Criminal Promises

by Nikki Duncan

  He needed an excuse. Fast.

  “Using the computer.” Unoriginal, but absolutely true.

  “Something wrong with yours?” She looked sexy as hell all mussed up from sleep. A line creased her cheek where her face had pressed into the sheets.

  “Battery needs charged.”

  She shook her head. “Plug it in.”

  “Forgot the power cord at the station.”

  “Get an extra one.”

  He had an extra, but she didn’t need to know that. “Will do.”

  “Right. Listen…” Her suspicion seemed to ease off though it didn’t go away entirely. “Thanks for last night. I’m going to get dressed. I have things to do.”

  She tacked on the last bit as if saying thanks made her uncomfortable. Unless her discomfort came from other memories.

  He shifted a little to ease the pressure building at the base of his spine. His cell phone rang and he pulled it from his pocket. When he saw Craig’s number, he flipped it open. He smiled at Maggie and waited for her to be well out of earshot.

  “Give me good news.” He ignored the edge of desperation in his voice. He didn’t honestly expect Craig to have solved the case over night on his own.

  “Sorry, man. I’m not finding anything. I played with the parameters of the Google searches, but still haven’t found anything to make sense.” Craig rambled about the different things he’d found and negated. “You have any luck?”

  “Maybe.” BD moved into the hall and told Craig about Mike’s notes. He wanted to minimize any chance of Maggie hearing him, but he also needed to stay watchful over her.

  “Old scrolls written by Hyperboreans that have been hidden. So helpful.” Craig blew out a frustrated breath. “This is going to take longer to solve than we have. Adalia won’t stay hidden long.”

  BD checked his watch. Two more minutes and he was going in.

  “I know a way.” The door opened and Maggie sailed out of her room in a pair of jeans and an outrageous pink T-shirt, barely sparing a glance for him as she went toward the kitchen. BD followed Maggie’s path, enjoying the curve of her hips and ass showcased in the snug, low-riding jeans. “But I don’t like it.”

  “You going to ask her about Mike?”

  It could help. “Apparently.” In a moment of perversity, BD rearranged the pillows on the couch again. “Maybe he mentioned the Hyperboreans to her. Maybe she’s at least seen these ancient scrolls—”

  “Shit.” Craig interrupted. “I’ve got it.” His typically modulated tone grew excited.

  “What?”

  “You remember the trip to the Arctic we took with my parents?”

  “We were kids. What about it?” They’d been thirteen and had sworn they would freeze before they saw fourteen.

  “They found proof of an ancient people who dated back three-thousand years. Later they said they thought they might have been the Hyperboreans. Maybe they were a real civilization.”

  A finger snap in BD’s brain brought the memory and Craig’s parents’ suppositions back. “Ancient scrolls proving the existence of ancient people believed to socialize with Greek gods would be worth a ton of money.”

  “Yeah.” Craig cleared his throat. “Go easy on her, BD.”

  “I have been.”

  “You haven’t.”

  “Piss off.”

  “You have the hots for her and it scares the shit out of you,” Craig continued with a hint of know-it-all attitude. “You’re trying not to see her as a woman because you don’t want to risk getting hurt again, but you could be the one doing the hurting.”

  “I said piss off, Oprah.” He isn’t so wrong though. The backdoor slammed. Adrenaline sped through BD’s veins as he clutched the phone tight and sprinted into the kitchen in time to see Maggie cross the lawn.

  Did he really have to spell it out for her that she was in danger? Did she have to make herself an easy target? Tapping the hedge clippers against her leg, Maggie faced the bushes she’d attacked the other day. At least she was armed.

  She cocked her head to the left and then the right as if judging where to pick up what she’d barely started. Her hair, again in a braid, swayed with her movements. His fingers itched to loosen it and feel the thick silk tangled in his fingers.

  “BD.” Craig’s voice snapped him back. “Get it through your skull. She isn’t Samantha. Talk to Maggie and let me know what she tells you.”

