Facing It (6 page)

He grasped the railing as well. “Don’t knock it. I eat a lot of frozen meals. I know good cooking when I taste it.”

“I should be good,” she muttered, “even if I’m out of practice.”

He pulled in another breath and salt air lingered on his tongue. “Why is that?”

“I trained at Le Cordon Bleu.” A huff of sound escaped with the words, almost as though she mocked herself. “After I attended the Culinary Institute of America in New York.”

“Wow.”

“Don’t sound so impressed.” A wry tone invaded her sultry voice. “The training only counts if you do something with it.”

He studied her, fine features highlighted by the moonlight and shadows. “You didn’t?”

“No. I married Stephen Chason and let him take over my life.”

What was he supposed to say to that? He swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

“So am I.” She spoke so softly he almost missed the words. Then she straightened, and this time, her voice was stronger. “No, I’m not. Sorry I let him break me? Sure. Sorry I married him and ended up with those three in there? No. I’d never be sorry for having them.”

The pleasant memory of their wild squeals on the beach that afternoon echoed in his ears. “They’re good kids.”

“Too good. But I’m going to change that.”

Damn, she was strong. He had no doubt she’d turn her life around now that she was free. Ruthie Chason definitely had what it took to survive.

And prosper.

With a sudden, sharp movement that made him jump, she turned and leaned against the railing. He felt the prickle of her steady gaze on him. “So, tell me about Chris Parker. Did you always want to be a cop?”

“Yeah. As long as I can remember.”

She scraped a fingernail along the wood. “Have you been at Chandler County long?”

“Three years. I was with the Tifton PD before that.”

Silence fell between them, broken only by the distant lap of waves and the occasional rise and fall of voices from the direction of the village. Ruthie’s quiet sigh washed over him. “It’s really nice here.”

“Yeah.” A fall of warm memories tumbled over him—fishing, crabbing, boating, all with his father’s steady presence. “It was my dad’s getaway.”

Her cotton T-shirt rustled against the wood as she glanced up at him. “Was?”

“He died right after I graduated from college. He’d sold the house in Tifton and moved over here fulltime by then.”

“What about your mother?”

The familiar cold shadow tried to settle on his shoulders, but he sloughed it off out of habit. No sense dwelling on that. “She took off when I was three. It was just me and my old man. He raised me.”

“That had to be hard for you.”

“It was okay. Lots of kids survive with just one parent.”

“They do. My mother did a great job after my father died, but it was still hard, for all of us. I hope…” Doubt entered her voice as it trailed away and he sensed her squaring those slender shoulders. “I hope I do as well.”

“You will.” He touched her hand before he thought about what he was doing. The tips of his fingers tingled and he jerked away. Shit. What was he doing? He cleared his throat. “I mean, you’re great with them and I’m sure you’ll…they’ll be fine.”

“Thank you.” A smile lingered in her voice and this time, she brushed her fingers across the back of his wrist. God, he was too aware of that light touch, too aware of her. This was not good. He had to get away before he went and did something totally stupid, something Troy-Lee-Farr stupid. The possibilities for foolhardy idiocy concerning this woman appeared endless.

Again, he cleared his throat, which felt like he’d swallowed finely ground glass. “I’m going to go give Tick a call, let him know we arrived all right and everyone is okay.”

He escaped inside, nerves jittering the whole way, and retrieved his cell from the kitchen counter, where he’d plugged it in to charge earlier.

“Calvert.” Terse and distracted, Tick answered on the second ring.

“It’s Chris.” He closed the bedroom door behind him and dropped onto the narrow bed. “Thought you’d want to know everything is all right on this end.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Something in Tick’s tight voice raised the fine hairs along Chris’s nape.

He frowned. “What’s up?”

“The Feds lost Chason this morning. At least, that’s when they
think
they lost him.” Tick’s anger vibrated over the line. “And Mama’s missing.”

