by Dawn Atkins
“If anyone can get the IRS off your back, it’s Larry. I still want to know how the doctor had the connections in the first place.”
“You think he wasn’t really a psychologist, don’t you?”
“I don’t think that’s all he was.”
She drank some more, and so did he. Across the street, a gardener mowed the lawn. For the first time in ages, Christie opened the blinds all the way. She saw her own sadly neglected front yard, her mailbox—which she hadn’t checked in too long—the sky, clouds. It all seemed so normal, so prosaic. And Boone couldn’t have any of it. “Why do you stay?” she asked, turning to him. “Why not leave the country? Get a new name, a new start?”
“They stole my life from me. I can’t let that go.”
“They have money and power and resources you can’t possibly match. I admire your principles, but how are you going to get them?”
“We just have to get the right kind of proof, and get it to the right people.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“It is simple. It’s just not easy.”
She nodded. “I don’t have any way of saying thank you.”
“Sure you do,” he said, smiling that crooked smile.
“You just did.”
“Cute. But not close. You saved my life.”
“Actually, you saved mine. That flashlight move was downright brilliant.”
She sat back, awash with pride. “Wow, it was, wasn’t it?”
“Yep. You were magnificent.”
Her cheeks heated, but not entirely because of his compliment. “I didn’t take the safety off.”
He shrugged. “It all worked out in the end.”
“I suppose so. I’m almost afraid to ask, but what did Seth do with him?”
“Better you don’t know.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Don’t think about that,” he said. “We did what we had to do. You’re safe now, and that’s what’s important.”
She got up, not sure what to do with herself. Her gaze fell on the missing carpet, but that upset her more. “Can we do something?” she asked. “Get that window maybe?”
“Sure.” Boone got up and took both their glasses to the sink. He rinsed them out and put them in the drainer.
She looked him over, all the way up and down his long body. She liked him in those jeans. They were old and worn in a great way. No holes, just paler denim that covered that gorgeous butt to perfection. His shirt, also denim, did nice things to his back, to his wide expanse of shoulder. Altogether a wonderful package, but frankly, she liked him better without the wrapping.
“You want to grab your purse?”
“No,” she said, walking over to him, wishing his mouth weren’t so bruised. She touched his cheek as she studied his face. She’d remember him without the scars. Such a great face. Fabulous green eyes. Everything about him pleased her. Well, maybe not the way he shopped.
“What are you smiling about?”
She shrugged. “Happy thoughts.”
“Good. You deserve happiness.”
“So do you.”
“I’m happy right now,” he said, his hand slipping around her waist. “With you.” He bent and kissed her.
She parted her lips, conscious of how gently they had to proceed. He was hurt, and she was aching at the thought of saying goodbye. So gentle was good.
He hissed once, then changed his angle, and his tongue had to do all the work. That was okay with her. They kissed like that, standing by the kitchen, until her shoulders relaxed and her limbs got wobbly. He ran his hands over her back and down, cupping her rear and pulling her tight where she felt him hard and thick.
A moan and a squeeze, and he stepped back. Again, that smile, that sad little bruised grin, and he took her hand to lead her down the hall, into the bedroom.
The undressing wasn’t theatrical at all. Just hurried. He was naked first, all the way down to his long, elegant feet.
She still had her panties on, a sea foam green thong that cost more than a decent pair of shoes, which, from the look on his face, was worth every cent.
“Oh, my God,” he said. He looked up into her eyes, and she saw such helplessness there, such bewildered loss.
“Boone, honey, what is it?” She closed in on him, not at all sure what was happening.
“You’re so amazing.”
She fought a smile because the way he said it was pained. “Thank you?”
He touched her hair. Petted her, actually, and then his splayed hand spanned her neck as he pulled her close. She nestled right in the crook of his neck, inhaling his warm scent, still unsure what had gotten him so upset. “Boone? Want to tell me what’s wrong?”
He shook his head. She knew this because she felt his jaw touch the top of her head.
