She Can Kill (She Can Series) (7 page)

Sean leaned forward, his interest peaked. “Has Rojas made any moves on her?”

“Not that I know of. Seems to keep his distance from her and everyone else except his daughter.”

“What are you going to do about him?”

Mike shook his head. “I don’t know. He hasn’t done anything wrong.”

“Not yet.”

“I have no reason to think he will.” Mike suspected Rojas was hiding something, but he knew the man had put his life on the line this afternoon to protect innocents. In Mike’s world, that meant something. But his senses were telling him that Rojas was keeping secrets. Important secrets. To keep his town safe, Mike wanted to know if there was anything dangerous in the man’s past. “He saved four lives today, and we’re treating him like
he’s
the criminal. That’s just wrong, Sean.”

Sean’s vision of right and wrong was a blurred gray line. “So, you’re just going to let the whole thing go?”

“Not exactly. I have a plan.”

Sean tilted his head. “Tell me more.”

CHAPTER NINE

Headlights swept across the living room as the Mercedes pulled into the driveway. Curled on the sofa next to Sarah, Bandit raised his head. A low growl rumbled from his throat.

“Shh.” She set her novel on the coffee table and put a hand on his muzzle. “Don’t wake the girls.”

She carried the dog to the door and peered through the peephole. Cristan stood on the stoop. She opened the door and moved back to let him in. Bandit’s tail swept in a frenzied arc. As cool as Cristan acted with adults, he’d neatly charmed her children and dog.

“I’m sorry it’s so late.” Cristan stepped across the threshold, one hand reaching out to stroke the dog’s head.

“It’s fine. Lucia fell asleep on Alex’s trundle.” Sarah lowered the dog to the floor. Her eyes swept over Cristan. His clothes were fresh and his hair damp, as if he’d just showered. But she saw no injuries. “I saw the robbery on the news. You disarmed two gunmen.”

Cristan grimaced. “I surprised them.”

“I’ll bet.” Sarah studied his face. The coolness he’d shown her earlier this evening seemed to have evaporated. She knew he was in his late thirties, but the fit cut of his body usually made him appear younger. Not tonight, though. Lines seemed to have cropped up on his face in a matter of hours. According to the news report, he’d saved several people in the robbery, including one of Sarah’s neighbors and her little girl. He’d escaped physical injury, but his heroic act had obviously cost him.

“You look exhausted. Have you eaten?”

“No.” He opened his mouth to decline any offer.

She didn’t give him the chance. “Let me heat something up for you.” She turned and walked toward the kitchen. He stood in the doorway for a few seconds, and she wondered if he was going to follow her or simply take his daughter and leave. But he closed and locked the front door and then followed her into the kitchen. He draped his coat over the short back of a stool, sat, and leaned his forearms on the counter.

Sarah went to the refrigerator. “I have some leftover pasta.”

“Thank you. I’m suddenly very hungry.”

“I imagine you are. It’s after eleven.” She heated the container in the microwave and then scooped the hot pasta and vegetables into a bowl. “I’m sorry there’s no meat. The girls like simple food.”

“I’m sure it’ll be wonderful.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” She shaved some fresh Parmesan onto the pasta and wiped the edges of the bowl before setting the dish in front of him.

“No.”

Not a surprise.

He picked up his fork and froze. “Did the news show a video?”

“They did.” Though she’d always sensed he was capable of violence, the speed and efficiency of his response had shocked her.

“How clear was the video?” he asked.

“It was pretty grainy. I could only tell it was you because I know you.”

“The whole town will know it was me by morning.”

“That would have happened with or without a video. It’s hard to keep a secret in this town.”

“This is true. My face was blurry?” At her nod, he dug his fork into the pasta.

Sarah filled a glass with water and set it at his elbow, then busied herself washing the container, giving Cristan time to eat in peace. He ate with efficiency then pushed the bowl away, and Sarah was pleased to see he didn’t look quite as spent. She expected him to dine and dash, but he lingered.

“Can I make you some coffee?” she asked over her shoulder as she dried the container with a dishcloth.

“No.” He got up and brought his bowl to the sink. Leaning over her shoulder, he set down the bowl and glass. His arm brushed hers, and his breath drifted over her cheek.

“Thank you, Sarah.” His simple statement overflowed with emotion.

Goose bumps rose on her arms. Had they ever been alone? Usually, all three children were underfoot when he dropped Lucia off or when they saw each other at her sister’s farm, where he kept horses. But now, with the house quiet and dark, her small kitchen made this meeting feel intimate. Though an inch of space separated them, she could feel sadness and tension radiating from his body.

She turned, slowly, and looked up into his dark eyes. Something lurked there. Something she knew well. Loneliness. He tried to act aloof, but she could see the truth in his eyes. The longing. Did he crave her or simple human contact? It didn’t matter, she decided. Not tonight.

She wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him. At first he stiffened, then a sigh eased out of his chest. His arms came around her shoulders, and he rested his cheek on the top of her head. She leaned her cheek against his shoulder. Whatever soap he’d used smelled like fir trees.

They stood, unmoving, for several minutes before he eased his head back. The shadows in his eyes had retreated.

“I would have frozen if someone pointed a gun at me,” Sarah said. “But I suppose you weren’t frightened if you were able to disarm two gunmen.”

“I didn’t have time to think in the moment, but afterward, there was plenty of fear.” He exhaled. “Those men could have made Lucia an orphan. She doesn’t deserve to lose another parent. That could have happened today.”

Thinking about the possibility, Sarah tightened her hold around his waist. “Is Mike looking for the robbers?”

“The police are searching, but finding them is a remote possi
bility. Their faces were mostly covered, and they wore gloves. There is the possibility of identification through DNA analysis. Perhaps
they are in a police database. I doubt this was their first crime.”

“Mike will do his best.”

“They could be many miles away from here by now.”

“Let’s hope.”

His gaze dropped to her lips, and he brushed a knuckle across her cheek. “Thank you.”

She nodded, not trusting her voice. For an instant, she’d thought he was going to kiss her. She’d wanted him to, even as she knew it was a bad idea. She’d only wanted to comfort him, but the intimate spark had gone both ways. Since she’d left Troy, she’d been focused on her girls and her job. Being alone had been a relief, and she hadn’t been looking for male companionship. Physical intimacy hadn’t been a consideration. But pressed against his hard body, breathing in the winter forest scent of him, she felt the first stirrings of need—and craved more.

A warning bell sounded in her mind. This craving had the potential to become addictive.

Her phone vibrated on the counter, and she instinctively stiffened. Only one person would call her this late at night. She moved farther away from Cristan and picked up the phone to read the display. This time Troy didn’t bother to hide his identity.

Cristan tilted his head. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“I don’t believe you,” he said. “But you’ve been an angel to me this evening, so I won’t press you. If you need anything, day or night, I’m only a phone call away.”

“I need to handle this on my own.”

“And I applaud your determination, but the offer stands.” Cristan reached out and cupped her jaw. His thumb brushed her cheek, and Sarah couldn’t help but turn into his touch. “Don’t take any risks to save your pride.”

“I won’t.”

He dropped his hand. “I should go. Thank you for looking after my daughter tonight. I do not trust many people with her.”

“You’re welcome. Let me wake her.” Sarah went into the girls’ bedroom. Lucia was curled on her side on the trundle bed. She put a hand on the girl’s shoulder, gave her a gentle shake, and whispered, “Your dad’s here.”

Lucia’s eyes widened. Rising, she swung her legs off the bed and hurried from the room. Without speaking she walked into her father’s arms. The sight of them embracing pulled at Sarah’s heart. Lucia had acted bravely when she’d learned about the robbery, but the news had shaken her. If something did happen to Cristan, where would Lucia go? They must have family somewhere.

Cristan hugged his daughter tightly, then held her by the shoulders. “Let’s go home.”

He helped Lucia into her coat and herded her out the door.

Sarah locked up behind them and reset her alarm. That was how a real father acted. Kind, caring, and selfless, Cristan was the opposite of Troy. He was the sort of man she should have married.

She walked through the house turning off lights. Grabbing her phone in the kitchen, she sighed. Troy had sent her a message. She pressed it with her thumb.

WHO IS HE?

How did Troy know Cristan was here? Sarah did a quick run through the house. She’d closed the blinds in the living room. But mature trees in the small backyard provided privacy from her rear neighbor, and she usually didn’t bother to close the blinds. She twirled the lever and the slats swiveled shut. With no view, her tiny kitchen became claustrophobic.

Troy was winning. He’d made her a prisoner in her own house.

CHAPTER TEN

Cristan pulled into his driveway and drove up the hill toward his house. Built in the mid-1850s, the three-story colonial had been designed to withstand the elements. The solid stone construction would also perform well under the pressure of gunfire or fire. The house sat on the top of a hill with the slate patio in the rear overlooking a sloping, rocky yard and the Packman Creek. The waterway’s name was misleading. Wide and deep enough for boating, the Packman was more of a river than a creek. Fueled by snowmelt, the normally placid water flowed swiftly between its ice-edged banks. Three acres of cleared meadow encircled the home, and woods flanked the open space. The view had been pricey, but the surrounding fields provided Cristan with a clear view of the possible avenues of approach, and he’d had the powerful outboard in the boathouse recently tuned up. Now that the ice had melted, the river was once again an extra avenue of escape.

