“Yes.”
“Where does she live?”
She thought he hesitated for a second. “Seattle.”
“Is that where you grew up?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have siblings?”
“Three younger sisters. Well, half-sisters.”
Riley stared at him. He’d grown up in an upper-middle-class household in Seattle with a teacher mother, a dentist stepfather, and three little sisters.
Okay, she was finding it increasingly difficult to be afraid of him.
“You just officially blew my mind,” she said.
“And why is that?” There was a note of testiness in his voice.
“That sounds so”—great, appealing, wonderful—“wholesome.”
“Yeah, so?”
“I just—” She shook her head. “I’m having trouble picturing it. Are you close with them? Do you visit?”
“I make it home for the major holidays.”
“You don’t live in Seattle, I take it?”
“No.”
“Where do you live?”
“Wyoming. On a small, run-down ranch I’m trying to get up and running again. And yes, it snows a lot in the winter and no, I don’t mind. Anything else you want to know?”
He was sounding testy again. Riley looked at him consideringly.
“So how did you end up becoming an FBI agent?”
A subtle tension in his face caught her attention. “I got recruited out of college.”
There was more to the story, she could tell. “And?”
“And, what? I signed on, got trained, went to work. Here we are.”
She gave him a long look. “That leaves out a lot.”
“What do you want, a blow-by-blow?”
She recognized the same smart-ass response she’d given him earlier right off the bat, thank you.
“So how long have you and Bax been partners?” Her eyes narrowed. “Where is he, by the way?”
“He’s off doing his job, and, not that long,” he replied, his tone making it clear that he wasn’t going to elaborate. She was getting ready to probe for more anyway when he veered into the slow lane and got in line behind a lumbering car carrier. Even as Riley gave him a questioning look, he gestured at a rest stop sign and added, “I need to stretch my legs. We’re pulling off here for a minute.”
Which, she thought, was his way of saying, I’m done talking.
— CHAPTER —
TWENTY-FOUR
After that, once they’d stopped and were back in the car, they came to an agreement: if Finn wouldn’t interrogate her, Riley wouldn’t interrogate him. Still, after a few miles passed in seething silence, they ended up talking, on such neutral but diverse topics as the state of the economy, the current political situation, religion (he knew about her background; she discovered that he was raised Methodist), speed dating, college majors, favorites (movies, TV shows, books, foods) and the merits of living in Texas versus Wyoming, with a few observations about Philadelphia and, as they passed the WELCOME TO OKLAHOMA sign, that state, too, thrown in for good measure.
They were just pulling into what a dusty green sign announced was Stringtown when a faint buzzing that seemed to be coming from Finn silenced them both. He frowned, Riley looked at him in surprise, and then as he reached into his pocket she realized that the sound came from a cell phone set on vibrate that was accidentally reverberating against the side of the plastic console.
In other words, making a sound that she could hear.
“Uh-oh,” Riley taunted, because it was clear from Finn’s sour look as he fished it out that the phone had been set on vibrate precisely so she wouldn’t hear it. As he glanced down at the caller ID then pressed the button to answer, she realized that the call must be important and any last trace of a desire to tease him fled. Instantly she thought, news of Emma. Tensing, she looked at him with worried eyes.
“Riley’s right beside me,” was the first thing Finn said into the phone, which of course told her that he wanted the caller to be careful of what he said in case she should overhear. Then he mouthed “Bax” at her. From Finn’s side of the conversation—mostly monosyllables—Riley couldn’t make heads or tails out of it, and the few words she could hear of Bax’s end—today, hospital—only alarmed her. When Finn disconnected without so much as a good-bye, the first thing he said, before she could even ask, was, “Nothing to do with Emma, so you can quit looking at me like that.”
Once again, her face was clearly way too easy for him to read. Riley slumped a little in her seat as some of her tension ebbed. Her fear for Emma was a hard, cold knot in her chest that wouldn’t go away. She’d hoped the phone call might be good news, but from what she’d overheard and the look on Finn’s face, no such luck.
