthew blocked the scene with his body, trying to prevent C.J. from looking at Carter, but as he moved to let her on the elevator, she saw the body.
“Oh, no,” she moaned again, her hands against her trembling lips. “Why?” She buried her head in Matthew’s shoulder.
The same question was running through Matthew’s mind as they were rushed from the elevator through the lobby and into a waiting car. The car sped off into the night with Beal driving and another policeman in the passenger seat.
They drove around and around, in and out of traffic, onto the freeway, then onto a series of backstreets.
“No one’s following us,” the policeman informed Beal.
“Good,” Beal answered, and picked up a cell phone.
“Who are you calling?” Matthew asked.
“Just making sure a secure room is ready.”
Beal drove into the parking lot of a small hotel. He turned to Matthew. “We’re going through a side entrance to an elevator and up to the room. One of my men will be there with the key. Don’t talk to anyone and don’t stop for anything. Let’s go.”
They got out of the car. Holding hands, Matthew and C.J. followed Beal through the door and into an elevator. Beal had his gun drawn, watching, listening, making sure they were safe. Within minutes they were in a room.
Beal shoved his gun back in his shoulder holster. “Two of my men are in the room across the hall. They’ll be guarding this room the rest of the night.”
“Excuse me,” C.J. said, and ran into the bathroom. Her nausea was mounting and she thought she was going to be sick.
Matthew swung back to face Beal. “Why can’t you catch this guy?” he asked urgently.
“Sometimes it just takes time. But we’ll get him.”
Matthew ran a hand through his tousled hair. “We don’t have time. He’s already made three attempts, and the next one…”
C.J. came out of the bathroom and he stopped. Her hair hung in disarray around her, her white suit was streaked with dirt from the parking lot, and a tear on her left sleeve showed evidence of blood. Yet to him she still looked enchanting.
“Try and get some rest,” Beal said. “For now, you’re safe. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Matthew closed the door and made sure it was bolted tight. For a moment he got a glimpse of the men across the hall with their automatic weapons, and his blood ran cold. In a split second C.J. could be dead, just like poor Carter. He had to keep her safe, and he hoped those men were more attuned to danger than Carter. It was obvious the gunman was a professional with all the tricks of his trade.
He turned and surveyed the room. Small, with twin beds, the room lacked the ambience of their other accommodations. On either side of the only window were two chairs separated by a small coffee table. C.J. was curled up in one of the chairs. She didn’t say anything, just stared at him with a lost-little-girl look that twisted his insides.
He knelt in front of her and caught her icy hand. She blinked, as if disoriented. This wasn’t the C.J. he knew. Her stubborn fighting spirit was gone, and she seemed defeated, afraid. He wanted to take her in his arms and ease her pain, but he knew the worst wasn’t over.
“It’s going to be okay,” he said. The reassurance sounded hollow to his own ears.
“Okay,” she echoed doubtfully. “How can it be okay when one of my parents is trying to kill me?”
His eyes narrowed. “Where did you hear that?”
“I heard you talking to Beal earlier.”
“Damn,” he muttered. “I’m sorry you heard that.”
“Why? If it’s true, I should know.”
“It’s just a theory, C.J., nothing more.”
“Why would they want me dead?”
“I don’t know, but don’t get upset about something that might not be true.”
“The truth is someone wants me dead.”
He saw the terror in her eyes. “Don’t do this, C.J.”
“Running from that man a couple of weeks ago was like an adventure. The danger didn’t seem real, and even today, when that truck almost ran over me, I told my
self it was probably an accident. A drunk driver or something. But tonight, when I saw that nice young cop with a bullet hole in his head, it was real, too real. Every time I close my eyes, I see his face. He’s dead because of me.”
Matthew gripped her hands. “Stop torturing yourself,” he said roughly. “He died because some crazy bastard shot him. You couldn’t help what happened.”
She gazed into his eyes. “I’m scared, Matthew. I’ve never been this scared in my life.”
Swallowing hard, he admitted, “I’m scared, too. I’ve been responsible for people’s lives before, but that was in a courtroom where I had a fighting chance. This is like fighting a ghost because we don’t know who we’re fighting, and your life hangs in the balance. That’s what frightens me. When you were lying in that parking lot, I didn’t know if you were dead or alive.”
She heard the pain in his voice and turned to him, her hand lightly stroking his cheek. At her touch his eyes darkened and a spark of desire flared between them, as it always did.
“I don’t want to be alone tonight,” she whispered.
“I’ll be right here,” he assured her.
“No, that’s not what I mean.” She shook her head. “I want to sleep in your arms.”
He stood up. He had to. He couldn’t be that close to her and be rational.
Matthew looked at the naked longing in her eyes—and the trust that was there, too. She trusted him, needed him. Her defenses were down and her emotions were free and unfettered by pride or disillusionment. The wall had completely crumbled. The effect was everything he had imagined it would be. Powerful, spellbinding and yet oddly disconcerting. She was opening her heart to him, and suddenly he felt unworthy of such a gift.
“C.J….”
Getting to her feet, she glided into his arms, stilling his protest. Unable to stop himself, he welcomed her body against his, just holding her, but he knew that wasn’t enough. There was something between them, a feeling they couldn’t deny.
She heard his sharp intake of breath as she kissed his neck. She ventured farther, teasing his cheek and jaw with featherlike kisses.