A_Wanted Man - Alana Matthews (6 page)

As far as she knew, however, there were no trees in evidence here, the indoor barbecue fueled by coals rather than wood. The low lighting and pool hall atmosphere were not to her particular taste, but she couldn’t argue with the food they served, and cops all over Williamson County had made the place a regular pit stop.

No pun intended.

Callie didn’t want to be sitting in a booth across from Harlan Cole, but she knew he was right. As cruel as fate might be, she was a professional and needed to act like one.

Truth was, she was more concerned about Rusty than herself. Poor guy was caught in the middle of a rich and heated history that he knew nothing about. And as his training deputy, she owed it to him to maintain her composure.

Besides, she was hungry. Thanks to Nana Jean’s torturous attempt at matchmaking this afternoon, she hadn’t had a chance to eat before she’d been called back to the office.

So here they were, the three of them sitting there awkwardly as they waited on their food, poor Rusty trying to make small talk with two people who clearly had other matters on their minds.

“How long you been with the Marshals Service?” he asked Harlan.

Harlan pulled his gaze away from the sports report on a nearby flatscreen. “Close to ten years.”

“You trained at Glynco, right? Out in Georgia?”

“That’s right.”

Rusty leaned back, took a sip of the ice tea he’d ordered. “I did my basic at the Wyoming Law Enforcement Academy in Douglas, but for a while there I had my eye on Glynco and the Marshals Service. Recruiter approached me while I was still in college.” He looked at Callie. “Same with you, right? You almost went federal.”

Callie stiffened slightly. “Yes.”

“So what changed your mind?”

“Circumstances,” she said tersely, but didn’t feel like elaborating. Those circumstances were sitting across the table from her.

Rusty gave her room to continue, but when he realized she was finished, he said to Harlan, “So anyway, I decided I’d rather stay local. No chance of being transferred across country, and I like Wyoming. Good place to raise a family. You got family?”

“Brother in California. That’s about it.”

“Have you always been in Colorado Springs, or do they move you around a lot?”

“I’ve bounced around a little, but Colorado seems to be the best fit. Been there five years.”

“They keep you busy, I guess. Transporting prisoners—that must be pretty interesting sometimes.”

“It has its moments,” Harlan said. “Especially when one of them smacks you in the head with your own weapon.”

Rusty smiled. “At least you’ve got a sense of humor about it.”

“One of my trainers at Glynco always said, you don’t find a reason to laugh, you might as well hang it up.”

“Amen,” Rusty murmured.

Callie was thinking that
she
could use a reason to laugh right now, when someone called out to Rusty—one of the fake-boobed, underdressed cop groupies who rolled in every evening looking for attention. She was standing near an available pool table, gesturing to him with the cue stick in her hand.

Rusty gave her a wave, then turned to Callie. “Citizen needs assistance,” he said. “Call me when the food comes.”

Callie rolled her eyes. She could just imagine the kind of assistance the girl needed, but this was Rusty’s chance to escape the torture and she couldn’t blame him. He quickly slipped out of the booth and left them alone.

Harlan watched him go. “I used to be that young once.”

Callie scoffed. “You’re what—thirty-five? Not exactly Jonah Pritchard territory.”

“It’ll happen soon enough. Goes by fast, doesn’t it? The past ten years are barely a blip on the radar.”

Callie had to admit he was right. She sometimes felt as if she had stepped onto a bullet train, the past decade an indistinct blur of joys and heartbreaks and not much in between.

She found herself thinking about the heartbreak that had torn them apart, when Harlan glanced at her left hand and asked, “You never got married?”

She stiffened again. Why was he asking her that? What difference did it make?

“Cops and marriage don’t mix,” she said.

He nodded. “I found that out the hard way.”

She felt a small stab of disappointment. She shouldn’t have cared, but for some reason she did. “You were married?”

“Thirteen months,” he said. “Lucky number.”

“When was this?”

“About a year after you and I split. But I don’t know what I was thinking. I knew it was a mistake before it even happened.”

“Why?”

His gaze locked on hers, those blue eyes enough to make any woman’s legs tremble. Even one who hated his guts.

“Because she wasn’t you,” he said.

H
E DIDN’T KNOW WHY
he’d said it.

The words came out impulsively, a surprise even to him. He could just as easily have told her that he and his ex simply hadn’t been in love. But he didn’t often think about his marriage, and until this moment he’d never realized that
Callie
was the reason it had been doomed from the start.

Because she wasn’t you.

The minute he said it he was plagued by regret, inwardly cursing himself for being so impulsive. He knew how Callie felt about him and she wasn’t likely to be receptive to such a statement.

It was no real shock when she sat up slightly, looking as if he’d slapped her across the face.

“What did you just say?”

“Forget it,” he told her. “That just slipped out. Don’t pay any attention to—”

“You say something like that and you think I’m suddenly going to fall all over you? ‘Oh, Harlan, it’s so good to see you after all these years. Oh, Harlan, I never should’ve—’”

“Stop,” he said. “This isn’t funny.”

Callie paused, studying him soberly. “What you did hurt me, Harlan.”

“I didn’t
do
anything.”

