The Marriage Profile Page 8

  “Is that why you used to shut me out?” he asked, the question tumbling past his lips before he could think better of it.

  She stared at him with serious blue eyes. “You’re a man who deals in facts, Justin. For you, everything is black-and-white. The few times when I tried to tell you about my visions, you claimed it was my cop’s instincts kicking in, remember?”

  “I don’t remember you denying it,” he said, feeling defensive because he remembered all too well that she’d spooked him on more than one occasion with her ability to know the phone was going to ring before it rang, knew who would be on the other side of the door before there was a knock, knew where to find the missing pieces on a puzzling case without any solid reasoning behind it.

  “Because I knew it made you uncomfortable. You needed a logical explanation for things—not something as illogical as having your wife tell you that she had psychic visions.”

  “You make me sound like some kind of close-minded jerk.”

  “I don’t mean to. You’re a good man, Justin, an honorable one. I knew exactly who and what you were when I married you. The problem wasn’t you. It was me. I was the one who was dishonest. I was afraid that if I ever let you see who I really was, what I really am, that I would lose you.”

  “You think I don’t know that? You think I didn’t know that you always held a part of yourself back from me? That you didn’t trust me?” he fired back, unable to keep the bitterness out of his tone. “You were like some lost, scared kitten, Angela. And I loved you so much that I would have walked through fire for you, done anything for you. I thought if I was patient, that if I showed you how much I loved you, that you would learn to trust me, that you would love me the way I loved you. But you never did.”

  “I did love you,” she told him.

  “Well, I guess you just didn’t love me enough to have a little faith in me. If you had, we might have been able to work things out. But I suppose that’s one of those things we’ll never know, isn’t it?”

  “I guess n— Justin, look out!”

  Justin jerked his gaze back to the road, where a big slow-moving rig was blocking the road directly ahead of them. “Hang on,” he shouted as he hit the brakes and yanked the steering wheel to the right. His truck slid several feet, kicking up dust and gravel and with it the stench of burning rubber. When the truck finally came to a hard stop a few yards from where the semi was just lumbering by, his head snapped forward and back before his body slammed back against the seat. “Are you all right?” he asked, his gaze raking over her.

  “Yes. I think so,” she said, her voice a little more than a whisper.

  But her eyes were wide, her face pale. And without stopping to think, he unhooked his seat belt, reached across the seat and began running his hands down her torso, checking to assure himself she was okay. When his hand brushed the side of her breast, he went still. The adrenaline rush of the near crash somehow kick-started the sensual awareness that he’d spent all morning trying to keep leashed. Suddenly he realized how close her mouth was. All he had to do was lean forward an inch, maybe two, and he’d be kissing her as he’d wanted to do from the first moment he’d seen her the other night at the dedication.

  As though reading his thoughts, she sucked in a breath. Justin lifted his gaze to hers, and the answering need he saw darkening her eyes sent heat firing through his veins like a blowtorch. He started to lower his mouth when the blare of a horn slapped him back to his senses. He yanked himself from the brink, released his hold on her and cursed his own weakness where she was concerned. Frustrated, he punched the steering wheel and found some measure of satisfaction at the jolt of pain that shot up his arm.

  After a long moment he said, “I’m sorry. I should have been paying closer attention to the road.” And he was also sorry for allowing himself to get worked up as he had and nearly getting them both killed. He was even sorrier for letting his guard slip and coming dangerously close to kissing her. It was a mistake that he didn’t intend to make again. Feeling somewhat more in control, he allowed himself to look at her. “You sure you’re all right?”

  “I’m fine,” she said.

  Only, he knew she was lying. Already he could sense her retreating into herself once more, shutting him out as she’d done so often during their marriage. Which was just as well, he told himself as he refastened his seat belt and started the truck up again. The last thing either of them needed was to go tiptoeing through the emotional mine-fields of what went wrong with their marriage. No, the sooner this case was closed and she was on her way back to San Antonio, the better off they’d both be, he told himself. He maneuvered his truck back onto the roadway and aimed it toward Angela’s condo.

