by Maggie Price
Regan’s hiding from the law and doing everything in her power to keep him from finding out who and what she was painted her in the worst light possible. And if he hadn’t cuffed her to the boat, he wasn’t entirely sure she wouldn’t even now try to swim for shore and keep running.
He knew all that. But from the instant they’d met, he’d been conscious of a nagging certainty that there was more—much more—to the woman than what was on the surface. And it hadn’t been his own blood-heating attraction to her that made him feel that, but the instincts he’d learned to trust.
So what was it? What lay beneath the layers of the woman using a fake identity and on the lam from the law?
The woman who hadn’t hesitated to use her medical skills to tend victims at an accident scene, knowing that doing so would raise questions she didn’t dare answer about her past. The woman who, despite those questions, had remained in Sundown to care for her elderly boss, even though staying might cost her her freedom.
The woman who was clearly terrified of the New Orleans cop who hunted her. During his police career, Josh had hunted countless suspects. None had ever had reason to be terrified of him.
Hell, he thought. Why the hell did it have to be this woman, this one woman, who had gotten through his defenses and clamped a hand on his heart? And now she was squeezing it.
He eased back in his seat, figuring he had about twenty-three hours left to find some answers.
“Start at the beginning,” he said levelly. “And don’t leave anything out.”
Chapter 11
Regan eyed Josh, sitting in the seat behind the control console, one wrist propped over the steering wheel, his gaze fixed on her, his face unreadable. Around them, the quiet of the night was broken only by the soft lap of water against the boat’s hull.
“You want me to tell you about Creath?” she asked.
“About him, and everything else you’ve been holding back. Everything.”
She slid her tongue across her parched lips. She’d watched Josh over the past minutes while he’d remained silent. There’d been a deep, unfathomable emotion in his eyes that she was at a loss to decipher. She knew his willingness to listen to her version of things wouldn’t keep her out of jail, but if she could convince him she was telling the truth, she might be able to keep him alive. Oh God, she had to protect him from Creath.
“I first worked as a paramedic in a small town in Louisiana,” she began. “Later I went to work for a New Orleans ambulance service. That’s when I met Steven Vaughn, an E.R. doctor.” Shifting her gaze, she stared out into the dark night. For so long she’d held her secrets, her grief, close to her heart. Now, she had no choice but to reveal everything. It was a struggle to get over the first hurdle. “Steven…was a wonderful man, warm and caring and funny. I loved him.” She looked back at Josh. “I loved him.” She fisted her hands against a swell of pain. “We were going to get married, raise a family. And then Detective Creath came along.”
There were tears in her throat now, tears welling in her eyes. She put a trembling hand to her lips. She didn’t want to cry. Crying wouldn’t help. Wouldn’t convince Josh she was telling the truth.
When he remained flatly silent, she dragged in a deep breath. “The first time my path crossed Creath’s was at a homicide crime scene. There were two victims, one dead, one alive. My partner, Bobby Ivers, and I transported the critical victim to the same E.R. where Steven worked. Creath showed up to interview the victim, but he’d already gone into surgery, so Creath asked Bobby and me if we wanted to have a cup of coffee in the doctor’s lounge. We said yes—it was smart to get on good terms with the cops we sometimes had to deal with.
“Creath is a nice-looking man, big and fit, approachable, even though there’s that cynical cop-edge to him. Peppermints,” she continued, her stomach churning with the remembered scent she now detested. “He had a handful of those round, red-and-white peppermints and he offered me one. Later, I found out he was hooked on them, always carries a plastic baggy of them in his pocket. But that night all I knew was that he seemed okay while he sat beside me, drinking coffee. Bobby and I got a call, and we were on our way out of the lounge when Steven walked in. I gave him a kiss, told him I’d see him later at his place.
