I stood in the middle with all three faucets going, letting them wash away the blood and the forest grime. I had about a thousand tiny abrasions all over my body, and half as many bruises, and the water stung—but I didn't care. I was home and I just wanted to get clean.
It was close to midnight now. After we left the cave, Parker and I hopped into the Rover, drove to the main ranger station and told them our story. The feds at the crash site had come straight over and we told our story again, this time taking them to the ranger substation to show them the bodies.
Needless to say, we were not immediately believed, but when they realized that no other explanation really made sense, they put out an all points bulletin for Ethan Robert Rider, and sat Parker and me down with a sketch artist. By the time they let us go, they had fairly good likenesses of Cat Eater and his friends, but I doubted they'd ever find them.
Wilky would be questioned, but there was no mention of going after Swan. There was no proof of his involvement and the FBI wasn't in the habit of ruffling rich men's feathers if it wasn't absolutely necessary.
Neither of us were surprised.
We were forced to run the media gauntlet as we headed back to our car. Reporters stuck mics in our faces, cameras flashed, the questions coming fast and furiously. They all wanted a piece of one of the survivors of the crash.
I nearly lost my cool, but after a terse, "No comment," Parker wrapped his arm around me protectively and bulled his way through the crowd, taking me back to the Rover and straight home.
By the time I climbed into the shower, he was already on the phone and the Internet, trying to gather as much information as he could about my old high school sweetheart. It was obvious he'd been rattled by my sudden "death" and blamed Ethan for it all.
"Just be warned. When I find that son of a bitch I'm gonna kick his ass."
"Not if I find him first," I said.
Now, as I took my shower, I thought about how I'd felt as I stared down at Ethan on that cave floor, and tears inexplicably sprang to my eyes. It wasn't a full-on cry, but I felt that tightness in my chest that usually accompanies heartbreak and I realized that I wasn't crying because of what had happened today, but because of what he'd done to me eight years ago.
I had been standing in the middle of the second floor corridor of Thomas Jefferson High, about to go to a history class taught by a teacher I despised, when I felt my phone vibrate in the back pocket of my jeans.
I dug it out, saw that it was a text from Ethan and quickly opened it to see:
Sorry, Pooks
He had talked about leaving during the last few months of school, wanting to get away from Orlando after his father's arrest and suicide, but I had never thought he'd follow through. Not without me, at least.
But that message was the last I had seen or heard from him until I stepped on that plane.
Sorry, Pooks
I thought about him taking the time to form that same message with rocks on the floor of that cave.
Was it an attempt to be funny? Ironic? Cruel?
Or did he really mean it?
Was he really sorry?
Unless Parker could find him, I doubted I'd ever know the answer.
Reaching for the shampoo, I squeezed a few drops into my palm and lathered up my hair, which felt as if it had been caught in the exhaust of a wood chipper. I was rinsing out the suds when I heard a faint click and turned to find Parker standing in the open shower doorway.
He wasn't wearing any clothes.
"You too sore for a little company?"
I smiled and gave him the once over, always delighted to drink in that view. He must have been watching me for awhile, because he was already at half-mast.
"If I said yes, would it disappoint your little friend?"
"Little?"
I laughed. "Well, he is only halfway there. I know he can do much better. The question is, can he make me forget my crappy day?"
"He can certainly try."
"Then come here," I said.
I stepped forward and grabbed hold of my Parker pull toy, feeling it grow in my hand. By the time we were both under the water, he was at full mast and just the thought of what we were about to do was enough to take me to a place that only Parker could.
He spun me around and pulled me backwards against him and for a brief, unscheduled moment I thought of Ethan holding me just like this as he strapped that parachute belt around me. Then the thought was gone and it was all Parker, his heat and his hardness, as he kissed a spot behind my left ear and said, "I don't know what I would've done if I'd lost you."
"You didn't," I told him. "You won't."
Then I reached down and grabbed hold of him again, not much interested in talk or foreplay, just wanting him inside of me as soon as humanly possible.
Pressing a palm against the travertine wall, I got up on my toes, tilted myself toward him and guided him forward. And a moment later we were joined and moving and breathing hard and fast.
A moment after that, my wish came true and my day was forgotten.
I could barely even remember my name…
NINETEEN
Parker, God bless him, was fast asleep when the phone call came.
I kept my cell on the nightstand and it began to buzz, pulling me out of the thoughts that had been parading through my mind for the last hour, keeping me awake.
I snatched it up and checked the screen and saw the words UNKNOWN CALLER flashing.
I'm not sure why, but I instinctively knew who that unknown caller was, yet I answered it anyway, in a tentative, not quite ready for prime time voice.
"…Hello?"
"You've been thinking about me, haven't you."
It was a statement, not a question, and as true as it was audacious. I didn't know how he'd managed to get my number, but then Ethan was a resourceful guy, and I couldn't quite believe he was calling me.
What did he want—to rub it in?
