True Vision (21 page)

His groin started to tighten at the memories, and he pushed off from the bed and headed for the shower. As he twisted the water on and waited for it to warm up, he considered where this, with Charlie, could lead. He had a job in Chicago. Not a life, though. Just a job that had been his life. A job that had bruised and bloodied his soul over the years. Could he leave it behind? Yeah, he could. In a heartbeat.

Of course, all of this could be premature. One night of hot sex didn’t make a long-term relationship. But, Jesus, Charlie Trudeau. Just thinking her name made his heart kick like a baby in a womb, eager for rebirth.

He’d have to tell her.

Sighing, he braced his hands on the tile and let the water hit him square in the face, careful to angle his head so the spot where the bullet grazed his scalp was protected.

Charlie was all about the truth, doing the right thing. He’d have no choice but to tell her.

In one shot, she’d pegged him.

The guilt boiled up inside him like rolling lava. Not because he’d exacted bloody, satisfying revenge on someone who deserved it, but because he didn’t feel bad about it. He’d do it again without a second thought, and afterward he would celebrate. Raise a glass to the heavens, knowing the bad guys were in hell for what they’d done.

Charlie Trudeau stood for truth, and Noah Lassiter stood for justice.

The question now was: Would Charlie accept Noah’s idea of justice?

CHAPTER
THIRTY-EIGHT

C
harlie woke thinking about Noah. She’d slept fitfully, probably in part because she and Alex had downed a couple of coconut rum shots and snacked on pretzels before falling into bed, but mostly because she kept dreaming about Noah. A throb of desire echoed the direction of her thoughts, and she squeezed her thighs together to try to prolong it. She wondered what he was doing now, whether he was still sleeping, whether he woke with a morning erection. She imagined sneaking down to his room before Alex woke, pictured what it would be like to slip into bed with him while he slept and wake him with her mouth on his—

“Yeah, I want to order breakfast.”

Charlie opened her eyes and raised her head. Alex was sitting up in the other bed with the room-service menu opened on her knees, the phone pressed to her ear. She smiled and winked at Charlie as she rattled off her order. “Buttermilk pancakes, French toast, scrambled eggs, two sides of bacon, the fruit plate, two large glasses of orange juice and coffee for two.”

Once she hung up, Charlie said, “You must be starved.”

“Yep, and I remember you mentioning while we chowed down on pretzels that you had a chocolate croissant for dinner last night.”

Charlie smiled and sighed. “You take better care of me than a mom.”

“Yeah, I noticed you didn’t say ‘our mom.’ ”

While Alex laughed, Charlie pushed aside the covers and got out of bed. Her muscles felt stiff as she stretched, probably because Noah had given them such a workout. Thinking about him, and what they’d done together, made her flush. God, would she ever be able to remember it without getting hot all over again? “Mind if I jump in the shower before the food gets here?”

“Go right ahead,” Alex said as she grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. “Make it a cold one. You did some very suspicious moaning in your sleep last night.”

Charlie was laughing, and blushing furiously, as she gathered clean clothes, then went into the bathroom and shut the door. She took a fast shower, her stomach growling the entire time. Hopefully by the time she got out, the food would be there.

She was already dressed in khaki shorts and a white tank top, reaching for the extra product that helped prevent her hair from frizzing in the humidity, when she heard a knock at the hotel room door. Room service already? That was fast. She quickly ran the goop through her hair, then washed and dried her hands. She couldn’t wait for coffee.

She heard Alex open the door with a cheery “Good morning!” and then a sharp, puzzling crack. Charlie reached for the knob, then jerked her hand away when something—fingernails?—grazed the other side of the door, followed by a heavy thud.

“Alex?”

Charlie swung open the bathroom door, expecting to see a room service cart laden with breakfast. But instead she saw Alex on the floor at her feet, her body jerking spasmodically.

“Alex!”

