Falling for Water (A Prepper Romance)

by Arlene Webb

  No. She wasn’t a night person and her head hummed. Even if she hadn’t had one of the crappiest nights ever, and was still fairly sure she could leave ninety-nine percent of the population, male and female, in the dust, she couldn’t outrun a bullet.

  Richard—Raymond—had that hard edge around him. All the boyish charm he’d shown in the bar had disappeared. She didn’t doubt he’d seen some terrible things if he was a legitimate civil servant sworn to protect and obey, meaning he’d shoot her down like a dog if she hightailed it as a guilty person would.

  Did police or anyone but psychopaths really shoot down dogs that weren’t foaming at the mouth? Her throat was too dry to even dribble, let alone appear rabid. Was he a real cop, and what in the name of God did he think was in those boxes?

  She sighed. He’d commanded her not to open them. It took extraordinary willpower for her to walk past them into the bathroom. It irritated her when anyone ordered her about; it made her yearn to do the exact opposite. When dealing with someone larger and meaner than herself, or those carrying a badge, it wasn’t necessarily the smartest thing to be stubborn past the point of self-preservation, but she’d never accept the logic that might make something right. This was her first time dealing with a bastard for a boyfriend, and the feeling of self-loathing, knowledge she should have walked out weeks ago, churned within her.

  Cold, chlorinated, and yucky water splashed onto her face helped. She dragged her fingers through her hair and slumped at the deep bags under both eyes, the discolored fading bruise under one, and pasty complexion. She untangled her purse that was minus her cell phone from her shoulder. She hadn’t been able to find her phone anywhere. Not in the apartment, her car, the library she hung out at hadn’t found it, and she felt so vulnerable. She was compulsive about always having it charged and with her. Never knew when a hot detective would book a room and interrogate in a way that left her a bloody mess, instead of just with a headache.

  “Ibuprofen, where the hell are—?” What was the tiny round dot small as a blouse button doing stuck to the inside flap of her little purse?

  She forced it off. Metal, solid…was it some sort of listening device?

  “I hate cops,” she bellowed into it.

  “Ouch! I’m sorry,” called out the equally loud voice outside the bathroom door. He knocked. “I’ve taken the receiver out of my ear. Could you please not—?”

  She flushed the toilet.

  “Okay. Just a week’s paycheck. So worth it to hear you singing. As soon as you’re done in there, I got you something to drink and eat.”

  She opened the door and glared at him setting two plastic bottles of water, a can of soda, and a cellophane-wrapped muffin on the table.

  “I don’t drink carbonated water, bottled water, tap water, or any water that I haven’t purified.” She shoved her hand in her purse, as if she clasped a cell phone. “Tell me what this is all about, or I’m calling the real police.”

  He nodded. “Sure. I understand those fake cops can be quite the assholes. Water aside, are you a snob about processed sugar, wheat flour, and blueberries? Want the muffin?”

  “No. I want a life that doesn’t involve guys pretending to be Dick.”

  He arched his brows. “Dick deserves a chance. Unlike another prick pretending to be a prince.” He grabbed one of the waters. “Speaking of imposters with a four-letter name, your Pete is a piece of work. I sent someone to pick him up. I…er…like you, Cassi, and I’m praying this is a case of him, not you. At least you don’t have to worry about him breaking the things you couldn’t fit in your car, assuming he didn’t go ballistic before being escorted downtown. Seemed the type to be upset you’d left him.” He drained the water and set the empty plastic bottle on the table. “You are leaving him, not just driving around while you work up the nerve to do something you’ll regret?”

  “You watched me pack my car?”

  “Yeah. Should have helped you, and I hope you have a good explanation for these boxes you decided were the most important things to clear out.”

  Something snapped inside her. “It’s not illegal to have a sickness.”

  He rubbed his eyes. “A sickness? Do explain.”

  “I fell for a man who made me think if he didn’t understand, he at least tolerated this condition of mine. Then one night last week while I hung out in the college library, my prince decided to play shrink.”

  “Library?”

