Authors: Laura Griffin
Tags: #Romance, #Mystery, #Suspense, #Thriller, #Contemporary
One Wrong Step (6 page)
She glanced at his hand but didn’t take it. “How’d you find me here?”
“I talked to your roommate.”
“How’d you get my address?”
“I talked to your editor.”
She slid behind the wheel, muttering something about the Patriot Act. When she started the engine, Rowe’s easygoing mood disappeared.
“I’m in a hurry,” she said. “You’ll have to make it quick.”
He didn’t
have
to make it anything, but he decided to use finesse instead of force. “This shouldn’t take long. How ’bout I buy you a cup of coffee?”
She squinted at him, as if deciding what to do. What was it with this girl? Most people—the innocent ones, at least—jumped at the chance to be interviewed by a federal agent. It made them feel important. Kate Kepler was different for some reason, and Rowe wanted to know why.
“There’s a Java Stop on Twelfth and Lamar,” she said. “It’s mostly joggers and cyclists, though. You’ll be the only suit.”
He shrugged. “I don’t mind.” Actually, he did mind. Wearing a coat and tie every day was one aspect of his job he’d never liked. Typically he dressed down on weekends, but he’d been to mass earlier.
“You know how to get there from here?” she asked.
“No, but I have a feeling you do.”
“Follow me.” She put her car in gear. “And I’m not kidding, I only have a few minutes.”
5
C
elie stood in the Bluebonnet House kitchen and dumped a giant envelope of orange Tang into about four gallons of tap water. She felt a tug on her dress and looked down into a pair of glistening blue eyes.
“Miss Celie?” Three-year-old Kimmy Taylor’s cheeks were wet with tears.
Celie scooped the little girl up onto her hip. “What is it, sweetheart?” She braced herself for what might come out of the child’s mouth. Given Kimmy’s background, the possibilities were daunting.
“Miss Celie, why’d we have to kill all the eggs?”
“The eggs?”
Kimmy toyed with the tiny white buttons on the front of Celie’s dress. “The
Easter
eggs,” she said. “Why did Miss Chantal and everybody kill ’em yesterday?”
Kill them…?
“You mean
dye
them? Why did we
dye
them yesterday?”
Kimmy nodded sadly, and Celie gave her a hug.
“Oh, sweetheart, dyeing the eggs is like painting them. We didn’t hurt the eggs. We just made them pretty colors, that’s all. After a while we’ll have the egg hunt!”
Kimmy frowned. Clearly, the concept of an Easter egg hunt was foreign to her.
“But first, we’re having cupcakes!” Celie pointed with false enthusiasm to several large boxes from the grocery store.
Kimmy’s face perked up. “Can I have pink?”
“I think we can manage that.” Celie kissed her soft brown hair, and couldn’t resist inhaling the wonderful scent of baby shampoo. When Kimmy had first arrived at the Bluebonnet House last week, she’d smelled like urine and cigarette smoke.
Celie set Kimmy back on her feet. “You want to help me serve the juice?”
Kimmy nodded gamely.
“All right then. I’ll carry the cooler, and you can get the paper cups, okay?”
She followed Celie into the backyard, where several long picnic tables had been set up with paper napkins and plates. Chantal, the center’s slender, uber-efficient director, was placing a cupcake at each place. Like Celie, she had forgone the typical Bluebonnet House uniform of T-shirt and jeans today. Instead, she wore a sleeveless orange tunic and flowy orange pants that showed off her dark complexion. Her boyishly short haircut was contradicted by a pair of bronze chandelier earrings. Spotting Celie, she cleared a space for the cooler at the end of one table.
“We don’t have enough cupcakes,” she observed.
“I’ve got more in the kitchen,” Celie said. “And more plates, too.”
Thank goodness she’d thought to bring extras. Word of the party had spread, apparently, and a number of families Celie hadn’t seen in months had materialized out of nowhere. Now the playground was overcrowded, and Chantal was short a few Easter baskets. On the upside, many of the kids and their mothers looked healthier than when they’d last visited the center.
