He let out a deep sigh. He didn’t know if it was relief or resignation. Before he could think, he bent over to give her a chaste kiss on the lips. It took every ounce of his willpower to stop there. “That’s good to know.”
He hurried out before he did more damage.
Chapter Eleven
Carrie staggered to the sofa and let out a ragged breath. What was with Matt all of a sudden? He’d never kissed her before. Never worried over her before. Now, all of a sudden he was on her back because she was pursuing her case. And she couldn’t believe he’d followed the guy who followed her. Why now? Was it simply because she fit the description of his victims?
She rubbed a hand through her hair. That had to be it.
But he’d kissed her. Twice. Maybe tonight shouldn’t count, but it did. Though short and sweet, the smell and taste of him lingered.
She threw her head back against the back of the sofa. Good grief, she was attracted to one of her dearest friends.
After her stint in the army and her recuperation from her injury, she’d sat down and planned the rest of her life. A life like her parents’ hadn’t entered her mind. She would go to college, major in law enforcement, and work either with the police or the FBI. Because of her injury, she couldn’t pass the physical. Working with Coop and Dirk in their PI firm was the perfect solution. She was content with her life and the family she had been fortunate enough to acquire. A husband and kids weren’t in the picture.
She licked her lips, tasted Matt, and shivered. She was afraid Matt was the one man who could make her forget her life plan.
Never happen.
When tears pricked the corners of her eyes, she got up and went to bed. It was time to stop thinking of Matt and focus on her case.
He was right about one thing, though. Being followed scared the heck out of her. She wanted to know who and why. If Matt told his brothers, they could get over-protective and force her to drop the case.
She didn’t relish fighting them, but fight she would. Her gut told her Amy was alive, but in danger. Carrie had to find her.
Benjie knew something. From the vibes she got from the young bartender, Hank, he knew plenty as well. But she hadn’t seen Hank tonight. When she’d asked Benjie where he was, she got a shrug for an answer. She needed more information. The feeling grew stronger that one or both of the bartenders knew more than they were telling.
When she finally slept, her dreams were filled with Matt.
There was almost no light in the shower. Hot water pelted down in a relentless rhythm on her tired body. Leaning both hands against the tiled wall, she dropped her head and let the water wash away the day. The shower door slid open. What the…?
It was too dark to see very much. Where were the lights?
She poised to kick.
Spinning around, she confronted the intruder and, raising her knee, aimed for the groin.
Matt!
She relaxed.
He stood there. Nude. She could see that much—see his muscled body. He kissed her mouth. A whirlwind of want caromed through her. His kisses went from her neck to down her body. The water beat down on them, making their skin slick, his touch erotic. He kissed her breasts, lower, until she was begging, crying for more. She held his head, wanting all of him, as she shuddered in longing. Then she kissed his mouth until breath left her. Why couldn’t she get enough? She wanted him in her—wanted to feel him moving inside her until she couldn’t take any more. He put his hand on her waist. Slowly it drifted up her side.
No!
She sat straight up in bed, tears streaming down her cheeks. It was only a dream. Matt’s reaction to her scars wouldn’t be the same as her previous lovers’. They had taken one look and ran. And it wouldn’t be the same as Baxter—the fix-it guy. Though there could be nothing more than friendship between them, she knew Matt would think her scars a badge of honor, just as he did his brothers’. That wasn’t the issue that would keep them apart. So, why the dream?
She got up. It wasn’t five o’clock, but knew she couldn’t lie in bed another minute with that stupid dream lingering in her head. When she stepped out of her nightclothes, she looked in the mirror. Her left shoulder was a roadmap of scars. She raised her arm as far as she could to see even deeper scars from her underarm, down her side, and to her waist.
She put on her sweats and went to her second bedroom, where she had put in a small gym. At least the sparse equipment was enough to keep her from going to rehab every week. First she lifted weights, then ran on the treadmill. An hour later, she was sweating bullets and her left arm was tingling. She wasn’t finished. After fifty sit-ups, a half-hour of kickboxing and another, practicing martial arts, she fell onto a chair in the corner so limp she didn’t think she could move a muscle. The physical therapists had told her to never give up and never stop exercising. Carrie didn’t let a day go by when she didn’t religiously go through the routine. Improvement came in tiny increments, which she celebrated alone.
Matt would never know of the scars—never see them.
After showering, getting dressed, and with a to-go cup of coffee in hand, she was ready for the day.
She would wait until tonight to head back to Magee’s. In the meantime, she’d check in with HPD and see if they knew anything she didn’t.
She felt a sense of urgency. As if time were running out for Amy Strong.
There had to be a way to make one of the bartenders talk. She’d figure it out. She had all day.
****
Matt had unleashed the day from hell. Sweeney and a couple of other agents brought in at least a dozen people who had seen the comings and goings of the brothel firsthand.
Looking down the hall, he could see they were lined up for interviews, and they weren’t happy.
He took one interview room, Agent Sweeney another.
