Thank God.
Other than the times she’d come close to getting caught, she wasn’t so careless about packing, but when they had come back from lunch, she had been so upset. All Jace had wanted was a nice afternoon, and all he’d done was show some concern for her. In return, she’d lied to him—nothing new—and hurt him. That was why she’d decided to leave. Not because she’d hurt him, and done it deliberately, though she regretted it deeply, but because hurting him had hurt her, too. Because she’d cared too much.
Still cared too much. A broken heart was inevitable, she’d realized sometime this afternoon, so she intended to enjoy every moment of getting there. She was going to create memories and maybe even lie to herself for once by pretending that they could be together forever. By pretending there was a forever.
With a sigh, she began to unpack the nearest box. After a time, she opened all the windows and turned on the ceiling fan, then went to the kitchen to fix a glass of tea. As she drank, she rested one hand on the counter, then pulled it away, wet. Hadn’t she left a glass there while she was packing that afternoon? Jace must have washed it and put it away with the rest of the glasses.
A man who wasn’t afraid of housework. Now that was hard to find.
Before long, everything was pretty much in order, the boxes broken down and stashed in the closet. She considered reading a few pages from the top book on her to-be-read stack, then thought enjoying the cool stillness outside on the deck sounded better. Then the bedsprings squeaked in the next room, and she headed that way.
Lying naked beside Jace was the best idea of all.
Wednesday dawned another bright, hot day. Leaving Cassidy fixing breakfast, Jace went home to shower and change. He combed his hair, brushed his teeth, tossed his dirty clothes into the hamper, and generally dawdled before doing the one thing that had been his real reason for coming home alone. When he couldn’t put it off any longer, he got the cell phone.
The screen showed one missed call, coming in at 9:03 a.m. from the Canyon County Sheriff’s Department. There was a part of him that wanted to ignore it, the way he ignored most calls. Whatever Reese had found out, he didn’t want to know. Not yet.
Still, he pressed the button that would dial back the number. He’d started this. Now he had to have the guts to see it through. Besides, it could be good news. It was too soon for a response from the FBI on the fingerprints, but maybe the licenses had checked out. Maybe they were all legitimate. Maybe she was as crazy as he’d joked, and every time she moved someplace new, she changed her name, and maybe she even did it legally.
Yeah, sure. And maybe he was the crazy one here.
It took a minute to get Reese on the line. Once his cousin said hello, Jace couldn’t think of anything to say. It wasn’t until the second hello that he managed a response. “Hey, bubba.”
For a moment everything was silent, as if it was Reese’s turn to go blank. Then came the sound of a deep exhalation. “Nothing back yet on the prints, of course, but…I ran the operator’s license numbers.”
Another heavy pause, meaning the news wasn’t good. Jace clenched his jaw to keep from either hurrying Reese along or blurting out that he didn’t want to know.
“About half the OLNs are legit—but just the numbers. The number on Elizabeth Hampton’s license comes back to a man in Hepzibah, Georgia. The number on Katherine McKinley’s belongs to a sixteen-year-old girl in Provo, and Rachel Montgomery’s number belongs to an elderly man in Jackson. By the way, there really is a Rachel Montgomery in Jackson, but she’s seventy-nine and black.”
Closing his eyes, Jace raised one hand to rub the ache settling behind them. “What about the half that aren’t legit?”
“Not in file. The numbers are as bogus as the licenses. I also looked for a female by the name of Cassidy McRae between the ages of twenty and forty, and got nothing. No warrants, which is good, but no license.”
So Cassidy wasn’t her real name. Big surprise. When she’d told him, It’s certainly not one I would make up, he should have known immediately that making it up was exactly what she’d done.
“I also got her tag number while I was out there last night and ran that. It comes back to a Linda Valdez, at a nonexistent Phoenix address. By the way, the Linda Valdez license is from New Mexico, not Arizona. There are a bunch of Linda Valdezes in New Mexico, but none of them is her.” Reese paused, and another voice sounded in the distance as he talked with whoever had interrupted him. When he came back, he asked, “Do you have any clue what this is about?”
“Not much more than a clue. I think she’s hiding from someone.”
“Husband? Boyfriend? Cops?”
“I don’t know.” Someone who made her think a pistol was necessary for her own protection? Someone she’d stolen more than ten grand from? Someone who threatened just her freedom…or her life?
Someone who made the risks she was taking worthwhile. He presumed there was a Cassidy McRae license in her purse, bringing the total of bogus IDs to twelve, which also brought the total of felony counts to twelve. Add another for the possession of an unregistered firearm on which the serial number had been altered, defaced or destroyed. The gun charge alone was punishable by ten years in prison and a ten-thousand-dollar fine. Why was she risking one hell of a prison sentence?
“It’ll probably be a couple days before we get a response back on the prints. Do me a favor—don’t scare her off. If she is wanted, whoever’s looking for her will be real pissed if we had her and then she’s gone.”
“I won’t say anything.” He wasn’t the best actor in the world, but hell, he’d worked undercover enough. He could fool someone, especially someone who wasn’t expecting him to lie to or betray her.
“You okay?”
