Shattered Vows

by Maggie Price

She imagined the weight of the chain looping her throat. Her breath instantly hitched; fear settled over her like an icy vapor, rippling against her spine.

  Suddenly, the personal problems she and Bran faced receded into the background. Right now she needed to be held. Needed him to hold her.

  “Bran.” Stepping to him, she wrapped her arms around his waist.

  His arms enfolded her. “I’m here.”

  She closed her eyes, felt the steady beat of his heart. “I’m not a coward,” she said against his chest. “Not a wimp.” A chill ran through her. “I just….”

  “I know.” He stroked her hair. “Heath’s not going to get to you,” he said quietly. “You have my word. I’ll die before that happens.”

  With Wynn Yale their sole link to Vic Heath, the cops tightened the net around the professor.

  That night at Chappell’s, Morgan’s fiancé Alex Blade paused in the parking lot beside Yale’s Harley. Using a silent drill, it took the undercover cop ten seconds to surreptitiously bore a minute hole in the motorcycle’s taillight.

  Hours later when Yale drove the Harley out of the parking lot, a team of cops followed. Using a leapfrogging technique, that team tailed the professor only one mile before passing him off to another. After several more hand-offs, Bran executed a smooth lane change on the busy interstate and had the Harley in sight.

  “That’s a pretty sneaky tactic, McCall,” Tory commented from the passenger seat. “Cool, but sneaky.”

  “Yeah, Alex said some Fed gave him the tip about drilling taillights.”

  Bran kept his gaze focused on the brilliant spike of white light emitting from the red taillight ahead of their sedan. The white light was laser-like in quality and at night could be seen clearly at a distance of several blocks.

  “We’re on the other side of the city from where Kandy lives,” Tory commented. “So we know he’s not heading to her apartment. At least not right now.”

  “If Yale keeps moving, we’ll have to hand him off to another team.” Bran glanced toward the passenger seat. With the bill of her baseball cap pulled low, he could barely make out Tory’s features in the dim glow from the lights on the dash. Still, he didn’t need to see her face to know her eyes were shadowed with concern. That morning’s news about Drew Unsell’s murder had shaken them both.

  Leaning forward, she flipped a lever, taking the heater’s fan down a notch. “I just hope wherever he’s going, Yale winds up leading us to Heath. Tonight.”

  “Tonight would be good.” More than anything, Bran wanted Heath in a cage. And not just because he was a murdering bastard who no doubt still had Tory on his kill list. Bran knew he and his wife didn’t stand a chance of fully dealing with their problems until the maggot was behind bars.

  Roma said some things that started me thinking. That made me look at things in a way I hadn’t before. She made me realize I’m not sure how I feel.

  He flexed his fingers on the steering wheel. Since their talk this morning, he had begun to hold out a simple and steady hope that he’d been wrong to think she was lost to him. That somehow, some way, he could get her to trust him again.

  Just then, the right-turn signal on the Harley flashed.

  “What’s the status on the bike?” Nate’s voice asked from the car radio’s speaker.

  Bran depressed a separate foot pedal and spoke into the overhead mike clipped to the windshield visor. “Subject vehicle is presently taking the Riker Road exit.” The foot pedal and mike enabled the driver to avoid having to raise a microphone to his mouth, thus possibly being noticed and identified as law enforcement.

  “Ten-four,” Nate responded. Bran knew the other unmarked cars monitoring the radio transmission would head that way to take over the tail if necessary.

  Noting that Yale powered down the Harley to the exit ramp’s posted speed, Bran did the same. Clearly the professor wanted to avoid getting pulled over on some traffic violation.

  Bran hung far enough back to keep Yale from suspecting he’d picked up a tail. For added insurance, earlier in the day Bran had switched the SUV he’d driven to Chappell’s the previous two nights with a different make and model SUV from the department’s asset forfeiture inventory.