Kimmy plopped the stack of cups on the table and ran off to play in the sandbox. Celie watched her go, her heart aching just a little. Celie had taken Easter mornings for granted growing up. The holiday always meant new dresses for Celie and her sisters and festive egg hunts in her grandparents’ backyard after church. Easter was a happy time. Celie’s entire childhood had been happy, really.
It was adulthood that had thrown her for a loop.
Tom Gilligan sidled up next to her. The minister had changed out of the robes he’d worn for the prayer service into khakis and a golf shirt. “Nice turnout,” he said.
“Looks like.” Celie gave him a warm smile. Tom represented one of the many local churches that contributed to the center’s operating budget. “I can’t believe all these children. We’ve got at least three dozen.”
“Thirty-eight,” Tom said. “I bet you all can’t wait for the new rec room. When will it be done?”
“Last I heard, end of summer.” At least the crew didn’t work Sundays. Celie’s throbbing head couldn’t have withstood any hammering today.
“I’d better go help Chantal bring out more food.” Celie turned toward the house and nearly collided with her boss.
Who did
not
look happy.
John McAllister trailed behind her looking perfectly at ease in gym shorts and basketball shoes.
Shoot.
An uninvited, unregistered visitor. An uninvited, unregistered
male
visitor, whose presence would explain the just-ate-a-lemon expression on Chantal’s face.
Celie’s gaze skimmed over McAllister’s tan, muscular legs, the pecs bulging beneath his T-shirt. She saw his mouth quirk up at the corner and realized he’d noticed her checking him out.
“Hey, there.” He strolled up and kissed her—right on the lips, right in front of Tom and Chantal and thirty-eight kids.
“Uh, Chantal.” Celie forced a smile. “I’d like you to meet John McAllister. A friend of mine.”
“We met inside,” she said coolly. “You didn’t tell me you’d invited a guest today.”
“Sorry. I forgot to mention it.”
Tom cleared his throat.
“Oh, and this is Tom Gilligan. Our minister. Well, not ours, exactly, but sort of—”
“Nice to meet you,” McAllister said, shaking Tom’s hand. Then he turned to Celie. “Looks like you’re on your way in. Need a hand with anything?”
“Yes, thank you.”
She led him inside and pulled him into the hallway leading to the administrative offices. “
What
are you doing here?”
A grin spread across his face. “You don’t remember inviting me, do you?”
“I didn’t invite you.”
“Remember?” He leaned closer, flattening his palm against the cinder-block wall behind her. “Back at your apartment? Right before you kissed me good night?”
She’d
kissed
him? God, she had no memory of that. Or of inviting him to the Easter party. Of course, everything after that third margarita was kind of a blur.
“How’d you get in, anyway?” she asked. The Bluebonnet House was surrounded by an eight-foot security fence, and the only entrance was through the electronically locked front door.
“I told Janice you asked me to come.” He smiled. “She buzzed me right in.”
Of course. The college senior working reception today would have been starry-eyed at the sight of him.
With the tip of his finger, he brushed her ponytail off her shoulder. “I like this dress you’re wearing. You didn’t tell me this was formal. Fact, I distinctly remember you telling me to bring my Nikes. I’m supposed to shoot hoops with someone named Enrique?”
Celie closed her eyes, remembering now. Vaguely. God, why did she ever drink tequila?
She opened her eyes, and McAllister was still staring at her, clearly enjoying her discomfort. He trailed a finger along the neckline of her dress, which scooped low in the front. Celie had always thought the long skirt and tiny floral print made it look demure, but McAllister obviously didn’t.
And that thing he was doing with his finger was making her skin tingle.
“Miss Celie?”
She jumped, bumping his chin with her forehead.
Kimmy stood in the hallway, grinning and holding an empty Easter basket. “Look what Miss Chantal gave me! She said I can put candy in it!”
“That’s pretty, sweetheart.” Celie pressed her back against the wall, wishing McAllister weren’t standing so close. “You go on outside now, okay? It’s almost time for cupcakes.”
Kimmy smiled and skipped off, swinging her basket beside her.