“Remember, nobody’s going to hurt her as long as they think they can use her to get the money,” Finn reminded her, and Riley nodded dispiritedly.
“So what was that about?” she asked.
“George was attacked today. Stabbed. He’s in the prison hospital. You won’t be able to talk to him until tomorrow.”
Riley’s mouth dropped open.
“Dear God,” she said. “How bad is it?”
“Bax said he’s going to survive.” Finn’s voice was grim. “This time.”
“This time?” Riley felt cold all over. “It was because of the money, wasn’t it?”
“At a guess, I’d say yes, but nobody’s talking. Not George, and not the guy who did it.”
“They caught him?”
“Yep.”
“Can’t somebody make him talk?” The question came out in a frustrated rush before Riley had a chance to think about it—there really was no way in American society to make someone talk if they didn’t want to—but the expression on Finn’s face in response startled her. It said, as clearly as words might have done, I could. Then it was gone, quick as that.
His face was unreadable again, but Riley knew what she had seen.
She thought of his picture on Jeff’s phone. She thought of how he’d known how long it took to drown someone. She thought of the impression she’d gotten that he was dangerous, and what felt like an icy hand gripped her heart.
“Ten a.m. suit you?” he asked.
It took her a second, but then she understood: that’s when she would talk to George. As she nodded, Finn pulled off into the parking lot of a Comfort Inn and Suites.
“You’re staying with me, so I got us one room,” he said as he pulled the suitcases from the trunk. That slight smile of his appeared. “Two beds, though.”
She didn’t protest. The attack on George had underlined how much danger she and Emma and Margaret were in. In response to Finn’s instructions, she walked into the hotel a few steps ahead of him, apparently to keep him between her and any attack that might come from the direction of the parking lot. As she did, she thought, Without him, I’d be a sitting duck.
The shiver that slid down her spine was a stark reminder of how very vulnerable she was. And how very dependent on him she was.
Whatever he is, whatever he’s done, right now I need him. Dangerous or not.
They got settled in the room—two queen beds, a credenza holding a TV against the wall opposite, plus a small sitting area with a couch, chair, and desk, all decorated in tasteful earth tones—and freshened up. Then Finn took her to dinner.
She wasn’t hungry—shades of Emma!—but she kept that to herself and went. He clearly was, and once again she knew she needed to eat.
There wasn’t a lot of choice. A café in the downtown area, the ubiquitous McDonald’s, and a Waffle House. They settled on the café. The town was tiny, less than a thousand people. It was a collection of rundown red-brick buildings and a few outlying stores, all mostly there for the purpose of supporting the staff and visitors of the sprawling Mack H. Alford Correctional Center, which was visible as a shimmering mirage of chain-link fences and squat buildings just a few miles down the road. The surrounding landsc
ape was hilly and mostly brown with heat, although a few blades of grass and some valiant trees showed green.
“So how are you going to put this to George tomorrow?” Finn asked. They were ensconced in a booth in the café, and he was seated across from her. The booth was in a corner, Finn having refused the waitress’s offer of a prime seat in front of the big front picture window (he didn’t say why, but his refusal gave Riley an instant, hair-raising vision of snipers with rifles). From where they sat, she could still see out. She watched as the orange blaze of the setting sun was extinguished by a mass of purple clouds, and tongues of lightning began to flicker in the distance.
The café was surprisingly busy. It was noisy and full of good smells, the air-conditioning worked, and the red vinyl bench seats were cracked but comfortable. The waitress having taken their order, Riley was already sipping gratefully at a tall glass of sweet tea, while Finn drank root beer.
Riley frowned at him reprovingly. “Did anybody ever tell you that you have a one-track mind?”
“With George being injured, you’re probably not going to have all day to beat around the bush. It’d be a good idea to be prepared with exactly what you’re going to say.”
