One Wrong Step (15 page)

C
elie left Dax to his sangria and walked down the hall to wait for McAllister. The elevator doors dinged open, and then he was coming toward her, pinning her in place with his gaze as those long, tall legs ate up the hallway. Just seeing all that macho directed at her made her breath catch. Today he wore jeans and cowboy boots and a tight black T-shirt that seemed to match his mood. He plucked the key from her hand and unlocked the door, then pushed it open and entered her apartment.

She thought he was just being rude until she saw him glancing around and realized he was checking the place out. He went down the hallway, and a second later she heard her shower curtain being swept back. As he looked in the bedroom, Celie secured the locks and headed into the kitchen to get a soft drink from the fridge.

When she turned around, McAllister was standing beside the kitchen counter glowering at her. She braced herself to be yelled at, but then he seemed to make a last-minute effort to cool his temper. He leaned back against the counter and crossed his ankles.

“Am I missing something here?” he asked.

“What do you mean?” She popped open her Diet Coke.

“Like the part where we agree it’s okay for you to take off without so much as a conversation?”

“I left you a note—”

“A fucking thank-you note?”

“It wasn’t a thank-you note!” He made it sound ridiculous.

“‘
McAllister: Thank you.—Cecelia.’
Did I leave something out? Oh, like how you taped it to my mirror and it took me ten minutes to find it after I woke up and I thought you might have been kidnapped!”

Celie rolled her eyes and opened one of her cabinets. She got down a glass and filled it with ice.

“Does everyone get a note, or did I just get lucky?”

She whirled to face him. What was he insinuating? She’d practically told him she hadn’t been with anyone since Robert.

But then she’d also told him she was on the Pill. Being a guy, he’d probably assumed that meant she was having sex with someone. Or several someones.

She watched him for a moment, oscillating between anger over the way he was talking to her and guilt over the way she’d lied to him. She decided to go on the offensive.

“Let me ask you something,” she said, crossing her arms. “Have you ever hooked up with someone”—she purposely used Dax’s term because it sounded so emotionally distant—“and then left without a conversation?”

He blinked at her, and she knew that he had. She laughed. “See? I knew it. It’s okay for you to treat things casually, but the minute someone else does it, you get upset.” She poured her drink and bit back the rest of the things she could have said. She didn’t really want this argument. “I’m just trying to simplify this for both of us.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

Again with the language.

“Look,” she said, “I know you’re not looking for anything serious, and neither am I, and I didn’t see the point in drawing everything out.” She had to force herself to meet his gaze for the next part. “We were attracted to each other long before last night, and we finally got it out of our systems. It was probably good that it happened, but I think we should move on now.”

He laughed, but he didn’t sound amused. “We got it out of our systems.” He stepped toward her. “
That’s
how you would describe last night?”

Not really. Not at all. She’d been yearning for him all day. Just thinking of all the ways he’d touched her made her light-headed. She broke eye contact and looked down at his scuffed brown boots. The boots stepped closer, and she glanced up, realizing belatedly that she’d just issued some kind of challenge, and McAllister, being McAllister, felt compelled to leap on it.

“Maybe that’s not the best way to put it,” she said, “but you know what I mean.”

He raised his eyebrows. “No, I really don’t. Why don’t you explain it to me?”

She licked her lips and tried to get her thoughts together. “I just think…”

He took another step closer planted a hand on either side of her on the counter. “You really think you’ve gotten this out of your system?”

Her heart was racing. His voice was low and sultry again, just like last night after dinner, when he’d taken her back to his bedroom and lavished her with attention.

“Do you?”

She had to tilt her head back to look him in the eye. “Yes.”

“Well, I sure as hell haven’t.”

She cleared her throat. “You haven’t?”

“Not by a long shot.”

Kate spotted Rowe among the sweat-drenched joggers at Town Lake. She couldn’t see his face, but there was no mistaking the mile-wide shoulders and ramrod straight posture. He wore a navy blue T-shirt tucked neatly into gray athletic shorts.

Even jogging, he looked like a fed.

Kate lengthened her stride until she was just behind him. He had a nice back. And the front was good, too, judging from the looks he was getting from the women who passed him. He didn’t acknowledge their glances—at least not that Kate could tell—but she knew he noticed. The man noticed everything.

Kate drafted him for fifty yards or so, until she was certain she was getting on his nerves. Then she turned on the gas and came up alongside him.

“Nice shirt,” she said conversationally. She’d expected some sort of FBI logo, but instead he had u? emblazoned across his chest. She never would have pegged him for a fan.

He didn’t even look at her. “Are you stalking me, Kepler?”

“What makes you think that?”

She focused on matching his pace. She was in terrific shape, but his legs were much longer than hers.

“Four voice-mail messages in two days. Followed by an e-mail.” He shot her a glare.

“And your point is?” She tried not to look too proud of herself. Tracking down the personal e-mail of an FBI agent had been an interesting challenge, and she’d relished every minute of it. Never in a million years would she tell him how she’d done it, though. She’d probably broken a few laws.

“How’d you know I’d be here?”

That
part she could tell. “I went by your motel. Ran into Nick in the parking lot, and he mentioned you’d been coming here in the evenings.”