  For the next twenty minutes neither of them said a word. Silence settled inside the truck like a dense fog. Feeling edgy and far too aware of Angela sitting quietly beside him, Justin was almost grateful to have Audrey Lou call him on his radio transmitter. “Wainwright,” he all but barked out in answer.

  “Sheriff, we’ve got a fender bender with an overturned horse trailer on Pine Street. The trailer was empty, and the driver’s only got a few scratches, but the trailer’s blocking two streets and has traffic in a mess. Hank’s on the scene, but he’s still taking statements. He could use a hand clearing the streets.”

  “Tell Bobby to get over there and help him,” Justin instructed.

  “Tried,” Audrey Lou said. “But the boy’s not answering his radio. I sent him to clear up a scuffle between the Mitchell and Hawkins boys. He radioed in fifteen minutes ago, saying everything was under control and he was heading back here after he made a quick stop. But so far, there’s no sign of him.”

  Justin swore. “Keep trying until you get him,” he ordered. “I’m only a few minutes from Angela’s now. As soon as I drop her off, I’ll be heading back to the office. In the meantime, call Roy and ask him if he’ll give Hank a hand.”

  “Will do,” Audrey Lou replied.

  “And, Audrey Lou?”

  “Yeah, Sheriff?”

  “You tell Bobby I want to see him when I get back,” he said before ending the call. He liked Bobby, thought the kid had potential. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that his new deputy wasn’t being straight with him. He’d been a lawman too long not to be able to get a sense when something was off. And something was off with his deputy. The kid was hiding something.

  He’d been sorely in need of another deputy when Bobby had applied for the job. And although Audrey Lou said Bobby’s references had checked out, it wouldn’t hurt for him to take a closer look. He made a mental note to put a call in to a friend he had at the capitol in Austin and ask him to run Bobby’s name through the system.

  “Things sound pretty busy,” Angela said, breaking into his thoughts. “I should have taken my car and gone to see the Carsons and Luke on my own instead of taking up your time like this.”

  “I offered to take you, remember?”

  “I know, but it’s pretty obvious that you’re needed back in town.”

  “The town will survive without me for a while,” he told her, and flicked on his turn signal as he headed for the exit lane. “Besides, I didn’t want you talking to the Carsons or Luke without me there.”

  “Why not?” she asked, and he didn’t miss the sharp note in her tone.

  “Because I didn’t want you saying anything to them about your pal Ricky Mercado’s theory that little Lena is his sister’s kid. And judging by your questions to Luke, I can see I was right to be worried. That is where you were heading with that line of questions about the woman he spent the night with, isn’t it?”

  “You heard Luke. He said the woman reminded him of someone he used to know.”

  “Haley Mercado died in a boating accident four years ago,” Justin pointed out as he turned onto Angela’s street.

  “But from what I understand, the body that was found was so badly decomposed there was no way to make a positive ID. And there were no dental records or other means t
o prove it was Haley.”

  “And you don’t know that it wasn’t Haley,” he argued.

  “Are you going to sit there and tell me that you don’t think it’s even a possibility that the woman was Haley?”

  “Yeah, I think it’s a possibility that the woman was Haley. I also think it’s a possibility that she wasn’t. So until we know otherwise, we deal in facts. And the fact is that as far as either one of us knows, Haley Mercado is dead.”

  “Since when did you become such a close-minded stuffed shirt, Wainwright?”

  The accusation hit home. Justin swung the truck into her driveway and slammed the gearshift into Park. Then he turned to face her. “Maybe since I watched Luke’s guilt over that accident nearly eat him alive. Or maybe it was when I saw him and Flynt and Spence Harrison and Tyler Murdoch go through that circus of a trial for Haley’s murder. Or maybe it was after their acquittal when that psycho Frank Del Brio vowed to get his own justice for Haley’s death.”

  “But—”

  Justin got in her face and dropped his voice as he said, “You’re the one who’s supposed to be the psychic, Mason. All I have to work with is my gut. And my gut tells me that if that little girl is Haley’s, there’s a real good chance that Del Brio’s behind her kidnapping.”

