In the Arms of a Stranger (Entangled Ignite) (12 page)

“There are bound to be bank papers,” she suggested. “We can probably find out which bank Wade used here. We should know that so Kyle’s father won’t wonder why you know so little about your brother.”

“Are you sure you want to go through Wade’s things?”

JP’s question solidified her thoughts. “No choice.”
On several levels
. She would also be honest, both with herself and with him. “Wade is dead, I’m not clinging to the past, but I won’t spend the rest of my life wondering what else I didn’t know about him.”
And what
I don’t know about myself
.

Where had
that
come from?

He nodded, but she wished she hadn’t seen a touch of sympathy in his eyes.

“Let’s do it, then,” he said. “Where do you want to start?”

He was giving her some control. She was glad for that. And she did know Wade’s habits—at least some of them. She understood his sometimes bizarre filing system.

In the hours that followed, she learned a lot. Wade’s first wife, Mary, had died of cancer—according to the paperwork in the big desk in the living room. They hadn’t had any children. Cole didn’t have brothers and sisters anywhere.
Thank God
. She didn’t know if she could have taken that.

But JP still claimed it was just a cover.

She wanted to believe him. But she couldn’t quite get there. Wade’s secret second life felt all too real. Real enough to make her think maybe…
Good Lord
.

Could he have a
third
life somewhere else…?

No, she wouldn’t go there
. No way.

They found bank records and divided them. JP looked through his half for what seemed like an eternity. She watched him whenever she paused in her search, wondering how he kept up the intensity of his perusal, given how exhausted he must be. He hadn’t said a word about his wound. She hadn’t asked. She didn’t want to be concerned about him. She didn’t want the feelings she kept pushing away to interfere with why she was here. With him.

They hadn’t said anything to each other in over an hour. The only sounds were the shuffling of papers.

“Did he have a safety deposit box?” she asked finally.

“I haven’t found anything that indicates he did. There are no charges in his bank statements for one.” He put the statements away and widened the accordion folder to another section.

“What’s in there?”

“A mix of things. Receipts, appliance warranties,” he said, flipping quickly through the papers, then moving on to another section. He paused at one.

“Did you find something?”

He looked up and shook his head. “Just reading. There’s not a lot more. We’ve looked at almost everything in his files.”

“But there has to be
something
.” She looked around the living room, searching for some evidence of Wade, not just his things, but his personality. “He put the papers to this house in Buck’s stall. Buck was so important to him.” She thought about Wade, about how he thought. “If rule three meant to keep work and personal life apart, and if he chose the complete opposite of that, he would pick a hiding place that meant something special to him. Like Buck. Something he loved.”

She couldn’t help but see JP’s gaze move toward the picture of Mary.

“Her things, then,” she said.

He stared at her for a moment before speaking. “But she’s not real.”

She nodded, believing he was right—hoping he was right—but also knowing that Wade had spent time here. That he’d worn a wedding band with Mary’s name inside. “I’ll look,” he said, and walked into the master bedroom.

She finished her search of the paperwork she’d been examining. She could hear him moving things around, stood up, and peeked into the bedroom. JP sat at the sewing machine, bent over the drawers built into the sewing table.

“Anything?”

He turned toward her. “Not so far. How about you?”

“Just the usual things. There’s coffee in the kitchen. Want some?”

He smiled. God, why did his smiles make her want to touch his face?

“Sure.”

It gave her something to do, something besides search for a needle in a haystack. She’d looked in the kitchen cabinets before making her offer, but hadn’t really looked around. She took the time to do so while she waited for the automatic coffeemaker to spew out the brew. Taking two mugs from the cabinet, she rinsed them in the sink, staring out the window into the night.

The moon cast a shimmering glow on the bayou waters. It was a beautiful place. Wade’s sort of place. Quiet. Putting the wet mugs in the dish rack, she opened the back door and stepped out onto the deck. There was a comfortable breeze, warm and damp. Walking to the railing, she looked down.

Ideas began to form. What Wade loved. His horse, fishing.

There were steps leading down. She took them. She didn’t rush, couldn’t see clearly because of the moonlit shadows. At the foot of the steps, she continued onto a lower deck that led toward a small dock and a boathouse.