Rowe’s jaw tightened at this news. She couldn’t tell whether he was pissed she’d tracked down his whereabouts or pissed she was now on a first-name basis with his partner. Either way, she’d accomplished her goal. Her primary source was stonewalling her, and she intended to chip away at his indifference until she got information.

For several minutes they ran in silence, arms and legs pumping, breath huffing out in unison. Rowe gradually stepped up the pace until the jogging was a distant memory and they were engaged in a flat-out race. Kate wolfed down air and pressed to keep up. He had the legs, yes, and the stamina, but she had the spring of youth in her step. If he thought he could beat her, he was mistaken.

“Hang on.” He came to an abrupt stop by a water fountain and snagged her T-shirt.

She whirled to face him, pressing her hands against the small of her back as she sucked down air. Her skin was soaked. It had to be ninety degrees out.

“You need water,” he said.

She bent over and blotted her face with the tail of her shirt. “
We
need water,” she corrected, trying not to wheeze.

“Ladies first.”

She took a turn at the fountain. The water felt wonderful on her parched throat, and she dipped her forehead into the cool stream.

When she straightened, he was watching her.

“You ever run track?” He took a long drink.

“Four years in high school. Now I just do it for fun.”

He nodded.

A woman approached the fountain with a jogging stroller, and Kate and Rowe stepped aside. Kate’s breathing was under control, but it felt like lava was pumping through her veins. She’d probably overdone it with that last burst of speed.

Rowe watched her, his face inscrutable. “You don’t go away, do you?”

She shielded her eyes from the evening sun and squinted at him. “No.”

He muttered something and looked away. “What is it you want?”

“You promised me IDs on the Public Storage guys.”

“I said I’d try.”

“Did you get them?”

“The Bureau doesn’t like to share information with the media in an ongoing criminal investigation.”

“That’s bullshit. You guys use the media all the time, especially when it comes time to make an important arrest. We’re your PR department.”

He didn’t respond.

“Besides,” she continued, “you wouldn’t even have that tape if it weren’t for me. Come on. Who are they?”

“People you don’t want to know.” He blew out a breath. “You need to stay away from this and let investigators handle it.”

“Oh, really? And how are you handling it?”

“That’s not your concern.”

“You must have a plan.”

“What? You think I’m going to tell you?”

“At least give me a hint. Otherwise I’ll have to keep stalking you.”

He looked her up and down, his expression sour.

“Pretty please?” She smiled sweetly and tried to activate her dimple.

“Something’s happening Thursday,” he finally told her. “That’s all you’re getting.”

Score. The dimple always worked. “What kind of something? A sting operation?”

She caught a flare of irritation in his eyes, which she took to mean she’d guessed right.

“I can’t say. But cool your jets until Friday morning, and I’ll call you with an update.”

An exclusive. This was going to be good. “Call me Thursday night. That way I’ve got it in before pressrun.”

“We’ll see.” He glanced at his watch. “That’s it for right now. You need a ride home?”

She was being dismissed. But at least she’d made progress. Now she had a tip and a time frame. If she tracked him down Thursday, she might even be able to get an eyewitness account of whatever happened.

“I’m parked over there.” She nodded toward the gravel parking lot nearby. “Thanks for the help. I’ll be waiting for your call.”

She gave him a little wave and jogged off.

John lay in Celie’s bed feeling physically spent, but completely restless.

He listened to her slow, steady breathing. For hours now, she’d been sound asleep, her arm draped over his chest, her naked body nestled alongside him. Every time she shifted, her breast pressed against his rib cage. He looked down at her. She was soft, she was beautiful, she was the sweetest woman he’d ever been with.

And he had no idea what the hell he was doing here.

He’d talked his way into her bed, and now here he was, feeling like shit. He couldn’t explain it, but something was off. His instincts were buzzing, and he knew he should be listening to them.

Celie sighed heavily and tugged the sheet up. He used the opportunity to ease away from her and slip out of bed. Soundlessly, he crept from the room.

Her apartment was silent except for the faint hum of the air-conditioning. John smelled garlic from the bag of leftovers they’d brought home from the Italian restaurant, the bag they’d neglected to refrigerate, he realized now, because as soon as they’d walked in the door, he’d pulled Celie into the bedroom to show her all the things he’d had on his mind during dinner.

He picked up the bag from the coffee table and deposited it in the fridge. She had a woman’s fridge, filled with fat-free yogurt and salad stuff and diet soda. He had no idea why she was on a diet—he thought she looked hot—but he’d spent enough time around women to know it was pointless to try to talk them out of shit like that.

John snagged a bottle of water from the fridge, twisted off the cap, and downed it in two long gulps. He stood in front of the kitchen window for a moment, staring at the dark greenbelt below. Then he retraced his steps across the living room and hallway, pausing beside the bathroom door. A seashell nightlight glowed next to the mirror. He stepped up to the sink, leaned his palms on the counter, and stared at his shadowy reflection.

He was such a dick. He’d made it his mission in life to get her to trust him, and, now that she had, he was ready to bolt.

“Damn,” he muttered, turning on the faucet. He splashed water on his face and glared up at himself. What was his problem?

For a few minutes, he just stood there, letting ugly, suspicious thoughts rattle around in his brain as he studied his reflection. And then he realized his problem—
he
didn’t trust
her.
Shaking his head in disgust, he gave into temptation and pulled back the mirrored door.

The contents of Celie’s medicine cabinet stared back at him.