  “I’m a freelance writer. Hard to concentrate when the current buddies he dragged from some bar are watching sports, porn, who knows, and tossing chicken wings around.”

  “Ahh. And how did Pete the prince try to cure you of this mysterious ailment?”

  Cassi lifted one heavy foot after another. She bypassed him at the table, sat on the bed, and stared at her sneakers. “I have OCD. Not bad, at least I don’t think so. I can’t, absolutely can’t, drink anything other than water or tea and not from anywhere other than my own source of water. Drinking that glass of vodka in the bar with four ice cubes in it, where the ice may have had a chance to melt while I flirted with some guy who I thought was that, just some guy, was a major step for me. First time ever I didn’t hand off the drink to someone and ask the bartender if I could just have the bottle, a clean glass, and help myself.”

  “Although some cute guy, right?”

  “What?”

  “You said just some guy—”

  “Shut up. Unless you want me to plead the fifth?”

  “Sorry. Go on.” He pulled out the chair, sat and stared at her.

  She drew a deep breath. “I had a distiller. I’d set it up in my office area, where no one else has to go. Pete recently had a sudden personality flip. He started trying to get me to drink beer, orange juice, milk and worst of all, tap water.” She shuddered. “Last week when I got upset over what he’d done to my thousand-dollar purifying system, he forced me to drink a mouthful of his beer. I threw up on him, and he backhanded me. Later, I took a good hard look at my life, a good hard look at the purifier beaten to death by a baseball bat, the glass pitcher urinated in, and decided I’d had enough.”

  “And you needed a weapon?”

  “What? No. I needed another system. Wouldn’t use the catching pitcher no matter how long I soaked it in vinegar to clean it, or if I could have gotten the dents out of the rest. I told you I’m mental.”

  “Why’d he go mental on an appliance?”

  “No reason that I can rationalize. I’d left when he said some guys were coming over to play cards. For once he didn’t bully me, insisting I stay like he’d done in the past and then getting pissy when I refused to play strip poker with six men. He had a couple girls there, which of course I was supposed to ignore. One of them either looked for the bathroom or was just plain snooping. I had the distiller set on a timer and being an idiot, she wondered what was cooking. Like clear liquid wasn’t a clue. She twisted the top off, got a face full of hot steam and screamed until Pete paid her to go away. His friends must have teased him, and he decided to teach me a lesson.”

  “Seems extreme, and you want him to pay by taking extreme to another level, a means to deal without getting close and personal?”

  She risked a peek at him. He looked dead serious, no hint of either mockery or compassion on his face.

  “I don’t know what you’re getting at, but yes, I spent the past few days hoping to never again get close and personal to Pete. As soon as I’d prepared for a road trip with the equipment important to me, I planned to leave Evans, Colorado far behind. Then Pete was nasty enough tonight. I decided to grab my new distiller and get out. After I’d put some serious miles between us, I thought I’d send him a text message. But, of course, I can’t find my…er, never mind.” Awesome, tell the stranger you sit in a motel room with you don’t even have a cell phone.

  She slowly lifted her chin. Still no expression, but least he had yet to laugh at what a freak she was.

  “How long have you lived with this Pete?”

/>   She swallowed around her dry throat and returned her gaze to the floor. “Little over a month. And I learned he has his own hang-ups. Jealous. Territorial. Thinks because I stupidly let Dr. Jekyll into my bed, that even when he was Mr. Hyde and screwing prostitutes or any bimbo who’d have him instead of the nutjob who won’t share a beer with him, he feels he owns me. I knew unless it was him throwing me out, he’d pick up that bat again.”

  And screw you if you’re a domineering dick as well. She jerked her head up and suddenly there was plenty of moisture to swallow with. The guy with a badge had softened. She stared into the kindest pair of male eyes she’d ever seen. “So, Officer Harris, sir, you want to help me put the distillery I ordered online together, let me make some wholesome water and get on with my life, or are you going to try and psychoanalyze me like everyone else does?”

  He shoved to his feet, stuck his hand in his jean pocket, and she stiffened as he pulled out a folded knife.

