Catch a Shadow (12 page)

“I was at the accident scene,” he admitted. “I was to meet the man you know as Mark Cable. He arranged the meeting. I saw him give you something, talk to you.”

“The man I know as Mark Cable?” she asked. “That's not his name?”

“That might be one of his names. I knew him as a CIA agent named Del Cox. But that was an alias as well.”

She stared at him, her gaze steady but insistent.

“You're not his brother?”

“No.”

“Then why …”

“I was to meet him at Manuel's. I saw him get hit by the car, and I saw him give something to you.”

“And you didn't come forward to help him.”

“No,” he admitted.

“Why? Why didn't you talk to the police then? Or this morning?”

He hesitated.
Hell, in for a penny, in for a pound
. If he didn't get that letter, he might well be in prison for many more years, anyway.

“I'm not supposed to be here,” he said quietly. “If the authorities found out, I could—would—be sent back to prison.”

She looked startled then. Her hand clutched the cell phone even harder. “I think you should explain that.”

“It's better you don't know.”

“The hell with that,” she retorted with outrage. “That's crap. I've never agreed with that dumb statement in books, and I don't now. Someone almost killed me this morning, so I don't know why it would be better that I don't know who or why.” She lifted her hand with the cell phone. “If you don't tell me who you are now, I'll call the police. I don't care if you did save my life,” she added defiantly. “In fact, maybe you planned the whole thing this morning.”

He was making a mess of the situation, and it was obvious she was beginning to realize she might be in something far deeper than she'd previously thought.

“My name is Jake Kelly,” he said. It was a hell of a risk, but other than torturing her to tell him the whereabouts of the letter, truth seemed the only option. “I was a captain in the army. More specifically in Special Services.” He paused, then added, “I was convicted by a court-martial of stealing government property,” he said.

“And you're innocent?” Her voice was noncommittal.

“Would you believe me if I said yes?”

“I would be more likely to believe you if you'd told me earlier.”

“I thought you would go to the police.”

“And why shouldn't I now?”

“You probably should,” he admitted. “You shouldn't trust anyone.”

Her eyes searched his. She wanted to trust him. He saw it in her eyes.

“Why?” she asked.

So many whys. She wouldn't stop until she knew the whole story, or as much as he knew. This was his one and only chance to regain her trust. “I don't know everything,” he said. “All I can do is guess at some things.”

She waited intently. “Then guess,” she demanded.

God, he wanted to reach over and touch her. That earnest look on her face as she tried to understand the inexplicable touched him to the core.

“I'll tell you what I can. Seven years ago I led a five-man mission into South America that went bad. We were ambushed, and I was injured. I thought the others were dead. I know two were. The other two were missing, presumed dead. Also missing was a great deal of government property, and I was accused of stealing it. I didn't. Now people I thought dead have come back to life. I don't know how, but I'm sure as hell going to find out.”

“Mark Cable was one of the two?”

He nodded.

“If he was Del Cox then, who were you?” she asked suddenly.

He hesitated, then said, “Mitch Edwards.”

CHAPTER 10

Mitch Edwards
.

Kirke didn't know what she expected, but that wasn't it.

Mitch Edwards, the man she'd been asked to find.

But the man in front of her had lied to her before, and she didn't trust him now.

She tried not to show that the name meant anything, but she'd never been a good liar. Nor had she wanted to be. She wondered now how wise she'd been to invite him inside. All she'd considered was the fact that he'd saved her life earlier.

Now she knew there was much more involved. He had been at the hit-and-run scene. He had not stepped forward. He had pretended to be the brother of a man near death.

She knew she should tell him to leave, not that he had to obey her. He was bigger than she was. Much bigger. And she'd allowed him into her house. She should punch that 911 key on Sam's cell. She could yell for Sam, but Jake Kelly might well be dangerous to him, as well as to herself.

Something in those dark eyes stopped her from doing either of those things. A plea. Desperation. He was
willing
her to believe.

No police. Swear
. A dead man's words. And now this man, this stranger who had saved her life, was talking CIA and secret missions and people returning to life. Dammit,
what
was she involved in?

If even a little of what he said was true, she
should
be heading for the nearest police station. Someone had been murdered on an Atlanta street. Her apartment had been searched. She'd been thrown into a street to die.

It staggered her that she was not halfway to the station, that she was standing here, listening.

Mitch Edwards. The name had been like an explosion in her head.

She wanted a drink. Something stronger than the one glass of wine that was usually the limit of her alcohol intake.

Not a good idea
, she told herself as he tore his gaze away from her. She watched as he moved away and started pacing the room like a caged panther. He was giving her time to digest what had been said. Would a murderer do that?

Tell him to leave
, she warned herself.
Scream if he doesn't
. All she had to do was punch one button.

Yet something about him kept her finger from pushing down on it. Maybe the electricity that flashed between them yesterday and lingered today. Now it flared again as she studied him from the advantage of new information. Had he gotten that scar on his forehead in the jungle? Had the lines in his face come from years in a cell? Were the guarded eyes the result of years in Special Forces? Or prison?

She only knew there was a physical awareness between them, one that rocked her to her core. The bad boy attraction? She prayed not.

Whatever it was, she felt it in the heat that pooled in her stomach, in the way she'd wanted him to touch her cheek before she'd shied away minutes earlier.

But she hated lies. She hated them more than anything in the world. Her ex had lied to her. Her mother had lied to her, repeatedly returning to drugs before disappearing forever.

She realized now how much she'd been caught in the mystery of the hit-and-run victim. It had woven a sticky web around her that now made escape impossible. She'd withheld information that she'd known the police wanted and needed, and if this man was a fugitive, she was probably guilty of obstruction of justice.