“A few days after that, I was at a mall and ran into Creath. He asked if I wanted to grab another cup of coffee. I was in a hurry to get somewhere, so I said no. Over the following weeks I kept running into him—sometimes at the grocery store, coming out of the cleaners, the video rental shop. One evening, a girlfriend and I were buying movie tickets when Creath walked up. He said his date was supposed to meet him there, but she’d just called to say she’d gotten hung up at work. He asked if we minded if he joined us.” Regan raised a shoulder. “We wanted a girls’ night out, but didn’t want to be rude. It was then, while sitting in the movie beside Creath, smelling peppermint, that I got this creepy feeling. That maybe the times I’d run into him hadn’t been coincidence. But he’d never made a move on me, so I shrugged it off. After the movie, Creath insisted on buying our dinner. My girlfriend was cute and single and he was giving her the eye, so I figured he wanted to connect with her.”
Josh measured her through narrowed eyes. “Did he?”
“He got her phone number, but never called. A week later was Steven’s birthday, and I’d made reservations at his favorite restaurant. When we walked in, Creath was at the table next to ours. He was alone, and Steven asked him to join us. During dinner Creath kept brushing his knee against my thigh. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to cause a scene, but the next day, I called Creath at his office and arranged to meet him at a diner. When I got there, I told him I didn’t know what his game was, but I wasn’t interested.”
“How did he react?”
Regan kept her gaze leveled on Josh’s. Was he asking because he believed her? Or was he giving her more rope to hang herself with? Either way, she was determined to get through this.
“Creath just sat in the booth across from me with this patronizing look on his face. He said that from the moment we met he knew I was his one magic person—those were his exact words. I was his special someone, he wanted me, therefore he would have me.” Regan shoved at her bangs. “At first I thought he was playing some sick joke on me, but then I saw in his eyes he was totally serious. I told him I loved Steven and there was no room in my life for him, or any other man. Creath just nodded, like nothing I said mattered. He told me he’d give me a couple of days to rethink things. I informed him I didn’t want anything more to do with him, then I left.
“A week went by. I didn’t run into Creath anywhere, so I thought he’d finally gotten my message and backed off. Then, on a Friday night, I got off work and went to Steven’s house like I always did for the weekend. I found…him….” For a moment Regan saw it as it had been, the man she loved crumpled on the floor, her desperate attempts to revive him, even though she’d known he was gone. “I tried…to save him…but I got there too late. Oh, God.”
Struggling against a haze of remembered grief, she was vaguely aware of Josh standing. He lifted a lid on one of the boat’s built-in coolers and pulled out a bottle of water.
“Take a drink,” he said quietly, handing her the bottle.
“Thanks.” Closing her eyes, Regan took a long, slow swallow of the cool water while willing back the horrible images of that night.
“What happened after you found your fiancé?”
Only after Josh spoke did she realize he’d settled on the opposite end of the padded bench from her. He was close enough that she could smell the clean, salty scent of his skin. Emotionally, she suspected he was a universe away.
“I called 911. A patrol cop showed up, then Creath and his partner. After a while, cops started swarming through the house. I didn’t understand why they were all there because I thought Steven must have had a heart attack. The next day Creath came to my apartment and told me preliminary tests indicated Steven had died of a drug overdose
. Then Creath showed me a suicide note he’d found on Steven’s computer. In the note, Steven confessed to battling a drug problem.” She shook her head. “I was stunned, I’d had no idea. Steven wrote that he was getting pressure to improve his performance on the job, pressure from me to set a wedding date. That he’d tried to get off the drugs, but couldn’t. He could no longer deal with the stress coming at him from all sides.
“I felt like a tank had rolled over me. There’s no way I could have gotten through Steven’s funeral if I hadn’t had my partner, Bobby, to lean on.” She narrowed her eyes. “I remember Creath there, standing apart from the other mourners, watching me. Just watching. I saw him a few days later at the E.R. A nurse gave me the things Steven had in his locker, and I just broke down, started sobbing on Bobby’s shoulder. The next night, Bobby was killed in a drive-by shooting.” Her throat raw, Regan took another drink, then set the bottle aside. “Bobby had a wife and a little boy and he died because of me.”
