by V. R. Marks
She'd felt romanced, adored, and oh-so-thoroughly satisfied.
He'd given her the moments she'd been longing for. As if he'd read her diary, a habit she'd never started. No, it went deeper than that. She didn't believe he'd really read her mind, but on some level he understood her. Possibly better than she understood herself.
"You didn't have to feel obligated to umm, you know," she said, hating the insecurity in her voice.
He chuckled, the raspy sound confirming he was a little breathless himself. "If you thought that was obligation, sweetheart, then I was doing something wrong." His arms banded around her as he nuzzled her ear. "Give me a few minutes and I'll be happy to redeem myself."
His warm fingers trailed over her breast, and across her belly to settle on her hip.
She twitched under the soft, teasing touch of his thumb tracing circles over her skin, letting the moment sink in. He cared – not just about doing his job or giving an outstanding sexual performance – but about her specifically.
She could feel it simmering between them, beyond the obvious desire and passion.
She had no idea how or why she deserved this – him – but she thought it was probably best to appreciate her good fortune while it lasted. They might have been strangers days ago, but she knew his true character by his actions.
He'd leapt to her assistance repeatedly, though she didn't trust him or value his efforts early on. Rick was one of those people who did the right thing on principle, because anything less was unacceptable.
It was crazy and stupid to let her heart into the mix, but recognizing the happiness fluttering in her pulse, she knew it was already too late.
Assuming the best, that Rick would ensure they both survived Clifton's retaliation and she didn't end up doing time for evading the marshals or withholding evidence, she wondered again if there was any chance for them to be together when her life was no longer chaotic.
On a logical level she'd long ago accepted her life was incomplete, that holding back – by necessity – meant it would always be so. To share this wide-open passion with Rick, to give all of herself physically and let herself experience the full range of emotion was terrifying and glorious. She stroked the hot, slick skin of his shoulders, tracing his carved biceps and let herself imagine that every night could be this perfect.
When his lips seared a delightful path along her throat, wondering and thinking became impossible as he rose over her once more and she gave herself up to beauty of the moment.
* * *
Rick reluctantly eased away from Nicole's warm body and out of the bed as the first rays of sunlight put a glow behind the pleated window shade. He tugged the blanket up over her shoulder and smiled, thinking they'd managed the sleeping arrangements just fine.
Showered, shaved, and dressed in normal clothes again, he sat down at the small breakfast table with a mug of coffee and his iPad. Information was critical to making the right choice about whom to approach and with what evidence.
He'd given up on using anything about Chan to get under Clifton's skin. Aside from the photographic evidence of Clifton putting the bullet in Chan's temple, the case was too old and too cold.
There were several emails from Eva. None of them very helpful or encouraging. He skimmed the photo arrays of gang bangers, but he didn't recognize anyone. She was furious with him for shutting down his phone – which interrupted the GPS trace she kept on investigators in the field – and there was a lively tirade about Bart being on the payroll that made him laugh.
"Good news at last?" Nicole walked in wearing a thin, short robe that hugged her body still damp from the shower. The view made him want to forget everything else and take her back to bed.
He cleared his throat. "Not if you're Eva. Apparently Bart's officially on the payroll."
"Don't they get along?" She poured a cup of coffee and leaned back against the counter. When she raised the cup to her lips, the hem of her robe crept up her long, lovely thighs. He looked away in self-preservation.
"They do. They just love to hassle each other." He was about to say more when the email about the second fire Nicole supposedly set seized his attention. "Come here."
He opened it and when she pulled a chair around to sit beside him, they read it together. Eva had been busy. She listed dates and places of arson events with a delete signature, most of which coincided with Clifton's various assignments going back to that fateful summer that changed Nicole's life.
She'd also copied and pasted an official report of the gang house fire, stating Nicole was a person of interest based on symbols found at the fire and the items she'd escaped with: two kilos of cocaine and several firearms.
Rick seethed, recognizing the gang name and reputation. "Clifton wasn't screwing around. He painted a nasty target on your back. We're lucky we got out of the immediate area when we did."
"But I wasn't there," she whispered. "The gang has to know I wasn't there."
"Let's just see what symbols they found." He opened the attachment and experienced a rush of instant gratification. "Is that the signature?"
She nodded, her fingers pressed to lips gone white with fear old and new. "What's going to happen now?"
"Now, we spring the trap." But she was frozen in place, staring at the screen. Rick returned the screen to a view of the email. "Nicole. Do you really think the gang filed a police report or were even there when the fire department showed up?"
"Pardon me?"
"This is a hard core group known for running guns through Maryland and Virginia. They aren't the sort to document a robbery or voluntarily testify about anything."
She stared at him, her brown eyes full of worry. "You're about to tell me they're the sort to take matters into their own hands."
"Exactly."
"You're not making it better."
He gathered her icy hands in his, rubbing them lightly. "Clifton tipped his hand by blaming you and falsifying this report. Look at the weapons listed."
She peered at the screen. "What's an M-10?"
