Everything But The Truth (9 page)

The man jerked, the Beretta in his hand wavering a moment. “Jesus, Sinclair, you scared the hell out of me.”

Matt was right, the man looked like a linebacker, even dressed in black jeans and a black leather jacket. The only color on him was his unruly hair. Even his eyes were black, which was unusual for someone with red hair.

“I thought the plan was that you’d come in the morning?” Reeve probed.

Jameson shrugged. “You know how Murphy is. He says one thing, then changes his mind. Didn’t anyone call you and tell you the change of plans?”

“No. No one called.”

“The jerk,” he said, shaking his head. “But hey, if you wanna call and confirm, I’ve got Murphy’s home number right here.” He patted his jacket pocket. “I don’t think he’ll appreciate getting woke up in the middle of the night though.”

Reeve shrugged. “I believe you,” he lied with a straight face.

Jameson cracked a smile and relaxed his shoulders a little. “I think we met once, at your party when you were leaving the force. Remember?”

“No, I don’t remember.” That was another lie. When Reeve had been sitting on the deck earlier that night, he’d remembered Jameson, finally. At the party he’d mentioned, Reeve had walked into the men’s room and seen Jameson and another cop snorting cocaine. Jameson had laughed and offered him a hit. Reeve had refused. That’s why his name had sounded so familiar. He hadn’t liked the guy back then; he didn’t like him now. He certainly didn’t trust him.

Pretending to let down his guard, he clicked the safety on his Glock and set it on the coffee table. “How about a beer or something?”

“Nah. Thanks anyway, but I need to get going.” He clicked the safety on his Beretta, then slipped it inside his jacket. “Where’s the girl?” he asked.

“Upstairs, asleep,” Reeve answered, nodding toward the loft.

Rocking back on the heels of his black boots, he said, “Well, we’re going to have to wake her.”

Reeve stood slowly, glanced at the gun on the coffee table, and then ignoring it, headed toward the stairs. On the way up, he felt Jameson’s eyes on his back. He made his way down the dark hallway and into Peyton’s room.

He stood in the dark bedroom for a minute or two, waiting, listening, then hearing a creak in the hall, he walked to the bed. “Wake up, sleepy head,” he said quietly as he leaned over. “It’s time to go.” Reaching under the pillow, he pulled out a SIG-Sauer 9mm and held it behind his back. Be patient, he told himself.

It happened in a blink of an eye.

The light flicked on, illuminating the room, and Jameson flew around the corner, shooting at the unmoving form beneath the covers. He’d used a silencer to deaden the sound. Then, in a flash he pointed the gun at Reeve’s chest.

Reeve stood perfectly still, meeting Jameson’s cold black eyes. “How long have you been on Donatelli’s payroll?”

“Long enough,” he said. “You, of all people, know what it’s like trying to survive on a cop’s salary.”

“Yeah, especially when you have a coke habit.”

Jameson sneered. “Don’t get cute.”

Smiling, Reeve said, “I wonder what Donatelli’s gonna say when he finds out you didn’t get the girl.”

The man’s face fell. “What are you talking about?” His eyes darted toward the bed. Bullet holes dotted the blanket, pillow and the mound beneath. Suddenly it must have hit him that there wasn’t any blood seeping through the blanket. With the gun still trained on Reeve, he moved to the foot of the bed and gave the covers a jerk. Instead of finding a bloody dead woman, there were a couple of bullet ridden quilts rolled into log shapes.

“Where is she?” he shouted.

Reeve’s eyes left Jameson’s miserable looking face to look past him in the hall. “She’s right behind you,” he said.

Jameson laughed. “Nice try. You must think I’m some kind of fool. That has to be the oldest trick in the book. And the bed trick here,” he said pointing to the quilts, “that was pretty lame.”

“It worked. You were stupid enough to fall for it.”

Eyes narrowed, Jameson said, “I don’t like you, Sinclair.”

“You’re breakin’ my heart.”

“You’re trying my patience,” the man countered.