  Craig hung up, leaving BD to dwell on his parting. Maggie really was nothing like Sam had been, and he’d do a better job protecting her.

  He couldn’t wish his feelings away or lie to himself. He cared for Maggie and hated the idea of questioning her husband’s associations. Worse, he hated thinking about what Adalia would do to her.

  Harte’s secrets were growing bigger. He’d had her take the sleeping pill so he could search her house. What did he think he’d find? What did he suspect her of?

  The secrets, lies and omissions were closing in on her like walls on a claustrophobe. The suffocating air in her own home was tainted with betrayal. She’d had enough of having her opinions minimized in her marriage.

  Fueled by building anger, Maggie faced the detestable bushes and shivered at the sensation of teeny little critters crawling across her skin. Lifting the clippers, putting every ounce of frustration flooding her veins into the effort, she chopped off the closest branch. Hacking away at the eyesores, feeling stronger and more in control of her own destiny, she grinned.

  No more doing what other people wanted—including Harte. No more smothering, protective, I-know-what’s-best attitudes. Who did he think he was?

  Tossing branches blindly behind her, she attacked the next section. No matter how sexy the man was, his caveman behavior wasn’t appealing—except for the perverse pleasure of being pinned beneath him and that was acceptable.

  Her heart raced. The branches snapped easily beneath the pressure of the cutter blades. Each snapping branch echoed another snapping restraint she’d put on herself for years.

  She grabbed more branches and tossed them in the general direction of the pile she had going. Then she went after a fatter bough, cutting close to the ground. Her clippers barely scored its thickness. Frustrating, but not surprising considering the age and health of the monstrosity.

  After making another score, she lowered the clippers to her side, angled her body so she stood parallel to the bush, and put every ounce of frustration behind the kick she aimed at the branch. Like a rubber band on a slingshot, the thing wobbled and sprang back into place. Jumping back to keep from getting hit, she glared at the offending limb.

  It had to go, and Harte’s chauvinism could go with it. The man had nerve. Telling her she couldn’t go anywhere, saying he’d sleep in her room, and then blowing her off to take a phone call.

  She would inform him that no matter what the circumstances may be, he would not be sleeping in her room uninvited. And no way was she inviting him. Even the sleeping pill failed to sufficiently blur the night before and her responses to him. Her body heated again just thinking about his blatant arousal pressed against her.

  Maggie arched her back to dislodge the pool of sweat forming. He tempted her, whether he was near her or not. Last night, he’d been very near. So near she’d been close to taking advantage of his body.

  She stepped on the un-breaking branch, managing to bend it just a little, and took the choppers to it again. Several cuts and screaming muscles later, the thing snapped loose with a loud pop. The cracking release of the branch reverberated through her.

  Her foot slipped off the branch. Off balance, she stumbled backwards a few steps before regaining her balance. The mass of anger and pent up arousal swirling through her gut gushed out leaving her unusually exhausted.

  “You keep working like that and you’re going to do more than scrape a knee.”

  She spun around and faced Harte. “I can take care of myself.”

  “Good.” He leaned against the picnic table with his arms and legs c
rossed. “I’m not sure my first aid would be as gentle or memorable as yours.”

  The reminder of her tending to his hand slammed into her brain. More prevalent, though, was the image of him completely nude and aroused when he’d dropped the towel. Don’t go there.

  Blinking the thoughts away, she studied him. He appeared calm and relaxed. It’s an act.

  The muscle in his jaw ticked. His eyes, generally cobalt, had darkened to the point that if she wanted to see where his iris met his pupil they would have to be standing toe-to-toe.

  The nuances of his movements, like the twitching of his thumb, said he was angry, though nothing broadcast the message as blatantly as the heat of restrained rage radiating off him. Any closer and it would singe her.

  “We need to talk.”

  “Yes. We do.” She jabbed the blades into the ground and walked around the giant pile of bush clippings to the picnic table. If he wanted to play this cool then she would try to accommodate. But his eyes, now midnight blue and tracking every move she made, had her nerves humming with fear and doubt.