"The guns the bikers used when they attacked us on the road." He stood up, eager to shout the facts to every three-lettered agency in the country. Maybe the world. "Clifton couldn't know you'd have me. His plan might have worked, but I'm your rock-solid alibi for the time of the fire." He cradled her face and dropped a kiss on her nose. "And no one anticipated Bart riding in to help us with the bikers." Picking up the iPad, he started to draft an email.
"I'm trying to get excited, but I'm still confused."
"The signature is one more connection. Clifton arranged that fire – or set it himself – and stole the drugs and guns. Most likely he gave those guns to his biker pals to take you out and plant with your corpse. The drugs were just gravy. You wind up dead from gang violence and no one connects it to him."
He was pleased to see that put some color in her cheeks. "On top of all that, Bart knows all the local law enforcement. Whoever responded after we left, he would have made sure the evidence was handled properly."
"That report I heard at the gas station mentioned a drug bust gone bad."
"But Eva's rant about Bart doesn't mention the cocaine. Trust me, those bikers weren't toting anything but ammunition. I'm betting Clifton meant to add the cocaine to the scene when the bikers were done with us."
"Then Clifton still has the drugs."
"Yup."
"Who do we call? Can I watch the bust?"
He nearly declared his love for her right there, seeing the gorgeous battle-gleam in her eyes. There wasn't a scenario that he didn't find her beautiful, but with her temper high and ready to make a stand, she rivaled any goddess.
The risks were still all too real. There was a very good chance he could wind up sacrificing the woman he loved in the name of justice. But it was her justice. Somehow it didn't make him feel better.
"I'm convinced Clifton wants you to have a front row seat to what he thinks will be a victory," he said at last.
"Bring it on."
"He will." He took a breath. "The smart thing is to cut his losses and run, but I don't think he will. You should be prepared. I can teach you to shoot."
"No." She shook her head, sending her dark hair slipping over the silky robe covering her shoulder. "Give me a different job."
"If you're sure."
"I am."
"Then go get the pictures."
She dashed away and he heard the floor creak as she pushed the bed out of the way to reach her safe. There were countless things that could – and likely would – go wrong in this escapade. The authorities he planned to contact might choose to ignore the email. Clifton could be closing in already. Myrtle Beach didn't have enough crowds at this time of year to provide effective cover. That would hamper both sides of this showdown.
"Here!" She held the envelope aloft like a prized trophy. He removed the pictures first and scanned them. Then he carefully laid out the negatives and did the same thing.
"Rick, that won't work."
"I want them to know we have them."
"Oh. Got it." When he finished, he handed her the device. "Go ahead and log into your email and send this to your handlers."
"What should I say?"
"Whatever you want. It's your party. Just be sure to include your current location."
She gave a good impersonation of an evil laugh and set to the task with a wicked grin. "You're going down, Clifton," she said with a fist pump when she was done.
"It could get ugly." His stomach pitched. He was using her as bait. "I'd like to promise you it will work out without a hitch, but I can't."
This time she came to comfort him, her palms warm and soft on his cheeks. "We're together." She pressed up on her toes to brush the softest kiss against his lips. "That's all I need."
As she went to the kitchen to prepare what she called a breakfast for 'her champion' he said a prayer that she'd feel the same way about him when it was over. He wrote two more emails, studying the incriminating pictures closely before he sent them.
Later, after too much French toast and fresh coffee, he studied the jade figurine on the dresser while she returned the evidence to her safe.
"Why did you keep the Fu dog?"
"Mr. Chan said they were guardians and offered protection and good luck. My sister has the female of the set. Had," she corrected as her brow furrowed.
"Protection." Rick considered it a stretch that Chan might have put something incriminating in or on the dog, but he was looking for anything else that would stick to Clifton. "May I take a closer look at it?"
The little jade figure didn't look like much, though it had some heft as it sat up in his palm. "What's the difference between the statues?"
"The male has the world under his right paw and the female has a cub under her left paw."
"A thoughtful gift."
"I always thought we blew it when we separated the pair."
The despair on her face said it all. "When you left for college." He gathered her close when she nodded, her eyes full of unshed tears. "Clifton is a determined bastard. None of this is your fault."
"The facts according to the head don't always add up the same way from the heart's point of view."
"True." He understood that all too well, was struggling with the concept right now. "You've never mentioned what happened to your dad."
"Oh, more happiness. Not. He was killed by a drunk driver right after my sister's first birthday."
"I'm sorry."
"The three of us were very close. My witnessing a murder drove a wedge between us for a long time." She swiped away a tear. "The relationship was just one more casualty I guess. Until he finalized it."
Rick wanted to fix it, needed to fix some part of this for her. He could hardly go back in time and return her family, but he could take out the monster who'd ruined her life. He knew he was reaching a perilous stage, the point where he was less inclined to see Clifton behind bars and more inclined to give him a one way ticket to a coffin.
In his experience, letting in that kind of emotion was a dangerous way to think. Revenge blurred logic and often gave a cool-headed opponent the advantage.
"We may never know exactly why Clifton killed Chan, but your pictures will be enough to make him act rashly."