Celie took McAllister’s hand and dragged him into her office. It was barely larger than a broom closet, but it was out of the traffic pattern. She flipped on the light switch and crossed the tiny room so they were separated by the cheap metal desk.
He wandered over to the file cabinet and picked up a framed photograph of Feenie holding Olivia. “This your office?”
“Yes.” She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry I didn’t remember inviting you. I think I had too much to drink last night.”
“Ya
think
?” He was laughing at her now, and she felt her cheeks flush.
“I apologize. I don’t usually have three margaritas in one evening.”
He crossed to the window beside her desk and peered through the dusty miniblinds. “Four.”
“What?”
He pulled the blind cord, and the room suddenly dimmed. Then he turned around. “You had four.” He took a step toward her, and her stomach tightened.
“Why did you do that?”
The corner of his mouth curved. “Why do you think?”
He edged closer, and her heart started to race. She stepped back, bumping the desk and plunking her bottom onto it. He gazed down at her with that look she recognized, the one she’d seen on his face the night of Feenie’s wedding.
“What are you doing?”
“What I wanted to do last night.” His voice was low and intimate, as if they were in a bedroom together instead of an office.
“We can’t do that here.”
He glided his hands up her bare arms and laced his fingers together behind her neck. “Why not?”
She was eye level with his chest, and she tried not to think about how good it looked as she floundered for a reason. She tipped her head back and looked up at him. “Someone might walk in.”
“I locked the door.”
She glanced frantically over her shoulder and saw that the door was indeed locked, the little thumb latch in the horizontal position.
“Still, we can’t.”
Instead of backing off, he eased closer, nudging her knees apart with his body.
“McAllister—”
He kissed her, slowly, sending a sharp thrill right through her, straight down to her toes. Angling her head slightly, he parted her lips and licked into her mouth, and before she knew it she was kissing him back with every cell in her man-deprived, frustrated little body. His hands moved down to circle her waist, and she felt their warmth through the fabric of her dress. His thumbs rubbed over her hip bones, and she started to feel intoxicated, like she’d been last night, only much, much better. He was way too good at this, and that fact alone should have been a wake-up call, but it wasn’t.
Suddenly she felt a whisper of cool air and his palm sliding over her knee.
That
was a wake-up call.
“We can’t,” she said, pushing her hem down.
His mouth moved to her temple as his fingers slid up her thigh. “You’re not seeing someone else, are you?”
“What? No, but—”
He kissed her neck, just below her ear. “And you’re attracted to me, right?”
She held on to his shoulders, trying to catch her breath as his lips moved against her skin. This situation was wrong. And inappropriate. It was wrongly inappropriate. Her ex-husband had just died; she was coming off an IVF cycle; and here she was, at her
workplace,
making out with the very last person who would ever be interested in the things she wanted in her life. Babies. Parenthood. Responsibility for another human being.
McAllister was interested in getting laid and getting a scoop, period.
His teeth nipped her. “Don’t lie, honey. I know you are.”
“I am, but we can’t just—”
He kissed her mouth again, and in a fit of bad judgment, she let herself enjoy it. His kisses were like him—leisurely and confident and persuasive, all at the same time. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him closer.
A knock sounded at the door. “Cecelia?”
Chantal!
Celie gave McAllister a firm shove and hopped off the desk. She whirled toward the door, which was shut, thank heaven. “Yes?”
“We need your help outside.” Her boss’s voice oozed disapproval. “We’re about to start the egg hunt.”
“I’ll be right there!” She shot McAllister a glare.
Sighing, he leaned a shoulder against the wall and crossed his arms. He watched her adjust her dress and smooth her hair. Then she scurried for the door, but he didn’t move to follow her.
“Are you coming?” she asked. “Or was the basketball thing just a ploy?”
He shook his head. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that. You invited
me,
remember? Hell, I even wore my basketball shoes.”
“Good. You’re going to need them.”
“I doubt it.”
She popped the lock and yanked the door open, motioning for him to lead the way out.
“You might be surprised.” She checked her dress again and tried to sound normal, like someone who hadn’t nearly had sex on her desk. “Enrique’s got a pretty good game.”