“What?” Chris swore and rubbed a hand over his jaw, stubble rough against his palm and fingers.

“Yeah, since sometime after eleven and we got nothing, except that it makes sense that Chason is involved.”

“Shit, Tick, I hate that.” Damned if Chris knew what else to say. Family held utmost importance in Tick Calvert’s life and his mother topped that list after his wife and son. “What do you want me to do? Tell Ruthie?”

“I don’t…” Tick exhaled, a rough, shaky breath. “Not yet. I don’t…I want to see if the son of a bitch tries to contact us. I don’t have a clue where he is or what he has planned, but Cait seems to think he’s trying to draw Ruthie out. If you tell her, she’s going to insist on coming back here and I don’t want her or the kids in further danger.”

“Yeah.” It didn’t feel right, though. Seemed like this was something Ruthie deserved to know. Seemed like any decisions made should have her say.

“Just hang tight and watch over them. I’ll call you.”

Hours later, his shoes and slacks damp almost to his knees from slogging through miles of riverfront underbrush, Harrell trudged toward his down-and-out room at the small hotel. With exhaustion and self-recriminations dogging him, he’d wanted to check in with Jennifer, see what she’d learned about Chason’s movements before he headed back out. Even though it neared midnight, the search continued in full force; the sheer numbers of volunteers spoke volumes about Lenora Calvert’s standing in the community. Probably Tick’s too, and his siblings. The local people wanted this mother and grandmother found, quickly.

A light rain pattered on the pavement and he shook off the drops that hit his hair. However, he couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow he shared in the responsibility for Lenora Calvert’s disappearance, for the ragged pain and fear so naked on Tick’s face. If he hadn’t screwed up, had realized Ruthie was preparing to run, maybe things would be different.

My God, it was Tessa Marlow all over again.

He shuddered and stopped on the sidewalk to pull his key card from his wallet. Clutching it, he eyed Jennifer’s room next door, her light burning through a thin space between the blinds. His intent had been to call from his room, but he found himself standing before her door instead, hand raised to knock.

The door swung inward, revealing Jennifer still fully dressed.

“Hi.” Her hazel gaze flicked over him, once more leaving the impression that she was pissed off at him. It made him nervous. Quietly angry wasn’t Jennifer’s style. He’d rather she just gave it to him with both barrels for whatever he’d done that afternoon. “Any luck?”

He shook his head and gestured at his feet. “Need to change my shoes, then I’m heading back out. What about you?”

“Tried to call your cell earlier.” Jennifer turned and walked back into the room. He followed, closing the door behind him. Her room was a mirrored twin to his—two queens, dresser, television, table, two chairs. Standard impersonal hotel rooms found all over the country. God only knew how many they’d seen over the years. Her suitcase stood open on one bed; her laptop and notepad lay on the table. “Couldn’t get through.”

“This place has cellular black holes everywhere.” In the past, he’d have dropped onto one of the beds without thought and stretched out while they talked, but once more there was the sensation that things had shifted, changed. He felt unwelcome, too formal with her.

“Get this.” Jennifer picked up her notepad. “Chason is back in Charleston.”

Shock slammed into him, shifting into a cold, slithering apprehension. “What? When?”

She nodded, a seemingly satisfied smile crossing her face at his surprise. “About two hours ago. Upon arriving home, he promptly called the police and reported his wife and children missing.”

“Holy shit,” he breathed. Maybe they’d underestimated Chason for real.

“He claims they’ve been having marital problems and he believes Ruthie took the children as retaliation because he told her he’d planned to file for divorce.” Distaste twisted Jennifer’s pretty mouth. “Slimy bastard.”

“Yeah.” Mentally, he tallied the hours Chason had been out of sight. He’d have been cutting it close, but there was definitely time for him to have traveled between Virginia and Georgia and back to Charleston. “So what’s the word from the Charleston PD?”

