by Misha Crews
"But you didn't try hard enough," she finished his sentence, her voice hard and unforgiving.
"No," Caleb said quietly. He waited for her to speak further, but when she was silent, he added, "And believe me, I wish to God I had done things differently. I know I owe you an apology for not telling you the whole truth."
"Oh you owe me a lot more than that, mister." Blake's eyes filled with abrupt tears as she remembered how safe she had felt with him, how tenderly he had held her in his arms. She blinked them back angrily. No way would she let him make her cry. Not now, not ever. "But the only thing I want from you is the courtesy of walking out the door and never bothering me again."
Steve spoke for the first time in several minutes. "I'm afraid we can't do that, Blake."
She turned wrathful eyes his way. Steve's tone was level, but he looked like someone who was not willing to negotiate. Well, that was fine with Blake. She wasn't interested in negotiation, or even discussion. She was tired of talking, and she was sure as hell done listening.
Reading her expression, Steve leaned across the table, obviously ready to bully her if necessary. He stretched out an arm and tapped his index finger on the table to make his point. "Your life is in imminent danger. It would be irresponsible of us to leave you alone now."
"Oh spare me your self-righteous crap, Mr. Peterson," she said. If she'd had a hammer close by, she might have smashed that arrogant finger of his. "Your only concern is your paycheck."
"You're right, of course." Steve could give as good as he got. "I'm a security consultant, charged with protecting you. If you die, I can't collect the rest of my money. So the one thing I'm determined to do is keep you alive."
In the fury of the moment, Blake experienced an almost irresistible urge to run straight out the door and into oncoming traffic. It would be worth it, just to make sure that Steve Peterson never earned another penny because of her. She leaned across the table and tapped her own fingers at him, refusing to back down. "You're not a security consultant, you're a pimp. Deal with it."
Steve stood abruptly, having obviously reached the limits of his patience. Good. "Caleb, tell your girlfriend here that Rube is coming back to LA tonight to finish all his old business, and that includes her."
The words were like a slap in the face. Blake felt herself go numb, anaesthetized by fear. Caleb's hand reached automatically for hers, and she took it without thought.
She heard Caleb's voice, speaking because she could not. "What are you talking about?"
"It's why I came here looking for you. Rube's been off the grid, but one of my informants has told me that he's flying into LAX tonight, under an assumed name. The FBI will be there to arrest him when he steps off the plane." He turned to Blake and spoke bluntly. "Until Rube Jeffries is in custody, your life isn't worth a plug nickel. So we're going to stay here, the three of us, in this house, until I've received a call that tells me Rube has been arrested. You can insult me all you want to, but I'm not going anywhere. And neither are you."
The message sank in slowly, working itself through layers of emotion until it reached Blake's consciousness. She became aware that her hand was still encased in Caleb's and she pulled away, refusing herself the comfort of his touch. Any consolation she took from him would be a lie, anyway.
She swallowed shallowly, then nodded her assent to Steve. "Fine. We'll stay here. But I suggest you keep out of my sight if you know what's good for you."
To his credit, Steve did as he was told, turning without a word and heading for some other part of the house. Wherever he went was fine with Blake, as long as it was away.
When he was gone, the tension dropped by a small degree. Blake took a deep breath, crossed her arms over her chest protectively, then turned to Caleb. "I think you better tell me the whole story again."
And he did. He started from the time he had gotten Steve's first phone call to the moment he'd fallen at her feet on the beach. He then went on to fill in details from the days since they'd met, telling her how he'd followed her, watching her from a distance when he wasn't up close and personal. He told her about the man he called Pinkshirt, about trying to gauge how much she knew about Rube's criminal enterprises, about becoming emotionally involved and, as he said, too selfish to tell her the truth.
Blake took in the details as if she were a patient listening to a surgeon explain how an operation had gone awry. She asked intermittent questions when she needed clarification on some small point, and tried to avoid allowing her emotions to cloud her perception of the big picture. She declined to pronounce judgment against the mistakes that had been made, since that would do nothing but flare her blood pressure, and thus weaken her further. Tell me Doctor, she wanted to say, what are my chances? Will I pull through this?