McAllister paused in the doorway and gave her ponytail a tug. “I’m starting to think the only one with any game around here is you.”
6
K
ate emptied another sugar packet into her latte and concentrated on stirring so she wouldn’t have to look at the agent.
“You want some coffee with that?” Rowe asked.
Kate looked up, not acknowledging his lame attempt at humor. She stared at him, smileless, wanting to see if he’d squirm.
He didn’t. Instead, he reached over and grabbed another tray of sweeteners from a neighboring table. He pushed them toward her, and she gave in to the childish urge to add a
third
packet of sugar to her coffee, successfully ruining it.
Why did she do this? All her life she’d had problems with authority, so she acted out whenever anyone older tried to tell her what to do.
She sipped her coffee, trying not to gag. Rowe grinned suddenly, and Kate had to look away.
“So, why didn’t you return my calls?” he asked.
“I’ve been busy.”
He raised his eyebrows, clearly waiting for more.
“I’m new on the paper,” she elaborated. “So I’m stuck covering weekends twice a month. It got pretty hectic yesterday.”
“Low man on the totem pole, huh? How old are you, exactly?”
She stiffened. “What does that matter?”
“It doesn’t, really. I’m just curious.” He smiled, and the skin gathered at the corners of his gray eyes. He had nice eyes, but only when he smiled. The rest of the time they looked icy. “Hey, come on. You’re too young to get offended by that question.”
She crossed her arms. “How old do you think I am?”
His gaze dropped, and she couldn’t tell whether he was reading her T-shirt logo for clues or trying to guess her bra size.
“Thirty-two B,” she told him.
His lifted his gaze, and a flush crept up his neck. She’d embarrassed him. Good. Now she had the upper hand.
“I’m twenty-four,” she said, taking pity on him for some reason. “How about you?”
He cleared his throat. “Thirty-eight.”
She took another sip of the ruined coffee and glanced at her watch, hoping he’d get the hint.
“I spoke to Officer Poole. He says you told him you came upon the accident on the way back from a party.”
“It was a campaign event. I was on assignment.”
“And you just happened to drive past this wreck? You weren’t responding to the police scanner?”
She recited the details of the incident and was relieved when he didn’t ask her the same questions over and over like Officer Skoal had.
Rowe leaned back in his chair. He hadn’t interrupted her, just jotted down a few notes about the truck.
“Did it strike you as odd that the Explorer’s passenger’s-side door was open?” he asked.
She felt flattered he wanted her opinion, but then wondered if that was just a tactic he used to make people loosen up.
“Yes,” she said. “Especially since the driver was unconscious when I got there.”
He nodded. “Seems to me like someone else opened the door, maybe to get out? Or maybe to retrieve something? Think back to those two guys. Can you remember anyone holding something or tossing something in the truck bed right before the door slammed?”
Kate closed her eyes, trying to replay the scene. “I don’t remember that. But I really only got a brief look.” She opened her eyes, and he was watching her closely. “Sorry.”
Rowe drummed his fingers on the table and looked off into the distance. Obviously this mystery truck was important to him, and Kate wished she’d noticed more about it.
“So, you think there was foul play involved?”
His gaze veered back to her, and she waited for him to say something evasive.
“Looks that way,” he said. “As of this morning, it’s a homicide investigation.”
Wow, candor. Kate decided to push her luck. “What do you have besides the mystery car and the open door?”
He hesitated a beat, watching her. “A number of things. Like skid marks up the road indicating the Explorer was involved in a high-speed chase just before it crashed into the cliff. After that, it’s possible someone opened the door and took something from the vehicle.”
“Someone like one of those guys I saw?”
He nodded.
She leaned forward on her elbows. “What did they take?”
He smiled slightly, and she knew she wasn’t going to get anything else, at least not right now. She’d have to hit him up later. Maybe she could catch him off guard somehow.
“I appreciate your time today, Miss Kepler.” He pulled out a business card and scribbled a number on the back before handing it to her. She noticed the San Antonio area code. “Here’s my cell number. I’m staying at La Quinta downtown, but I’m never there, so that number’s the best way to reach me. Call me if you think of anything else.”