“Why do you think it was because of you?”
“Dammit, I don’t think!” She spit out the words. “I know.”
“How?”
She fought a short, fierce battle to pull herself together. What she was about to say had already been discounted by the police. She had no reason to think Josh would react differently. Still, his association with her put him in mortal danger and she had to try to make him believe she was telling the truth.
“When I got home from Bobby’s funeral, Creath was waiting inside my apartment. I don’t know how he bypassed my security alarm, but he did. He grabbed me, kissed me. When I struggled away he told me I was the only woman who could fulfill him and complete his life. The sooner I accepted that the better. I was shaking, scared to death of him and at the same time furious. I told him I wanted him to leave me alone. Then I threatened to report him to his chief if he continued harassing me. In a finger-snap, I saw Creath’s face change. It was like I finally saw the monster behind the facade.”
The night air was steamy, yet the brittle cold had seeped back into Regan’s bones. She wondered if she would ever feel warm again. “Creath told me that Steven and Bobby had been obstacles in his way to having me, and he’d removed them. That he would continue removing obstacles until I came to my senses and surrendered to him. Then he asked how much longer I was going to continue to disappoint him.”
She let out a long breath, but it didn’t steady her voice. “Right then, my minister and his wife knocked on my door and I opened it before Creath could stop me. He introduced himself as the cop working Steven’s death, and he left.
“That afternoon I went to the police chief and told him what Creath had said. An Internal Affairs cop showed up at my apartment a few days later, saying he was investigating my ‘complaint.’ The IA cop told me Creath was claiming that I’d latched onto him emotionally after we met on the job. That I’d stalked him by constantly calling his house and showing up wherever he was. Creath told the IA cop he felt sorry for me, so he didn’t report the harassment. He also said I’d made threats about what I would do if he refused to have a relationship with me.
“I kept insisting Creath had lied, that he’d admitted killing Steven and Bobby. Then the IA cop showed me a report he’d gotten from the phone company that listed numerous calls made from my home phone to Creath’s.” As Regan spoke, her fingers clenched and unclenched. “I never called him at home, not once. Then the IA cop played a tape of my own voice, telling Creath I loved him and wanted a relationship with him.” She struggled to steady herself. Even to her own ears, her claims sounded unbelievable. “It was my voice on the tape, saying things to Creath I’d never said. Then the IA cop advised me that stalking is a crime. So is making a false police report and he had enough evidence against me to file charges.”
“Did he?”
“No. He said Creath had asked him to hold off, to give me a warning because I was so emotionally distraught over my fiancé’s suicide. That’s when I realized how totally Creath had blocked any chance I had of getting help from the police. From any man, because he might perceive that person as a rival. And kill him.”
Her breathing quickened, became a painful thumping in her ears. “You,” she managed. “Josh, he will kill you if he finds out there is…was something between us.”
Emotion flashed in Josh’s eyes before the shutter came down. “When did Creath file the murder warrant?” he asked levelly.
It was crazy, she thought. Crazy that her heart should ache over his refusal to acknowledge the personal connection they’d forged.
“After I left New Orleans,” she answered, struggling to keep her voice steady. “It got to the point that I couldn’t concentrate. I couldn’t function normally, so I moved to D.C. and got a job there as a paramedic. I used my real name because I thought all I needed to do was put distance between Creath and me and he’d get over his sick obsession. I’d been in D.C. nearly a month when I got off work one evening and thought I spotted him standing across the street. I kept telling myself I was hallucinating, but I had to know. I used a pay phone to call the NOPD and found out Creath was on his days off. When I got to my apartment, my bed was littered with pieces of peppermint candy. That night he called my unlisted number. He told me I had one chance to come to my senses. That if I moved back to New Orleans he would forgive me for leaving him. If I didn’t, he would make sure I spent the rest of my life in prison.”