When Caleb had finished speaking, she drew a breath. She felt hollow and empty, but somehow cleaner. At least, she told herself, she knew everything now. It seemed that her prognosis was probably going to be negative, but there could still be treatment available which might offer some hope. The mysteries had been solved, and if nothing else, she could console herself with the fact that at any rate Caleb hadn't been trying to kill her. No, that had just been Rube, the man she'd been practically married to for the past ten years. Ah, well, apparently almost-marriages weren't all made in heaven….
She picked up her coffee mug, but it was cold, so she set it back down again.
"Would you like me to make a fresh pot?" Caleb asked quietly.
"No, thank you. I think I'll go upstairs and lie down for a little while. When Steve hears anything, you'll let me know, won't you?"
"Of course."
"Thanks." Blake pushed back from the table and stood up. Her legs were wobbly, and she had to steady herself against the back of the chair. Caleb reached out to help her, but she drew back. "No!" she said sharply.
She hadn't meant to speak that way, but even when she saw the pain in his eyes she couldn't bring herself to feel regret. Right now, she couldn't allow herself to feel anything.
"I'm so sorry about all of this," Caleb’s words spilling out of him like a hot rush of tears. "I never meant for you to get hurt."
"Of course not." Her reply was automatic. "Believe me, I appreciate how difficult your position must have been. I just – well, I don't think there's much left for us to say to each other, do you?"
"Yes, actually I do." He looked into her face, searching for a glimmer of what had been between them. But it was gone now, and Blake felt the absence of her emotion, as deep and empty as a newly-dug grave.
Whatever Caleb saw when he looked at her must have deterred him from speaking, because he lowered his eyes. "I'll let you get some rest," was all he said. "If you need anything, just let me know."
"Thanks." She was sick of thanking him, but she didn't know what else to say. How could she have been so cynical, and still so naïve?
She left Caleb sitting at the table, and made her way up to her bedroom. She paused in the lounge at the top of the stairs, remembering that recent night when she had crouched behind the potted plant and watched Rube and Greg question the unfortunate Jake. Had it really been less than two weeks ago? Time was a funny thing, slowing down and speeding up unpredictably. It was disorienting, insulting to the senses.
Blake tried to remember the person she'd been then – that feisty girl who'd moved so boldly down this hallway – but it was like groping to touch a shadow. That girl was gone, and in her place was a quiet, dry-eyed stranger who could do nothing but wait for the other shoe to drop.
It wasn't until she was lying in her bed, with her cheek nestled against the familiar satin sheets, that the first hot tears began to fall.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Caleb hefted the heavy glass bottle in his hand, watching the fluid shimmer inside, glinting like liquid gold in the lamplight. Outside, the sky was turning a similar shade. As the sun descended over the ocean, it cast rays of melting yellows across the rippling water.
It was a beautiful
sunset, Caleb thought moodily, one he wished he could share with Blake. But she'd been asleep most of the day, tucked into her darkening bedroom, waiting for the phone call which would release her from his unwanted company. And then…what? What would she do? What, for that matter, would he do?
His eye was caught by people strolling down the beach, and he paused in his reverie, body tense, as he took in details of the passersby. Two females, early twenties, carrying beach towels. Most likely not professional killers, he told himself with a grim smile, although these days you could never be sure. He relaxed somewhat, but his eyes continued to follow the two young women until they were out of sight.
A floorboard creaked behind him, and Steve's voice floated over his shoulder. "Is Blake still upstairs?"
Caleb rotated in the leather chair – the same chair he had sat in on the day that he met Blake, he couldn't help but remember – and shot Steve a dour grin. "Yeah. It's safe to come out."
"That's a relief." Steve moved smoothly around the chair and into the living room. He smiled as he settled on the sofa. "I could be wrong, but I don't think she likes me very much."