  She worked her wedding ring in circles as she sat on the top of the table. He turned and sat beside her with his feet on the bench seat. She felt the low level hum of arousal only he seemed to cause, but for once it didn’t overshadow everything else.

  His anxiety made her fidgety. She slid her ring on and off, almost dropping it once. Her feet tapped the table.

  “Maggie.”

  Maggie. Not Mags. He always shortened her name unless they were arguing or he had bad news. “What’s wrong now?”

  “We need to talk.”

  “So you said.” He had to be desperate to be coming to her. “Is this where you tell me what you’ve been holding back?”

  “If I could keep this from hurting I would.”

  She stiffened her posture and narrowed her eyes. What could be worse than him telling her Mike was dead and she’d been targeted by a killer? “Spit it out.”

  “Mike’s death was… He was killed so he wouldn't talk. And I think because Adalia felt he had betrayed her.”

  Every synapse in her brain fired. Her head tingled with awareness, but she would not fall apart. She had control. “What?”

  “Mags.”

  “No.” Now he wants to personalize this? “Tell me.”

  “You know about Adalia’s past actiins.”

  “I was at some of her trial.”

  “Michelle Dane was a warning.”

  What he might say next weighed in her gut like a ton of lead. What did this have to do with Mike? Her? “How?”

  “As well as being Mike’s replacement at work, she was the daughter of another victim.” Harte held her gaze. “A victim Mike consulted with on some scrolls before his death.”

  “You are saying Mike was involved with Adalia. That they were close enough for her to trust him and be angered by him.”

  BD sighed. His shoulders fell. Shaking his head, he maneuvered around to sit beside her. He braced his elbows on his knees and tapped his fingertips together. “I need you to tell me about Mike.”

  She stopped fiddling with her ring long enough to rub her throat. She wasn’t wearing a necklace, but she had the strange sensation something was choking her. “Like what? He was a linguistics professor. That’s not exciting stuff.”

  “Did he act any differently the weeks before his death? Did he mention a project or academic find he was excited about? Did you suspect him of cheating or having secrets?”

  “No.”

  “Maggie.”

  Maggie again. Suddenly last night, his insistence on sleeping arrangements, and his now subdued attitude made more sense. It hadn’t all been about Adalia’s threats. They had information that pointed to Mike.

  “No. No more evasions or omissions.”

  He dropped his head into his hands. “I don’t like this.”

  “Join the club.” She didn’t want to hear it, but ignorance was more of a hindrance than bliss.

  He looked up, watching her in a silent battle of wills before he reluctantly nodded. “You have to trust me to do what’s right.”

  The message couldn’t be any clearer that he didn’t want her involved, but he was agreeing to open up—a privilege he doubtfully afforded to many people. She had nothing to hide, and would tell him whatever she could to clear Mike’s name.

  “What do you need to know?”

  “Had he said anything about an ancient people or their language? Specifically Hyperboreans?”

  “The picture in Jared’s room is supposed to be of Hyperborea.” She rubbed her temples. “They did it together. Mike made the place sound like fiction.”

  Harte told her about the notes Adalia had left and how he was coming to believe she was on the hunt for information. Anyone who knew too much got killed. Then he told her about Mike’s note he’d found on her computer.

  “Wait.” She grabbed his arm. “He hid the scrolls where security is as commonplace as peace? Is that how he worded it?”

  “Yeah.” He straightened. “You know where he means?”

  “Yes.” She kissed him and jumped off the table. “We need to go for a ride. We’re going to see my dad.” And my kids.

  Without waiting to make sure he kept up, she headed to the car.

  Chapter 10

  Rounding a curve, the green pipe fence that stretched nearly a mile came into view. Directly in the middle of the fence line was a set of ornate iron gates with upside down horseshoes for catching good luck along the top. The superstition came from Mike’s mom, Betty, but their families had both been lucky. No matter what threat had faced them over the years, they stood strong and prevailed.

  “You grew up here?”