“Please?”
“You know that once we finish here, once the window is fixed and the money situation is straightened out, I have to leave.”
“You live in Pasadena. It’s not that far.” She knew it wasn’t that simple. That when he left, he would leave for good, but she couldn’t…Not yet.
“Right,” he said. “Pasadena. Nice town. Except on New Year’s Day.”
“You don’t go to the parade?”
“I don’t go to anything.”
The hand that wasn’t petting her hair was rubbing big circles on her back. It was the most soothing, wonderful feeling in the world. Meltingly sensuous, made more so by the contrast of his soft palm and calloused fingertips. He was right. It wasn’t fair, not in any way. This man, he was something. The way she felt about him was so different from anything she’d experienced before. It was too fast, of course. No doubt about it at all. But it was true, nonetheless. He had touched her. Changed her. All she wanted in this life she had back was to know him better. To learn him.
“It’s crap, Christie. What they’ve left us. It’s not just me. There are five of us, and we don’t go to things. We don’t see our parents. We pay cash for everything, but that’s not much because we might have to leave in the middle of the night with the clothes on our backs, so what’s the point of buying things? We don’t date, because wouldn’t it be just our luck to have someone try to kill us over a nice prime rib.”
“You’ll stop them,” she said, pulling back, meeting his eyes. Well, his one eye. “You will. But not today. Today, you’re going to make love to me. For a long, long time. Then, we’re going to finish the cookies, and make love again. Deal?”
He closed his eye and rested his forehead against hers. “Deal.”
She pulled his hands down to the top of her thong. He took it from there.
18
EVENING HAD ARRIVED, and there was no more dodging the issue of getting out of bed. Poor Milo had been kept outside for most of the day, and he had to be lonely. But Christie didn’t want to move, unless it was to turn over and snuggle closer to Boone.
His stomach grumbled, and that did it. She kicked the covers off and sat up. Damn, he looked great, all spread out and naked right there on her blue sheets. She stretched, feeling languid and a little sore, thinking about the shower. She should go by herself, because if they did it together, there was no guarantee they’d have dinner any time soon.
“Don’t go,” he said, then he winced and touched his lip.
“When’s the last time you took an aspirin?”
“I don’t need an aspirin.”
“Oh, really? You feel no pain, is that it?”
“That’s right, missy.” He banged on his chest like a gorilla. “Real men don’t need aspirin.”
She bent over and kissed him, hard, on the lips. He yelped like a little boy. Still hovering inches above him, she smiled. “Liar.”
“Okay, so we feel a little pain.”
“I’m going to get out of this bed. First, I’ll bring you medicine. Then, I’m taking a shower because, frankly, we’re pretty rank. After that, I plan to eat an obscene amount of junk food. You may come with me, as long a
s you swear not to rag on me about my meal choices.”
“I may, huh? I suppose I can hold back.” He rolled over, nearly knocking her off the bed. “Wake me when it’s time for food.”
She slapped his naked butt. “Like hell. You get to feed Milo, you lucky stiff. And you get to shower as soon as I’m done.”
“Hey, wait a minute.”
“My house, my rules.”
“But who’s going to wash your back?”
“I’ll manage. Now don’t fall asleep.” Christie got out of bed, wincing a little herself, and grabbed her robe from the back of her door. She went into the bathroom, got Boone some painkillers and a glass of water and made sure he took the pills. The she smiled as she gathered her clothes and headed for the shower.
THEY’D GONE FAST-FOOD ALL the way, including a plain burger without the bun for Milo, who was now frolicking happily on the grass while Christie ate and Boone scowled. He’d kept his promise and hadn’t said a word. Not that he had to. The crease above his nose spoke volumes.
She looked around the park, enjoying the freedom of eating alfresco, even if it was at a picnic table. There were two other families sitting several tables away, and quite a few folks with dogs, which was why she’d chosen this particular park. Milo deserved a reward after all he’d been through. Just like she deserved the large order of fries and the chocolate milk shake. Boone, foolish boy, had gotten a grilled chicken salad with no dressing. Incomprehensible.