"Well, you didn't exactly meet her under the best of circumstances."
"No, I didn't." Steve searched Caleb's face. "Did you get any sleep?" He had ordered Caleb to rest some hours before, promising that he would keep watch from the front of the house.
"I lay down for awhile, and I think I slept."
Steve nodded. "So how are you doing with all this?"
Caleb shook the bottle that was still in his hand, making the liquor slosh around. "I've been better."
Steve held out a hand and Caleb passed the bottle to him willingly. The light from outside caught the letters highlighted on the gold label, and Caleb smiled. There was something comforting about knowing that a big-shot like Rube drank the same brand of tequila that Caleb liked to order in his favorite bar back home.
"Should I get a glass," Steve asked, "or are we taking it straight from the bottle this evening?"
Caleb shrugged. "I'm not actually drinking it. I was just enjoying the thought, you know? Looking forward to doing a few shots when this thing is over. Doesn't seem like now is a good time to be indulging."
"No," Steve agreed. "It doesn't." He set the bottle down on the coffee table with a little clinking sound, then he checked his watch. "I should be getting that phone call pretty soon, and then maybe we can crack that thing open and have a toast. What do you say?"
Caleb nodded, trying to ignore the crushing sense of guilt that still weighed on his chest.
His old friend must have read the expression on his face, because he spoke up firmly. "It's not your fault," Steve said.
Caleb's reply was immediate and vigorous. "I should have told her," he said. "I never should have kept this from her. It was too big, too important. But I was just too much of a – a – "
"Romantic fool," Steve supplied.
"I was going to say 'love-sick jackass,' but whatever." Caleb ran his hands through his hair. He wished like hell that this whole thing was over, and at the same time, he never wanted it to end because he wasn't ready to say goodbye to Blake. "I just don't know what I'm supposed to do with tomorrow, or with all the tomorrows after that."
Steve stood up and walked across the room. He leaned against the patio door and stared out the window at the darkening sky. When he spoke his voice was sharp with frustration. "I never should have taken this job. Every instinct that I have told me to leave it alone, to let somebody else handle it." He turned and looked back at Caleb. "But it was those same instincts that forced me to ask the tough question: if I passed on this job, would I inadvertently be getting somebody hurt? Or even killed?" He shook his head. "When something like this is dropped in your lap, you either turn a blind eye – "
"Or you grab it with both hands and don't let go until it's finished." Caleb supplied.
"Bingo."
"I only wish I had been in the position to ask a question like that." Blake's voice came from above them, and they both turned to look at her. She was standing on the second floor landing, looking down at them as she had once looked down upon Rube and Greg. She started slowly down the staircase. "But no one ever gave me the option."
Caleb felt himself stiffen at her words. He tried to move beyond it, onto something else. "Are you hungry?"
"Starved," she said simply. When she saw that he was about to rise, she held out a hand to stop him. "Don't worry, I'll get it." She moved into the kitchen, out of sight. "Do you gentlemen want anything? This is still my home for the moment, so I may as well play hostess."
"We're fine, thanks." Caleb spoke for both of them. His eyes drifted over to Steve, who was studiously looking out the glass doors. The emotional side of this situation wasn't his purview, after all, and he was keeping well out of it – although Caleb did see him check his cell phone, as if to hurry along the call that they were all waiting for.
Caleb knew that there was really nothing he could say to Blake at this point to make things right. She simply didn't trust him anymore, and he really couldn't blame her. Instinct was telling him to stay where he was, to not try to go after her, but he couldn't help himself. He hauled himself out of the chair and made his way into the kitchen.
He found her standing at the counter, paring an apple. A jar of raw sesame butter was standing nearby, and she had loaded a plate with chopped celery and carrots. Apparently, even her comfort food was healthy.
He tried opening with a joke. "You know, if you wrap those veggies in a pepperoni pizza, you'll have a snack that's good and good for you."