No. “Yeah.”
“Look, it may not be nearly as bad as it looks.” He didn’t add the flip side, but he didn’t need to. Jace heard the words anyway. Or it could be a whole lot worse.
“Let me know when you find out something, will you? I appreciate it.” He disconnected, concentrated on breathing deeply for a moment, then cleared his head—and his expression—and returned to Cassidy’s cabin.
She was sitting on the deck in the shade cast by the trees to the east. The other metal chair was drawn up at an angle, and an upturned box formed a table between them. He sat and picked up the plate awaiting him.
“And men gripe about how long women take to get ready,” she remarked as she made an egg, bacon and biscuit sandwich on her own plate.
“Hey, you’ve never heard me complain, have you?”
“Only because I’ve never given you reason.”
“You are quick. Amanda—”
When he remained silent for a time, she asked, “Does it still hurt to talk about her?”
“Hurt…nah. I was just thinking that she was a big part of my life for a hell of a long time, and now…it’s like she doesn’t even matter enough to talk about.”
“That’s a good thing, isn’t it? Unless you hope to win her back.”
He made an obscene sound. “Hey, I learn from my mistakes. Whoever’s got her now is welcome to her.”
Propping her bare feet on the box now that the food was out of the way, she gazed out across the lake, her expression as distant as the clouds low on the western horizon. “Do you believe that—that loving someone can be a mistake?”
“It’s not always worth the cost, is it?” If he’d known the first time he’d met Amanda what the end result would be, he wouldn’t have bothered with the relationship, and he doubted she would have, either. She’d thought she was getting a hotshot detective, not someone who would wind up suspended, in disgrace and off the job.
“Look at you,” he went on. “You loved Phil. You left home and gave up your family for him, and in return, he went off and got himself killed. Was it worth it?”
She gave him a level look. “He didn’t get himself killed. He was murdered. And if I had it all to do over again, I would. He was going to be the f
ather of my children. We were going to grow old together. It wasn’t his fault things turned out the way they did. He didn’t plan to take me away from my home and family or to get killed. He just tried to do what was right, and I loved him for it. Sometimes—” her voice quavered, but she quickly got it under control “—sometimes I resented him for it, but I never stopped loving him or wanting to be with him, no matter what the cost.”
Jace shifted uneasily in the chair. He didn’t want to hear her talk like that about another man, not even her dead husband. Those were the things he wanted her to think and feel about him, not some three-years-gone ghost.
“Are you willing to pay that cost again?” he asked, disliking the challenge in his voice but unable to tone it down. “You stayed celibate for three years. I’ll bet I’m the first man you’ve gone out with or kissed or even spent time with since Phil died. And you’re not willing to stick around long enough to see what comes of it, are you? Because you’re not willing to care like that again, or to get hurt like that again.”
The bleakness that stole into her eyes was enough to make his lungs tighten, to kill his appetite and rouse his need to wrap his arms around her and hold her until everything was all right.
Even though it might never be all right.
She polished off her biscuit sandwich, set the plate on the deck, then folded her hands across her middle. “I admit, I’m not eager to get my heart broken again.”
“What makes you so sure that’s what would happen?”
“If you knew everything I know, you would be sure, too.”
“So tell me.”
She looked tempted. He hardly breathed, silently urging her to give in to the temptation, just once more, and trust him with all her secrets. Instead, she let her feet drop to the floor. She picked up her plate, then held out her hand for his. After taking it, she walked to the screen door, where she stopped and glanced back. “I have enough deaths on my conscience as it is.”
Then she went inside.
Whose deaths? Phil’s? He couldn’t believe it. Granted, she was a liar, but he wouldn’t believe she’d killed her husband. She had loved him…unless it was an act. The cold-blooded killer playing the grieving widow. Too often people who tried to cover up killing their spouses didn’t get the emotions right. Their tears lacked sincerity and their sorrow seemed manufactured. Their behavior was tinged with guilt or colored with arrogance. But on occasion there was the one who nailed it dead-on, whose grief was so perfect, no one could recognize it for the act it was.
But his cop instincts insisted Cassidy wasn’t one of those people. Whatever else she was, she wasn’t a killer. She wasn’t.
Surging from the chair, he went inside and to the kitchen, where she was washing the breakfast dishes. He rinsed the plates she’d already washed, then picked up a towel to dry them. “Tell me one true thing,” he demanded.
She gazed out the window for a time before turning a wan smile on him. “It’s too early in the day to be having a heavy-duty conversation like this.”
True enough, but not quite what he had in mind. “Did you kill your husband?”
The skillet she’d just picked up slid from her hand and landed in the sink with a splash of soapy water as she turned her shocked gaze on him. “No! How could you think—”
“Then whose deaths are on your conscience?”
Color slowly seeped back into her face as she stared at him. She breathed evenly, shallowly, regaining her self-control in small increments. Finally she answered haltingly. “The…the man who killed Phil…also killed…two other people that—that same night. I had…I had called one of them for help. If I hadn’t…they wouldn’t be dead.”