"But you don't believe sending the photo to the marshals is enough to have him arrested?"
"I believe it's a start, but they have to find him first."
"Yeah." She sighed. "You're thinking about the way he's slipped through the system and managed to avoid prosecution for all these years."
Rick shifted the Fu dog from hand to hand, wishing he could tell her it wasn't true. He'd sent an email to Bart, hoping his friend had managed to send the tip about the cocaine in Clifton's possession to the right department. Maybe the bastard would get busted before he ever made it to Myrtle Beach.
"Why don't we head out to the Boardwalk for a while and go over the options." If his suspicions were correct, their time together was running short. She needed to know what he planned, how he expected Clifton to react, and what actions to take when that reaction happened.
"It's a date."
* * *
Nicole walked into the kitchen, on an emotional high so delightful her feet barely touched the ground. Humming a little tune, she gathered eggs, milk, and berries from the refrigerator. It seemed the perfect morning for blueberry pancakes. In bed.
It had been the best two days of her life, despite the sensation that the axe could drop anytime. They'd gone out, they'd stayed in, and Clifton had stayed away. She'd taken oodles of pictures of both scenery and people, but none of Rick. He'd proven oddly camera shy.
About a thousand times a day she started to ask him if he believed Clifton had done the smart thing and disappeared, but she held her tongue. Talking about it would ruin the perfection of this special interlude with Rick.
Selfish? Definitely. But she couldn't be sure how much time they had left. If she said anything, she should tell him how she felt. Except those three little words kept getting stuck in her throat. And really what did she expect? That they'd put a citizen's arrest on Clifton and live happily ever after?
He had a job and a team to get back to and she had... That was the problem, she didn't know what she had when this was over. The world would be her oyster when Clifton was contained and she didn't have any idea what kind of pearl she wanted to find.
Her happy mood muted, she turned to put the griddle on the stove and dropped it as panic seized her. A garish red delete sign marred the ceramic stovetop. Icy dread tickled her nape.
Clifton was here. Sure it was the plan, but the reality shook her. He must have painted this sometime in the night while she and Rick… her stomach rolled. He was here.
"Give me the evidence, Miss Reynolds, or he dies."
She swiveled on her heel to find Clifton in the main room of the cottage, surrounded by breezy coastal scenes, with Rick on his knees at the business end of a gun. It was a terrifying re-enactment of the scene she'd witnessed once before.
"What, no hysterical tears or screaming? My how you've matured."
"I wish I could say it's good to see you."
"Ah, but isn't this what you wanted?" He pressed the barrel into Rick's temple. "You invited me after all."
"No." She struggled to breathe normally. Passing out wasn't in the plan. "I told the marshals I had pictures."
"Of course. You put such trust in your ever-present camera." He leaned forward. "The evidence. Now!"
She jumped, startled by the sudden change from gracious conversationalist to roaring mad man. Nicole knew, regardless of her cooperation, Clifton would kill them both and walk away, free to do as he pleased. This was precisely the moment she and Rick had discussed.
He'd walked into their trap. It was time to spring it. All she had to do was reach into the new cookie jar – Rick claimed it was a hiding place Clifton would believe – and pull out the envelope with the prints and negatives. When she handed the evidence
to Clifton, Rick would make his move.
Instead, she stared at the man who'd ruined her life. Her legs had gone numb and her gaze was locked on the place where the ugly black barrel of the weapon pressed to Rick's temple.
Caught. She was frozen in a nightmare of déjà vu, only this time she wouldn't have a camera lens to hide behind as the life drained out of the man she loved. Her fingers twitched, but her hands were empty.
No matter what Rick said about plans and fail safes, she shouldn't have let her fear of guns impede her empowerment. She closed her eyes and imagined putting a bullet into Clifton's crippled, black heart.
"The evidence!"
Her eyes flew open, her vengeful fantasy shattered. "I turned the evidence over to the authorities already." She ignored Rick's pleading eyes. It was all too clear that their plan was doomed to fail. This man had taken everything else in her life, she refused to let him take Rick too. If they had any chance, she had to create a diversion or bluff her way out of this.
"You're lying. You've only sent emails containing altered images in a pathetic effort to mislead the investigators. I'm sure you'll soon be charged with obstruction of justice along with arson."
"Wow." She tilted her head and forced her lips into what she hoped looked like a smile of admiration. "You are well-connected."
"I am also out of patience, young lady." He fired the gun into the floor.
"No!" Tears blurred her vision.
"Ah, that's more like old times. Now be a good girl and fetch the evidence or the next one goes in his head."
"It's right here." She backed up a step. "In the kitchen."
"Hurry."
She obeyed, reaching into the cookie jar. Her fingers closed around the envelope but rather than pull it out, she carried the whole jar out to him. He couldn't manage both the gun and the cookie jar. He'd have to make a choice and Rick would have an opening.
"There. The last evidence proving you executed Mr. Chan is inside."
He scowled at her, but the gun didn't budge from Rick's temple. "Show me."
She calculated and prayed this worked. His eyes tracked her hand as she withdrew the envelope.