by Kimberly van Meter - A Sinclair Homecoming (The Sinclairs of Alaska)
“It’s okay. You’re forgiven. So what’s your next move?” he asked.
“Honestly, my bed. My head feels like it’s about to pop off. Now I know how Clint felt when we pulled him off Range Road. Head injuries are no joke.”
Reese affected a mock-serious tone as he asked, “Do you know who I am? Do you know who you are? Do you have amnesia?”
“I remember that you’re a smart-ass so I must be okay,” she said, smiling, glad that things were good between them again. She needed her partner. Fighting and keeping secrets from him hadn’t felt right.
Clint reappeared, peering around the corner to see if the coast was clear. She motioned for him to enter. “It’s okay. Reese knows,” she told Clint.
“Thank God. I’m not very good at keeping my feelings a secret apparently,” Clint admitted, assuring Reese, “I’m not a bad guy, I promise.”
“You better not be or I’ll take you down without losing a minute of sleep,” Reese said with a smile that was both good-natured and a little dangerous. Clint might not know it, but Jordana did—Reese meant every word. He took his partners very seriously. “All right, I’ll leave you two kids to it. You don’t need a ride?”
“I left and came back with my car. We’re good.”
Reese gave them a thumbs-up and then left.
“I think he likes you,” Jordana said.
“Yeah, well, what’s not to like, right? I’m practically a basket of kittens.”
She laughed and then winced. “Oh, please, don’t make me laugh. My head is killing me.”
Clint left and returned with a wheelchair, which he directed her into in spite of her protests. “I can walk perfectly fine. There’s nothing wrong with my legs.”
“Oh, I know that,” he said with an appreciative glance that made her blush. “But you’re getting the royal treatment. I mean, check out these wheels. Top of the line chrome and medical-grade leather. This is—” he fiddled with the brakes until they disengaged, pushing her out the door “—the only way to travel.”
Jordana waved at Dr. Cervantes as they headed out, trying not to laugh as Clint made a terrible nurse, but even as she climbed into the car and waited for Clint to return after he took the wheelchair back into the hospital, she couldn’t shake the sinking feeling that Ruthie Garrett’s vehicular mishap hadn’t caused the explosion.
Because cars didn’t just explode.
Someone had either tried to kill her or Clint.
The question was...who?
* * *
Clint tucked Jordana into bed, fussing over her like he would an injured bird until she glared at him with exasperation. “Okay, okay,” Clint conceded, and climbed into bed beside her. “I’m so glad you’re safe.” Wrapping his arms around her, she settled into the cove of his chest. The warmth of her body against his soothed his ragged nerves. The subtle scent of her shampoo tickled his nose. When he thought of how badly things could’ve ended, fear curdled his guts. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” he murmured, brushing a kiss across her crown.
“You were knocked out, too,” she reminded him. “Maybe you should’ve had your head rechecked. You’re the one with the preexisting head injury.”
“I’m fine,” he promised her. “My concern is for you.”
“You heard Dr. Cervantes. My head is too hard to sustain any damage.”
“Yeah, well, that blast was intense.”
Jordana fell silent and he tightened his arms around her, her head lying on his chest. In such a short time this woman had become so important to him. How that’d happened, he’d never know, but he couldn’t question the way he felt because it was as real to him as the blood flowing through his veins. But with that realization, he also felt the crushing weight of guilt. If he was the cause of Jordana getting hurt, he’d never get over it.
“So, cars don’t usually blow up like that, right?” he asked, half joking even though it wasn’t funny in the least. When she affirmed what he already knew with a small shake of her head, he exhaled a long breath and said, “I didn’t think so.”
“Does that mean you’re not buying me a new car?” she teased.
He chuckled. “I probably have a fleet of them somewhere in Chicago. I’ll have one shipped to you.”
“I’m kidding and don’t you dare. I have insurance.”
“I’ve never thought to check—does your insurance policy cover explosions?”
“I guess I’ll find out tomorrow,” she murmured with a sleepy yawn. “Let’s go to sleep. Tomorrow will be here soon enough with all its problems.”
That was the truth.
Tomorrow he had to tell Jordana the news that he was going to return to Chicago but he hoped he could persuade her to come with him. It was crazy—they hadn’t known each other very long—but the idea of leaving her behind was unsettling and he knew he couldn’t stay.
He needed answers. It was selfish of him to hide out in Braxville knowing that he wouldn’t find the answers he needed here. Chicago held the key to regaining his memory and he couldn’t afford to ignore that fact any longer.
Life gets real when cars start blowing up. But even more real was the way he felt about Jordana. He knew it was fast but there was something about her that felt right. His gut said, Hold on to this one, and he knew he had to do just that. He had no idea how he was going to convince her to leave Braxville, though.
She was stubborn and attached to this place. Her roots went deep. Asking her to uproot herself to follow him to Chicago felt selfish on his part, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to leave without her.
Damn, maybe the old Clint was slowly rising to the surface. A certain level of ruthlessness urged him to say or do whatever possible to get her on that plane with him.