Alex’s eyes were wild with pain and fear, and she was making a choking, gurgling sound. Charlie smelled the blood at the same time that it registered on her stunned brain that it was bubbling from Alex’s chest above her right breast.

“Oh my God!” Charlie dropped to her knees and planted both hands over the wound.

Charlie coughed, gulping in air as she shoved away the disorientation and lingering shock, and pressed her hands harder on Alex’s bloody chest.

“Someone call 911!” she shouted toward the open room door, not knowing if anyone was even within yelling distance. “911! We need 911!” She kept shouting it, knowing she couldn’t afford to take the pressure off the wound—Alex might bleed to death. Finally, someone came running. She heard a gasp, an “Oh, my Lord,” and more running feet but didn’t raise her head, her focus intent on her sister.

“Stay with me, Alex, stay with me.” Her dark brown eyes rolled back anyway, and Charlie swallowed down rising terror and started shouting again. “Alex. Alex! Come on, come on.”

Blood was streaming between her fingers despite the pressure she applied. She didn’t know what else to do, how else to stop it.

A voice came from somewhere above her, an older woman: “The ambulance is on its way. What can I do?”

“Towels,” Charlie croaked. “I need towels.”

And then she heard heavier footsteps and a familiar voice: “Holy Christ.”

She looked up, saw Noah, a gun in one hand, his face absolutely white.

Sobs began to claw their way up her throat.

CHAPTER
THIRTY-NINE

N
oah pushed open the door to the ER’s exam room two, and his heart clattered to a stop when he saw Charlie sitting on the edge of the bed, looking pale and sick, clutching a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. When her eyes focused on him, their depths were dark and anguished. He walked over to her and put his arms around her. Neither of them spoke as he held her, but he felt her trembling, and it broke his heart.

“She’s still in surgery,” he said. “The nurse said the doctor’s optimistic. Says she’s healthy and young, strong.”

“It’s my fault,” she said in a low, raw voice.

He drew back and gazed down at her, his heart wrenching when he saw the tears streaking her cheeks. He wanted to kiss away her tears, her pain. “How can it be your fault?”

Her fingers tangled in the front of his T-shirt. “I knew I was a target, and I let her stay with me. I let her open my door. It should have been me.”

He pulled her to him again, a bit more forcefully than he’d intended, but he couldn’t help it when his entire insides jerked at the thought of it being her in the OR getting a bullet removed from her lung.

“You thought you were safe,” he said, stroking her hair, pressing his lips to her temple. He wanted to absorb her into him and serve as her allover bulletproof vest.

“But I wasn’t safe. How could that guy know where to find me?”

Her breath hitched, and she let go of the blanket to wrap her arms around him and hug him tight, burying her face against his neck. He felt the gasping puffs of air against his skin, felt the tension in her body, and knew she was weeping but trying to hold it in. It made him ache all the more.

After a few minutes, she eased back from him and swiped at her face. Her eyes were red, her nose running. He reached over and plucked the box of Kleenex off the tray table beside the bed, then waited while she took one, blew her nose and wiped her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice strained.

He could tell she had more crying to do but was doing her damnedest to control it. He stroked a hand over her hair, then curled his fingers around the back of her neck and squeezed. He wasn’t surprised that she’d fight so hard to be brave. “It’s okay. Take as much time as you need.”

She gave him a tremulous smile. “You’re kind of amazing, aren’t you?”

He returned her smile, felt emotion, and dread, tighten his throat. “Yeah, I’m amazing.”

She swallowed, nodded, closed her eyes and sat still for a long moment, breathing deeply. He caught himself matching the rhythm of her long breaths, yet his heart thrashed each time he thought, It could have been her. She could have been the one who’d opened that door. He didn’t wish harm on anyone else, but he was damn grateful it hadn’t been Charlie.

A light knock on the door preceded John Logan pushing it open and sticking his head into the room. “Charlie? You up to a statement?”

She nodded and wiped at her eyes. “Yes, come in.”