Just as Boone was about to say something, his cell rang, saving her, she felt sure, from a lecture on trans-fats. She half listened as he tried to tell Seth discretely why his phone had been off for most of the day, but mostly she watched Milo, who was fascinated by a Rottweiler’s rear end. Boone’s voice changed so dramatically that she forgot the dogs and zeroed in on the part of the conversation she could hear.
“When?” Boone asked.
She tried to catch his eye, but he was staring at the table, deeply focused and concerned.
“Get everything you can, and get out of there. The police could show up anytime.”
Police? Christie pushed aside the last of her fries as she fell right back into fear mode.
“Good. Check back. Don’t be long.” Boone disconnected the call and looked up at Christie. “Larry’s dead.”
“The hacker?”
He nodded. “He’s been dead for a while. We assume it was Dan’s handiwork, but we can’t be sure. Seth is collecting all the data he can, but the place was trashed so there’s not much.”
“Oh, God. Was he married? Kids?”
“He was divorced, no children. Goddammit, he was a good man. He didn’t deserve that. Listen, we should get going. Lay low until we hear back from Seth.”
She gathered their trash and tossed it while Boone fetched Milo. It was shallow, what with the man’s death, but she couldn’t help but realize that all hope of getting her savings had just died, too.
Boone put his arm around her shoulders as they walked to his truck, which was a comfort, but the news was simply too unsettling, for both of them.
“He was a good friend,” she said.
“Yeah, he was.”
“I’m so sorry, Boone.”
He nodded as he opened the rear door for Milo. “Me, too.”
They drove back in that zigzag way of his, taking side streets and odd turns. Christie watched him as he checked the mirrors. He had to turn more with one eye swollen shut, and she was sorry she’d ever gotten him involved in this mess. “Did they find anything at Dan’s house?”
Boone looked at her, then back at the road. “Not much. No equipment. The only thing that could be something is that he owned a number of properties. One of them isn’t far from where you live.”
“So you think he set up there?”
“Maybe. It makes sense. He had to have listened from somewhere, and he couldn’t have been living in the crawl space.”
She thought about that, about how Dan had been in her house. It was worse than the cameras. And now, to find out he’d killed Boone’s friend…It was insane. How could he have found out what Larry was doing? Where he lived? Probably the same way he’d gotten to the IRS.
“I’ve, uh, got some money put aside,” Boone said. “It’s not a lot, but it should get you through until you can get back on your feet.”
Unexpected tears welled and for a moment she couldn’t speak. She wished she’d brought some tissues, but used her thumbs instead, wiping her cheeks as she tried to get it together. After a couple of false starts, she touched his arm. “Thank you, but I’ll figure it out. I can always be a waitress. I got through college that way, right?”
“Well, it’s there if you want it.”
“I appreciate that more than you can know.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek.
He grabbed her hand and held on to it until they pulled up in front of her house.
Milo raced to the door and waited impatiently for Christie and Boone. She didn’t care. She lingered by the truck until Boone came around. He kissed her, and she wished his mouth wasn’t so sore. When his arm came around her shoulders, she leaned into his body, taking comfort while she still could. They walked slowly, in no hurry to get to the trouble ahead. At least they’d had this amazing day. Something she could look back on when Boone was gone.
They walked in together, Milo squeezing between them, making Christie smile. But as the door closed, Milo stopped, ears up, a low growl setting off her internal alarm. She turned to Boone but she stopped dead still. A man, tall, in an expensive looking suit, walked out of her kitchen. He had a gun and it was pointed at her head.
“Stop right there, Garret,” the man said, “or she dies.”
Christie turned to find another man taking Boone’s gun out of his hand, and a third standing in the living room. “Who are you?” she asked, every bit of the terror she’d known coming back, with interest.