He wouldn’t manipulate the situation, he told himself. If she didn’t want to come on her own, he wouldn’t force her hand. Not even if it killed him to leave her behind.
Jordana was fast asleep in his arms, making those soft noises that he found adorable but fairly mortified her when he brought it up.
Good night for now. Tomorrow is a big day.
Clint let his eyes drift shut, joining Jordana within seconds.
Chapter 15
“Go to Chicago with you?” Jordana repeated, staring dumbfounded at Clint from across the island bar in her kitchen as the morning sun cast golden light around her and the coffeepot gurgled to life. She may have bonked her head but surely Clint wasn’t asking her to run off with him? What about her job? What about her life here? Stunned, she replied with a shake of her head, “I can’t. I have responsibilities and a life. I can’t just drop everything to go play house with you in Chicago.”
“That’s not what I’m asking you to do,” Clint said. “I’m asking you to come with me to Chicago to help me sort out who’s trying to kill me. I can’t find answers until my memory returns and my memories won’t return until I leave Braxville. Somewhere, deep down, you know I’m right.”
Of course she knew he was right. Didn’t mean she liked the idea of him leaving or that she could traipse off into the sunset without a care in the world. Frustration laced her tone as she shut him down. “Clint, as much as I would love to be with you, I have a job here and people who rely on me. I can’t leave with you.”
Clint bracketed his hips, his lips pursed. He wasn’t a man to take no for an answer. He tried a different tactic. “Okay, I get it, your job is important to you—as it should be—but what if your captain signed off on your absence as part of the investigation?”
“He won’t.”
“But what if he did?”
She sighed with exasperation. “Trust me, he won’t. It makes zero sense for me to follow you to Chicago on Braxville’s dime. We don’t have that kind of budget.”
“What if I contributed to the Braxville personnel budget?” he said.
“That�
��s not even funny. It’s also illegal. Private citizens aren’t allowed to make contributions or donations to city budgets,” she said, casting him a short look. “You can’t buy me, Clint.”
He realized he’d made a misstep and quickly tried to correct. “Of course, you’re right. That was crappy of me to even suggest such a thing. Can you tell I’m desperate to have you with me? It’s not a good look or feeling but I’m being honest. I don’t want to leave without you but I have to leave.”
Jordana rose from her seat to wrap her arms around him, truly sad that he was going. “I’m sorry, Clint. If it counts for anything, I hate the idea of you leaving.”
“It does count,” he admitted, but the determined set of his jaw told her he wasn’t giving up. He gazed into her eyes. “Someone tried to kill me, Jordana. I don’t trust anyone but you to find out who’s behind this murder plot.”
“How do you even know I’m a good investigator? Clint, you don’t even know me. I have an investigation on my desk right now that’s growing colder by the minute and I’m no closer than I was when I got the call that two bodies were found walled up in my family’s warehouse. Maybe I wouldn’t even be that much help.”
She wasn’t usually insecure about her skills but now wasn’t the time for bravado, not with Clint’s life on the line.
“You’re the one I want. I have a sense about people—I don’t know how I know it but I do. From the first moment we met, I had a good feeling about you. You’re strong, confident and capable. I want you by my side.”
Jordana felt it was necessary to point out an alternate theory. “Look, I know the circumstances are unusual but there’s still a possibility that it was an unfortunate coincidence. My car might’ve been a ticking time bomb and all it took was one swipe from Ruthie Garrett to set it off. It might have nothing to do with you. If forensics doesn’t come back with anything that suggests someone tampered with the vehicle, we have to accept the possibility that coincidence was in play.”
He released her with an exhale filled with irritation. “C’mon, Jordana, don’t patronize me. You and I both know that someone rigged that car to blow with me and you in it. The only reason I wasn’t in that car when it blew up was because I made an impromptu decision to pick up a few things at Ruby Row Center. That car was going to be our funeral.”
He was right, she had patronized him when he was strong enough to handle the truth and they were running in circles. Maybe her reluctance to follow him to Chicago had less to do with the reasons she gave and more to do with her reluctance to admit that she had deep feelings for a man she barely knew.
“I need you, Jordana,” Clint said, reaching for her hands. “I don’t trust anyone else. You’re the only person I have in my life that I trust one hundred percent. Given the fact that someone is trying to kill me, that gives you the number one spot in my life.”
“What would I do in Chicago?” she asked, wavering. “I don’t have any privileges with Chicago PD and they certainly wouldn’t appreciate me poking around without clearance.”
“I know. What I’m asking is for you to be my second pair of eyes. Tell me what your gut instinct tells you about the people around me. I’m too close to the situation. I’m not asking you to walk away from your career—hell, that’s the last thing I would ever ask of you. I’m just asking for a little help and a little time to figure this out together.”
He made a damn persuasive argument. She had some personal time banked up seeing as she never used her vacation or sick days. Human resources would be overjoyed to see her use up some of that banked time. But it felt foreign to skip off with a man she’d only met two weeks ago to go undercover without permission or clearance to catch a criminal. If she was considering this wild idea, Clint had to know everything.