“They, surprisingly enough, are reluctant to cooperate with us.” Irony lurked in her words. “I don’t think they’re terribly happy that the Bureau was working a major undercover operation in their city without sharing that info.”

On a rough exhale, Harrell rolled his eyes. Why did the locals always have to go territorial?

“Weston is flying into Charleston in the morning. I’m going to meet him there.”

Harrell’s gaze jerked to hers. “Not we?”

Avoiding his eyes, she shook her head. “No.”

His sense of being off-kilter flowed through him once more, like a weird form of emotional vertigo. “Jen—”

“Don’t you need to let Calvert and Falconetti know what’s going on with Chason? I’m pretty sure he’d want to know.”

“Yeah, I’m going to head back out in a few but I’d like to—”

“While I’m in South Carolina, I’m going to talk to Weston about assigning us new partners.” She delivered the quiet bombshell with deadly calm. The words and their reality exploded in Harrell’s consciousness. She was planning to leave him?

“What the hell?” He stepped toward her. His chest throbbed, his lungs struggling to get oxygen in. Shit, he was overreacting. He’d lost partners before and this shouldn’t hurt so damn much.

“I don’t think this whole undercover gig was a good idea.” She lifted her chin to a challenging angle. “The pretending-to-be-married changed things.”

“Yeah, I know. It was bound to.” He tried to clear his brain, to really think about what she was saying. And not saying. “But I don’t want a new partner, Jen. I don’t want anyone but you. We’re a good team.”

“We used to be a good team. Today, I realized we’re not anymore.” She folded her arms beneath her breasts, a distinctly self-protective gesture. Harrell made another step in her direction.

“Jen, babe, listen, I know things are different. And I’m not real sure what exactly bothered you this afternoon, but—”

“Don’t call me babe. I’m not your wife. I’m not…I’m not… Just stop with the endearments, would you?”

“We can find our way back to how things used to be.” He swallowed hard. “We can.”

“I don’t want to go back.” Her soft voice held a slight tremor. “That’s the problem, Beech.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I can’t be your partner anymore. I can’t be objective about you.”

“Don’t talk to Weston yet. Give me a couple of days to show you—”

“It won’t change anything.” She threw her hands out, frustration crackling in her voice. “Don’t you get that, Beech? It won’t change this.”

In two quick strides, she closed the distance between them, and with her hand at his nape, she pulled his mouth down to hers, kissing him hard. Not one of the fake social kisses they’d traded during their operation, but a real honest-to-God kiss, her lips moving on his, the tip of her tongue teasing him. His stunned surprise rendered him immobile and lasted all of three seconds. He folded one arm around her waist and another along her shoulders, lifting her to him while he changed the angle of his head to fit their lips more closely together.

She moaned and pressed nearer, her short neat fingernails digging into his scalp. When she opened her mouth to him, he dipped his tongue inside, sipping, tasting, relishing the smooth texture and dark mint of her taste. She wasn’t shy, holding his head, her tongue taking his mouth in return. Tugging him closer, she stepped back, and when they collided with the bed directly behind her, she tumbled down and took him with her.

Her body accepted his weight, her height making them a good fit—mouths fused, chests and abdomens pressed together, his pelvis cradled by her lower belly, legs intertwined. Arousal speared through his groin and he swallowed a groan, afraid to move, afraid to do more than let this kiss go on and on.

She obviously didn’t share his fear and allowed her hands to roam over his neck and shoulders and upper back, firm sweeping caresses that penetrated his cotton dress shirt and the T-shirt he wore beneath. No words, just the whisper and sigh of kiss after kiss, her hands on him, the heat of her body beneath him, and the slight teasing tilt of her hips into his.

The necessity for oxygen, for sanity, finally infiltrated his brain. Unable to fully abandon the wonder of kissing her, he slipped his arms from about her slender form and rested on his elbows, letting himself have the freedom of burying his fingers in the sweet golden silk of her hair while he softened the kiss to a series of the briefest brushes of lips against lips.