Whisper of Warning

by Laura Griffin

  “Don’t even think about it.”

  He stood in the bathroom doorway, gazing down at her, his shadow huge and intimidating. Or it would be to most people. She wasn’t intimidated because she knew he’d never lay a hand on her.

  “Think about what?” she asked.

  “Taking off.” He pulled back the sheets and blankets and slid into bed, then lifted her legs and pulled her under the covers with him. The sheets felt cool, and his body was warm as he tucked her head against his chest.

  He knew she wanted to run. Did he know she felt panicked, too? Did he know why? Her heart was beating a million miles an hour. Maybe he could hear it right there in the dark.

  He stroked a hand down her back and up. Then down, then back up to tangle in her hair. She’d cut it chin-length, which was a completely new style for her. She’d had long hair since high school.

  “Blond, huh?”

  She closed her eyes and tried to think only about his fingers in her hair. “Uh-huh.”

  He pressed a kiss against the top of her head, but didn’t comment.

  “You don’t like blondes?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “All guys like blondes. It’s a proven fact.”

  He shrugged. “I like redheads.”

  She smiled in the darkness and felt herself relax. The slow, steady beat of his heart against her ear was helping. This felt good. Friendly. She could worry about the other stuff later.

  His hand trailed down her back again, and she sighed.

  “Courtney?” His voice was low.

  “Hmm?”

  “You don’t need to be scared.”

  She tensed. “Scared?”

  “Of tomorrow.”

  “What happens tomorrow?”

  His hand settled on her hip. “We get back to Austin.”

  The panic was back, full force, and she sat up. The sheet dropped, and she pulled it up to cover herself. “How can you be sure?”

  He watched her calmly. “Because I can.”

  “Can you control your lieutenant? Can you control some assassins who want to kill me?”

  God, what was she doing here? She eyed the keys again and tried to think of a way out.

  He sat up and leaned back against the headboard. “I can’t control anyone but me. And I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.”

  “But they could still arrest me and put me in jail, right? If they run out of suspects? They think I’m a murderer, Will.”

  He pulled her against his chest and wrapped his arms around her. “Everybody knows you didn’t kill Alvin.”

  “I didn’t kill anyone! I didn’t kill Walter, either.”

  His arms tightened. “I wouldn’t blame you if you had.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “I know.”

  And then it got quiet, and the only sound was their breathing and the soft hum of the vending machine outside their door. He knew. He knew everything about her, and he was here anyway. It didn’t make sense.

  And she knew he meant what he said about protecting her, but that might not be enough. He couldn’t control a whole police department. He couldn’t control a team of killers. The stakes were high—millions of dollars high—and way too many people would be much better off with her dead.

  “Stop worrying,” he whispered. He laced his fingers through hers and rested their hands on his lap, on top of the blanket. She turned his hand over and looked at it. She traced the jagged silver scar across his palm. She trailed her finger up to the one at his wrist.

  “It’s from bone fragments.”

  She looked up at him.

  “It happened in Afghanistan.”

  She gazed back down at his hand, puzzled now.

  He cleared his throat. “It was one of those crazy days. Everything was fine, but then it all went to shit, all at once, before you could even react. One minute was routine, and the next was this bloodbath.”

  She didn’t say anything. In an odd way, she could relate. The day David died had started out so normal, and then everything turned upside down.

  “It was the end of the tour,” he said. “That was the worst part. Twelve fucking days left.”

  He paused, and she could feel his muscles tighten. She waited.

  “We were on this pass through the mountains. Real narrow, you know? Not much more than an animal trail, really, but it was the quickest way through. We’d been over it a couple times. Locals used it. Everything seemed fine, and then boom.”

  “You got shot?”

  “Land mine. Two, actually. Guys up front took the brunt of it. I was in back, humping extra gear, but it knocked me right off my feet. Just picked me up and dropped me flat on my ass.”

  He stopped again, and she held his hand, running her thumb over the scar.

  “Dust was everywhere, guys screaming to get down, get cover. Then bullets were flying. It was an ambush. Soon as I could move, I got behind a rock and returned fire. Then I looked off to my right and saw Denton—this guy from Mississippi, twenty-three. He was lying there in the dirt, bleeding like a faucet. His whole leg was gone, and he was just lying there, not ten yards away.”

  She squeezed his hand. “What happened?”

  “I made a run for it. Grabbed him and dragged him behind some rocks. It was bad, though. The blood was pumping out. I tried to get a tourniquet around it, but there wasn’t much left to secure it to, so I just started pressing on the wound, stuffing anything I could in there, bandages, clothes, whatever I could get my hands on. Blood seeped through all of it, but I just kept pressing and plunging my hand in there, trying to get the blood to stop. Whole time, he’s screaming at me to just let him bleed out. He can’t go home without his leg.”

  “Did you let him?”

  “No. It seemed like forever, but finally we got some air cover. We got a chopper in there, got our team the hell out before it could get any worse. Not that it could, really. Out of six guys, we’d just lost three, plus Denton’s leg.”

  “He made it back?”

  “Thanks to me.” Will’s voice sounded bitter. “Got a great homecoming, too. Came back just in time to find out his wife was seeing someone else, had already filed for divorce.”