She had the good grace to turn and shoot a smile over her shoulder. "Why didn't I think of that?" she murmured. "I'm sure I've got some pepperoni around here someplace."
Caleb leaned against the kitchen counter. "For what it's worth, we'll be out of your way soon and then you can have your home back."
Blake looked at him, eyes full of unspoken words. Her lips parted, and he held his breath, waiting for her to speak.
But before she had a chance, a shrill shriek cut the air, making them both jump. It was a single note repeated over and over again, inhuman and terrible. Blake's eyes widened. "The alarm!" she whispered, and started for the front.
He was after her like a flash, elbowing her gently aside, eyes sweeping back and forth, looking for intruders. He pushed Blake up against a wall and motioned for her to stay, ignoring the fury in her eyes, then drew his gun and started forward again. His gaze sought and found Steve, who appeared from around the corner, also with his gun drawn.
Caleb motioned Steve to check the back, while he would take the front. But before they could move, the front door burst open and a man stumbled inside. He was bleeding from a gash in his temple. The clothes he was wearing were dirty and torn. He only managed a few steps before he staggered, and fell to the floor.
"Oh my God!" Blake's voice could be heard above the shrill whine of the alarm. Her voice was ashen, her hands trembling. She pushed Caleb aside and rushed forward before he could stop her. "Oh my God, it's Rube!"
Chapter Twenty-Four
With the alarm still clanging, Blake rushed forward and knelt down beside Rube. He was hurt, his jacket was torn. But he was breathing.
She helped him sit up. "Rube, are you okay? What the hell is going on?"
He tried to speak but she couldn't hear him. She jumped up to shut off the alarm. After she'd typed the code into the keypad, she went to kneel down again, but Caleb and Steve both caught her in mid-flight.
"Wait," Caleb commanded, holding her arms. All his soft supplication was gone. At this moment he was not the man trying to win her heart, he was the man trying to save her skin. "Steve, call the police."
But Steve was already on the phone.
Rube looked up at them balefully. He touched the blood that was running down his face. "The cops won't get here in time," he told them.
"What are you talking about?" Caleb asked.
"There are people comin
g after me. They'll be here any minute. I tried to get away, but they forced my car off the road and cut across the hills down to the beach. It won't take long for them to guess where I was headed. I didn't expect to find you here."
"Who's after you?" Caleb demanded.
Rube said one word: "Betch."
Blake shook her head. Had Rube just said what she thought he'd said? "Greg? Greg's the one who's been after us?"
Rube nodded. "He's been trying to take over my operation for months, only I was too stupid to see it. I knew somebody was after me, but I didn't know it was Greg. It was only after that night, when we were questioning Jake Callahan that I realized Greg was at the bottom of this mess. I knew that I had to disappear, to shake things up, and that's what I did."
His gaze moved to Blake, who was tugging against Caleb's restraint. "I'm so sorry, babe. I tried to keep you out of this." He looked back at Steve and Caleb. "I take it you're the bodyguards?"
Blake stopped struggling. She felt her face go white. "What did you say?"
"I'm the one who hired Peterson's firm." He saw the expression on Blake's face and hurried to explain. "I was afraid that something might happen to you. I knew I was in serious trouble and I didn't want you to get caught in the crossfire. But then I heard about what happened at the cabin, and I knew I had to come back. I never expected that Greg would actually try to hurt you, but I guess that when he couldn't find me, he decided to go after you."
Caleb let go of Blake's arm. She took two steps toward Rube, then stopped. She didn't know what to say. Ever since Rube had disappeared Greg had been whispering in her ear, acting scared, acting like the injured party. And all that time, Greg had been the one who was dangerous.
Steve and Caleb were conferring in low voices. Finally Caleb turned to Rube. "Okay, come on. We're going to get out of here, go to the police station. This mess can all be sorted out down there."
But it was too late for that. Outside, they could hear the sound of car doors closing. Rube struggled to his feet. Blake had never seen him so frightened. "There's no time," he said. "They're here." He looked at Blake. "Are the guns still in my safe?"