One Wrong Step (10 page)

John smiled. “Bet you didn’t expect that, huh?”

She scoffed. “Nope. I started opening all the boxes, and it was unreal. The money was squirreled away everywhere. Tens, twenties, hundreds. Little stacks all over the place. He’d hidden it all in boxes of stuff I never use. I guess he figured I wouldn’t see it.”

John visualized her in a storage unit surrounded by piles of cash. It made a funny picture. She wasn’t the least bit materialistic. Other people might have been elated, but she’d probably been terrified.

He took her hand. “You were scared, huh?”

“Heck, yeah! Wouldn’t you be?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never run into that problem before.”

Her hand was soft in his, and she stroked his fingers with the pad of her thumb. He wondered if she realized she was doing it.

“But you didn’t go to the police,” he stated.

“No.”

“Why not?”

She looked down. “I guess I was in denial. I kept thinking maybe it was legitimate, that he’d earned it and not stolen it, and maybe he was just hiding the money from
me,
or trying to avoid paying taxes on it. I knew he did some off-the-books accounting work for friends, people he never ran through his firm.”

This was where everything got sticky, John knew. She’d decided to keep the money. But why? She was a law-abiding citizen. Little Miss Honor Society. The FBI had turned her life inside out looking for evidence connecting her to Robert’s criminal enterprise. They’d found zilch. Nada. Celie didn’t have so much as a parking ticket. But she
did
have a track record of working tirelessly for bleeding-heart causes—food banks, cancer kids, the Red Cross, you name it. Investigators had struck out.

“Why’d you keep the money, Celie?”

She hesitated a moment, then met his gaze. “Have you ever wanted something so badly, it just knotted you up inside?”

He stared at her. “I don’t know,” he lied. “What was it you wanted?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore, but I was pretty sure I could buy it if I had enough money.”

What the hell was she talking about?

“So you spent some,” he said.

She nodded, staring down at their hands. “And I can’t get it back.”

Shit, how much had she spent? And what could possibly be worth risking the wrath of not only the FBI, but a drug kingpin?

“Whatever you did, I’ll help you. I promise. But please,
please
tell me you didn’t spend all of it.”

She bit her lip.

“Celie?”

“I didn’t spend all of it.”

He released the breath he’d been holding. “Damn, I’m glad to hear you say that.”

He kissed her forehead, and she slid her hands around his neck. They felt good there, like they belonged, but he pushed the thought away.

“McAllister?”

He sighed. Just once he’d like her to call him “John,” not “McAllister,” like they were drinking buddies or something.

“What?”

“Let’s talk about something else. I’m getting a headache.”

“Fine by me. How about I get you an icepack and we can talk about all the reasons you’re not getting rid of me tonight?”

She pulled away from him, her eyes guarded suddenly. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea. I’m feeling a little…freaked out right now. I need some time alone.”

He watched her for a moment, trying to read her mind. Was she freaked out about her attack, or merely nervous about him? He knew he’d come on too strong in the past, and he realized now that had been a mistake. She wasn’t like the other women he’d known.

“I’ll leave you alone,” he said. “If that’s what you really want. But I’m not leaving you by yourself tonight.”

C
elie lay beneath her comforter, completely exhausted, yet unable to sleep. The sensation was familiar.

She glanced at the clock. One thirty-four. She’d been trying for nearly three hours now, but sleep wouldn’t come, and she knew it would continue to elude her until just before daybreak. Then she’d get a few uninterrupted minutes—an hour, if she was lucky—and start the next morning with kinks in her neck and sandbags under her eyes.

Celie threw back the comforter and rolled onto her back. Sometimes that helped. But after squeezing her eyes closed, she saw the same images that had been plaguing her for hours: the abandoned alley, the rusted blue Dumpster, and the empty black hole at the end of the gun.

Her chest constricted as she relived the helplessness. She’d been at their mercy. They could have done anything to her.

She stared at the ceiling and tried to regulate her breathing. She
wouldn’t
panic. She was safe at home, behind a locked door. A security guard was on duty downstairs, and John McAllister was asleep on her sofa.

A soft tapping sounded at her door.

She propped up on her elbows. “Come in,” she said, her voice gravelly.

The door creaked open. McAllister stood in the opening, silhouetted against the yellow light of the hallway.

“Trouble sleeping?” he asked.

She sat up and tugged her nightshirt down over her thighs. She’d gone to bed in Robert’s old Dallas Cowboys jersey. It had been washed about sixty thousand times, and it was the most comfortable thing she owned. Alluring lingerie, it was not.

“Sorry about my couch,” she said. “It can’t be nearly long enough for you.”

He stepped into the room, and her pulse quickened.

“I’ve slept on worse.”

He walked over to the bedside. “Since you’re awake anyway, there’s something I need to ask you. Mind?” He nodded toward the bed.

She scooted over, trying to ignore the way her heart was racing. The mattress sank under his weight as he sat down, and she had to catch herself to keep from rolling into him.

“Sorry,” he said.

