In the Enemy's Arms (14 page)

“I like pushing your buttons,” he replied with a wicked grin.

There was a difference to the grin this time, though. Two days ago, it would have made her want to smack him. Right now, she found it charming. Justin Seavers, who had never wasted one more breath than necessary on her, was charming her.

She tamped down the shiver trying to spread across her skin. “Just one straight answer, please.”

He took a long time to meet her gaze, but finally he did, his dark eyes as serious as she’d seen them. “Yes. I teach the younger kids to swim, and when they’re old enough, I teach them to dive. For everyone who works hard, studies and gets good grades, I arrange a dive trip a couple times a year. Is that straight enough?”

“It is. I’m impressed.”

A slow, smug, sexy smile spread across his mouth. “I knew you would be.”

She’d always believed she was immune to him—probably the only woman in the world who could claim that. Yes, he was handsome and sinfully sexy; yes, he had all that money. But she’d known what was beneath the surface. She’d been unaffected. Safe.

Heaven help her, she wasn’t feeling very safe anymore.

Deliberately she steered the conversation back to the food and cooking, a topic that he warmed to almost as much as diving. She was pleasantly stuffed and had just put her fork down, pushing her plate away, when his cell phone rang. One of them, she amended. In addition to the throwaway Amy had given him and his own phone, he still had hers.

He pulled out the throwaway, hesitated, then handed it to her. “You asked the questions. You take the answers.”

Another wave of warmth fluttered over her skin at this slight gesture of trust as she accepted the phone. “Hey, Amy.”

“Hey, doll. Dare I hope I’m disturbing something?”

Her cheeks heated another degree. “We’re having dinner.”

“Ah. Eat a bite for me, will you? Listen, I did the checking you asked. Really, the Clarences’ insurance company needs better security. For that matter, so does the school district there. There have been no visits, on the record at least, to a pediatrician, and the only payouts on their dental insurance have been for semiannual checkups for him and her. Also, the only therapist is hers, at $250 an hour. You make that kind of money?”

Cate scoffed. She was well paid, but not
that
well paid.

“Me neither. They don’t have any little Clarences enrolled in the public school system. Don’t tell Justin this, but it was taking longer to check the private schools than I expected, so I pulled their financial records instead. No tuition being paid out to a private school. No babysitter or nanny or housekeeper to watch the kiddo while Mom and Dad are at work. No expenditures at Toys‘R’Us or for piano lessons or ballet or gymnastics or anything along those lines. In other words, nothing to suggest that they have a child
except
for a charitable donation of $150,000 to the Wallace Foundation eight months ago.”

Cate’s fingers tightened until the tips went numb. The Clarences could have adopted an older child here in the U.S. for far less than that amount, if a child was all they wanted. Of course, there were background checks, evaluations and home visits to go through here, not the sham of a process the Wallaces used, and any child who was placed could be taken away for cause.

Amy was thinking along the same lines. “Older kids are a dime a dozen in the adoption system in the U.S., which begs the question: What exactly did they want with the girl that they paid so much money?” Immediately she pleaded, “Oh, God, don’t answer that. I have too many ideas in my head already, and they’re all horrible. Those bastards.”

The Clarences wanted to keep Marisol off the radar. They didn’t want anyone in Montgomery to know she existed. They wanted the freedom to do anything, anytime, with no consequences.

Cate’s stomach knotted, and she thought for one moment that she might have to make a run for the bathroom to heave up that delicious dinner. A few deep breaths, along with the cold anger building inside, settled it, though. “Where is the next closest family?”

A few clicks of the keyboard sounded in the background, then Amy said, “Looks like a toss-up between Atlanta and Decatur, Alabama. Want me to start on those families?”

“Yes, please. We’ll let you know where we’re headed when we know.”

“Okay. Hold it together, sweetie.”

I’ll try.
Cate gave the phone back to Justin, slid from the booth and walked out of the restaurant. The night air was cool, muggy, filled with the sounds of traffic and music thumping from a nearby club. Hugging herself, she paced to the longhorn statue, then leaned against it and stared at the sky. Was Marisol seeing those stars? Was she still in Alabama? Was she even still alive? And if she was, in what condition? What had she endured?