The motion sensor lights illuminated as he parked in front of the house, flooding the front lawn with enough light to rival a stadium. In the passenger seat, Lucia huddled over her backpack. She’d been quiet during the entire drive home. Occasionally, he wished his daughter didn’t speak nonstop for most of her waking hours, but tonight, the last ten minutes of silence had unnerved him.

He turned off the engine. “Are you all right with what happened today?”

Her fingers tightened around the straps of her pack. She nodded. “You could have been hurt.”

“But I wasn’t.”

“What would happen to me if you were?” She lifted her gaze from her hands. Behind the gleam of unshed tears, fear lingered.

For a few seconds, Cristan didn’t know how to respond. He’d made provisions for them both to run if necessary, but he trusted no one with his daughter—or the truth. In reality, Lucia had no one but him. His chest tightened when he thought of Lucia orphaned and all alone, like he had been. Would she fall prey to someone like Franco?

He swallowed. “The answer is, I don’t know. You don’t have any living family.” The lie stuck in his throat, but he forced it out.

Maria Vargas lived. But his goal was to keep Lucia away from the Vargas family, even the last remaining member. Was that selfish? Should he tell his daughter that she had an aunt who looked so much like her mother, that when Cristan did his quarterly check on her whereabouts and activity, his chest hurt when he opened the digital photo files?

No. He could never tell her.

He held his daughter’s gaze. “Nothing is going to happen to me. The incident today was a random occurrence. It won’t happen again.”

Lucia’s eyes brightened with anger. “You can’t make that promise. You could have a heart attack—” She choked on a sob. “You could be in a car accident like Mom.”

The thought of her mother’s death proved too much for her admirable control. Tears ran down her face. Cristan reached across the console and rubbed her arm. If they’d been in the house, he would have held her tight. But the console—and his lies—separated them. “I’m sorry I frightened you today.”

“It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong. Those men who robbed the store did.”

“I did the best I could under the circumstances. I always take care to be as safe as possible. I wouldn’t do anything reckless.”

“I know.” She nodded. “But it was a serious question. What
would happen to me if you died? I’d go to a foster home, wouldn’t I?”

For once, Cristan had no choice but to answer with the truth. “Yes.”

She was quiet. Her gaze drifted to the darkness beyond the
light-flooded front yard. Cristan had picked the house because of its
easily defended position and solid construction. Solitude was a ben
efit when you stored a cache of AK-47s in your basement. But seeing
the property from his daughter’s perspective made the house seem isolated and sad. They had a beautiful home. But they’d never
once
shared those views with others. Lucia occasionally had a friend to visit, but that was a relatively new occurrence, now that she had a few friends. Cristan had never hosted a dinner party or barbecue. For her birthday, they’d gone to dinner alone. She’d never even asked to have a party. Guilt weighed on him, but he hadn’t had many choices. Living like this was far better than being dead.

“I don’t want that.” She sniffed. “I always knew we were alone. But tonight made me
feel
alone. Really alone. I was scared. I’m still scared.”

“I’m sorry.” Cristan rubbed at the hollow ache in the center of his chest.

“There’s nothing you can do about it. You can’t give me family.” She wiped her cheeks with her hands. “Why didn’t you ever get married again? It’s been twelve years since Mom died. Don’t you get lonely?”

“I have you.” His entire world revolved around keeping her safe, but she didn’t know that. Had he done everything wrong? What would she do if he told her the truth now, after a lifetime of lies?

“You know what I mean.” Irritation sharpened her tone. “Was it because you couldn’t find anyone like Mom?”

“I will never be able to find anyone like your mother.” That he could say with complete honesty. Eva had been one of a kind. She’d been everything he’d wanted in a woman. As sexy and lively as Eva had been, she’d had blade-sharp edges Cristan couldn’t deny. Once, her callous nature hadn’t bothered him. They’d been two of a kind, but after their child was born, he’d changed, and he’d been perplexed when Eva hadn’t also wanted a new life. Now he wondered what would have become of their marriage if Eva had lived. He was no longer the same man. If he had talked her into running away, if he’d gotten her away from her family, would she have eventually gone through the same metamorphosis as he had? Or would her ruthlessness have divided them?

“You could try. I mean, you don’t even date.”

“I’ve never found anyone I wished to date.”

“What about Sarah?”

“Sarah?”

“Yeah. Sarah.” Lucia’s voice held a note of
isn’t it obvious?
“You like her, and she likes you. I can tell.”

“You think she likes me?” Cristan asked. He’d assumed the comfort she’d offered him had been a friendly gesture on her part. Sarah was warm and nurturing by nature. Had he been wrong? Did she feel the same tug in her heart that he did?

“Oh, yeah.” Lucia’s nod became emphatic. “Her face gets brighter, and she smiles whenever she sees you.”

The idea pleased him. “Sarah smiles at everyone.”