“Tell me what you did with the money, you mean old goat, or I’ll stab you again myself?”
The tightening of his mouth told her what he thought of her flippancy. “Riley—”
The waitress appeared carrying a tray, and started putting their food on the table. Finn quit talking until the woman asked, “Anything else I can get for you?” and, when they shook their heads, left them alone again.
“You need to go in with a plan. A few key points you want to make.” The fact that he was dumping ketchup on meatloaf—his plate was loaded with meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and green beans—didn’t detract from the determination in the look he directed at her.
“I have a plan.” Riley dipped a fork into the tuna part of her tuna salad plate and smiled at him across the table. “Wing it.”
That got a rise out of him, as it was meant to do.
“Damn it.” He put the ketchup down. “This is serious.”
“You want serious? Fine. Here’s serious: I think I can figure out what to say without you trying to coach me. So stop.” She ate tuna.
Clearly exasperated, he looked at her for a moment without replying.
“Eat your food,” Riley said, not quite maliciously, and ate more tuna.
He ate a couple of forkfuls, then said, “You’re beautiful.”
For some reason, that didn’t sound like it was meant to be a compliment. “Thank you.” She narrowed her eyes at him.
“You’re smart, too.”
“You want to get to the point here?”
“You’re lying to me.”
“What?” Riley’s eyes didn’t widen. She didn’t choke on her tuna, but it was close.
Her first thought was, Pot, meet kettle. Her second was, Oh, crap.
He said, “It’s time to come clean.”
Riley’s chest tightened as guilt bubbled up inside her. Finn was looking at her, his blue-gray eyes holding hers like he could see inside her head. Okay, she told herself to quell the little curls of panic that were starting to twist through her veins, he might be able to read her easily but there was no way he could know. Anything. At least, not anything important.
Keep your mouth shut. Stand your ground.
“How did you know?” she asked on a shaky-sounding breath.
Putting down his fork, he looked suddenly grim. “Talk to me, Angel. I’m listening.”
That angel did funny things to her insides. Actually, she discovered unwillingly, he did funny things to her insides. Just like she was still in her yellow dress, he was still wearing the charcoal suit, but he’d unbuttoned his collar and lost the tie. Against the white shirt, his throat looked brown and strong. Stubble darkened his square jaw. His mouth was tense, and his eyes were bloodshot, with the faint lines around his eyes noticeably deeper than before. He looked dark and tired and irritable, he was a federal law enforcement officer who was taking advantage of their forced proximity to interrogate her every chance he got, and he had just accused her of telling him lies.
And, oh, yeah, dangerous or not, she wanted him. Bad.
It was stupid. She wasn’t proud of it. But there it was.
“All right, I did lie,” she confessed, her eyes wide as she held his intent gaze. “Earlier. When I was in the bathroom, and you didn’t come back, and I said I wasn’t worried about you? That just wasn’t true. I was worried about you.”
For a moment his expression didn’t change. Then it did: his brows snapped together and his mouth compressed and he looked dire.
She grinned. A big ol’ pure Texas shit-eating grin. She couldn’t help it.
Their eyes held. Hers, she knew, twinkled. His did not.
Then his face relaxed, and he smiled. Not that little uptick that she’d started to think was all he was capable of, but a real smile. Even if it was a little wry.
“Funny.” He went back to eating his meat loaf. She took a couple more bites of tuna. Then he gave her a level look and said, “Sooner or later, I’m going to find out.”
She devoutly hoped not. In fact, she was going to do everything in her power to make sure he did not.
Ignoring the prickle of apprehension that slid like goose bumps over her skin, she shook her head reprovingly at him. “Like I said, one-track mind.”
The waitress returned then, with their check and an offer of coffee. Riley declined. Finn paid, and took his coffee to go.