I felt angry all over again. I couldn't believe I'd bought his dog and pony show.
"You're a bastard," I said.
"If only that were true. I'd be happy to disown both of my parents if it would change anything."
"I was wrong. You are just like your father."
"Exactly my point. But I didn't leave that message in the cave for fun, Pooks. I really meant what I said. I truly am sorry."
"Yet not quite sorry enough to keep me from nearly getting killed."
"I told you, those men don't work for me. I have no control over them."
"Like you had no control over the plane crash?"
There was a pause. "You think I did that?"
"Parker says if Hap really was poisoned, you were the one who stood to gain the most."
"You can tell your boy toy to go to hell. First, I've never killed anyone in my life and don't intend to start. And why would I risk killing myself just to escape? I'd have to be a fool to make a move like that, and I'm no fool."
"So that story about you and Swan's wife was true?"
"Every word of it. I know too much and he wants me dead. That's why I took off."
"And why should I believe you?"
"I don't know, Kelsey, what do you want me to say? For old time's sake? I'm not stupid enough to think you'd trust me after what I've done to you. Twice now."
He was way too apologetic. Way too repentant. And it didn't make sense to me. "Then what's this about? Why are you calling?"
"You'll think I'm crazy."
"That's pretty much a given. What are you up to, Ethan?"
"I'm not up to anything," he said. "The truth is, I can't get you out of my head. I keep thinking about what we were and how I screwed it up and—"
"Oh, please, spare me. What do you really want?"
He paused. Sighed. "Your help."
"What?"
My voice had risen half a decibel and Parker stirred. He opened his eyes and stared through me for a moment before closing them again and turning over. I hoped his dream was better
than my reality.
I lowered my voice. "Why on earth would I help you?"
"Because you're all I've got, Pooks—"
"Will you stop calling me that?"
"Sorry," he said. "But at the risk of inducing nausea, you'll always be my pookie cat."
I rolled my eyes. "You're treading on dangerous ground for someone who wants my help."
"Dangerous is the key word, here. I'm in trouble, Kelsey. Big trouble."
"Then turn yourself in."
"You know I can't do that. I'll be a dead man the minute I hit that prison yard. Swan's people will make sure of it."
He was sounding really desperate and I sighed. "Then what kind of help are we talking about?"
"With my face all over the news it's a little tough for me to be out and about or to communicate with anyone. For all I know, you're tracing this call as we speak."
"Right, because my surveillance abilities are right up there with my navigation skills."
"I'll bet your boyfriend knows a thing or two about it."
I glanced at Parker. "My boyfriend is fast asleep and dreaming, which is where I'd like to be instead of talking to you."
"Hey, if this gets to be too much for you, you can always hang up."
"I'm tempted, believe me, but you've got me curious about how you think I can help you."
"I need you to be my middle man."
"Middle man? For what?"
"I have to get out of the country," he said. "But I need a new identity and I've got a guy here in Houston who does all my paperwork. He has me on file and can whip something up in just a few minutes, but I don't want to risk contacting him myself. I'm not sure I can fully trust him."
"So what do you want from me?"
"To handle the legwork. Go to his place, tell him what I need, then bring the documents to me. He's a night owl, so it shouldn't be—"
"You want me to do this now?"
"The sooner the better. I need to be gone."
I couldn't believe the balls on this guy. I've never been a fan of the type who lets a man treat her like crap, then goes out of her way to make him happy. He calls, she jumps. It's a by-product of insecurity—which every woman suffers from to some degree—but there's a time you simply have to tell the guy to go screw himself.
Yet I didn't.
"And if I agree to do this, what makes you think I won't immediately call the FBI and tell them where to find you?"
"You may not trust me, but I trust you. You've always been worth the risk, Pooks, so I'm taking the chance that you won't turn me in."
"That's a pretty big assumption."
"Is it? Because I think there's still a connection between us. I know you won't admit it, but it's there, even if you don't want it to be. Which is why I knew you'd be awake when I called. We had quite a day today. A lot of stuff to think about." He paused. "And to remember."
I hate men who are so sure they know you. Even when they're right.
"Okay," I said, "if I do help you, where will you go?"
"Someplace far away. Out of Swan's reach. And maybe once he realizes I'm gone, he'll get the message that I have no intention of betraying him."
"Like you did me?"
There was a long pause on the line. "I guess I deserved that, didn't I?"
"And then some."
"The message I left was sincere, Pooks. I'm sorry for conning you, but I can't afford to go to jail."
"So how bad are you hurt?"
"It was a just a nick. But when I bleed, I bleed a lot. Another trait I inherited from my father. My mom used to say it meant we had healthy hearts."
"I tend to lean toward the no heart theory, which makes it hard for me to believe what I'm about to do."
"Meaning what?"
"Tell me when and where."
"You'll help me?"
"And probably regret it every day for the rest of my life."
"You're saving a man from certain death," he said. "That should make you feel better."