She almost gave up before she found the light switch. The single bulb came to life and lit the inside, though not brightly. A motorboat, the sort of thing a fisherman would use, hung suspended a few feet above the water. Waves lapped rhythmically at the sides of the boathouse.

On one side of the structure were the controls to lower the boat. She studied them, but decided against lowering the boat and getting inside. Best do that during the daytime. She’d examine the building itself. If Wade remained true to form, he would hide something in the building, as he had in Buck’s stall.

She began at one corner and scrutinized each board to see if there was any sign of a hiding place, something that could be moved to reveal a cubby of some sort. The side of the boathouse closest to the house nearly touched the reeds. As dim as the light was, she hesitated before kneeling down, imagining snakes, alligators, and other creepy crawly things in the shadows.

Wishing she had a flashlight, she bent down. The wooden planks were damp and rough. As carefully as possible, she ran her hands along the sides, then the flooring. By the time she’d covered one corner and one side of the boathouse, her knees ached and her right shoulder, still sore, pulled.

Nothing. She’d thought if there was something here, it would be on the side closest to the house. Maybe not. Maybe that didn’t make any sense. She stood, stretching.

The shock of something big and solid behind her made her gasp, a gasp she barely got out before a hand clamped over her mouth, robbing her of breath. Terrified, she pried at the fingers that dug into her lips, trying to scream, while digging her nails into the arm that held her around the waist.

“Stop it!” the man hissed, jerking her up off the rough boards, forcing her down with a cruel shake. “Stop it!”

All she could do was moan, her lips crushed against her teeth.

“Where is it?” he asked against her ear.

She only shook her head, or tried to.

“I’m going to let you talk. Don’t scream. Don’t make any loud noises. I will shoot you.”

She was so scared she felt frozen in place while he removed his hand from her mouth.

“Don’t scream,” he ordered again just as she sucked in a deep breath.

“Don’t turn.” He moved his arm from around her waist. “There’s a gun aimed at your back. All you have to do is tell me where.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t be stupid. You’re here. You know it’s here. All I have to do is take it back,” he said in an odd accent, as if he were trying to imitate a Southern drawl.

Frantic to say something to appease him, she said, “It’s in the house.”
Where JP was
. Where he could help.

The man laughed, a nasty laugh. “Just so you know, there’s no one up there now but my partner.”

They’d taken JP?

No, they didn’t want to take him anywhere. They wanted to kill him. Was that what this monster was—

Oh, God
. The horrible certainty that JP was dead slammed through her.

They’d killed him. His life, his energy, all gone…

They’d kill her next.

Cole!
She wouldn’t see him again. He’d never understand.

Think, she told herself.
Think!

“Really, I left it in the house,” she said, sure her voice trembled. Sure he’d know she was lying.

Again, the man said nothing. She willed herself not to think about JP. About what they must have done to him. She wouldn’t think beyond looking for a chance to escape. If she could just run to the neighbor boy’s house, she might make it. She couldn’t think about JP and manage any coherent thoughts.

“Move,” the man said.

She stumbled on her first step forward.

“Don’t think about running,” he warned.

She bit back a hysterical laugh. She wasn’t thinking; she couldn’t. A band of fear crushed her chest. She stepped off the dock onto the lower deck. The stairs to the upper deck were a few feet away.

“Wait,” he ordered.

She stopped, moving her head slightly from side to side, seeing if there was some way she could get away. High reeds and mud lay just beyond the lower deck and dock on both sides. Full of snakes and alligators. No place to hide. She’d get stuck. He’d kill her. Or the gators would. The only hope was to go up.

And pray
.

She heard a tiny beep behind her and braced herself. A second later, she heard static. “Cal, are you there?” the man behind her asked.

She heard the beep again. The static again. He was calling someone.

“Cal!”

Static filled the silence of the night.

A tiny glimmer of hope bloomed in her mind.

“Climb!” he ordered roughly.

She took one step up, then another.

“Keep going!” he said in a loud whisper.

Her legs wouldn’t support her. She was afraid of what she’d find at the top of the steps. Afraid she’d know then, know what they’d done to JP.