Though every interview was recorded, they were coming up with nothing of value. The neighbors were unhappy when the brothel had moved so close to their neighborhood, and delighted when it was shut down. Did they ever see either of the victims? No. Did they know who ran the place? No. Maybe Sam would come up with that information.
Sweeney brought in the workmates of both victims, but all they found out was that the women didn’t associate on a personal level. The coworkers griped about the pay and the boss, but that was the extent of what they knew.
Neither victim had family, so there were no family members to interview. They weren’t regulars at church and didn’t have library cards.
By six that evening the interviews were over, and both Matt and Sweeney were worn out.
“That was a waste of time.”
Matt took off his jacket. “I don’t know. We confirmed that though the women didn’t know one another, they were alike in almost every other aspect.”
“Which means what?”
“Maybe the killer picked them for that very reason.” Did Carrie fit the criteria? Besides the physical resemblance, she had no family and lived alone. The only difference was, she didn’t go to bars to party.
She’s been going to Magee’s every night.
He jumped up and grabbed his jacket. “I’m out of here.”
Sweeney followed him out. “Anything you want me to do?”
“Get some sleep. We’ll see what Sam has tomorrow. It’s time he came up with a time and place for the next auction.”
Sweeney waved and left. Matt ran to his SUV. He knew Carrie well enough to know she’d never give up. She’d be at Magee’s until she either learned something to help her case or realize there was nothing to learn.
He’d watch her back. His brothers should have had someone on the payroll doing that anyway. But Matt figured they thought Carrie quite capable of taking care of herself.
Though Matt had threatened surveillance on the bar, his superior nixed the idea, saying there wasn’t enough evidence to warrant the expense.
By the time he got to Magee’s, the parking area was almost full. He was right. Carrie’s bike
sat in the same spot as it had the night before. He pulled his SUV to the side in an unlit corner, scrunched down in the seat, and waited.
He would like nothing better than to go in and pull Carrie out of there. Since that wasn’t likely to happen, he’d wait and see that she got home safely, finally realizing how much he cared for her. It was different now, and he didn’t have a clue what to do about it.
He wasn’t blind. He’d seen her beauty—watched her flirt. Saw how she could go undercover and get the job done when no one else could. But he’d never wanted to grab her and kiss her before now—hadn’t had thoughts of making love with her.
It was as if the two of them were suddenly different people.
As he waited, his thoughts stayed on her and the distraction she was bringing into his life. He should be helping his brothers find the proof he needed to disprove Reed’s allegations. Instead, he was sitting here with the windows down, praying for a breeze, as he waited for Carrie to come out so he could follow her home and make sure she was safe.
Was he falling for one of his best friends? He stiffened. No. He was just concerned for her safety.
Who are you trying to kid? The voice came from nowhere, jolting him to a new awareness. One that sounded serious.
Would the sedan follow her tonight?
What was that about? Who was the driver?
His nerves tightened. For all he knew the person behind the wheel could be the very killer he was looking for.
He looked at his watch. Ten-thirty. Why didn’t she get her butt out here? He fought the urge to go in and drag her out.
Thirty minutes later, she came out, looked around, and straddled her bike. She was dressed again in what she called her biker-duds: tight jeans and a T-shirt that showed way too much skin, a matching vest, and knee-high boots. She looked around the area before she put on her helmet and took off.
She didn’t see him or he knew she would have stormed over and demanded answers.
He started his motor and waited. Sure enough, the same sedan followed her. Matt held back until there were three cars ahead of him before he pulled out to play the game again.
Anger vied with worry. Both directed at Carrie. She knew she was being followed as she did the same twist and turns as before. When she finally lost her tail and headed to Doc’s, Matt opted to follow the sedan.
Though several cars ahead of him, Matt had no trouble keeping him in sight. “He’s going back to Magee’s. Who the hell is this guy?”
When the sedan turned into the bar’s parking lot, Matt drove an extra block, turned around, and came back. He parked in the same dimly lit corner and went in search of the sedan.
It was parked behind the bar next to a dumpster. The license plate was still smudged with mud. He’d fix that.
Taking a pristine white handkerchief out of his pocket, he swiped at the dirt until enough came off that he could read the plate.
With a photographic memory, he didn’t have to write it down.
He was sprinting away when the back door opened.
Matt stepped around the corner and looked back.
The door of the sedan opened and Benjie’s round face showed from the car’s interior lights.
“Sonofabitch.”
The guy didn’t look the type who would stab a woman to death. But Matt knew from experience, looks meant nothing when it came to criminals. Could Benjie be involved in sex-slavery, or was he killing women of a certain description because of some perceived wrong in his childhood?
First thing tomorrow, he’d do some in-depth research on the man.
A search warrant was called for.
He picked up his cell and called for a license search. And wasn’t surprised when told the car was registered to Benjamin Magee. Was his name on the corporate papers, too? More questions that needed an answer.
On his way home, he punched in Carrie’s cell number. She answered on the first ring. “I saw you at Magee’s.”
“What’s with you, Matt? I told you I was capable of getting home safely.”
“You did. But I’ll bet you don’t know where the sedan that was following you went once you lost him.”
“No, but you’re going to tell me.”