Reeve looked beyond Jameson’s shoulder again, at the shadow he saw moving along the wall in the hallway, trying to get the man to do the same, but he didn’t budge. Just then, a small creaking sound alerted Jameson and he jerked his head toward the noise.

It was all the time Reeve needed. He brought the SIG out in front of him, called Jameson’s name and fired several rounds into the man’s chest, all before Jameson had a chance to get a shot off.

Jameson staggered, hitting the wall behind him, and slid to the floor with a dull thud.

Hearing Peyton’s screams, Reeve winced, but he refused to move until he knew for sure the man was dead.

“Peyton, stay there,” he called out to her.

Blood covered the wall behind Jameson’s head, and he didn’t want her to see it, or the lifeless body lying on the floor. A few seconds later, the gun fell from the man’s hand, and his eyes went blank. It was over.

After making sure the barrel had cooled off, he tucked the SIG into the belt clip holster on the waistband of his jeans and stepped into the hall and Peyton’s waiting arms. He pulled her roughly, almost violently to him, her soft curves molding to the hard planes of his body, and hugged her. Her trembling limbs clung to him as she buried her face against his throat and cried softly, her tears dampening his T-shirt.

He kissed the top of her head, feeling the silkiness of her hair against his lips and face. “Dammit, Peyton. I told you stay next door.”

He’d jimmied the lock on the empty cabin next to theirs and had ordered her to stay there and wait for him. But had she listened? No. When he’d seen the shadow in the hall, he’d almost lost it, knowing it had to be her. It had been too small for a man’s body.

“I couldn’t. I saw the lights come on over here and I was worried about you.” Her hands clawed at his back and waist. “Oh, Reeve, I was so scared,” she said in a broken whisper.

A sense of urgency drove him to take her face in his hands. Gently, he wiped her tears away with the pads of his thumbs and, before he could change his mind, claimed her mouth.

Parting her lips, she returned his kiss with reckless abandon, giving as much as she took. Blood pounded in his brain as his emotions skidded out of control. He knew he should stop, but he’d be damned if he could.

In a raw act of possession, he pulled her hips against his erection and moved with her, enjoying the sound of the little moans coming from the back of her throat. With one hand he sought her breast, toyed with her nipple, feeling the peak harden from his touch. He was tormented with the need for her. He wanted more, but this time he had to stop. After another drugging kiss, he reluctantly pushed her away from him, staring into her face and questioning eyes. He fought to control his labored breathing and, when he could finally speak, said, “We need to get out of here.”

Peyton nodded and wrapped her arms around her middle as if to protect herself. Averting his eyes, she backed away, then turned and started down the hall.

“Peyton,” he said.

She stopped, but didn’t turn around.

He wanted to say something, anything, but in the end, nothing came out of his mouth. After a moment, he said, “I just need to grab a few things. I’ll be downstairs in a minute.”

He heard her breath expel, and watched as she descended the stairs on wobbly legs. Rubbing the knot in the back of his neck, he sighed.
Reeve, you just crossed the line.

Chapter Nine

“Where are we going?” Peyton whispered in the darkness.

“I don’t have any idea,” Reeve said, “but we can’t stay here.” He closed the cabin door, but didn’t bother to lock it. He’d gathered a few things together—their clothing, some toiletry items, his guns, and a set of car keys he’d found in Jameson’s jacket pocket—and stuffed them into his black canvas bag. “Let’s go.”

When she turned to walk toward the shed around back, he stopped her, guiding her by the elbow to the dirt road leading away from the cabin.

“What about your motorcycle?”

“We’re leaving it behind.” By now Donatelli had to know who Reeve was and probably what he was driving. He wasn’t taking any chances.

“We can’t walk out of here. It’s miles from the main highway, and I’m wearing heels,” she said, as if he needed a reminder.

“We only have to walk a little way, then we’ll go by car.”

She stopped in her tracks and looked up at him. “What car?”

“Jameson’s.”

“I didn’t see any car.”

“We weren’t supposed to. He probably hid it up ahead somewhere, then came the rest of the way on foot. Keep your eyes open for it,” he told her as they resumed walking.