A sob almost escaped, but she choked it back. Maybe they were wrong. Maybe Marisol was in a happy, loving home, and there were no doctor visits because she was healthy and strong, and there were no school records or babysitting expenses because she was being homeschooled by an adoring aunt or grandmother who lived nearby. Maybe she was the treasure of her new little family and life was better than she’d ever imagined it might be.

Right. Maybe all twenty-two girls were happy and healthy, and maybe the Wallaces would release Trent and Susanna with an apology, sign all their assets over to La Casa, then turn themselves in to the authorities for their crimes.

Footsteps sounded on the pavement, but she didn’t look up, not even when strong arms slid around her from behind. “It’s going to be okay,” Justin murmured, his mouth brushing her ear. “I swear, we’ll make it right.”

She’d told him the same thing in the motel the first day, and at the time, she’d believed it. Had he found the words any more reassuring then than she did now? Gripping his wrists with both hands, she shifted her weight until he was supporting her rather than the statue. “Can it be made right? Those little girls…all they’ve been through…”

She didn’t go on. As Amy had said, she had too many ideas in her head, and they were all horrible.

“How’s this— We’ll do our best, and we’ll make damn sure the Wallaces and everyone else involved pay dearly for what they’ve done. Deal?”

She clung a little tighter, as if intensity could make it so, and whispered in return, “Deal.”

Chapter 7

T
hey stood there a long time, next to a damn cow statue in a parking lot in the middle of Montgomery, before Justin broke the silence. “I called Garcia. She told me everything.”

The tension that had finally left Cate’s body rushed back. It was sharp and tingling every place they were in contact, and that was a hell of a lot of places. He reminded himself that
that
was why he was holding her, because she’d been obviously upset. It wasn’t supposed to feel good, not with Cate.

But it did. Damn good.

The pressure of her hands on his eased, then she twisted out of his arms and backed away a few steps, arms folded again. Was the gesture habit? Body language for
Don’t touch me?
Or was she unused to having someone hold her?

“We should go,” she said, avoiding his gaze.

“We should stop for the night.”

“I’m not tired.”

“I am.” And she was, too. It showed in the lines around her mouth, in the shadows of her eyes. It had been a tough couple of days, even for a competent E.R. doctor who was used to running on adrenaline. This was an entirely different kind of stress. “We’ll find a room, get a good night’s sleep and head to Atlanta in the morning. There are three families there. By the time we finish breakfast, Garcia will have everything we need to know.”

Her nod wasn’t convincing, but it was agreement.

They walked to the car together, where she finally looked at him. “I’m sorry I ran out like that.”

He forced a grin that he didn’t feel. He was good at it. “Aw, you’re just sorry that you pushed me away. The idea throws you for a loop, doesn’t it, doc? You and me working together. Being friends. Maybe more.”

She summoned a scowl that he suspected she didn’t quite feel, either. “‘Maybe more’?” she echoed as she slid into the car. “You wish.” The slamming door emphasized the retort.

“I do,” he murmured, surprising himself, then rolled his eyes skyward. More? With
Cate?
But reminding himself who she was didn’t have the same effect it used to. Yeah, he’d disliked her in college, but as she’d pointed out, he’d been a jerk then, too. If he put those years out of his mind and concentrated solely on who she was now… He liked this Cate. A lot. Maybe enough to want
something
with her.

Maybe it was just chemistry. The lingering image of her struggling into the dive skin yesterday. The adrenaline rush of dangerous circumstances. Sharing a room with her sleeping in those sexy, silly pajamas. Listening while she showered. Seeing her vulnerable and scared and determined to stand and fight.

He liked her. Admired her. He didn’t totally trust her, he acknowledged, thinking of the collection of cells in his pockets. But he wanted her. The hard-on he’d gotten watching her struggle into the dive skin was proof of that.

Hell.

When he got into the car, he used the GPS to find a motel near the interstate that would take them to Atlanta in the morning. The room was clean, spacious, newly renovated according to the sign in the lobby, and the air smelled subtly of vanilla, cool and welcoming. When he put the bags on the two beds, he remarked, “It lacks the charm of Tio Pablo’s place, doesn’t it?”