She could see inside the kitchen, where she’d left the door open. Two steps more and she’d be at the top.

That’s when she saw JP. Crouched low, just beyond the kitchen door. A gun with some sort of long thing on the barrel. The idea that it was a silencer flew through her mind, then he signaled her to get down. His mouth formed one word.

Drop
.

Chapter 9

She dropped.

And for one horrifying moment, JP thought the bastard had shot her. But he hadn’t fired.

Fighting the fear raging through him, he ran forward. He’d already killed one man inside the house. But this son of a bitch could shoot Abby.

He cleared the door and was on the deck. Out of his peripheral vision, he saw her scoot as far left as she could, crouching, her side against the deck railing.
Alive
. Staring at him wide-eyed.

A muffled shot hit the door frame to his right.

He took a single shot, knowing he’d made a mistake the instant he pulled the trigger.

Aim to wound
, he’d told himself. He had to know who these guys worked for.

But it was too late. Training, instinct, and years of doing a job he’d done countless times took over. The SOB tumbled down the stairs and onto the deck.
Dead
. He followed, his gun aimed at the crumpled body. He checked the man’s pulse, then searched him, but just as the one inside, this man carried no ID. No way to know who he was, who had sent him.

He looked up. At the top of the steps, Abby crouched low, hugging her knees, staring down at him.

He removed the silencer and holstered his gun as he walked back up. With the light behind her, he couldn’t see her face.

He stopped one step below her and squatted, his face even with hers. “Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice hoarse in the night.

She shook her head. She hadn’t cried. Or called out. She’d probably been too terrified. Her hair was disheveled, her T-shirt off one shoulder, revealing her bra strap.

She looked vulnerable, frightened. He’d left her alone. In his single-minded effort to find something to clear himself, he’d almost gotten her killed. Now all he could do was try to comfort. God knew, he hadn’t intended to touch her again, but he found himself reaching out to pull her T-shirt up over her shoulder, and moved his hand to her neck. She let out an audible, shaky breath. And reached for him.

That did it
. He pulled her tight against his chest, wondering how he’d managed to do anything even half right when all he’d been thinking about was her. She settled against him, despite the awkwardness of their embrace, her face against his neck, her arms tight around him. He soothed her with long strokes up and down her back. “You’re sure you’re not hurt?” he asked.

She nodded, her head bumping against his shoulder. “Are you?” she breathed against his neck.

“I’m fine. Just fine.”
Now that I know you’re okay
. She had no way of knowing that this—and more—was what he’d trained for his entire adult life. No way of knowing how good at it he’d gotten to be.

He pulled away slightly, enough to see her face, still cast in shadow.

His intention was to reassure himself that she really was okay, to let her go, to deal with the two men he’d killed, but when his hands brushed her arms, smooth and chilled, he found himself running them up to her shoulders, to her waist. He pulled her to her feet, into his embrace. And kissed her.

She didn’t protest the kiss. If she had, he would have stopped—would have accepted that what he was doing was out of line. But she didn’t. And he wanted more than this, more than a kiss after deadly fear…

This was so not right
. He ended the kiss, but held her tight, knowing he had to do something to protect this woman. The tangled emotions that had precipitated their kiss could get her killed. Then his life wouldn’t be worth living.

“Let’s go inside,” he said, placing one last kiss against her hair.

She nodded, her arms still around him. Not because she felt the same way, he was certain, but because of a natural reaction. He was the only sanity around her.

“What about…?”

“I’ll take care of him in a minute.” But what the hell he’d do with that body and the one in the bathroom was beyond him at the moment.

She kept one arm around JP, the back of his jacket clutched in her hand.

He flicked off the boathouse light from the kitchen switch, and led her to the living room. Nothing here showed what had happened, how the man in the bathroom had come into the bedroom, intent on killing him. The bathroom was another story. She shouldn’t see that. Bad enough she’d seen him kill the guy on the deck.

“Sit here for a minute,” he said, leading her to the couch. “I have to take care of something.”

“Cal,” she said, sitting.

“What?”

“Cal. His name is Cal,” she said and hugged herself. “The other man. In the house.You…got him, didn’t you?”