“Someone is embezzling from your company,” she blurted out.
Clint drew back in surprise. “Come again?”
“I was going to tell you but then the explosion happened. Reese found some banking discrepancies in your books. He had some fancy forensic accountant take a look and they found that someone has been siphoning money off the top for years. It’s easy to miss but it’s there.”
“Why was Reese poking around in my books?” Clint asked, frowning. “Seems a little bit of an invasion of privacy.”
“He was looking for motive. An investigator always looks to the financials. Money is a great motivator to kill someone.”
Clint regarded her with wary curiosity. “And what do you think about that? Do you think someone within my company tried to kill me over money?”
“I can’t deny it’s a compelling lead.”
Clint accepted her answer with a nod. “About how much money are we talking?”
“Hard to say exactly but a rough estimate is in the millions. I mean, your company has been doing well for years. It’s no wonder no one caught the siphon.”
But Clint looked ready to punch something. She could only imagine how it must feel to realize someone was dipping into his bank account. It might even bother him more than the murder plot, judging by the storm building behind his eyes. His gaze swung to her, determined more than ever. “I understand if you don’t want to come but I could use your help.”
Jordana felt herself slipping. Was she going to do this? And if she did go, was she going for the right reasons?
From the moment Clint Broderick had come into her life, nothing had been the same.
* * *
Someone was stealing from him. He narrowed his gaze, cursing his inability to remember jack shit about his own life. His memory loss was a coup for whoever was putting their hands on his cash box.
The knowledge that someone was embezzling from him felt like a double insult. The attempt on his life had to be connected to the theft. He was a loose end. Had he discovered who was dipping in the books and everything that’d happened to this point was simply someone trying to cover their tracks?
Hell, he’d become a TV crime drama plot. That didn’t sit well with him.
The urgency to return to Chicago was like a dull roar in his brain.
He took some solace in that Jordana had agreed to leave with him. Her agreement left him with no small amount of gratitude. There’d been nothing he’d said that wasn’t true. He trusted no one like he trusted her.
He’d sift through the meaning of that understanding later. For now, he was just overjoyed that he wasn’t facing what was coming alone. And he was under no misconception that he was walking into a storm with blinders on.
How had he let this happen? What kind of man had he been before his head injury that someone would do this to him? Was Alex a part of this? From what he’d gathered, he and Alex went way back. They’d built the company from scratch. Why would Alex steal from their company? He couldn’t imagine how any scenario with Alex at the forefront of a murder plot made sense, but he was holding on to what he knew with a tight grip.
A part of him was starting to understand that he used to be ruthless because for a split second it had been second nature to try and bend Jordana to his will. That wasn’t right. If he was that man before coming to Braxville, he sure as hell wasn’t leaving as that man.
But with someone gunning for him, he was going to have to bring some of that edge to the fight if he wanted to survive.
Jordana returned from the station with a tension he recognized. He knew he was the cause of that turmoil.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
“No.” She didn’t sugarcoat it. “I asked for the time off. My captain agreed to it, but in the meantime, Reese is going to take over the Fenton case.”
It made sense but he knew that must’ve stung. He went to her and grasped her hand, making a point to meet her gaze. “I know what you’re sacrificing to come with me and I want you to know I appreciate it more than I can put into words. When this is all done, I swear I’ll make it up to you.”
“I won’t say I understand but all I can say is thank you and mean it.”
Some of the tension left her shoulders and he pulled her into his arms, holding her tight. “You are an amazing woman, Jordana Colton. I think getting bashed in the head was a blessing in disguise because it brought me to you.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” she said with a rueful chuckle against his chest. “Let’s just get this done so we can move forward. Hopefully, the minute we set down in Chicago, your memory comes back like a ton of bricks so we can make short work of who’s behind the attempt on your life. I’m only willing to put my life on hold temporarily.”
He understood and accepted her terms.
“You and me both,” he murmured, hoping for the same shock of memory rushing back. If not, he didn’t know how he’d hold on to the life someone was trying to take from him.
Chapter 16
After winning an argument with Dr. Cervantes to clear her for flying, Clint arranged a first-class flight to Chicago, which in itself was a culture shock for a girl who lived a more modest life.
Sure, her parents had money on paper but everything was always tied up in their assets and her father’s business. Plus with six kids, there’d been times Lilly had had to get creative to make ends meet. So traveling in the lap of luxury wasn’t something Jordana was accustomed to and she wasn’t sure if she liked it, either.
Champagne during the flight, soft, comfortable chairs with ample legroom and a little curtain divider to separate the Haves from the Have-Nots...it was all too ritzy for her tastes.
But Clint seemed to settle into the comfort as if he were born to it, which made her a little anxious.
Reese had warned her that she didn’t really know Clint. He owned and ran a multimillion-dollar company; he wasn’t a lost stray without a family to care for him.