  “That’s awful.”

  He shrugged. “Happens a lot. The stress. The absence. It puts a lot on a marriage.”

  She looked down at their hands now, and had so many questions, but she didn’t want to ask them yet. She wondered why he’d signed up for a job like that.

  “Are you glad you’re back now?”

  “Sometimes. Sometimes it’s weird. Everything’s so nice over here, and people don’t even realize it. They take it for granted.” His chest lifted, and he let out a deep sigh. “I’m glad to be away from all the killing, though. It gets to you. I can’t explain it. It’s like you get numb to it. I never wanted to be numb. That’s why I didn’t re-up.”

  “So why’d you decide to be a cop?”

  He glanced down at her. “A detective. I set out to be a homicide detective, not just a cop.”

  “Why?” It seemed a strange career move for a man who was sick of seeing death.

  He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  He paused. “I guess I wanted it to matter. Each person. Every time. For me, it’s like if one person doesn’t matter, then there’s no point.”

  She looked down and brushed her thumb over his palm. He trusted her, despite what he’d said before. He trusted her, or he wouldn’t be telling her all this. Now it was her turn to trust him, too. But that panic was still there, nibbling at her.

  “Let’s get some sleep.” He kissed her head. “I’ve got ten hours of driving tomorrow.”

  They slid down under the sheets, and he rolled her against him.

  “Why don’t you let me drive?” she asked again.

  He hitched her thigh up over his belly and gave a contented sigh. “Not a chance.”

  Nathan heard the arguing as he neared Room 8
22 and recognized Alex’s voice, clear as a bell, above the nurse’s.

  “This is absurd,” she said. “You can’t prohibit access. That’s the point of an open network.”

  “I got doctor’s orders. You’re not allowed to use that in here. You’re supposed to be resting.”

  Nathan stood in the doorway and watched Alex—who looked like she’d been hit by a baseball bat—glower at the nurse who was unplugging her computer cord. He cleared his throat, and she looked up.

  “Thank God! I’ve been trying you all morning. Why’d you turn off your cell?”

  “I was in a deposition,” he said.

  The nurse bustled past and shot him a glare. Evidently she’d given up trying to separate Alex from her laptop.

  Nathan stepped toward the bed and rested his hand on the metal rail. She looked so frail underneath that hospital gown, and that purple goose egg on the side of her face made him want to throttle someone.

  Or at least throw a few people in jail.

  Her fingers flew over the keyboard as she continued working. She had files fanned out beside her, and a cell phone, and she seemed to have set up shop for the morning.

  “Aren’t you being discharged today?” He secretly hoped not, or at least not without some powerful meds.

  She glanced up from whatever she was doing. “Noon, supposedly. That’s if I don’t get kicked out first by Nurse Ratched. I swear to God, that woman—”

  “What’d you find out?” he interrupted.

  She set her computer aside, finally. “I had a friend of mine run down that skip trace.”

  Nathan’s lip twitched with amusement. “You’re telling me you subbed out my job from your hospital bed?”

  “You got a problem with that?”

  “Nope.”

  “Good.” She sighed. “But you’re not going to like what he found.”

  Will felt itchy.

  He sat with his back to the wall, scanning the greasy-spoon diner for the source of the threat. He scrutinized every dough-bellied trucker and leathery ranch hand who walked into the place, but he couldn’t pinpoint it.

  Still, something was off. His senses had been twitching since the moment they’d stepped out of their room at the Desert Dreams Motel. Courtney had wanted breakfast immediately, but Will had insisted they get on the road. He couldn’t explain the gut-deep feeling that they needed to leave town, but he’d followed it. That same instinct had helped him dodge a bullet a time or two over the years.

  “You gonna eat that?”

  He glanced at Courtney, who sat directly across from him in the red vinyl booth. She was showered and rested and looking at his bacon with lust in her eyes.

  They’d been here twenty minutes, and already she’d cleaned her plate. His gaze skimmed over her sinewy arms, left bare in that yoga getup. She seemed thinner now than she had before. Stronger, too.

  He forked up some huevos rancheros. “What, they didn’t have food in Silver Creek?”

  “Waitressing killed my appetite.” She nodded at his plate. “Come on. Don’t you wanna share?”

  He leaned back and draped an arm over the booth. “Depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On what you’re offering.”

  She crossed her arms. “Are you bartering with bacon?”

  “Yep.”

  “You’re flirting.”

  “Yep.”

  She gave him that half smile he loved. “In that case, you can have whatever you like.”

  He scooped up all three strips and dumped them on her plate as the waitress stopped by with their bill. He picked it up.

  “Whoa.” She chomped right into the bacon. “Flirting and paying? Is this a date?”

  “This is breakfast.” Her left hand was sitting beside her plate, and he covered it with his. “But I would like to take you out on a date soon.”

  She stopped chewing and gazed down at their hands. She swallowed. He watched her reaction closely, because he’d guessed it would be this way. They’d spent the night together naked—fine, no problem. But his wanting to hold her hand and take her out made her nervous.

  “Okay,” she said.

  “Okay.”