  “You know, despite lobotomy proven not to do much other than make someone dumber than they already are, I think that little blade would have a hard time penetrating bone. I have a sharp hacksaw in my car. Can I have my keys back?”

  “Honey, I—”

  “Don’t call me that,” she snapped.

  He nodded. “Ahh, sorry. Your scumbag prince did use that endearment, and I should have known better. Cassi, I’ve never even seen a distillery system for water purification, but wouldn’t it weigh a lot less than these rather flat boxes? Maybe a rectangular container with the cords, and the steel unit for the heating and cleansing in another box shaped more like a canister?”

  The guy had a point. She hadn’t thought about the fact there were four boxes instead of one or two and yes, pretty much shaped wrong. Too much else swirling in a head filled with get-the-hell-out-of-Dodge thoughts. But the shipment was all clearly labeled to her and from the correct company. She’d spent hours picking the most updated and best system. Maybe they’d accidently sent two setups? Backup wouldn’t be…. God, why was she so easily distracted by a muscular backside? He’d bent to heft the top box onto the bed. She stood and carefully inched to stand beside him as he slit it open.

  He shifted the corrugated paper aside and clamped his hand on her elbow as they stared down at an arsenal.

  ***

  Ray caught Cassi around the waist as her knees wobbled.

  “Those are guns!”

  No duh. “Yep.”

  She turned soft brown eyes, wide with confusion, on him. “I didn’t order guns.”

  “So you say.”

  “What…are they real?”

  He grabbed her hand as it reached for a semi-automatic rifle stacked against three of the same, six handguns beneath them. “I wouldn’t touch if I were you.” He released her trembling fingers. “I really hope we don’t find your prints on anything more than the outsides of the boxes. I also don’t think handling a weapon is in your best interest. I am fast on the draw, myself.” Not a total lie; he had the pullout and arm-steady thing down. He just needed a couple thousand more hours at the shooting range to perfect the bull’s-eye.

  “Right. Sorry.”

  Those frightened couple of words from his primary suspect in a probable gun-smuggling operation didn’t sound good. He dragged his stare from enough firepower to happily arm ten terrorists.

  There was not a speck of color in her face, leaving him little option other than swinging his arm down and scooping her up. He carried her to the other bed and gently set her down. With a blasted mind of their own, his fingers brushed her dark hair from her face. “Hang on. Let me see what’s in the rest.”

  “Grenades, we’re getting the fuck out of here, right?” she muttered.

  “Damn. That reminds me. My cuffs are in the car. This is serious stuff you’re into.”

  “I can run and get them for you. Richard…um…Raymond…. Seriously, what if there’s explosives?”

  “Call me Ray.” He halted his knife from box number two. “I watched you drop these into the trunk. I’m sure the grenades have the pins in them, but semi-automatic Yugoslavian M70AB2 rifles and TEC-9 semi-automatic pistols, 32-round magazines—maybe I should leave the rest for the Feds. I’d best make a phone call.”

  “The SWAT team?”

  He set his pocketknife down, picked up the bottle of water, and approached. She didn’t look good…well, not true. She was adorable, chewing at a lower lip begging to be kissed instead. Makeup free, soft tangled hair brushing her shoulders without a hint of spray stuff in it. Her long leg jittering against the bed made him yearn to grab hold and soothe his fingers along it to calm her. No perfume to clog his already befuddled head, just a scent of fear. That ashen complexion didn’t bode well, either.

  “I understand if you can’t drink name-brand spring water, but you’re dehydrated. Think about it.” He set the unopened water on the bed beside her and stepped away. “I need to report in. This is a federal case.” He hit speed-dial.

  “Where are you?” barked Lisbon, her usual grouchy self when she hadn’t had enough caffeine. “You should have called hours ago.”

  “Motel a half hour north of Denver, boss. I have Cassi Smith with me, and I opened one of four boxes she transported from the apartment. Assault rifles and pistols.”

  Lisbon sighed. “You weren’t supposed to break cover.”

  “She outed me.”

  “You do suck at tailing. Should have picked Roberts. She talking to you?”