About a half mile up the road, he spotted a chrome bumper sticking out of the bushes. The bumper belonged to a brand new SUV with 4-wheel drive. Perfect.

“C’mon,” he told her, helping her into the vehicle. After retrieving the keys, he tossed the bag onto the backseat and hopped in as well.

They drove in silence until they reached the main highway. Spotting a phone booth, Reeve pulled over, announcing he needed to call Matt. He got out and Peyton waited in the car.

He’d been wrestling with his feelings for the woman practically since he’d met her, but after kissing her in the hallway, he hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind. She consumed him, and he was no longer able to think or concentrate. If he wanted to keep her alive, he had to be able to think smart, and think fast. Which was why he was going to tell Matt he couldn’t protect her any longer.

“It’s me,” he said when Matt picked up, sounding groggy and disoriented.

“Reeve, what’s up? What’s going on? Why are you calling me at four in the morning?”

“Jameson was dirty.”

“What?”
He sounded genuinely surprised. “Captain Murphy handpicked him.”

“Well, I’m not too sure I’d trust Murphy either.”

“Where’s Jameson now?”

“At the cabin.” He paused, then added, “He’s dead.”

Matt swore and was then quiet for a few moments.

Reeve had shot a few bad guys as a cop, but this was the first time he’d ever killed anyone. Even though it had been a scumbag like Jameson, he still didn’t like the way it made him feel inside.

He’d been second guessing every move he’d made before the shooting and wondering if he could have handled it any other way. The man had come in the middle of the night, gun drawn, intending to kill him and Peyton both. No, he couldn’t have handled it any other way.

“Look, Matt, I can’t protect her any longer.”

“Reeve, I’m counting on you. I’m not sure who I can trust right now, and I don’t want anything to happen to her. She’s a nice kid, don’t you think?”

“When did you start feeling so sympathetic toward hookers?”

“
Hookers?
What the hell are you talking about?”

Through the glass wall of the phone booth, Reeve peered at Peyton. Her eyes were closed, her head resting against the back of the seat. She looked peaceful, content, and as innocent as a newborn baby.

Reeve swore softly. “Matt, just what the hell does Ms. Delaney do for a living?”

“She’s a counselor.”

“A counselor?”
The words burned at his throat.

“Yeah. She counsels teens, runaways, prostitutes. St. Christopher’s Church is supporting a shelter for these girls. Peyton was working with the priest who was shot—Father Mike Micelli.”

A counselor.
Glaring at her through the car window, Reeve thought about how she’d lied to him. Why would a counselor pretend to be a hooker, for chrissakes? It didn’t make any sense.

“Reeve? You still there, buddy?”

“I’m still here. She told me she was a hooker, Matt.”

Matt laughed so hard Reeve had to hold the phone away from his ear.

“And you
believed
her?” Matt asked when his laughter finally subsided.

Angry with himself for being so gullible, and refusing to admit it, even to Matt, Reeve lied. “No, of course, I didn’t believe her. Come on, what do you take me for? Some kind of idiot?”

“I
did
tell her to get some kind of disguise, though,” Matt said. “What did she come up with?”

Disguise?
It had been a disguise. When she’d walked into the tavern dressed that way, he’d naturally assumed she was a hooker. All her talk about judging people made sense now. She’d wanted him to see her for what she really was, and all he’d seen was what he’d wanted to see.

“Reeve? Can you hear me?”

“No,” Reeve said, “you’re breaking up. I’m going to hang up now. I’ll be in touch.” With that, he slammed down the receiver and flung open the door to the phone booth.

A hooker.
Of all the stupid idiotic ideas
. Well, nobody played Reeve Sinclair for a fool and got away with it.

So, she wanted to be a hooker, did she?
Heading back to the SUV, he imagined the sweet taste of revenge and smiled.

****

Reeve was smiling. It was something he did so seldom, and something she hoped he’d do a lot more of. Hopefully, now that it was obvious they both had feelings for one another, it would be easier for him.

After the shooting, she’d been so relieved he hadn’t been hurt, she’d thrown herself in his arms and had practically lost her senses altogether. All she’d thought of was holding him, and him holding her. And then he’d looked into her eyes and she’d fallen apart.