  They looked at each other for a moment, and then he slid his cell phone across the table toward her. “You should probably call your sister.”

  “Why?” she asked, seeming relieved by the change of subject.

  “Just to check in.”

  “She’s in Florida,” Courtney said. “I doubt she wants to hear from me on her honeymoon.”

  “I bet she would. She’s been worried about you.”

  “When did you talk to her last?”

  “At her wedding.”

  She gaped at him. “You went to the wedding?”

  “I sort of dropped in.”

  “How was it? How did she look?”

  He heard the envy in her voice. “It was fine.”

  “But how did she look? What was her hair like?”

  He frowned. “I don’t know.”

  “You saw her, didn’t you? Was it in an updo? A chignon? God, don’t tell me she had a beehive!”

  “I have no idea what you just said.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “She looked pretty,” he offered. “Her dress was nice.”

  “I was supposed to do her hair. She probably did it herself, probably one of her damn French braids.”

  “So you want to call her or not?”

  She gnawed on the bacon. “Not yet. She’ll just give me the third degree. I’ll wait until we get home.”

  Home. He liked hearing the word from her.

  “Okay, then try Jordan again,” he said. “We need her to try to log in and find out about your e-mail account at Bella.”

  She picked up another strip of bacon. “You know, I’ve been thinking about David.”

  Will tensed.

  “He wasn’t very discreet,” she said. “He liked to brag about stuff. I wouldn’t be surprised if other people knew about our affair, maybe even his wife.”

  “Yeah. And?”

  “So, what if he lost interest in Eve after the trial ended, and what if, out of spite, she threatened to report his misconduct to a judge or someone? The verdict could get overturned.”

  “Blackmail,” Will said. “I’ve been thinking along those same lines. That might make someone who got a piece of that award want to get rid of Alvin and anything else that could put their money at risk.”

  “Like me,” she said. “Maybe he even told someone I’d found those e-mails.”

  “Pembry was a problem, too, especially when he started stopping by the station, leaving notes for cops. His little messages probably got him killed.”

  The words came out harsher than he’d intended, and Courtney looked worried.

  She tugged her hand away from his and downed her last sip of orange juice. “I’ll try Jordan. She’s probably at work by now.”

  “Good idea,” Will said, pulling an envelope from his back pocket.

  “Hey! That’s my money!”

  He fished out a twenty from the stash he’d found on her bureau back at the inn. “Just keeping it safe till we get to Austin.”

  “That’s stealing!” She made a grab for the envelope, but he jerked it away, out of her reach.

  “Thanks for breakfast, C.J.” He winked. “Now make that phone call.”

  She thrust her chin out, but didn’t say anything. Then she picked up the phone and dialed. “You have definite trust issues.”

  He lifted an eyebrow and slipped the money back in his pocket.

  “Jordan? Hi, it’s me.”

  Will heard the squeal from across the table.

  “Yeah, I know…. Uh-huh…It’s been a trip.”

  The diner was noisy with the breakfast crowd, and Courtney hunched over the phone, straining to listen. “Huh? I can’t hear you….” She looked up at Will and jerked her head toward the back of the restaurant. “Restroom,” she mouthed and got up. She took
her purse with her, but not her backpack, and he knew she wouldn’t get far. Not without money.

  You have definite trust issues.

  He trusted her. Mostly. But he was practical, too. Courtney was the most impulsive woman he’d ever known. If she got spooked, she might make a run for it, and he didn’t intend to give her the chance.

  Will polished off the rest of his eggs and drained his coffee. He checked his watch. Maybe he should call Devereaux and get an update. If the man was any kind of detective—which he was—he would have figured out by now that Will’s sick day wasn’t a sick day at all, but a quest to find Courtney. Will needed to tell him where things stood and see if any progress had been made on the investigation since yesterday.

  Courtney had his phone, though. He drummed his fingers on the table and waited.

  A man slid out of a booth up front and tucked a newspaper under his arm. He wore jeans, a flannel shirt, and a cap—like almost every other man in here—but something didn’t fit.

  Will watched him through the window as he crossed the parking lot. Something about the guy bugged him, and he couldn’t make the thought go anywhere.

  Where was Courtney?

  He glanced impatiently over his shoulder to the restrooms sign at the back of the diner. She’d been gone too long. Irritated at his own paranoia, he patted his pocket and felt the reassuring bulge of his key. Maybe she was in there putting on makeup or something.

  A rig grumbled across the parking lot, and Will watched it turn onto the highway.

  The hair on the back of his neck stood up. Something was wrong. Where the hell was she? He slid out of the booth and strode to the back of the restaurant. The narrow hallway leading to the bathrooms was empty. Will pushed open the door marked women and startled some lady at the sink.

  “Courtney?” He checked under the stalls. Nothing.

  Buzzing with adrenaline now, he opened the men’s and took a quick look around. Empty.

  “Shit!”

  He pushed out the back exit and found himself in a gravel parking lot beside a rusted Dumpster. “Courtney!”

  An eighteen-wheeler roared down the highway as he scanned the desolate landscape surrounding the restaurant.

  It wasn’t possible. Not this time. She wouldn’t run out on him now.