He could see her in her robe, no makeup, looking good enough to kiss. He turned his thoughts away from the picture. “Straight back to the bar.”
“Did you see who got out?”
“No. But I saw who got in and left after the bar closed.”
“Spit it out. I’m tired.”
“Your favorite bartender. The same one who warned me it was dangerous to come back—the same one to whom the sedan is registered.”
Her gasp of surprise was as sharp as his had been minutes earlier.
“If Benjie is my serial killer, we’ll know soon enough.”
“Are you going to arrest him?”
“Not yet. First thing in the morning, I’m getting a search warrant for the bar and his apartment, or house, or wherever he lays his head.”
“Let me know what you find.”
“I will. But for God’s sakes, Carrie, be careful.”
“I’m always careful, Matt.”
And she hung up.
Chapter Twelve
After setting her alarm, Carrie lay on her bed thinking. So, Benjie had been the one following her. Or his car had. But someone else could have been behind the wheel. Had Matt considered that? Of course he had. He was FBI, and too smart not to.
HPD had nothing new to tell her. What did she do now? Her only lead was Magee’s. Should she go back and pretend she didn’t know who had followed her? Or get in Benjie’s face?
She grinned. The latter option appealed more than the first.
But she wouldn’t hit the bar too early. She wanted people around her, just in case. She thought of the guns she was never without and smiled. Benjie wouldn’t stand a chance if he tried something.
In minutes she was asleep.
The same dream swept over her.
In the dim light Matt came up behind her. She knew it was him, recognized the scent of him, the feel of his hands around her waist. She turned to smile at him and he took her mouth in a kiss that touched her soul. As he picked her up by the buttocks, she wrapped her legs around his waist. The next thing she knew she was stretched across the kitchen table and Matt was pulling her jeans off, throwing them in a corner. Both of them were naked now and his mouth and tongue were making her body cry for more. She wanted him like she’d never wanted anything or anyone before. Not even when she was a kid, and wanted her parents to stop drinking. In the shadowy light she saw his eyes grow wide with appreciation. He kissed her again; first her mouth, down her neck, to her breasts. He took them in his hands, buried his head in them, kissing and suckling. She couldn’t take it anymore. She wanted him. Now. He reached for the light switch, his voice guttural, “I want to see every inch of you.”
Carrie came awake; sitting up so fast her head swam.
She sat there and wept—the aftermath of the dream leaving her unfulfilled and wanting.
Why the dream? Why, after all these years, was she having erotic dreams about Matt? Just like her dream, she wanted the man. How had that happened?
In the dark, she went to the bathroom. Enough! No more. She was perfectly happy with her life.
She looked at the clock. It was four in the morning, but she wouldn’t sleep another wink, so she went to her exercise room. For the next two hours she worked out until she was exhausted.
Curling up on the couch, she shut her eyes. I won’t go to sleep and dream that dream again.
Carrie slept. This time she didn’t dream.
When she woke it was almost eight o’clock. By the time she dressed and made it to the office, the morning exchange was winding down.
“We waited as long as we could, Carrie.”
“Sorry, Coop.”
“Late night?”
“I’m still working Magee’s.”
“Anything to report?”
<
br /> Matt had spilled the beans. She could tell by the way they were looking at her. She narrowed her eyes. “What did Matt tell you?”
Neither Coop nor Dirk was happy right now. It was obvious they knew everything. “Why don’t you tell us?”
She grabbed a mug of coffee and sat down. “I think the bartender knows more than he’s telling. Actually, both of them do.”
“Tell us about it.”
Coop’s face was grim, Dirk’s angry. “All right. I’ve been followed after I leave Magee’s. It’s no big deal. I can lose just about anybody on my Harley.”
Coop leaned across the table. “It is a big deal, Carrie. Matt’s murder case involves women of your description. Doesn’t that make you wonder if the killer just might be the one following you? Waiting for his chance to take you?”
Carrie laughed. “That’s not likely to happen, Coop.”
“We’re this close…” Dirk held up two fingers pressed close together, “…to pulling you off the case.”
She jumped to her feet. “I’m going to kill Matthew Montgomery! He has no business sticking his nose into my case. It’s totally different from his.”
“Sit down, Carrie. They may be different cases involving different women, but both of you were led to the same bar. That should tell you something.”
Carrie’s face flushed. She knew it had to be as red as a tomato, and didn’t care. If Matt had been present, she’d take him on and make him wish he’d kept his mouth shut. It wasn’t her standard procedure to keep facts from her bosses. But this case was different. Then she realized they were as concerned for her well-being as Matt.
She sat back in stunned silence. That was it. Matt was doing the same as his brothers by trying to protect her. Nothing more.
But he kissed you.
Maybe they were just brotherly kisses.
Only they weren’t. And she knew it.
“The FBI will execute a search warrant this morning on Benjamin Magee’s home address, his car, and the bar. If they find nothing, you’ll be free to pursue your case. Up to a point. If you see anyone following you again, you report it to us, and to Matt. And not after the fact—the moment you see someone following you, make the call.”
Wounded at Work Page 10