“I think your friend Garret knows the answer to that. Why don’t you two come in and sit down. And Christie, if you don’t control your dog, we will.” He gestured meaningfully with his gun.
Christie, shaking and bewildered, got hold of Milo’s collar and followed Boone to the couch. They’d left the living room light on before dinner, and the men hadn’t turned on any others. She sat as close to Boone as she could and tried to see a way out, but one man, a big guy who looked like a defensive lineman, had them covered from the kitchen door. Another, this one slimmer, but ugly, stood on the other side of the well-dressed man. Both of them had silencers on their weapons, and she could see Boone’s gun sticking out of the waistband of the ugly guy’s pants.
She turned her attention to the talker. “Who’s Garret?”
The man smiled at her, chilling her to her toes. “You mean he hasn’t told you? Your boyfriend here isn’t Boone Ferguson. He’s Garret Edwards, currently wanted by the U.S. government for high treason. Isn’t that right, Garret?”
“I know that’s a lie,” Christie said.
“Of course you do. And I imagine you’re going to tell me that you don’t know where your brother is.” He walked across to the drapes and peeked out between them. When he turned again, his expression had hardened. “So we’ll make this easy.” He nodded at the man by the kitchen. “Gordon.”
Gordon lifted his weapon and before Christie could even gasp, he shot Boone in the thigh. She screamed as Boone slumped forward, his strangled cry tearing into her like a knife.
“What are you doing?” She let go of Milo’s collar to reach for Boone, but the ugly man raised his gun to shoot, and she grabbed Milo before he could get loose. Her dog was insane, barking, lunging at the man who’d shot Boone, but Christie held on.
Boone sat up, his hands pressing tightly on his thigh, which was covered in thick, red blood. He stared at the talking man. “Nate Pratchett is dead.”
The man sighed. “My associate has no qualms about shooting your other thigh. Then your kneecaps. Followed by your shoulders. Are we clear?”
; “He is dead,” Christie said, desperate to make him believe her and leave them alone. “I was there. I saw him die in the explosion with my own eyes.”
“Christie, please. Don’t be obtuse. We exhumed the bones. We know your brother wasn’t killed in that explosion. We also know that he has something that doesn’t belong to him, and we want it back.”
“That’s not true,” she said, again.
“Dan,” Boone said, his voice tight with pain. “Dan Prescott was your man.”
“Very good, Garret. Although some of my colleagues thought his approach was too esoteric, I thought it had merit. And in the end, look what it’s brought us. Half your team. I’d say it was quite a success, despite his personal obsession.”
“She doesn’t know anything,” Boone said, his face contorted by old wounds and fresh pain. “She has no idea who any of us are, and she doesn’t know a thing about Nate being alive. Let her go. You have me. You got to Larry. And I’m sure you’ll find Bill and Jamie, if you haven’t already. So let her go.”
“Once more, Christie,” the talker said, moving toward the other end of the living room. He touched a photograph of her family on the mantel. “Where’s your brother?”
“He’s buried at the veteran’s cemetery in Westwood.”
“All right,” the man said. “Have it your way.” He turned to the man closest to Boone. “Alex, if you would.”
Alex took a bead on Boone’s other leg, but before he could shoot, Milo ripped his way free and jumped over the coffee table, slamming into the gunman. The weapon dropped as Milo sunk his teeth into the man’s wrist.
Christie didn’t stop to think—she leapt after Milo, landing painfully on her side. She saw the gun and grabbed it, pointing at Alex, who was hitting Milo with both hands.
“Christie!” Boone shouted and she turned in time to see Gordon aim his gun at her dog. She lifted the weapon and squeezed the trigger twice. With surprisingly little noise, Gordon slid down the wall, leaving a wide smear of blood.
Behind her she heard a shout, and when she turned, Boone was on top of the talking man, his blood staining the expensive suit, and they were struggling, turning, so that even when she pointed the gun again, she didn’t dare shoot because she would hit Boone.