Cate’s laugh was the closest to worry-free emotion she’d shown in the past few hours. “You’re missing the charm of the tequila and the Mayan avocado.” She faked a wistful sigh. “An avocado would be awfully good right now.”

They each sat on their own beds and reached for their bags. She unzipped her suitcase and carefully removed everything she needed for the night. It was packed as neatly right now as it had been when she’d left Copper Lake. A zippered vinyl bag on top held her laundry; her house shoes were packed in a smaller version; toiletries in leakproof bags filled in the spaces between folded clothing; and her medical bag was securely tucked in the bottom.

His backpack, on the other hand, was a mess. He dumped it out: a plastic trash bag from Tio Pablo’s that held his dirty clothes; four loose socks, a pair of brown shorts, a T-shirt and a pair of boxers; a razor, toothbrush, toothpaste and cologne stuffed into a small inner pocket. His tablet and a file folder tumbled out, too, along with chargers for the tablet and the cell.

“What’s in the folder?”

He handed it over, and she pulled out a sheaf of papers. The top one was a photograph of Susanna and Trent, standing in the yard in front of La Casa. Underneath was a sheet with their parents’ names, addresses and their phone numbers. The rest were snapshots of the girls who’d been at the home a week ago, printed on plain white paper on the office ink-jet. Susanna had typed in information: the girls’ names, ages, birth dates, where they’d come from, how they’d arrived at La Casa
.
She’d wanted more than the usual documentation.
Just in case,
she’d told him.

Cate went through every page, blue eyes studying each face, then returned to the top page and stared. Justin had taken the picture himself on a visit a few months ago. He’d already memorized all the details. Men were supposed to be the less sensitive sex, and Cate had always thought that applied double to him, but the moment he’d focused the camera, he’d known he was taking a picture of a man in love. Trent had never looked at Cate that way, not even when he was vowing to love and honor her forever.

Did it hurt her to see him looking at Susanna that way? Justin could identify worry, a little fear, a lot of affection, but nothing that suggested pain. Good. He didn’t want her hurting for what she couldn’t have.

He didn’t want her hurting for another man.

With a sigh, she straightened the papers and put them back in the file before handing it to him. “They’re so obviously in love. The way she’s looking at him… I never looked at him that way. I never felt about him that way.”

Something eased in Justin’s chest. Damned if he wanted to consider it closely enough to recognize it as relief, but it was, plain and simple.

She stood and filled her arms with stuff. “I’m going to get ready for bed. You need the bathroom first?”

He shook his head.

She was past him and halfway to the other room when she turned back. “When we’re in Atlanta tomorrow…Trent’s cousin, Rick, the GBI agent…that’s where he’s assigned.” She raised one hand awkwardly when he started to protest. “Just think about it, will you?”

When the sound of the shower reached him moments later, along with the image of Cate, naked, wet, hair slicked back from her face, he surged to his feet, grabbed the room key and went outside. He’d spotted a convenience store across the street when they’d pulled in, and he headed that way.

The store was brightly lit, the gas pumps busy. He dodged a couple of cars and a half-dozen people to get inside the door and trolled the aisles, picking up everything that looked remotely snackable. Tomorrow he needed to do some real shopping—the only clean clothes he would have left was a pair of socks—or do laundry. If he’d realized when he’d packed that he was actually leaving the country, he would have done a better job of it.

He returned to the room with two grocery bags and a six-pack of bottled water. The other water, the shower, was quiet now—he’d never known a woman who could shower as quickly as Cate—and about the time he laid the bags on the dresser, the bathroom door opened. He looked into the mirror over the dresser, his gaze connecting with hers.

Damn, she was beautiful. Her hair
was
damp, slicked back from her face, and fragrances drifted on the steamy air escaping the bathroom. He would recognize the scent of her in his sleep: not just perfume, but lotion, face cream, shampoo, shower gel. The kind of sweet that stirred heat and need.

She stopped just outside the door, her gaze locked on his. Awareness flickered in her eyes. Wariness. Longing, though faint, as if she hadn’t fully acknowledged it.