Secrets and Lies (Crimson Romance) (11 page)

Charlie didn’t breathe easy until he reached the freeway. Even then he took an exit going the opposite direction from where he wanted to go, drove around in circles until he was sure he hadn’t been followed, and then drove back to the freeway.

He felt a little lightheaded with relief. Still, he headed to the one place that felt like home.

To Juliana.

Charlie nearly fell through her doorway when Juliana opened the door to his pounding.

“Hush, you’ll wake the neighbors. Do you know what time it is?” she whispered.

“Hammer time?” He gave her a silly, lopsided smile.

“Are you drunk?”

“Do I seem drunk?”

“I asked, didn’t I?” Juliana didn’t smell liquor. “Are you high?”

“High on life, baby.” He took a step forward and lurched toward her.

“You
are
high.” She closed the door, sighing. When she’d seen him she’d felt a thrill go through her because she’d thought he’d come to make love.

“No.” He shook his head and thrust a bandana-wrapped arm out to her. “Wounded.”

“Wounded?” It came out a small shriek. Then she remembered who she was talking to—the actor. “How?”

“Gunshot.” He looked smug.

She sucked in her breath. “Let me see.”

“Can I sit down first?”

He was paler than when she’d seen him earlier. What if he was telling the truth? Juliana led him to her small kitchen and turned on the bright overhead light. He sat in a chair with an audible sigh and wiped sweat from his forehead.

She untied the navy bandana. There was a dark stain on it. It clung to his arm and he hissed. She peeled it loose. There was a round hole near the edge of his bicep.

“You’ve been shot!”

“Told you so.”

“Someone shot you.” Juliana couldn’t believe it. She turned his arm looking for an exit wound. There. Another round hole. She breathed a sigh of relief. It was bad enough but at least a doctor wouldn’t have to dig out the bullet.

“We have to get you to the hospital.”

“No.” His jaw set mulishly.

She nodded at his arm. “This could get infected.”

“Pour some alcohol or peroxide on it.”

“That isn’t funny, Charlie. This is serious. I have to report it.”

Charlie grabbed her hand with his uninjured one. “Do that and you sign my death warrant.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You don’t think Montgomery’s men will be watching all the hospitals to see if anybody matching my general description comes in with a gunshot wound? How long after that do you think I’d live?”

Juliana had never seen him this serious. She frowned. The laughing man who’d barged in her apartment was a far cry from the man sitting in her kitchen now.

“This might need stitches. I’m no doctor.”

“Just clean and disinfect it and bandage it for now. And give me some aspirin. I need to function for another twenty-four hours. Can you do that for me?”

His brown eyes—brown?—pleaded with her. Why had he come to her instead of going to his family?

“You could call your brother. Rick’s a policeman. He can help. He can protect you.”

“I don’t want his protection. I take care of myself.”

“You didn’t do so well tonight. You want to tell me how this happened?”

He sighed. “Peroxide and aspirin first.”

Juliana collected what she’d need. When she returned to the kitchen, Charlie had removed his black T-shirt. Her heart sped up at the sight of his firm chest . . . until she saw the drop of blood sliding down his arm.

“Hold that over the sink.” She dropped her items on the counter.

Reaching into the cupboard above the stove, she located a bottle of Jose Cuervo. She poured a full shot and dumped two aspirins in her hand. She held them out to Charlie, who now stood at the sink.

“Cuervo. You don’t mess around.” His eyes were blue once more. He downed the pills and the contents of the shot glass in one gulp then coughed. “Damn good stuff.”

“Need more?”

“I’m good for the moment.”

“In the movies they pour booze onto the wound,” she said.

“They use whiskey in the movies.”

She held up the bottle to read the label. “This has got a pretty high alcohol content.”

“That’d be wasting good liquor. Use the cheap stuff.” He nodded toward the bottles of rubbing alcohol and peroxide.

“You want a bullet to bite down on?” she asked.

“No gun. And this one went all the way through.”

“I could call my dad. He could help you.”

Charlie shook his head. “He’d want to know why I came to you.”

Juliana cocked her head. “Why did you?”

“It was the only place I could think of.”