Suddenly excruciatingly tired, she dragged an unsteady hand through her hair. “I hung up on him. I’d hooked a recorder to my phone, and turned it on when he called, and I just knew I’d gotten the proof I needed to make the police believe me. But when I tried to play the tape, it was blank.” She shook her head. “Creath must have done something to the tape while he was in my apartment so it wouldn’t record. Just like he’d done something to make my phone records look like I’d called him constantly. And then somehow manufactured the tape recording of me saying things to him I never said.”
She studied Josh, his eyes dark and expressionless, the hard set of his jaw. “That night you took me to Sundown Ridge and shared your moonstars with me, you told me how one planted piece of evidence had Internal Affairs coming down on you. You almost lost your badge, and you didn’t do one thing wrong. It’s the same for me, Josh. Only there won’t be a handy sound bite from some TV news footage that will clear me. Creath will have made certain of that.”
Josh shifted his gaze from hers and stared out across the dark water. “What did you do after you hung up on him?” he asked after a moment.
“I knew the only way I was going to stay out of prison for something I hadn’t done was to disappear. So that same night I packed what I could carry, told my neighbor she could have the rest of my stuff and I snuck down the fire escape and caught a train out of D.C. Then I rode buses.” Regan shivered, remembering those cold, endless days. “I was afraid to go to sleep for fear I’d wake up and find Creath sitting beside me. I couldn’t function like that, so I called a P.I. in New Orleans whom I’d heard about. I hired him to find out if there was a warrant out on me. I wired him money, and gave him my e-mail address. The next day he wrote, saying that I was wanted for murdering Steven. I had no idea what evidence Creath had manufactured against me, but whatever it was, I knew it would stick. I arranged for the P.I. to watch Creath and to e-mail me if he left New Orleans.”
“How did you come up with the name Regan Ford?”
“I saw it on a tombstone. She had been born two years before me, and died while an infant. I got a copy of her birth certificate, then a driver’s license. I bought the Mustang and I ran for half a year.”
“Then your car broke down here, in the middle of Main Street,” Josh finished.
“I…didn’t tell you that part.”
“Etta did. She said you saw her card on the wall at the garage advertising a bartender’s job.”
Regan nodded. “That morning, I’d driven past this lake. It was a gray, icy day and I started thinking I could end everything if
I just drove into the water. Doing that held more appeal than spending my life in jail.” The emotion roiling inside her began to break through in her voice, but she could no longer help it.
“I detoured through Sundown,” she continued, “trying to get my courage up to head back to the lake when my car died right in front of Smitty’s Garage. I couldn’t drive into the lake unless my car ran, so I used the last of my money to get it fixed. While I was waiting, I saw Etta’s card on Smitty’s bulletin board. It said the bartender’s job came with room and board, and a bushel of TLC.”
Regan could still feel the hopelessness that had raked at her soul that day. “The tender loving care part pulled at me. So, I walked over to Truelove’s Tavern and met Etta. She started fussing over me, gave me a bowl of soup and hired me on the spot. She took me upstairs to show me the apartment, and she gave me a hug. Etta literally saved my life that day.”
Regan stared at the metal cuff circling her wrist. “Being in Sundown, having a place to stay, a job, made me feel halfway normal again. Like I had a little part of my life back. There were times when I actually imagined myself living in Sundown for months, years, content and safe.”
She paused, savoring the feel of fresh air against her flesh, knowing that soon her freedom would be only a memory. “Then you walked into Truelove’s,” she continued, looking back at Josh. “I knew instantly you were a cop. Deep down, I think I also knew you’d be the one to find out who I was and what I was hiding. But when you touched me, kissed me, that didn’t matter because I’d never felt more alive. I wanted you, as much as you wanted me, but I couldn’t make love with you because if Creath found out…” She shook her head. “He killed Steven and Bobby and I couldn’t put you at risk, too.”
“Dammit, Regan.” Josh’s eyes weren’t cold anymore, but filled with the same hot, raw emotion she heard in his voice. He swept up the bottle of water, chugged its contents, then lobbed it onto the opposite bench. “Dammit to hell.”