She watched him scan the room. He couldn’t see much in the dimness, but she wondered anyway what he thought about it. He’d probably been in dozens of women’s bedrooms over the years. His gaze paused on the rocker in the corner.

“Your grandmother’s rocking chair, huh? The one you had in storage?”

Here was the problem with confiding in this man. He filed everything away, no matter how inconsequential. “That’s what you wanted to ask me?”

He picked up her hand. “No.”

She waited, wishing she didn’t like the way his hand felt, all warm and callused. How did he get calluses, anyway? He was a reporter.

A fact she needed to remember.

Moonlight filtered through the window, and she could see his face in the shadows: the strong jaw, the faint stubble, the little white scar just below his ear that he’d picked up somewhere along the way. She knew nothing about that scar. She knew nothing about him, really, which made it all the more unnerving to have him sitting on her bed in the dark.

“I need to ask you something, even though I know you think it’s none of my business,” he said.

She nodded.

“What did you do with all that money?”

He was right. It wasn’t any of his business. And yet she had this insane urge to tell him.

But she couldn’t. “It doesn’t matter. You wouldn’t understand anyway.”

“You might be surprised what I’d understand.”

What could she say to that? She didn’t say anything.

“Okay,” he said. “Let me ask you something else then. Are you absolutely sure you can’t get it back?”

That was an easy one. “Absolutely.”

“Then I think you need to go to the FBI. Tell them what happened today—”

“I can’t. I told you, those men threatened to kill me.”

He took a deep breath and looked down. He fidgeted with her fingers. “I’ve been thinking. Maybe you should try to join the federal Witness Protection Program.”

Her first reaction was absurd. She felt
hurt.
Part of her was devastated he would suggest that she disappear.

Which just illustrated how screwed up she’d allowed herself to get over this guy. She did
not
have a future with John McAllister. They were complete opposites. And he didn’t want her anyway, not for anything serious.

“I couldn’t do that.” She pulled her hand away and folded it in her lap. “I know it may not seem like it to you, but I
do
have a life. I have a mother, and two sisters. And friends. And a goddaughter. I couldn’t just abandon all that.”

He touched her calf now. Which was worse than his holding her hand. “Feenie’s daughter?”

“Yes,” she answered. His hand was giving her goose bumps.

“Don’t you think your mother and Feenie and everyone would rather you be safe than anything else?”

“Sure, but what about what me?” she asked, annoyed.

“What do you mean?”

What did she
mean
? It was
her
life they were talking about. Unlike most people she knew, she didn’t have a marriage, or a child, or even a career to speak of, but she still had a life. And what she had meant something to her.

“I mean, what about what I want?”

“Okay. What
do
you want? Do you even know?”

Anger welled up in her chest. “Yes, as a matter of fact. I want to finish my degree and become a social worker. I want a family someday. I want everyone to stop worrying about me and pitying me, including you! I want to have control over my goddamn life!”

Whoa. Where had that come from? She was breathing hard, and her hands were fisted at her sides.

His fingers had stilled on her leg. “You think I
pity
you?”

She took a deep breath. She might as well get it out there. “Yes, I do.”

“Celie…” He shook his head. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, really? Let me ask
you
something then.”

“Okay.”

“When was the last time you slept with someone?”

Silence.

“What does that have to do with anything?” he finally answered.

“I think it has a lot to do with everything, actually. Just answer the question.”

“Three weeks ago.”

Three
weeks
? He’d been even busier than she thought. She felt a little burr of jealousy in her chest.

“And is she your girlfriend?”

He tipped his head back. “No, she was just…Shit. No, she’s not my girlfriend.”

She waited for him to get it, but he just sat there staring at her. “I haven’t slept with anyone in a lot longer than that,” she said. It had been nearly a year, but she couldn’t bring herself to say it.

“Yeah, so what?”

“So, we’re totally different.”

“What, because I had sex three weeks ago?”

She rolled her eyes. “Because you have sex
often.
Without strings attached. It’s no big deal to you.”

“How would you know?”

She laughed. “You tried to have sex with me at my
office
! Sorry, but that’s not really normal for me. When I sleep with someone, it’s a big deal, but to you it’s like tying your shoes or something. We’re completely different.”

She held her breath, waiting for him to deny it, but he didn’t.

“Don’t you see?” she continued. “The only thing we have in common is that our pasts overlap. And every time I get hit with some new trouble, you feel sorry for me, like everyone else.”

“I don’t feel sorry for you. Jesus. That’s the last thing I feel.”

Yeah, right. If there was one thing she recognized, it was pity. She’d been on the receiving end of it for a decade now, and it pissed her off.

“McAllister, let’s be honest, okay? You’re here because you want to protect me, right?”

“So?”

“So, I appreciate what you’re doing. Part of this is my fault, really, because I keep letting you help me. But you’re off the hook now.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you can stop looking out for me,” she said. “I’ve decided to hire a professional bodyguard. I called Marco Juarez this evening and asked him to put me in touch with someone up here who can protect me until I figure out what to do about this mess.”