She thought he was only telling part of the truth. “It’s late. If you’re going to scream when I pour peroxide on your arm I’d prefer you bite on a towel or something.”

Charlie clutched his chest. “You wound me, and I’m already wounded. You call my manhood into question . . . ”

They both looked at his crotch. Juliana frowned. He didn’t have a hard-on.

“Well, that’s a disappointment,” Charlie said to his groin. Then he lifted his head and gave her a sheepish look. “Anyway, men don’t scream—”

“
You
might.”

“They yell,” he overrode her words.

“I think you need a gag.”

“I want to present the correct manly impression here.”

“Don’t worry about that. After the last few nights, I couldn’t possibly think you’re not a man.”

Charlie’s smile was downright smug. “In that case, I’ll take a towel.”

She held his arm over the sink and poured alcohol on the wounds. Charlie jerked and his yell was muffled in the towel. She hated hurting him. Then she pressed the peroxide into both wounds. When he set the towel aside, he was breathing hard, his head hanging. She poured him another shot of Cuervo and wrapped his shaking fingers around it. He tossed it back in one gulp.

“You’re trying to get me drunk so you can have your way with me,” he said.

“Charlie, you’re so easy all I have to do is look at you and you get a hard-on.”

“Only with you.”

She wished that were true. “I’ll do the best I can with these bandages, but I’ll have to go to the store and buy bigger ones.”

“Okay.”

“What, no argument?” She stuck big Band-Aids over the holes.

He winced. “No energy at the moment. I’m gonna need to lie down.”

“Almost done.” She grabbed an Ace bandage from the table. His brown contacts were in a little contact case. That reminded her he still hadn’t told her why he’d been at Montgomery’s house in disguise although she feared she knew. Later. Right now she had to finish this. She wrapped the Ace around his bicep. “That’ll have to do.”

Juliana led him to her bedroom, and he lay down on her bed. He was as docile as a lamb.

“Would you please strip me?” he asked.

Well, maybe a wolf in sheep’s clothing. She shrugged. She’d seen him naked before. She pulled off his black sneakers, unsnapped and unzipped his black jeans, and pulled them and his black Jockeys down his long legs. His cock lay flaccid against his abdomen.

“Still not up for any hijinks I see,” she joked.

His eyelids were heavy. “I won’t leave you wanting this time, I promise.”

Her heart turned over and her lower body tightened. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“I can’t stay.”

Hurt stabbed her.

“Will you come with me?”

Her heart seemed to flip in her chest. “To California?”

“To the Hilton.” His eyes closed.

“What?”

“I have to bring my wife back with me. Tonight.” His words slurred.

“Wife? What wife?”

But Charlie was dead to the world.

• • •

Charlie woke with a jerk when Juliana removed the Band-Aid from his arm. His blue eyes were wide with fear until he saw her. Then he released a breath and sagged into her mattress.

“Who did you think I was?” she asked.

“Montgomery’s men.”

“You want to tell me what happened? It might take your mind off what I’m doing.”

Charlie was a natural actor, but Juliana would swear in court he wasn’t acting when he described the pursuit after he’d been shot. He’d been in mortal terror.

“I don’t think about what I do now as being dangerous,” he told her. “I locate things and people, I do errands for people, and I learn things for people. I help people.”

“You mean being a private detective,” she said.

“Yeah. After Billy died I felt . . . well . . . lots of things. Empty, useless, wasted.”

Juliana stopped opening a sterile pad. “Wasted?”

Charlie’s eyes were full of pain when he looked at her. “I never did anything with my life. I didn’t become famous or a big star. Nobody recognizes my name or face out there. I’m one of thousands just like me—somebody who thought they could act and found out differently when they got to Hollywood.”

“You’re a wonderful actor. I watched you portray characters for years.”

He gave her a sad smile. “Here I’m wonderful. There . . . well, the best are a lot better than I am. Everybody’s beautiful out there. Everybody’s got a hot body, great hair, you name it. I’m nothing special.”

“But Charlie—” Juliana began to protest.

Charlie squeezed her arm. “I live there, you don’t. You don’t know what my life was like every day. I’m a little fish in a big pond. I’m wasted. Not like Billy. Billy was going to be somebody. He was going to cure cancer; he told me so. He had a great job in a research lab. He loved what he was doing. It was important work, work that was supposed to save lives. But somebody killed him.”