“I know,” Lucia said, her voice rising with interest. “You should take her out on a date.”

“A date?” Cristan laughed. But it wasn’t as if he hadn’t thought about the possibility in the lonely, dark hours when exhaustion weakened his control. “Sarah has just gotten a divorce. I doubt she’s ready to date.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” The knowing tone of her comment made his thirteen-year-old daughter sound much older. “She was married to a creep. She doesn’t miss him.”

Cristan homed in on her statement. “How do you know?”

“Today, when he was staring at her, he made my skin crawl.” Lucia gnawed on her thumbnail. “I think he’s crazy.”

“Why do you think that?” His daughter had good instincts, but he didn’t want Sarah’s ex-husband anywhere near his child. If he were back in his old life in Argentina, Cristan could have thought of many ways to ensure that Troy Mitchell never bothered Sarah again. But Cristan had sworn off violence. Since he’d left Argentina, he hadn’t raised so much as his voice.

Until today.

“She changes when he’s around or when he sends her a text or calls. Her body goes all tense. She gets jumpy. She tries to hide it, but she’s afraid of him. The girls are too.” Lucia dropped her hand to her lap. She cast him a sly glance. “If you married Sarah, she wouldn’t have to worry about him anymore, and you wouldn’t have to worry about me. It would be perfect.”

“You have it all figured out.” Cristan laughed. But his daughter was correct on one matter. If Sarah was his wife, she wouldn’t ever have to worry about Troy again. “Mr. Mitchell isn’t around when you babysit, right?”

Lucia shook her head. “No. Never.”

“Good. If he ever shows up, you call me immediately.” Cristan put his hand on the door handle. “Let’s go inside. It’s getting cold out here.”

He did not like sitting still, spotlighted in the dark like targets. From the woods, a sniper would have a clear shot at them. He drove around the side of the house and pushed the button on the visor. The garage was under the house. The second half of the subterranean space was basement. The floor plan provided a quick exit, if necessary. The door rolled up, and he parked inside next to a Range Rover. Leaving a vehicle in the open invited tampering and incendiary devices.

“OK, but promise me you’ll think about it.” Lucia got out of the car. Her voice echoed in the cement-and-stone space.

Cristan followed her up the steps. He unlocked the door that led to the kitchen. “Think about what?”

“Dating Sarah,” Lucia said, her voice heavy with exasperation.

“All right. I promise.” Cristan would not forget that idea for a second.

They went through the kitchen into the foyer. He opened the hall closet and checked the security system panel. Lucia dropped her pack at her feet and waited at the foot of the steps for his all clear. When she visited friends, did she wonder why other families didn’t go through the same obsessive safety checks? The rows of green lights assured him the house was secure.

Hanging up his coat, he leaned out of the closet. Lucia stood in the hallway. Cristan wasn’t much of a decorator, and they hadn’t stayed in a house long enough to get comfortable. But when they’d moved here, Lucia had been very disconnected and depressed. He’d hung a few pictures of her in the hallway to make her feel at home. Now she stood in front of a framed baby picture on the wall, a snapshot of Eva holding their daughter at her first birthday party. Cristan had grabbed it and a few other mementos when he’d returned to the Buenos Aires apartment to retrieve their passports. Lucia raised a hand and touched the glass over her mother’s face. “I don’t think she’d mind if you dated. If she loved you, she’d want you to be happy.”

You didn’t know your mother very well.
Cristan didn’t express his disagreement, but he doubted Eva would willingly relinquish him, even in death. For a Vargas, love, control, and possession were closely intertwined.

Lucia tossed her jacket over the newel post. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed.” Lucia hefted her backpack onto one shoulder and headed upstairs.

Despite the green lights and his own assurances that tonight’s incident was a random event, he walked the interior of his home. The damp rubber soles of his shoes squeaked on the wide, oak planks as he checked every window and door and searched each closet, nook, and cranny from the third floor to the basement. While he toured the interior, he also checked the locations of his hidden weapons.

Today’s robbery had been an accident. He’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time. But as he slid his hand along the top of his medicine cabinet to feel for the knife taped there, he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that everything had changed.

He finished his weaponry tour, then he went back to the basement and pulled the go-bags from their hiding place behind a false wall of shelves. There were two backpacks containing the bare essentials, one each for him and Lucia. Another larger bag held additional supplies. What they would take would depend on the circumstances. Cristan updated the contents of the bags each season. There were smaller emergency kits in each of the cars as well.

He hefted the two backpacks to a scarred, wooden worktable and unzipped them. Then he began the painstaking itemizing process. He wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway, and he’d feel more secure knowing that at any moment, they were ready to roll. He unfolded the master list and began checking supplies: AK-47, 9mm, ammunition . . .

As he reviewed his inventory, he thought about the years in which he used such weapons regularly, and how it all began.