  “Yeah.” She took the split in the drive to the right and pulled up in front of the enormous barn. Meticulous flowerbeds, Betty’s pride and joy, ran the length of the white, metal-sided building with a green roof. Several horses hung their heads out oversize windows.

  “You must have loved it.” Awe rode his smiling tone. “No wonder you seem more at home in your jeans and T-shirt than the slacks and blouses you’ve been wearing.”

  Her throat thickened. She was more a jeans and T-shirt kind of girl, but she didn’t want to know what else he’d noticed about her. “Nothing quite like afternoons, weekends and summers mucking stalls, grooming horses, cleaning tack and doing uncountable other chores.”

  “Maybe.” He turned and watched her as she put the Tahoe in park. “But what a place to go when life gets too crazy. To hide your kids from the chaos. To hide with them.”

  She turned the engine off and met his gaze. “Let me be crystal clear, Harte. I am not staying here.”

  “Mags.”

  “No.” Shaking her head in exhausted frustration, she chose her words carefully because she didn’t want to fight. “I get it. Adalia’s dangerous. Protect me, but don’t ask me to be a coward.”

  His fingertip caressed the barrel of his gun that he’d put beside him on the seat. “I’d rather know you were safe out here.”

  “I need to face this head-on, or I’m not going to be able to look myself in the mirror.”

  He opened his mouth then snapped it shut and glared. His shoulders dropped and she knew she’d scored a point. He tried to be abrasive and insensitive but was an insightful and surprisingly sweet man. He could yell and scream the roof down, yet had a knack for easing her grief and fear.

  She respected him and enjoyed spending time with him even with their current situation. Too bad.

  She’d had no choice in losing Mike, but she’d realized after awhile she’d taken the safe move, gone for what she knew, settled. She would never settle again. She would be true to herself, and if a man came into the picture, he would have to view her as an equal partner. Harte couldn’t be that man for her. Maybe for someone who could tolerate his need to be the alpha in all things or handle the possibility of losing him to his job. She however couldn’t take the risk—no matter how closely he fit her desi
res.

  Clearing the lump of depression in her throat she forced a smile. “Argue later. My family’s waiting.”

  She moved away and hopped out of the Tahoe. He tucked his gun in his waistband and pulled his shirttail out as they approached the barn.

  The faint smells of sweaty horses, just cleaned leather, freshly dumped manure, and the stink of fly spray welcomed her as she stepped into the barn offices. She pushed an inner door open in time to hear Jared pleading a very serious case to her mother.

  “Grandma Di, tell Mom to let me have a puppy. She has to do what you tell her. You’re the mom.”

  “Maybe you can try asking her very nicely.” Her smile was patient and understanding as she pulled a fat black and white puppy from Jared’s arms. “She’s right behind you. Tell her hi and then go get your horse ready.”

  Jared spun around. His face split into a blinding grin, the first Maggie had seen since Mike’s death, as he bounced on his feet to her and Harte. “Mom! Can I have a puppy? Please. Burke! Are you gonna watch me ride?”

  Oh God. Maggie’s heart lurched. Restrained tears lodged in her throat. Her hand shook as she rested it on her son’s smiling face and unable to speak, she nodded.

  Harte glanced between them before he ruffled Jared’s hair and knelt. “I’d love to see you ride. First, tell me which puppy you’re going to pick.”

  Maggie swiped at her eyes and looked away from Jared and Harte huddled together. She’d wanted desperately to see that delight on Jared’s face again. She just wished she could’ve revived it, that she hadn’t had to send him away from home for it to happen, and that she didn’t worry he would regress when he left the farm and Harte left.

  She looked to her mom, and the understanding in her eyes grabbed Maggie by the throat. More tears threatened. She fled to the bench she’d visited so often, detouring to the tool shed long enough to grab a hammer.

  Betty, Mike’s mom who lived in a house on the opposite side of the farm, met her outside the shed, silently followed with a raised brow, to the bench Mike had built. The silence on the sunny day reminded her of being caught in the eye of hurricane. The moment of peace which came between the bursts of disaster.