  The Harley went only a block before the turn signal flashed again. The motel Yale pulled into was three-story, built with all units connected in a U-shape around the parking lot. A neon sign blinked on and off, announcing there was still a vacancy. On one side of the hotel, a truck stop teemed with business. Several eighteen-wheelers were pulled up to a concrete fuel pad with a double line of gas pumps. A sign on the building behind the pad advertised that breakfast was served twenty-four hours a day.

  Bran turned the SUV into the parking lot of a convenience store located on the opposite side of the street from the motel. He pulled to a stop, then depressed the radio pedal. “Yale’s at the Sundowner Motel.”

  “He going to a room?” Nate asked.

  “The office,” Bran answered while his gaze tracked the man clad in black leather. Lucky for them, the office was lined with windows with no discernable curtains or shades. From where Bran had parked the SUV, the hotel’s small office was a fishbowl.

  Tory dug into her leather tote at her feet and pulled out a pair of binoculars that were three sizes bigger than her hands. Nudging up the bill on her ball cap, she peered through the powerful lenses.

  “The clerk’s a woman,” she said. “Yale looks like he’s in Mr. Charm mode, acting all friendly and relaxed. He’s got one elbow on the counter, leaning in toward her. Smiling. He’s flirting with her, big-time.” She slid Bran a look. “Guess he isn’t too broken up about my being a no-show tonight at Chappell’s.”

  “Maybe he’s just trying to salve his wounds. Doesn’t look like he’s in a hurry to do whatever he came here to do.”

  She peered back through the binoculars. “Unless it’s to put moves on the hotel chick.”

  “Good point.”

  “Okay, now he’s checking in,” she said after a few minutes passed. “He just pulled a wad of bills out of his pocket. She’s got him filling out a card.”

  Bran relayed the information to Nate, then added, “Yale just walked out of the office. Doesn’t seem to be in a rush. Hasn’t checked over his shoulder to see if anyone’s watching him. He’s taking the stairs to the second level. Opening a door to a room with no light shining on the other side of the curtain. First thing he does is switch on the room’s light, so it doesn’t look like there’s anybody already inside waiting for him.”

  Tory lowered the binoculars. “He might be waiting for Heath to show.”

  “Possible,” Bran said. “Or he could be meeting some chick at a place Kandy won’t think to look. Because of that arrest in Houston, we can place the professor with Heath ten years ago. That’s their last contact we know about. And since this morning, Nate’s found out that Yale has a grandmother who lives here.”

  “You thinking now that his being in Oklahoma City about the same time Heath escaped from prison is a coincidence?”

  “Hell, no. I’m just looking at all the possibilities.” He sent a smug smile her way. “That’s why they pay me the big bucks.”

  “At taxpayers’ expense,” she commented, then looked back at the motel. “I’ve got a listening device in my tote. Both rooms on each side of Yale’s are dark, so maybe one or both are vacant. If we were in one of those rooms, we could listen through the wall, find out for sure if he’s alone in there. And if he does get company, we’d be able to monitor their conversation.”

  “You’re reading my mind,” Bran said. “Even if he is meeting some woman for a session of burn-up-the-sheets, we need to hear what they say. Sex has been known to loosen lips. Lead to interesting pillow talk. We might find out something that turns this case in our favor.”

  “We can definitely use a break.” She slid the binoculars into her tote. “Depending on what Yale does, we might be in a room more than a couple of hours.” While she spoke, she kept her gaze
directed out the windshield. “Maybe overnight.”

  Aware of the edge of caution that had settled in her voice, Bran studied her profile, both angular and soft. Just looking at her had the ache he’d been carrying around surging back to life.

  He’d been feeling that ache since she’d told him she was no longer positive she wanted him to sign the divorce papers. Was unsure whether what they’d once had was salvageable.

  Suddenly, sitting there beside her while the scent of her—cool soap and skin—stirred every hunger he’d ever known, he admitted to himself that he was sure about a few things. Things he had fully realized that morning when she stepped into his arms in need of comfort. His comfort.

  It was then he’d totally lost the battle to keep his head above his heart. Holding her had been like suddenly having back a crucial part of himself he had spent months refusing to acknowledge was missing. He was in love with this sexy, take-charge, independent, hardheaded woman. Had never stopped loving her.