Logan’s usually neat, sandy hair looked as though he’d repeatedly run his hand through it. Dark circles rimmed his eyes below the lines of stress in his forehead. “You okay?” he asked, darting a questioning glance at Noah.

Noah had to bite down to keep his frustrated sarcasm to himself. Of course she’s not okay, you nitwit.

“I’m sorry to put you through this,” Logan said to Charlie, “but it’s important to do it while . . .” His voice gave out, and he paused to swallow several times. “While the . . . incident . . . is still fresh.”

Noah studied the cop and wondered whether he should be on the case at all. Clearly, Alex’s shooting had shaken him. But Charlie nodded, sniffled. “I understand. It’s okay.”

He pulled a small notebook out of his breast pocket and flipped it open with shaking hands, then removed a pen from the same pocket. “Tell me what happened.”

Charlie drew in an audible breath. “It was the same guy who attacked me at home and ran me off the road. Same ridiculous ninja outfit and everything.”

When she shivered, Noah scooted closer, putting his arm around her shoulders and drawing her tight against his side. She reached for his hand, and he folded her icy fingers into the shelter of his palm, hoping his warmth would seep into her.

“Let’s start at the beginning,” Logan said. “Everything you can remember.”

“I was in the bathroom. I’d just showered and was getting ready to dry my hair. I heard the knock at the door, assumed it was room service. I heard Alex open the door, and then a . . . loud crack or pop. I guess it was the gunshot. Then a thump, like someone had fallen. I opened the door and Alex was . . .” She paused, swallowed. “She was on the floor. Bleeding.”

Logan, paler than before, stared down at his notebook for several seconds. Gathering his thoughts or gathering his control, Noah wasn’t sure. He started to say perhaps Logan should take a break when the cop raised his gaze to Charlie’s face.

“And the . . . person who shot her?” he asked through clenched teeth. “Where was he?”

“Gone. I tried to stop the bleeding and yelled for someone to call 911.”

Noah realized what she’d said at the same time that Logan’s tense expression turned to puzzlement.

Noah cleared his throat. “Let’s go through it again, Charlie. And take your time.
Exactly
what happened.”

“I was in the bathroom. I heard the gunshot, opened the door and saw Alex on the floor.”

“And where was the shooter?” Logan asked.

“I told you. He was already gone.”

“You saw him running away?” Noah asked.

“No, all I saw was Alex.” She dragged a hand through her hair. “It happened fast, within seconds.”

Logan tucked away his notebook then looked at Noah and angled his head toward the door. “Could we talk in the hall?”

“Sure.” Noah was reluctant to leave Charlie alone, but he also wanted to hear what Logan had to say. To Charlie, he said, “I’ll be right back.”

In the hall, after the door was firmly closed, Logan said, “I’m worried about her. She seems confused.”

She seemed adamant to Noah, but he couldn’t argue with Logan. At least not logically. “She said it happened very fast.”

“She
had
to have seen the shooter to know it was the same person from the other incidents.”

“The trauma of what happened could be messing with her memory,” Noah said.

“But when did she see the shooter? She was very specific that the shooting happened while she was behind a closed door. I can’t imagine any potential killer being stupid enough to shoot someone in the chest and then stand there, in a public place, for a few moments afterward.”

“Did anyone at the hotel see the perp run away?”

Logan shook his head. “Charlie’s room is at the end of the hall. The shooter most likely took off down the stairs.”

“What about the exit to the stairwell? The shooter would have had to leave the stairwell when he got to the bottom.”

“He could have gotten off at any of the four floors below Charlie’s, ditched the disguise, and walked out like any other guest.”

“Security cameras?” Noah asked.

“I’ve already had the recordings pulled. Another detective’s going over them, but I don’t know how much help they’ll be. Donna Keene, the hotel’s owner, said the elevators tend to run slow, so it’s not unusual for first- and second-floor guests to use the stairs. Plus, a lot of the employees use the stairs to avoid holding up the elevators.”