“You’re from San Antonio?”
“I’m part of a joint task force operating out of there, yes.”
“Investigating…?” McAllister had filled Kate in on Robert Strickland’s fugitive status and his connection to the Saledo cartel, so Kate had some idea what this was about. But she wanted to hear what Rowe would say.
“Lots of things,” he replied. “That’s why there’re multiple agencies involved.”
Okay, so he wanted to be vague. Maybe she should track down Officer Skoal and see if he’d gotten a clue yet.
Rowe’s cell phone buzzed, and he dug it out of his pocket. “Rowe,” he snapped.
Kate looked him over as he took the call. He must be sweltering in that navy suit. She wondered if he always dressed like this on weekends, or if he’d specifically worn it for her. He probably thought it made him look official. Intimidating, even. Plus, it gave him plenty of room to hide his holster.
Kate hated guns. She hated feds, too, but this one had been okay so far.
And he was in decent shape for a thirty-eight-year-old. His wide shoulders strained the fabric of his jacket, and instead of the predictable middle-aged paunch, his abs looked flat beneath his starched white shirt.
“When?” He flicked a gaze at her and checked his watch. “Okay, thanks.” He shut his phone, and his eyes were cool again. “I need to go.”
“I should get going, too.” Kate shoved his business card in her pocket, right next to the list of maintenance recommendations from the lube shop. The ones she’d never use. “If I remember anything else, I’ll get in touch.”
Celie rode in McAllister’s Jeep with the wind whipping around her face.
“This the one?” he asked, as they neared a roadside storage facility.
“A few more miles,” she said. “It’ll be on the right.”
Her voice sounded calm, which was unbelievable considering how rattled she felt. She’d been a bundle of nerves ever since McAllister had shown up at the Bluebonnet House. And that had merely been the first big surprise of the day.
The second big surprise had been the party’s success. McAllister, it turned out, was better than a bunny cake. The kids loved him, especially after he got a game of basketball together and coached them on their free throws. He even won over Enrique Ramos, a scrawny eleven-year-old who frequented the shelter and carried a boulder-size chip around on his shoulder. Enrique tended to be sullen and belligerent, and didn’t play well with others. But McAllister had overcome his attitude by treating him like an equal and not letting him win at basketball just because he was a kid.
Enrique would never acknowledge it, but Celie could tell it meant something to him to be treated with respect by a grown man.
“Thanks for coming,” she said earnestly. “Everyone loved you.”
McAllister shot her a look. “Not everyone.”
He was referring to Chantal, who’d pointedly ignored him for three hours.
“Don’t mind Chantal. She’s like that with everyone.”
“She’s like that with
men,
” he corrected. “It was pretty obvious. She even gave the minister the cold shoulder.”
It was a fair assessment, so Celie didn’t argue. But Chantal was an excellent advocate for abused women and children, and she ran a quality program, particularly considering that all their funding came from churches and private donations instead of government subsidies.
“It’s right up here,” Celie said, pointing to an orange Public Storage facility just up the road. They were here to deal with the third surprise of Celie’s day: someone had vandalized her storage unit during the night. The manager had called Celie’s cell phone and asked her to come by to fill out a report, and Celie had had to ask McAllister to take a detour on the way home. First thing tomorrow, Celie needed to talk to her insurance company about a loaner car.
McAllister pulled off the highway into the minuscule parking lot. He slid into a space beside a police cruiser.
“So, you talk to Agent Rowe this morning?” he asked.
Uh-oh. “No. Why?”
He cleared his throat. “I heard from one of my coworkers. She told me they’re investigating Robert’s death as a homicide.”
A
homicide
? “But…I thought he died from head trauma….”
“They think he was run off the road,” McAllister said. “And that whoever did it took something from his car.”
Celie stared at him.
“Now they’re looking for the truck that was seen fleeing the scene.”
“What truck?” Why hadn’t the FBI told her all this? What else was going on that she didn’t know about?
“You read the news brief we ran yesterday?” he asked.
“No.”