  “But if you think he’s the one who has Lena, then we know where to look. All we need is a search warrant for his home, for his business.”

  “We can’t get a warrant without some evidence.”

  “Well, I can get one,” she informed. “Let me make a call—”

  He caught her wrist when she reached for her purse in search of her cell phone. “Listen up, Mason. You aren’t going to call anyone. And you aren’t going to say a word about any of this until I say so. Understand?”

  She jerked her wrist free, tipped up her chin. “I don’t take orders from you, Justin Wainwright.”

  “On this you do,” he told her, and damned if he didn’t think she looked beautiful with temper heating her cheeks and sparking in her eyes. “There’s no way I’m going to let you put two people’s lives at risk.”

  “If you’re talking about you and me—”

  “I’m talking about Luke Callaghan and his little girl. If Luke thinks Del Brio has his daughter, he’s not going to let something like the fact that he’s blind stop him from going after Del Brio,” Justin explained. “And if Del Brio suspects that Haley is alive and he’s kidnapped the kid to get at her, what chance do you think that baby has of seeing her next birthday if Del Brio finds out Luke is her father?”

  “I didn’t realize,” she murmured.

  “Now that you do, I want your word that you won’t say anything about this to anyone.”

  “Of course.”

  “Say it,” he demanded.

  She looked up at him, met his gaze. “I promise not to say anything.”

  “To anyone,” Justin prompted.

  She thinned her lips. “I said I wouldn’t say anything to anyone. Whether you believe me or not is up to you.”

  Deciding he’d pushed her enough, Justin said, “All right.” He unhooked his seat belt. “I’ll help you bring that stuff inside, and then I need to head back to work,” he told her, motioning to the files, baby blanket and stuffed animal.

  “Don’t bother,” she countered, and began trying to unhook her seat belt, which apparently was stuck.

  “Let me get it,” he told her.

  “I can do it,” she informed him, temper in her voice. She shooed his hands away, made a frustrated sound when the catch refused to release.

  When she yelped because the thing pinched her finger, Justin pushed her hand away. “There,” he said as the catch gave, and when he looked up, he found himself close, too close to her. He wasn’t sure if he moved that inch or if she did. All he knew was that suddenly they were kissing. She tasted sweet and hot. She tasted familiar and yet new at the same time. He sieved his hands through her hair and drank her in. Her mouth fitted beneath his like it was made for him. Desire raced through him like a bullet. He slid one hand between them to cup her breast, and nearly lost it when he felt her nipple harden beneath the fabric and strain against his palm.

  She tore her mouth free and gasped. “Justin, we…I…This is insane. We can’t—”

  Sanity came back in a rush. He jerked away, dragged in a breath. “You’re right. This was a mistake. I don’t know what I was thinking,” he admitted, irritated with himself, with her. He moved over to his side of the truck, needing some distance and a chance to clear his head. He rubbed a hand down his face.

  “It was just a kiss, Justin.”

  “Right. I know that,” he countered. “But it shouldn’t have happened. I never meant to—I was out of line. I had no right to subject you to…” He was blabbering like a schoolboy, Justin realized, disgusted with himself.

  “I said it’s all right,” she told him. “It was only a kiss.”

  But he’d wanted something to happen, Justin admitted. And judging by Angela’s response, so had she. Only that was one road neither one of them should travel again—not if they had any sense. He let out another breath and tried again. “You’re right,” he finally said. “It was just a kiss. But you don’t have to worry, I promise it won’t happen again.”

  Five

  Angela pushed away from the combination desk and art table that she’d set up as a workstation in her condo and headed for the kitchen. Her stomach grumbled, a reminder that it was already after eight o’clock, long past dinnertime, and she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. She pulled open the door to her refrigerator and eyed its meager contents. “Should have gone to the grocery,” she muttered, and retrieved a can of soda. Snagging the bag of chips and salsa from the pantry, she headed back to her work.