Outside, it was dark. It had cooled off a little from earlier, but the humidity made the air feel thick. The moon looked like a fuzzy white cotton ball in a field of midnight blue. A few stars played peek-a-boo among the scudding clouds. The night smelled of approaching rain. To the west, the flickers of lightning were bigger and stronger now.
When they were in the car driving the short distance back to the hotel, Finn looked at her and said, “You’d be better off telling me whatever it is you’re hiding before I figure it out on my own.”
Riley had been reluctantly admiring the strong masculine lines of his profile against the glow of the hotel’s security lights.
Almost glad to have her thoughts diverted, she frowned at him as he turned into the parking lot. “You think so?”
He sent her an impatient look. “Cut the crap. I know there’s something. You need to tell me.”
“Newsflash, Mr. Agent Man: I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He’d just finished parking. At her response, the muscles in his face contracted, his mouth hardened, and as he shot a look at her his eyes glinted steel blue.
“Yeah, you do. Come on, we don’t want to hang around in the parking lot.”
As they were walking inside, with his hand on her arm and him a pace behind her, looking for all the world like he was escorting a prisoner to jail, it occurred to her that spending the night alone in a hotel room with a man she’d decided might very well be dangerous wasn’t something any minimally prudent woman would do.
She kept walking anyway.
He didn’t say anything else, and neither did she. Kicking off her shoes, she went into the bathroom as soon as they reached the room. When she came out, he’d taken off his jacket and had his gun on the nightstand between the beds. He was standing at the foot of the bed nearest to the door and was in the process of unbuttoning his shirt.
His eyes raked her. He was looking tall and dark and ill-tempered, and his sheer size made the space feel surprisingly small.
“It’s all yours.” She indicated the bathroom, and started to walk past him toward the sitting area, with some thought of turning on CNN and trying to catch the day’s news.
She didn’t make it past him. His hand shot out to flatten against the wall. His arm formed a barrier in front of her nose, stopping her in her tracks.
Frowning, she looked up at him. “What?”
His eyes w
ere hard. “If you’re involved in this scheme of George’s, you’re looking at prison. That’s if the system gets you. If I go away, if somebody who’s not part of the system gets hold of you, they’ll torture you to get the information they want out of you and then they’ll kill you. You understand that, right?”
Riley cast her eyes heavenward. “You are a broken record.” Since his arm blocked her from the sitting room, she turned to go the other way.
His other arm shot out, trapping her between them. Her eyes narrowed. She faced him, scowling and prepared to verbally blast him. He didn’t quite have her pinned to the wall, there was still some room, but her body brushed his and her hands came up to flatten against his chest to hold him off and her breath caught as her heart started to pick up the pace. His eyes were unreadable as he looked down at her, but she could see the quickening of the pulse in his throat, feel the heat coming off him.
“I don’t like bullies,” she said. “Get out of my way.”
He made a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. “I’m trying to save your ass here.”
“Is that what you’re doing?” She glared up at him. He was way bigger than she was, taller, wider, strong enough where any thought of a physical contest between them was laughable. Their bodies barely touched, but where they did she knew it. Beneath the cool smooth cotton of his shirt, she could feel the tension in his muscles. She could feel the electricity surging between them, and she could tell by the tightening of his jaw and the darkening of his eyes that he did, too. “Funny, feels to me like you’re trying to intimidate me.”
“Does it?” His eyes slid over her face, his mouth tightened, and then his arms dropped and he made a be-my-guest gesture indicating that she was free to walk away. She didn’t. She didn’t want to. She stayed right where she was, her hands pressed to his chest, her face lifted to his pugnaciously. Because now the heat that was rolling off him was enveloping her, too, and her body was quickening and tightening and she was finding it harder to breathe. “What I’m trying to do is help you. You need to trust me.”
When hell freezes over, is what she thought as all the reasons she shouldn’t flashed through her mind. But her hands were closing on his shirt front and her heart was pounding like she was running and the dark, restless gleam in his eyes was melting her bones.
Hush Page 25