Jace studied her a long time. It was stupid, but he believed her. There wasn’t a shred of evidence to support her story, and more reasons than he could list to discount it, but he believed her. Maybe because he’d been a damn good cop for seventeen years. Maybe because his instincts were the best. Maybe because he loved her and wanted to believe her. Whatever the excuse, he did.
“Is that who you’re hiding from?”
Stubbornly she turned back to the dishes. “That’s none of your business.”
“Whoa, hold it right there, sweetheart.” He caught hold of her arm and made her face him again. “Didn’t we have this conversation yesterday? Before we ended up in bed? If it was my business then, it damn sure is now.”
“You’re not interested in solving other people’s problems, remember?”
True. Noninvolvement had been his policy since turning in his resignation, and he’d done a fine job of living by it in the months since then…right up until the day Cassidy had moved in. Did he want to get dragged back into the problem-solving business? Not only no, but hell no. He just wanted answers. Information. Explanations.
And would he be satisfied with that? Once she’d told him everything he wanted to know, could he sit back and let her run away again? Could he let her live in fear that whoever was chasing her would catch her? Could he let her risk dying rather than get involved?
Yeah. Sure, he could. Not a problem.
Someone would just have to kill him first.
Apparently he waited too long to answer, because a cool, shuttered look fell across her features. “That’s what I thought,” she said softly. “Jace, just accept this thing between us for what it is—two adults agreeing to spend time together, to have sex, to have some fun, for as long as they’re both around and willing. There’s nothing more to it than that. There can’t be anything more to it than that. Okay?”
He narrowed his gaze and scowled at her. “Lying to me is one thing, Cassidy. But lying to yourself…that’s pathetic. There’s already more to this than a casual affair, and you damn well know it. If you want to pretend otherwise, fine, but don’t expect me to play along. I’ve never been in the game-playing business.”
“Oh, Jace…” The words were part plea, part cry, part groan, then she pulled free of his grip, moved closer and wrapped her arms tightly around him. “You’re something, Jace Barnett. Damned if I know what, but something.”
The time was coming when Cassidy would have no choice but to move on, and this time she couldn’t let Jace stop her, no matter what. She suspected he knew it, too. Their time in bed together was incredible, but put clothes on them and they couldn’t carry on a civil conversation for long. The tension between them was suffocating. It made her head ache and her stomach knot. Still, they both kept trying. Trying to wring every little bit of pleasure they could out of the time given them. Trying to control their frustration and anger and resentment. Trying—at least, on her part—to preserve every small memory she could for future examination.
By Friday evening they were both worn to a frazzle. He’d turned down Neely’s invitation to have dinner with her and Reese, and Cassidy had rejected his suggestion of going out for dinner. Instead, they had driven into Buffalo Plains that afternoon, where he had run a few errands before they went grocery shopping. Now, as the sun started to set, she fixed stuffed potatoes, salad and mushrooms sauteed in wine while he marinated, then grilled steaks. They ate on the deck, talking little, each unhappy in their own way.
She’d never felt so alone.
What would she have to do to make things like they were before? To coax a smile or a laugh from him? To bring some sense of normalcy to their time together?
That was easy. Tell him the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help her God. Could she do that? If she knew ahead of time what his reaction would be. There were two basic choices: he would want to help or he wouldn’t. If he offered help, of course she couldn’t accept it. If anything happened to him because of her, she couldn’t bear it. It would destroy her.
And if he didn’t offer help, if he got that distant, distasteful look as if she was forcing him to do something he’d sworn he would never do again? Well, she could bear that, but it would break her heart. It would prove how little she meant to him, and she really needed to believe he
cared.
After they finished eating, as dusk settled over the area, he turned his chair to face the lake, propped his feet on the railing, then extended his hand to her. When she took it, he tugged her into his lap, her head resting on his shoulder. “Where do you think you’ll be in five years?”
She didn’t know where she would be in five days, but she didn’t tell him that. It would just make him get tense and/or annoyed again, and she’d had enough of that to last a while. Alive was another good answer, but she didn’t offer that, either. “I don’t know. What about you?”
“Here,” he answered decisively, then waved one hand carelessly. “Maybe not exactly right here, but somewhere in the county.”
“And married.”
He frowned as if offended by the idea. “I haven’t gotten married in the past five years. What makes you think I will in the next five?”
“Your father’s yearning for grandbabies to spoil rotten.”
“He told you that?”
“Uh-huh. About three minutes after meeting me.” She smiled to hide the hurt at how dearly she would love to provide Ray and Rozena with those grandbabies. “Besides, you’ve got so many happily married friends and relatives. If there’s one thing they can’t resist, it’s matchmaking.”
“True. And there is a real pretty redhead in town by the name of Isabella… She had a thing for Reese until he hooked up with Neely again. As far as I know, she’s still available.”
He was teasing, Cassidy knew, but that didn’t ease the pain one bit. Of course he would get married. She wanted him to. She knew all too well how awful it was to live utterly alone, and she wouldn’t wish it on anyone. He would fall in love with the right kind of woman—one who loved him for who he was, who would never lie to him, never leave him—and he would live happily-ever-after. She really, really wanted that.
So why did the mere thought bring tears to her eyes?
One True Thing Page 21