“Didn’t you? These past ten years may have gone by fast, but they don’t change the fact that you’re the reason Treacher is dead.”

So there it was. The thing that had been simmering between them ever since he’d walked into that conference room. They’d both known it was there, but neither of them had been willing to say it out loud. Until now.

She still blamed him for the accident.

He and Treacher and Callie had been inseparable in college. The
Three Amigos
, everyone called them—a study group that had morphed into a solid, unwavering friendship. And for Harlan and Callie, it became something much deeper.

Treacher had been their best friend, like a brother to both of them, and to say his death was devastating was to understate its impact a thousandfold.

And while Harlan had suspected Callie still blamed him, hearing her express this sentiment with such unflagging conviction—just as she had on their last night together—gave him every reason to get up and walk out of this place without another word.

Instead he said, “I’m not asking for anything from you, Callie. I’m here to catch a wanted man. That’s all. And if you have problems with me, I’d just as soon you keep them to yourself.” He got to his feet. “Now, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll get my order to go.”

He started to walk away, but thought better of it and stopped, turning back to look at her.

“Just so you know, the reason I said what I said about my marriage is because it’s true. I was in love with you, even after you made it clear you wanted nothing to do with me. And every woman I met after we broke up was measured against you. Against what we had before Treacher was killed.” He paused. “You may think you have every right to feel the way you feel, but I’m
not
the reason he’s dead. If you want to attribute blame, then why not look at the real culprit? Treacher himself.”

He expected her say something, but she remained silent. Wouldn’t look at him now. And he knew that what he’d just told her hadn’t penetrated. The barrier she’d erected was too high and wide and thick, and trying to get through it was impossible.

So why even bother?

Turning, he flagged the waitress and headed across the bar to get his food.

Chapter Seven

She was staring at her half-eaten burger when the call came.

After returning to the table, Rusty had given up on her and had taken his food across the bar to sit with the girl with the fake boobs.

Callie hadn’t put up much of a protest. She’d wanted to be alone. To think about Harlan and what he’d said.

Because she wasn’t you.

There was so much heartbreak in those words that she’d found it nearly impossible to maintain her composure.

How do you react when someone tells you something like that? Someone you once loved so deeply you thought life simply couldn’t go on without him?

Do you let go of all the animosity you’ve nurtured? Do you set aside the pain—the pain he still refused to take responsibility for?

Apparently not, if your name is Callie Glass. And not because you don’t
want
to but because you
can’t
.

Callie had tried many times over the years, had even thought about getting in touch with Harlan, had often wondered where life had taken him.

But she’d always held back.

Always.

The sting of Treacher’s death had ruptured something inside her. A vital organ had been damaged and refused to heal. And every time she picked up the phone, or thought about entering the name
Harlan Cole
into a search engine, she had stopped herself.

She would remember all those crazy late nights when the three of them would get drunk together and talk about the future. Their plans to join the Marshals Service, to request assignments in the same jurisdiction, to raise families in the same neighborhood and have backyard barbecues and birthday parties and cheer their kids on at soccer games.

In short, they were inseparable.

The
Three Amigos
.

And beneath it all was the assumption that Callie and Harlan would get married. Treacher would often smile that crooked smile of his and say, “The two of you were born to be together. God pointed you on a path toward each other from the moment you were conceived.”

What they were all witnessing, he told them, was destiny in motion.

A plan perfectly executed.

On hearing this Harlan would pull Callie into his lap and put his arms around her as she leaned back against him, languishing in the heat of his embrace.

“Soul mates,” he’d say softly, the warmth of his breath against her ear. And later when Treacher had gone home, they would lie together on Harlan’s bed, making love with an urgent passion that Callie had never since felt.

They both knew that Treacher was right. The bond between them—between all of them—was shatterproof.

Or so they had thought.

They couldn’t know that God apparently had different plans. That Treacher would be dead within months, taking that crooked smile and their relationship along with him. That the man who was so convinced that they were meant to be together would become the reason they broke apart.

And when Callie remembered this, she would hang up the phone or close down the search engine and try not to cry.

She didn’t
want
to hate Harlan. She just couldn’t help herself. Maybe because that hate was the one true thing in her life these days. The one true thing that made her feel alive. Or maybe it was the thing that helped assuage her
own
guilt for not being there that night. For choosing to forego the party because finals were approaching and she felt so desperately behind. After all, if she failed any of her courses she wouldn’t get her degree in criminology, and that would screw up the timeline they’d all mapped out.

The irony in this wasn’t lost on her. Maybe if she’d taken a short break, just an hour or two away from the books, she could have done what Harlan had failed to do and everything would be on track.

Treacher would be alive.

And she and Harlan would be…

Way to wallow in the mud, Callie.

She shook her head and stared morosely at her half-eaten burger, chastising herself for getting caught up in this nonsense again. She had a
new
life now. A job she did well in a town where she felt wanted. Friends, people who loved her. Nana Jean.

She needed to suck it up and get past this day. Bury her feelings for a while and do what the county of Williamson paid her to do. Help Harlan catch his fugitive and Jim Farber’s killer, then say goodbye to the past once and for all.

She had convinced herself that this was exactly what she was going to do, when her cell phone bleeped and she put it to her ear.