“Our reporter saw a dark-colored pickup leaving the scene. She also noticed the door to your Explorer was open, even though Robert was unconscious.”
Celie shoved open the door and got out of the Jeep. She turned her back on the Public Storage office and walked down the shoulder of the road a little ways, until she got to a wire fence separating the highway from a cow pasture. McAllister’s footsteps crunched on the gravel behind her. He stopped beside her but didn’t say anything.
She looked out over the landscape, blinking back tears.
Robert was dead. Murdered. He’d be buried this week, and his family didn’t even want Celie coming to the funeral. She hadn’t realized it before now, but, in the back of her mind, she’d always thought she and Robert would have a chance to forgive each other. Not to reconcile, but to at least put all the ugliness behind them.
She couldn’t think about it. It was just too awful. And she did
not
want to unravel right here in front of McAllister. She could do that later, at home, far away from the prying eyes of reporters and investigators and anyone else who might be watching her.
She forced herself to turn around and walk back toward the rental office.
“I really appreciate this,” she said over her shoulder. “You don’t have to come in or anything. I just need to talk to the manager and check out my unit.”
Celie hoped he wouldn’t come in. She had a terrible, sinking feeling about this whole situation, and she didn’t want McAllister standing around picking up on her uneasiness.
To her dismay, he followed her to the office, reaching past her to open the glass door. She was hit by a wall of frigid air as she stepped inside.
“Hi, I’m Cecelia Wells,” she told the attendant, a teenager who had numerous tattoos and a shaved head. “I got a call about a problem with my unit? Two-twenty-nine?”
The kid nodded toward the lot. “Just go on back,” he said. “The manager’s out there now with the cop. Looks like your unit was the only one with any trouble.”
John caught Celie’s arm as she walked down the sidewalk and turned her to face him. “What the hell’s going on, Celie?”
She looked up at him and bit her lip. “I don’t know,” she said, obviously lying.
He took a deep breath and tried to reign in his temper. “You know, you’re a terrible liar.”
“I don’t
know,
okay?” She tugged her arm away and started back down the sidewalk.
“
Wait,
” he said to her back. “We need to talk. We can do it here or in front of the cop. Your pick.”
She turned back around. “I really don’t know what happened. But if I had to guess, I’d say this isn’t some random act of vandalism.”
“No shit.”
Her cheeks flushed. “Look, if you’re going to be crude—”
“Sorry,” he said. “But I’m getting a little pissed off here. Your ex was involved with some very dangerous people. I’m concerned about you, and I can tell you’re not being straight with me.”
She gazed up at him, that worry line appearing between her brows. She was scared, and for this woman to be scared did funny things to his heart.
“Someone lifted a business card from my wallet,” she said. “It was a Public Storage card with little blanks on the back for my gate code and unit number. I’d filled the blanks in so I wouldn’t forget. I think Robert took it.”
“Celie, listen to me. Do you know why I moved to Austin?”
She rolled her eyes. “You got a better job?”
“That wasn’t the only reason. I came up here to get away from all the shit going on down at the border.” John could still see Pamela Price lying in a pool of blood in her own driveway.
“Look,” he told Celie. “I know you’re familiar with some of the shit Robert was involved with, but you have to believe me when I tell you it can get much,
much
worse. You can
not
get mixed up with these people. You have no idea how low these guys will go—”
“Oh, no?” She stepped back. “Well, that’s where you’re wrong. And if you think I
want
to be involved in any of this, you’re wrong about that, too. Now, do you mind? I need to go talk to the police and find out what happened.”
Goddamn it, she was walking away again. And he hadn’t gotten through to her. He followed her across the lot, deciding the least he could do was to eavesdrop and possibly learn something.
A uniformed officer and a middle-aged woman with frizzy brown hair—presumably the manager—were standing at the end of a row next to an open unit. Celie introduced herself.
“We’re sure sorry about this,” the manager said.
“When did it happen?” Celie asked.
“The computer says your gate code was used real early Saturday morning, right when we opened for business. No one noticed anything funny until this afternoon, though. One of our tenants reported your door was up a couple inches. You think you left it open?”