“Celie—”

She held up a hand. “It’s
my
problem. Not yours. You don’t need to worry anymore. You can get back to your job and your social life and everything you were doing before you found out I was in Austin.”

He stood up. “Is that what you want?” His voice was tight, like he was talking through clenched teeth.

“Yes.”

He looked down at her for a moment before walking to the doorway. He paused with his back to her. “When do you plan to hire this person?”

She sighed. “Tomorrow. First thing in the morning.”

“Fine. I’ll take you to wherever it is.”

“It’s okay. Dax can drive me.” She hoped.

John shook his head. “Great. Terrific.”

“McAllister—”

“I’ll be on your couch.” He yanked the door shut behind him.

Kate found him camped out with his laptop at the Starbucks closest to City Hall. John was battling a cigarette craving and concluding that a double venti espresso was a piss-poor substitute.

She sat down on the arm of his chair. “You haven’t been at the office in days. If it weren’t for your byline, I’d have thought you walked off the job.”

John had spent the better part of the week at City Hall chasing down stories. Or at The Ale House. Now that Celie had her bodyguard, he limited himself to driving by her building once a night like the pathetic loser that he was. All he’d learned from his reconnaissance missions was that Celie probably had insomnia. He’d caught the bluish flicker of her television in the living room window well after midnight.

And with Celie unable to sleep, John’s nights were shot to hell, too. He was running on caffeine and raw frustration. And now he had Kate Kepler in his face looking primed for battle.

John downed his last sip of coffee. “What’s up, Kate?”

She was dressed conservatively today in a tailored black pantsuit. Definitely not her usual.

“I’ve got a meeting with Wozniak this afternoon,” she said, referring to the news editor. “I’m going to try and convince him to assign me the Saledo story, including the Strickland homicide follow-ups and anything else that arises.”

He noted her rigid posture, the stubborn set of her jaw. Her chin tilted up slightly, like she was daring him to challenge her.

“You sure you want to do that?” he asked. “The drug beat could be hazardous to your health.”

Her nostrils flared. “What, you think I should stick to school-board meetings and human interest crap? You don’t think a woman can handle crime stories?”

John had a hard time thinking of Kate as a woman. Yes, she had a nice, lithe little body under those unisex clothes she always wore. But she was fresh out of college and totally green.

“So what do you need from me?” John asked, although he was pretty certain he already knew.

“I need you to back off,” she said firmly. “Wozniak’s dying to let you take over because you’re more experienced and you won all those awards when you lived down in the valley. I need you to step aside so he’ll give me a chance.”

She suddenly reminded him of Feenie Juarez. God save him from feisty young feminists who wanted to prove themselves.

“Fine,” he said. “Have at it.” In reality, it didn’t matter what he said. If the Strickland homicide turned into a series about the Saledo cartel, Kate would be off the story in no time. Yes, it was probably sexism, but Wozniak typically assigned the hardcore news stuff to the men on staff.

But hey, if Kate wanted to think John was doing her a favor, who was he to set her straight?

She looked shocked, then suspicious. “What do you mean?”

“Just what I said. The story’s yours. I don’t want anything to do with Manny Saledo or Robert Strickland or the whole freaking crew. I’m sticking to City Hall.”

She regarded him skeptically for a few moments. “You’re seeing that woman, aren’t you? You’ve got a conflict of interest.”

He did, but not like she thought. His conflict involved his interest and Celie’s complete lack thereof.

He checked his watch. He needed to get going so he could catch the mayor on his way to a late lunch. John had spent half an hour yesterday sweet-talking the man’s admin into giving him a peek at today’s schedule. The
actual
schedule, not the one his office normally released to the media. And if he didn’t hustle now, he’d miss his shot at an exclusive quote.

He stood up and stretched. “Gotta run, Kate. Anything else you need?”

She stared up at him, not at all intimidated by his towering over her. He admired her spunk. Too bad she was a decade too young for him. Despite what Celie thought, John no longer dated girls just out of college.

She tipped her head to the side. “Are you okay? You don’t seem like your usual self.”

“Oh, yeah? And what would that be?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Energetic. Charming. Cocky as hell.”

“That’s my usual self?” How would she know? He’d met her only a few months ago.

“I just expected you to put up a fight. You know, everyone says you’re persistent. The King of Cling.”

He sighed. “Yeah, well. Sorry to disappoint you.”

“I’m not disappointed. Just surprised.”

Maybe that was his problem. The King of Cling had given up too soon. He was exceptionally good at waiting people out, but when it came to Celie, he’d gotten frustrated and thrown in the towel.

He picked up his computer bag and took a long, hard look at Kate. The girl was perceptive. And gutsy. She’d make a good reporter if she could keep herself out of trouble.

“Be careful, Kate. And if you ever cross paths with Saledo’s people, be
very
careful.”

“I will,” she said much too quickly.

“I mean it, Kate. Watch out. Those guys don’t fuck around.”

T-Bone escorted Celie down the hallway and unlocked her door. In keeping with the routine they’d established, he entered the apartment first, conducted a search of all the rooms, and then nodded when it was clear.