  “Yes, ma’am. And Roberts wouldn’t have gotten a smile, let alone some convincing reactions. Either an excellent actress or a victim. I’m thinking the boyfriend.”

  “Well, that’s a problem,” drawled Lisbon. “He’s face-up and waiting for the coroner. One slug between the eyes.”

  Ray almost dropped the phone. He glanced at Cassi. By the way she stared at the still unopened bottle of water instead of him, she hadn’t heard the other end of the conversation.

  “Hang on,” he mumbled to his boss. “Cassi, I’ll be right outside this door.”

  Her gaze went to him, her eyes wide. “Is that a good idea?” She glanced at the box of weapons and ammo on the other bed. “I mean, didn’t you just remind me I’m like a suspect who’d kill you for profit or something?”

  God, I’m an idiot. He slapped himself upside the head. “Pretend I didn’t say that. Try not to listen, sweetheart.”

  “Sweetheart?” Lisbon snapped.

  He paced to the far wall. “She’s frightened. When and where?”

  “Right inside the apartment door. Roberts and Bradley said the body’s warm. Guessing less than an hour ago.”

  “I have the plates on a Ford pickup. Vic left at 12:30. I watched her load her car and leave two hours later.”

  “She’s got a solid alibi, then. Professional hit. Apartments either side claim they didn’t hear or see anything. What’d you gather before the vic left?”

  “He threatened her. Upset she hadn’t cooked dinner. She gave him money. Told him she was too tired to go out. He left. She locked the door before she drove off.”

  “Either lucky or arranged for when she wouldn’t be there. You hear her make any calls?”

  Ray lowered his voice to a mumble. “No. I don’t think she has a cell phone with her. Maybe he walked in on someone?”

  “Could be. You have any indication of a tail of your own?”

  “Nope.”

  “Then sit tight and keep your mouth closed. Seems safer to contain those packages there for the Feds to have first crack at, instead of locals and you bringing her in. I’ll get them to set up a perimeter around the motel. The Feds will want to take control of Smith as well. I’ll tag along to make sure you play nice.”

  “That’s why you’re the boss.” He gave her the name of the motel, the room number, and disconnected. Did she really think he’d sit quietly with a likely innocent woman for an hour without confiding to Cassi that her prince was dead? Meaning the cloud hanging over her had upgraded from weapon tra
fficking to hiring a hit man as well?

  He took in Cassi’s huddled form. Regardless of opening his big mouth or not, he had to get her stronger. She’d been feisty enough at the bar and confronting him in the parking lot here, the moment he’d opened box number one, she’d wilted. She sat, staring uneasily at the bottle of water as if it could put one between her eyes.

  Damn. Good ol’ Pete was dead and his actions showed he didn’t know what that delivery truck had dropped off at his door. Ray doubted the Feds had a suspect behind these boxes, other than Cassi.

  Chapter Three

  Cassi couldn’t help shivering as Ray shoved his cell phone in his pocket and approached the bed she sat on, stiffly as a schoolgirl about to be sent to detention. She couldn’t hear what the boss had told him, but he’d been surprised. He’d given her that look. As if she’d either done something more shockingly deviant than ordering weapons of mass murder online, or the opposite. That she’d become all gooey like a marshmallow, hysterical if he told her what was going on. Hard to tell what the flinty gaze of guys into power meant other than he made her feel more and more agitated. Capable of jaywalking, painting graffiti, dancing in a fountain, returning a book late without paying the fine, punching him in the nuts—anything but cooperating.

  He halted in front of her. “Stop glowering like I’m the enemy. We’ll figure this out, I promise. You should lie down. Get comfortable. We have less than an hour before SWAT gets here.”

  “Honestly?”

  “No. Just some good guys with guns holstered unless I call out otherwise.” He stepped around the bed and flung himself down on his back.

  “I didn’t order a bunch of weapons. I’ve never even shot a gun before. There’s been a mistake. The boxes labeled wrong. I need to make some calls or send an e-mail” She started to stand, and he took her elbow. She jerked free. “My laptop’s in the car.”

  “Wait until the interrogation team gets here.”