“How do you know his name is Cal?”

“The one out there, he called him on his cell phone. He had a funny put-on Southern accent. But all he got was static.”

Damn!
He hadn’t seen any communication device on the bathroom guy. That meant there was a third man, this Cal, who, for whatever reason, had been out of touch, but who’d know where to look for his buddies.
Shit
. He and Abby had to get the hell out of here!

He squatted in front of her. “What were you doing down in the boathouse?”

“Searching, but I didn’t find anything. There’s a boat, but I was afraid to get it down.”

“Why look there? Why not in the house?”

“If Wade hid papers in Buck’s stall, I figured he’d hide whatever it is away from this house, too.”

That made sense.

“It’s a motorboat,” she continued, “it’s not big. But I suppose he could have hidden something inside or in the motor.”

Footsteps on the front porch interrupted their conversation. Abby looked at him, as if asking what to do.

“Go to the kitchen. Don’t make a sound.” He moved to the window and looked out. By the time he identified who it was, she’d just made it to the kitchen.

“It’s Kyle.”

“Hey, dude,” Kyle said as JP opened the door. “Heard some noises from the back. Wanted to be sure you’re okay. Hey, Mrs. A!”

“We’re fine,” JP said. “We went down to the boathouse.”

“You had trouble with the boat? I can help,” Kyle offered.

“I tripped,” Abby hurried to say.

“Whoa, man. I mean Mrs. A. You gotta be careful in your condition, and all.”

Abby looked away from Kyle, her gaze zeroing in on JP.

“Johnny?” she asked, curious.

“It’s all good, Mrs. A. Johnny told me you’re pregnant. That’s really cool. Luke’s gonna be a fantastic uncle.”

Abby’s gaze moved again from Kyle back to him. He wanted to explain why he’d said such a thing.
He was fucking insane, that’s why
.

“Don’t worry,” she said finally, “I’m fine.”

“Listen, Kyle,” JP said when she finally quit looking at him as if he’d lost his mind, “we’re taking off, after all. Abby’s not feeling well and we have to get back to Atlanta tomorrow. Tell your dad I’ll be in touch.”

“Sure. I’ll take care of things as usual. Any idea when Luke’ll be back?”

“Sorry, no.”

“Well, good night. Good meeting you both.” The boy backed out and JP closed the door.

“What was that all about?”

“We can’t stay here. I said Atlanta to throw off anyone who comes after these guys.”

She nodded. “And my condition?”

“Oh, that,” he said, knowing nonchalance was not working. “That little as—jerk with Kyle made some jackass comment about women when you got upset, so I thought I’d put him in his place.”

“By telling him I’m pregnant?”

“It worked,” he said. “We need to finish up quickly.” If Wade wanted him here, then he’d left some clue. “Let’s look in the boat and get out of here.”

Then he’d take care of the men he’d killed.

…

A roller-coaster ride, Abby thought as she stepped out on the deck. That’s what this was. A hair-raising roller coaster ride with peaks and valleys that were wreaking havoc with her emotions.

She’d known JP Blackmon for a single day and already she’d experienced stark terror and overwhelming relief that this man she barely knew had survived what he was clearly trained to survive. And not just because without him she’d be dead.

The whole thing was like a bad dream. It was all getting to her.
He
was getting to her. She couldn’t possibly feel anything for a man so much like Wade. So much a stranger. And not just because of the short time they’d known each other.

Below, on the dock, lay a dead man.

A
dead
man! A tiny hysterical bubble of laughter escaped her control.

JP, two steps down from her, turned and looked up. “Something wrong?”

“No, I’m just—” What? What was she?

“It’s okay to be scared,” he said, his voice soft in the stillness of the night.

But it’s not okay to have feelings for you
.

All she could manage was a nod.

He reached up, took her hand, and led her down the final steps. “Don’t look at him.”

As if she wanted to. But her gaze drifted that way involuntarily. She had to stop herself. She’d seen the shot. She knew the man had a bullet in his forehead. Dead center.

JP was that good a shot. Wait.
A good shot or a marksman?
Those were mere words. He was flesh and blood, and he’d
killed
two men.