His kisses, so potent and passionate, still had her lips burning with fire, and his touch was forever branded on her skin. Something had happened in the hallway at the cabin. Something wonderful and totally unexpected. She’d fallen in love.

If Reeve felt the same way about her, he had to be fighting with himself inside, and she knew he wouldn’t allow himself to admit it. Not to her, not even to himself. Their relationship had hit a new plateau, which was why she had to tell him the truth—that she wasn’t really a hooker.

She knew he’d be angry at first. For two reasons—one because she’d lied to him and the other because he’d believed her. She knew he wasn’t the kind of man who approved of lying, nor was he the kind of man who’d take being played for a fool very lightly.

She’d make it up to him somehow, and he’d forgive her. He had to, she prayed silently. Or else all would be lost. But for now, she refused to think about any of that.

“Were you able to reach Detective Brozack?” Peyton asked once he’d climbed back into the vehicle and started the ignition.

“No. I couldn’t reach him,” he said, pulling back onto the road.

“Oh. I thought I saw you talking.”

“Yeah, I was talking to Matt’s wife. About old times. Barbara loves to chat,” he added, glancing her way.

Smiling, she settled back against the seat. She tried to hold back a yawn, but failed. “I’m so tired.”

“Yeah, you’ve had a big night. Why don’t you get some sleep? I’m going to drive for a few hours, and then we’ll get a motel.” He looked over at her again and said, “And I want you rested when we get there.”

As the headlights from a passing car lit the interior of the SUV, she saw his brows wiggling and a huge grin plastered on his face.

What the heck was that all about?
She was about to ask when he said, “Hopefully, we’ll be able to finish where we left off.”

“Finish?”
she asked. “Finish what?”

“Now, don’t play coy with me, sweetheart,” he said, resting his hand on her leg, his fingers creeping higher on her thigh. “If there hadn’t been a dead man back at the cabin, you and I would have ended up in bed.”

Peyton almost swallowed her tongue.
Of all the nerve
. With all the men in the universe, why did she have to fall in love with this one?

“You’re getting a little ahead of yourself, don’t you think?” she asked, pushing his hand away. “I mean, just because I let you kiss me…”

He laughed. “That’s one of the things I like about you. You act so damn innocent sometimes. Do you know what a turn on that is? To have your lover look and act innocent, but once you get her beneath the sheets, she goes wild on you? It’s every man’s fantasy.”

Swallowing hard, she angled herself to see him better in the dark. “Well, to be
really
honest with you—”

“I’m just glad there are no more lies between us.”

Her eyes widened.

“I mean,” he went on, “you didn’t have to tell me about being a hooker. But you did, and I want you to know how special that makes me feel—that you told me the truth, no matter what it cost you. There’s nothing worse than a liar in my book. Don’t you agree?”

“Well, yes, but…” She paused and blinked, choosing her words with care. “People tell little white lies all the time. That doesn’t make them bad people.”

“Big lies. Little lies. They’re still lies,” he said, turning his attention back to the road.

It was obvious she wasn’t going to get anywhere with him. The man refused to give an inch. She needed a different approach, but she’d be darned if she knew what that was.

“Why the sudden change of heart?” she asked. “You were so anti-hooker when we first met, and now you’re behaving like you can’t
wait
to get me into bed.”

“That’s because I can’t wait.” He patted her thigh. “I can’t wait to see you go wild on me.” He shrugged his right shoulder. “I finally figured, why keep fighting it? We’re attracted to each other, so maybe we should act on it.”

Wild on him?
She was going to go
wild on him
, all right. If it weren’t for the fact he was behind the wheel, she would have clunked him over the head with her red spiked heel.

In the meantime, she had to think of a way out of this mess. After taking a few deep breaths that did nothing to calm her, she asked, “Don’t you remember I told you I was new at all this?”

“Yeah, I remember you said something to that effect.”

She smiled.
Good, now we’re getting somewhere
. “Well, that was mostly true.”

“Mostly?”
he asked. “Don’t tell me you were lying to me.”