  So, since he would rather die warring with her than living in peace with anyone else, he was going to have to come up with a way to get her back. Figure out how to erase the wariness he saw in her eyes when she looked at him. Manage to convince her she could trust him again, and that he’d been a fool to turn his back on the one good thing that had happened to him in years.

  Letting instinct rule, he decided now was the time to start. He just hoped to hell he wasn’t too late.

  “Tory.” Reaching across the seat, he snagged her hand. “There’s something I want to say. Something I need to say before we drive across the street and get caught back up in this case.”

  “I’m listening.” In the glow of the dash lights, her green eyes looked huge beneath the bill of her cap.

  The ingrained need to protect his heart had him hesitating. Truth, he reminded himself. No matter how much it exposed him, she would never begin to trust him unless he told her his true feelings.

  “You were right the other night when you said I wanted another Patience. When we got married, I expected you to be the kind of wife she was. I wanted you to be. And I spent months trying to force you into the same mold. That’s not you. It’ll never be you.”

  “I’m not sorry for being who I am.”

  “You didn’t let me finish. I like the woman you are, Tory. Soft yet tough. Strong but feminine. Until now, I hadn’t seen both sides of you. Wouldn’t let myself see.” He shook his head. “I was wrong to walk away from you. I know that now. I should have fought back my temper, stayed and tried to work things out. Fought for our marriage.”

  Her hand trembled against his palm, and he could swear he felt her nerves sizzle. “If you’re asking for a commitment or promises—”

  “I’m not,” he said, even though he was ready to make them to her. But he knew doing so would be too much. Too much, too soon. “You don’t know how you feel, you made that clear this morning. There’s a lot of baggage between us that we need to sort through. Compromises we both need to make. All I’m asking is that you give our marriage a second chance. Give me another chance.”

  “I…need time, Bran. Time to think about it.”

  “I figured that.” He squeezed her hand before loosening his hold. “Take as much as you need.”

  When he reached to shift the SUV into gear, she settled her palm on his arm.

  “Just so you’ll know,” she said quietly, “I doubt I’ll think about much else.”

  Chapter 13

  Tory drifted awake the next morning on a lumpy mattress that sagged in the center. It took her a few hazy minutes to remember she was in a motel. And that a pal of Vic Heath’s had checked into the room on the other side of the wall painted an eye-popping sugar-pink. At least Wynn Yale, aka the professor, had been there last night when she’d closed her eyes and sunk into oblivion.

  The weak winter sun seeping in around the curtain told her it was past dawn.

  Smelling coffee, she turned her head on the pillow.

  Bran sat in profile to her in one of the chairs at the round table they’d shoved directly beneath the painting of a clipper ship hanging on the pink wall. A green light glowed on the front of her audio surveillance device they’d set up last night, indicating the unit was monitoring the room next door. Another small light told her no listening devices had been activated in the general vicinity to eavesdrop on her and Bran’s conversation.

  Hearing nothing going on next door, she let her gaze drift back to Bran.

  Dressed in jeans and an ice-blue sweater that matched his eyes, he looked lean, spare and tough. His sandy hair was mussed from obvious finger-combings; day-old stubble shadowed his jaw. He had his sock-clad feet propped up in another chair while he sipped coffee from a foam cup. Her gaze shifted to the hand he rested on his jeaned thigh. His fingers were long, as strong and competent as they had been the first time they had touched her.

  Now, just watching him put a quick tingle in her belly, followed by a helpless little thud just under her ribs. She curled her own fingers into her palms.

  All in all, the man looked deliciously inviting.

  Closing her eyes, she summoned back the words he’d spoken last night. All I’m asking is that you give our marriage a second chance. Give me another chance.

  She’d been right when she’d told him she would think of little else. And after she’d fallen asleep, she’d dreamt of him. Of them.

  Even as hot, liquid temptation rose inside her she reminded herself that she’d had good reason when she’d asked him to give her time to think things through. She needed to be smart. Cautious. For both their sakes.