Who would have killed us
.

When they reached the boathouse, she pointed. “The controls are over there.”

He took a flashlight she hadn’t noticed he was carrying, and shone it on the controls. Once he’d lowered the boat into the water, he turned to her.

“We have to hurry. Whoever they work for undoubtedly knew where they were going. When they don’t report back, someone else will show up here. So, as quickly as possible, check as much as you can. I’ll take care of all the mechanical stuff.” He handed her the flashlight, then pulled a penlight from his jeans’ back pocket.

She didn’t know much about boats, but she checked everything that looked like it might open. She found life preservers, flares, something that looked like a built-in cooler. She could hear JP, feel the boat rock as he moved from one side to the other.

All at once, he said, “Got it.”

He was standing at the back of the boat, where the engine was located.

“What is it?” she asked when she joined him.

He held something in his hand, something she couldn’t see clearly.

“Papers.”

She stepped closer. Papers in a plastic zipper bag, just like the one she’d found in the barn. “Another house?”

She didn’t want to ask, “
Another life?
”

She thought he wasn’t going to answer, but finally, he said, “I don’t know. No time to look.”

Before she could ask anything else, he stuffed the packet into his windbreaker pocket and reassembled the boat engine cover.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said, stepping onto the dock and stretching out his hand to help her.

They walked back to the foot of the steps. And to the dead man.

“I want you to sit up there, right at the doorway.” He indicated the kitchen door. “I’m going to put the body in the boathouse. Then I’ll have to bring the other one down.”

She watched him. A schoolteacher, watching a spy take care of business. The same kind of business the stranger who’d been her husband had taken care of.

It was all so matter-of-fact.

Death. Secrets.

And a man who knew how to survive.

…

He would have to take her with him.

JP tried to think of some way around it, but Cal—whoever the hell that was—had to know she was here. Those assassins had shown up within hours of their arrival. Obviously, either they’d been followed or the bad guys were watching the house. Either way, he needed to get the hell out of there. With Abby.

There was no way to keep her safe unless he took care of her. Even then, given what he didn’t know, he wasn’t sure he could.

If only he had someone he could trust. But he’d only trusted Wade, and Wade was the reason for this entire clusterfuck. But Wade might also be his salvation. His conviction that his partner had set him up was crumbling more and more. He was now willing to believe that Wade had been set up, too, and that he’d left something, maybe hard evidence, for JP to find. Hopefully the papers he’d just found held the key.

Admit it. He was coming around to the belief that Wade had been one of the good guys until the end—while Abby was reaching exactly the opposite conclusion.

Hell. It was all a matter of perspective.

Either way, she was one tough lady. Most civilians would have fainted at half the crap that had happened tonight. Still, when he thought of the stark terror on her face when that bastard was holding her at gunpoint, his mind threatened to shut down.

When he should have wounded the fucker, should have kept him alive in order to find out who was behind it all, he’d up and killed him.

Face it, Blackmon. You screwed up
.

Because of his fear for her.

That could not happen again, or she could die. They both could.

The papers he’d found in the boat, added to what he’d found in the file folder—even though he’d refused to admit it to her—led to another place, another name, another alias. One even JP had never heard about. Wade Price kept his secrets well. And if JP brought her along, she’d learn things that could possibly add to the hurt she’d already experienced.

She sat on the couch now, her knees drawn up to her chest, the thick fall of her hair a dark wave on one shoulder. She had to get home to her son so she could be safe. And happy. Grow old.

He knew where he had to take her.

“Come on,” he said.

She looked up at him, her face in shadows. “Where to?”

His place
. Where he’d leave her, for safety’s sake. “Away. For now.”

She nodded. So pretty and fresh and innocent. He hadn’t had anyone like her in his life in so long that he wanted to hold on, be cleansed by her. When she stood, he walked past her into the kitchen. He’d left his jacket in there when he took care of the bodies, not wanting blood on it. Now he scrubbed his face, hands, and arms. But nothing could wash away the truth.

As much as he wanted her, as much as he sensed she was tempted by him, all he would ever do—could ever do—was hurt her. Just as Wade had.