She realized he'd stopped pacing and was looking directly at her. He had given her a few moments to think, and now his eyes were asking questions.

Dear God, those eyes were piercing. They held her as much a captive as bars could. She should run like hell. Instead, she lingered here, listening to a convicted thief and possible murderer.

Were her instincts corrupted by the almost hypnotic attraction she felt so strongly, the odd sense of safety and protection she'd felt yesterday and again this morning when he'd used his body to shield hers?

The awareness between them grew as the silence deepened. He was forcing himself to look relaxed, but his muscles were knotted in his forearms, and she saw a muscle in his cheek move.

He
was Mitch Edwards.

Maybe
.

The name Mitch Edwards meant something to her.

He saw it in her eyes. They flickered for a second, then she turned as if to hide a reaction.

“You've heard the name,” he said.

She didn't answer that question. Instead, she asked one of her own. “How many names do you have? Now I count three. How many more?”

“Not so many,” he said.

“How did you get identification for David Cable?”

“It's not that difficult.”

“That's not an answer.”

“No,” he agreed and didn't elaborate.

“Does … does the man in the hospital have family?”

“Not that I know of,” he replied.

“How well did you know him?”

She should have been a detective.

“Not very well. We were on one assignment together. We trained a month for that mission. Never saw him before then.”

“And he was a friend?”

“No. We were army. He was civilian. There was some friction.”

Her eyes narrowed again. “You said he was CIA?”

“Yes.”

“If you weren't friends, then why …?” She stopped herself, and he knew then Del had said something important to her.

But she did not trust him enough to tell him.

With good reason. But he wanted her to, and for more reasons than one. God, but he liked her spirit. She'd just been bashed in the face and was questioning him as thoroughly as any military CID investigator. She hadn't flinched—much—when he'd admitted to being in prison.

Unfortunately, she might be a little too gutsy. She was taking everything far too calmly. Or was she?

Damn, but he felt a persistent urge to lean down and kiss her. And an even stronger one to hold her, to keep her from harm, but also to bury himself in the warmth he sensed was there.

But she'd backed away slightly. “You say you're Mitch Edwards, but you don't have any identification. If you had it, I wouldn't know whether it was another fake or not.”

He felt a smile tug at his lips. It had been a long time since he'd last smiled, but she had a way of getting to the heart of things. “I'm not Mitch Edwards,” he said. “Not any longer.”

“You said you watched last night because you were worried about me?” she persisted. “Why?”

“Cox said something to you. And gave you something. I saw it, and I think someone else saw it, too. That someone might think you know something you shouldn't.”

“Who was the someone else?”

He shrugged. “One of those people I thought dead. There's been plastic surgery, but I'm almost sure. There are certain mannerisms you can't always lose …”

Her face gave nothing away.

“He's dangerous, Ms. Palmer.”

She regarded him steadily. She didn't scare easily, and that scared him.

“You haven't really told me anything except there was some mysterious mission and you've been in prison. That doesn't exactly instill trust.”

“Would it help if I told you I wasn't guilty?”

“Doesn't every person in prison say he or she isn't guilty?”

“I can attest to that,” he said with a touch of black humor.

A spark of appreciation flickered in her eyes, but she didn't smile.

He hesitated. “What did Del Cox tell you?”

“He was too badly injured to tell me anything.”

“He handed something to you.”

Her eyes met his directly. She didn't flinch. “I think it's time for you to tell me more. What kind of mission was this?”

“It's classified.”

She raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

“I've been convicted of one crime. I sure as hell don't want to be convicted of another.”

“If you were tried, it must be public record.”

“Try to get it.”

“I'll do that.”

She'd moved a few inches toward him, and he smelled the antiseptic lingering on her. Her eyes shot sparks at him. She was angry. She had every right to be, but there was something else in her eyes.

He touched the right side of her face. To his surprise, she didn't flinch this time. Despite what she'd said about trust, she
wanted
to trust him. Or else she would be shouting for help at this very moment. She wouldn't linger with someone she thought was a murderer.

But neither was she ready to give him whatever Cox had given her. He wouldn't have either, after hearing that half story. He'd left too much unsaid.

“Whatever he had,” he said suddenly, “may clear me. I can't think why else he wanted to meet me.”

She stepped back from his touch as if burned.

Just then a knock came at the door.

She looked outside. Opened the door.

The wiry man who'd brought her home stepped inside. Curious eyes looked him over, then he stuck out his hand. “I'm Sam Pierce, Kirke's neighbor and friend.” He emphasized the last word.

“Jake Kelly,” Jake said.

“
And
David Cable,” Kirke added. “He's the man who saved my life this morning.”

The newcomer's eyes went from Kirke back to Jake.

“Sam should know,” she said simply. “He lives here, too.”

“Is he bothering you?” Sam Pierce said, drawing up his thin form. The top of his head came to Jake's chin, but there was no lack of determination in him. Although Sam was obviously no match for Jake, he was ready to do battle for his neighbor.

“No,” Kirke said. “We were just … exchanging information.”

Sam's eyes went to the cell phone still clutched in her hands.

“He was just leaving,” Kirke continued. She turned back to Jake. “I'll call you if you leave me a number.”

He jotted down his cell number and gave it to her. Now three people had it. “I have to leave soon,” he said, trying to keep his disappointment from showing.

She nodded. “You don't need to sit outside tonight,” she said. “We have a good security system, and now I'll turn it on. And we have Merlin, of course.”

He had no choice then but to leave. Staying would only push her, maybe, to call the police.

She needed time to think. He had to give her that time, though he suspected she would immediately check what he'd told her and thereby could possibly lead marshals to him.