“I’m sorry we didn’t attend the funeral. We were in Mexico visiting family when it happened. We didn’t hear until we returned. I hated that I missed you.” She knew about regrets. “I wish you’d stayed in Miami longer.”

“So I could feel more guilt? Listen to more comments about how terrible it was that Billy died? He asked me to go with him to New Orleans but I had to shoot some stupid commercial. I don’t even remember what it was for now. Selling some stupid product like air freshener or something. If I’d have gone with him, maybe he wouldn’t have died. Maybe he wouldn’t have been at that place at that time.”

“You don’t know that. Besides, Billy’s death wasn’t your fault.”

“He needed me, and I didn’t have time for him. My life was about pushing products people didn’t need while Billy’s was about making drugs people needed desperately.”

“Not everybody is good at science,” Juliana said.

“I’m good at nothing!” he snarled, then burst out, “It should have been
me
.”

She gripped his hand. “Charlie, no!”

“Yes. Billy was important. I’m not.”

Juliana was rocked to the core. “Everyone has value.”

“Not me. Not then. So I gave it up, all of it. I couldn’t bring Billy back, but I could do something of value. I knew a lady who’d lost her dog. It sounds stupid, but I started with that. She loved that dog. And I found it for her. She referred me to someone else who needed help. They referred me, too. I went to P.I. school and learned what I needed to help a lot more people. Sometimes it’s little stuff, but I don’t feel like I’m wasting my life now. I’ll never be what Billy would have been, but I’m better than I was.”

Juliana taped off the bandage. She didn’t look at him. There’d been pain in every word, pain that resonated inside her with her own unfulfilled dreams. She’d spent so much time grieving and angry that she couldn’t become a cop that she’d never considered any other way she might help people.

What he thought about himself was wrong, but he wouldn’t believe her if she told him so. Grief did strange things to people. Look at her father, protecting her like a child long after she’d grown up.

But in essence, Charlie had killed himself to arise from the ashes as someone else. She’d thought because he smiled the same that he
was
the same, but he was different inside. Hurting, though he’d never admit it, vulnerable, needy, lonely. How she knew that last, she couldn’t say, but she knew it intuitively.

Juliana lifted her gaze. “Is that why you won’t call Rick?”

Charlie nodded. “The wrong brother died. But they can’t see what I’ve done to atone.”

His words slammed into her like bullets. “They can’t know if you don’t tell them.”

“They won’t believe me. You didn’t.”

“I’m sorry. I thought I knew you so well.” But she didn’t know this Charlie at all.

“I’m not that man anymore. I use parts of him in my job, that’s all. When I’m successful, they’ll have to believe.”

She wanted—needed—to comfort him, but she didn’t think he’d accept it. Not overtly given, at least. She collected the tape and bandages and returned them to the shopping bag. “That bandage should be changed every few hours. Can you do it yourself or do you want to come back here so I can take care of it?”

Charlie sat up, holding his arm against his chest and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He looked like a sultan with his dark hair and tanned skin. Hunger stirred in her lower body.

“I need you to come with me,” he said.

“To take care of your wound?”

“No.” He shook his head. “To find the sculpture.”

“You can’t go back there!”

“I can if I attend the wedding. Me and my wife.”

“You said that before. What are you talking about?”

“I’m Joseph Castleton. You’re my wife, Camille. The Castletons are real people. We’re out-of-town guests of the Montgomerys staying at the Hilton.”

“You’re crazy. They’ll know we’re not the Castletons.”

“They won’t. They’ve invited five hundred people. They won’t know everybody by sight. We’ll be transported with the other guests and no one will be the wiser.”

“What if—”

Charlie stood and wavered for a moment. Juliana slipped an arm around him to steady him. He gave her a sheepish grin. “I have to return to the Hilton tonight, and you have to come with me. I’m probably a danger on the road and I’m unsteady on my feet. Besides, you want to get into that wedding as much as I do.”

Juliana bit her lip. It was true. She did want the sculpture. And she was worried about Charlie’s current state.

“I need you, Juliana.”