"Yet, oddly enough, it doesn't. Who is this documents guy and where do I find you once he's done?"
"I'll text you his name and address and what I need, and we can meet at a place called The Strike Zone around four a.m. That should give you enough time."
"A bowling alley?"
I could almost hear him grinning on the line. "I figured it was appropriate."
During the first summer of our romance, Ethan had worked at the Orange Bowl Lanes in Orlando. I'd spent two lovestruck months there, visiting him nearly every day, loitering in the snack bar with girlfriends. It had been a pretty wonderful time until the manager fired him for insubordination.
"You're a manipulative bastard."
"Not this time," he said. "I just thought it made sense." He paused. "See you soon, Pooks."
We clicked off and I sat there for a moment, staring into the dark, my phone still in my hand.
Then I looked over at Parker and shook him awake, and he blinked up at me with a "wha?" look on his face.
"Get up and get dressed," I said. "I know where to find Ethan Rider."
TWENTY
I have no idea what you think of Ethan at this point. To your mind he might be an insufferable jerk or a roguish charmer. There's no telling how a person will react to someone like him, especially when the experience is filtered through someone like me. Because I can be a bit insufferable at times myself.
But I was not charmed by Ethan. Not in the least. Yes, as I've admitted, I still had feelings for him, but those feelings were merely remnants, a product of nostalgia, and I wasn't about to let them interfere with doing what needed to be done.
Ethan Robert Rider was a wanted fugitive with a lot of question marks hanging over his head, and I couldn't in good conscience help him run. Parker and I were, after all, in the business of catching fugitives, not supplying them with passports and drivers' licenses to aid in their escape.
Don't get me wrong. I'd do everything I could to make sure Ethan was protected from J.L. Swan—warn the feds, his bail bondsman, the court and prison authorities—but that was as far as I was willing to take it.
His fatal mistake was overestimating my capacity for sentiment and believing he could manipulate me into doing his bidding. What may have been candy to a girl of sixteen tasted more like vinegar to a woman with a little bit of life experience under her belt.
Don't forget, I had shot and killed two people at this point, so I wasn't some dewy-eyed teenager anymore. I wasn't even the clueless graduate student Parker had met on that city bus a few months earlier. I may have made my share of mistakes, but I wasn't anyone's sucker, and Ethan was a fool if he thought he still had any kind of power over me.
Nobody had that kind of power.
Not even Parker.
TWENTY-ONE
At ten minutes to four that morning, Parker and I pulled into the lot of The Strike Zone, a rundown 24-hour bowling alley in South Houston. The front of the place had one of those old animated neon signs, red and green, showing a bowling ball breaking a set of pins.
I drove as Parker sat in the darkness of the back seat, little more than a shadowy silhouette in my rearview mirror.
There were more cars in the lot than I expected to see at this time of morning—probably early risers picking up a bite to eat at the bowling alley cafe—and I pulled up next to one and parked.
"So how do you want to work this?" I asked. "Should I go in alone? Try to get him to come outside?"
"No way," Parker said.
"Well, we can't very well stroll in together. Ethan will bolt if he sees someone with me."
"I'll give you a head start, but I don't trust that guy and I don't want you making contact with him until you know I'm inside. I'll keep an eye on you the whole time."
"Okay, but don't make it obvious. He may not know what you look like, but he's no dummy."
"I'll try to pretend I've done this before."
There was an edge to Parker's voice and I had a fairly good idea what
was causing it.
Earlier, after shaking him awake to tell him about Ethan's call, he had wanted to know why. Why would Ethan call me? Why take that risk when there was so much at stake?
I had been wondering the same thing myself, but simply shrugged. "Maybe he feels alone and I'm the only link to a time when he didn't. So, for him, that translates into trust."
It was dime store analysis, but it was all I'd had.
"Or maybe he realized he's still in love with you and thinks you feel the same. What the hell happened in that forest?"
"You can't possibly be jealous."
"Why can't I?"
"For God's sake, Parker, nothing happened. He's an old high school crush. That's all."
I hadn't mentioned how deep that crush was or my momentary lapse of reason in that cave. That was between me and my guilty conscience.
"You sure about that?"
"Oh, please. Would I be telling you he called me if there was anything to worry about? I didn't have to wake you up, you know."
Parker had conceded the point, but I knew he'd been stewing ever since. It was a side of him I'd never seen before and I didn't know how to feel about it. I mean, sure, it was wonderful that he cared, but was he going to act this way every time I was forced to parachute out of a plane, strapped to an old boyfriend?
Now, hearing that edge, I looked at him in the rearview mirror, just able to make out his face in the light from the parking lot. I hadn't helped matters by questioning his surveillance abilities. Especially when he had more experience than I could ever hope to gain.
"Sorry," I said. "Sometimes I forget you're more than just my shower buddy."
This brought a smile, as I hoped it would. "The best damn shower buddy you've ever had."
Present Tense (A Parker & Coe, Love and Bullets Thriller Book 2) Page 7