  Her resolve strengthened, she propped up on one elbow. “Bran?”

  He turned his head, his mouth curving. “Morning.”

  “Morning.”

  She thought about all the mornings they’d woken up wrapped in each other’s arms, and felt her heart hitch.

  “I take it nothing’s going on next door?” she asked, determined to keep her thoughts safely on the reason they were where they were.

  “Not since Yale turned off his TV around 2:00 a.m.”

  She glanced at her watch. “We agreed you would wake me at three so I could take the second shift. That was nearly four hours ago.”

  “You were sleeping like a rock.” He tapped his fingers on the tabletop. “From the peek I got at Yale’s registration card when I checked in, we know he paid for his room for three days. He’s holed up here, waiting for someone or something. If that something is a phone call, the equipment we’re using will only let us hear his side of the conversation. I need to call Nate, have him hunt down some spy-ware that’ll let us eavesdrop on what both parties say.”

  “I can save Nate the hunt. Last month I bought a piece of state-of-the-art snoop equipment that can monitor both sides of Yale’s conversation on his cell and the motel phone.”

  Bran arched a brow. “I forgot for a minute what a hot-shot P.I. you are, McCall. So, why wasn’t that new toy in your tote bag instead of this one?”

  “Because it’s bigger and heavier, that’s why. As to its present location, my pal, Sheila, borrowed it for a surveillance job. Since you and I are stuck baby-sitting Yale, we can have Nate pick up the equipment from her. He can figure out some way to get it to us without putting a blip on Yale’s radar screen.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  Shoving the sheet and bright red comforter aside, she shifted her pillow and propped her back against the headboard. She’d fallen asleep fully clothed and on top of the comforter. Although she still wore her jeans and snug jade sweater, her black leather ankle boots were now on the floor beside the bed.

  “Thanks for taking off my boots and tucking me in,” she said, making a futile attempt to finger-comb the tangles out of her long hair.

  “I wanted you to be comfortable.”

  “I was. And you’ve got to be exhausted. Do you want to try to get some sleep now?”

  “Later. I fired up the coffeemaker in the bathroom about an hour ag
o. Made it double-strength. I’ve had too much caffeine to get any shut-eye for a while.”

  She sent him an amused look while continuing to work on the tangles. “That’s your typical M.O., McCall. Loading up on the high-test stuff right before your shift ends. Then you get home and can’t sleep.”

  “I’m a glutton for punishment.” He pulled his cell phone off his waistband. “Speaking of caffeine,” he said while punching buttons, “after I talk to Nate I plan to pour myself a refill. You want some?”

  “Sounds good. I’m tough enough to survive one cup of high-test.”

  “I don’t know if you’re that tough.” Glancing up, his gaze met hers for one fast, hot beat before his mouth curved. “This stuff’ll put hair on your chest.”

  His grin clicked her throat shut. It was the same one she’d fallen in love with before they’d even exchanged one word.

  Her palms went damp. Her pulse skittered. Oh, boy. “I’ll get our coffee.”

  She slid out of bed, snagged her leather tote from beside the nightstand, and headed to the bathroom.

  Working long hours on surveillance jobs had gotten her in the habit of carrying around certain essentials. Digging a toothbrush and toothpaste out of her tote, she put them to good use, hoping the simple, mundane task of brushing her teeth might get her system to level.

  It didn’t.

  She dashed cold water on her face, the pulse-points on her wrists, then attacked the tangles with her hairbrush, all the while keeping her gaze locked on her reflection in the mirror over the sink.

  “Okay, who are you trying to kid?” she whispered. “You need time to think, but not about everything.”

  She wanted the man. Period.

  Certainly lust had something to do with that, but so did her heart. And right now it was beaming the message that all the thinking on her part wouldn’t put her and Bran on the road to reclaiming the closeness they once shared. Which, once accomplished, might help her figure out if their marriage stood a chance of survival.

  “One step at a time,” she lectured her reflection. “That’s the smart way to handle this.”