  While she munched on the chips and salsa, she eyed the reports, statements, photographs and other items that she’d spread out across her workstation. But even though she tried to think about the case, tried to figure out what it was she was missing, her thoughts drifted back to Justin once more. In the two days since he’d kissed her outside in the driveway, he’d remained true to his word. It hadn’t happened again. But his treating her like a stranger—or trying to—had done little to ease the sensual awareness between them. It was as though some inner radar went off in her every time they were in the same room with each other. Given the way Justin did his best to avoid being near her, she suspected he felt it, too.

  The sexual chemistry that had sparked between them the very first time they met in training school was just as powerful now as it had been eight years ago. He wanted her, and didn’t like the wanting one bit. The realization stung almost as much as his bumbled apology for kissing her had, Angela admitted as she dunked the flat tortilla chip into the spicy red sauce. And if she had a lick of sense, she would stop thinking about Justin Wainwright and concentrate on this case. Because the sooner she found little Lena, the sooner she could go back to San Antonio and get out of Justin’s life.

  And maybe, maybe she could forget about him. Forget about the anger and hurt in his voice when he’d told her how much he’d loved her and how she’d shut him out. Forget the way desire had heated his eyes when he’d looked at her. Forget how his mouth had felt, hot and hard and demanding, when he’d kissed her. Forget the feel of his hands on her skin, strong and calloused, yet gentle.

  Angela groaned and pressed the cold drink can against her cheek. She had to stop thinking about him. She had to—or she was going to drive herself insane. Putting the soda and snacks aside, she went into the bathroom, rinsed her hands and splashed cool water on her face. And then she headed back to work.

  Picking up first the baby blanket and then the stuffed lamb that Josie Carson had given her, Angela made her mind go blank of everything but the little girl to whom the items belonged. “Talk to me, Lena. Talk to me,” she whispered. Closing her eyes, Angela held the blanket against her cheek and tried to pick up the dark-haired baby’s aura.

  It came to her in sna
tches. Laughter. The sound of a baby’s giggles. The wonder at feeling the blond, silky hair. Lena’s emotions, her baby’s curiosity and joy continued to flash at Angela like strobe lights.

  And then she saw her. Lena.

  A dark-haired little girl, laughing, her chubby fingers reaching out for something. Angela frowned, tried to see what or who coaxed the child, but she couldn’t move beyond those outstretched fingers. Then more emotions hit Angela—surprise, fear, pain from something razor sharp—then darkness. At the sudden blackness, Angela wrapped her arms around herself. Caught up in the child’s fear, Angela trembled. Tears ran down her cheeks. Instinctively Angela started to retreat from the overwhelming emotions, but she forced herself not to close the door. She had to relive Lena’s fear, to listen to her weeping if she was going to find her.

  When she thought her heart would break from the little girl’s fear and distress and that she would not be able to go on, she heard it. Music. Soft, dreamy music that sounded like a lullaby. Suddenly new images flashed behind her shuttered lids—horses, a group of beautiful horses. A palomino, a black stallion, another with a snowy mane. A fence, some sort of track, an old wooden structure.

  Concentrating, Angela tried to recapture a sense of the little girl. But instead of Lena, a string of new images assailed her, quick flickers that came in flashes. It was like trying to watch a movie with every other scene missing or slides in a projector being run at fast speed. Confused, she caught a glimpse of some sort of cave or cavern. Another clip showed her layers of dust. More slides revealed objects—groups of objects—heavy and rounded like the shape of a coin. Another blip of the screen and there was a cross, an old cup that had lost its patina. Unable to make sense of it, she stopped questioning what it meant. Instead she opened her eyes and did what she always did. She reached for her drawing pad and pencil and began to sketch.

  Her fingers raced over the blank pages, trying to recapture what she’d seen in her mind’s eye. And when Angela finally put down her pencil and shoved away from the table, she was stunned to discover that nearly three hours had passed. Feeling drained, she stood and stretched her arms up over her head to ease the aching muscles in her back from sitting bent over her workstation for so long.