Most Wanted Woman Page 13

  Silently, she opened the passenger door and slid into the seat beside him. She’d taken time to change into a black tank top and shorts. Her dark hair was tugged ponytail-style through the back loop of a gray baseball cap that was pulled down low. Sunglasses rode high on the bridge of her nose.

  He didn’t have to wonder about the reason for her attempt at disguise. This was the first time they’d been on what might be perceived as a date. If any of the locals glimpsed them driving together, Sundown’s rumor mill would heat up with speculation. She was terrified her abuser would find her, might somehow get a whiff there was something between her and the cop next door, which would send her abuser after him. Josh felt his chest tighten at her attempt to protect him.

  “How’s your patient?” he asked quietly.

  “Etta’s sound asleep,” Regan said, keeping her gaze focused out the windshield. “It should be only a couple more days before Doc Zink switches her from IV antibiotics to a pill form.”

  And only a matter of time until you leave Sundown. Josh blinked against a sudden clench in his gut. He knew next to nothing about the woman beside him, yet all he wanted to do was hold on to her.

  “That’s a great disguise, Regan. Can you see anything through those shades?”

  “I shouldn’t even be with you,” she said, her whisper-soft voice thready with nerves. “I don’t know why I’m here. Just drive, okay?”

  He regarded her, overwhelmed with a need to protect he’d felt for no one before. He wanted to tell her he could help her if she’d just give him her real name. And the name of the bastard she was hiding from. But he didn’t want her to stiffen up and climb out of the car, so he let it pass. For now.

  He cranked on the key; the ’Vette’s engine came to life, more like a powerful animal waking than a machine. He backed out of the driveway, then steered toward the lake, the headlights slicing through the darkness.

  The night air flowed across his skin while earthy, mellow blues from the CD player filled the silence between them. When he steered onto the tree-lined road that edged the water, ghostly moonlight broke through the canopy of leaves.

  Ten minutes later, he swung the ’Vette to the side of the road at the base of Sundown Ridge. When he cut off the engine, the heavy hush of night surrounded them.

  Beside him, Regan sat scrunched down in the seat, the ball cap and sunglasses blocking his view of her face. He ached, he discovered. Just looking at her made him ache. He fought the need to pull her into his arms, feel again the press of her mouth against his, the hammering of her pulse at the base of her throat. He’d promised to keep his hands and his mouth off her tonight, and he intended to keep his word. Was determined it would be Regan who made the next move.

  “Enjoy the ride?” he asked.

  “I see the moon and the stars, but that’s it.” She inched the glasses down the bridge of her nose and peered at him. “You promised to show me a moonstar, whatever that is. Did I fall for some cheesy ploy to get me off somewhere in the dark?”

  “One thing you need to learn about me is that I’m a man of my word.” He climbed out, rounded the hood and opened her door. “We have to make a short climb, but it’s worth it.”

  He waited until she stood beside him then he pulled off her cap.

  “Hey—”

  “We didn’t pass one car on the way here,” he said, tossing the cap on the dash. “No one else is around, Regan. It’s safe for you to ditch the disguise.” He dipped his head. “You’re safe with me.”

  She hesitated, then pulled off her sunglasses and left them beside the cap.

  With moonlight illuminating the way, he led her up a narrow graveled path to a clearing halfway up the ridge. There, he settled down on a slab of rock and patted the spot beside him. “Have a seat. This is the place to get the best view.”

  She eyed him, her face bathed in silver light and shadow. “This better be good, McCall.”

  “Good doesn’t begin to describe it,” he said as she sat beside him. He inclined his head in the direction of the huge butterball moon hanging low over the lake. Silvery light reflected off its surface like shards of glass. “What do you think?”

  She followed his gaze, remained still for a moment. “It’s beautiful,” she said quietly.

  “Moonstars. That only happens when the moon is full,” he said, watching her. “Around this time of night.”

  She glanced up at the ridge, then looked back at him. “Wouldn’t the view of the water be even better from the top?”

  “Beats me, I’ve never been up there.”

  She pursed her mouth. “According to the locals, that’s the premier make-out spot for teenagers. It’s hard to believe the guy who once raided the Camp Fire Girls overnight jamboree has never taken a date up to Sundown Ridge.”

  “Believe it.” He wanted to touch her so badly, he had to curl his fingers into his palms to quell the urge. “The ridge is cursed.”

  “Cursed?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I’ve been in this town for six months and I haven’t heard about any curse connected with Sundown Ridge.”

  “That’s because most people think it’s a place of good luck.”

  She leaned back on her elbows, her body slim and sleek, her bare legs shimmering in the moonlight. He wanted those legs wrapped around him. Wanted her.

  “I’m waiting,” she said.

  So am I, he thought with resignation. “There’s a general belief around town that when a man takes a woman to Sundown Ridge, he’ll wind up marrying her.”

  She swiped her bangs away from her eyes. “So, you view marriage as a curse?”

  “Not so much a curse as something to be avoided.”

  “Why? Did some woman sink her claws into you and break your heart?”

  “Not me. I’ve just paid attention to what my sisters and brothers have gone through when it comes to matters of the heart.”

  “For instance?”

  “Nate got dumped by his beauty queen fiancée two days before their wedding. Bran’s wife, Patience, died of an aneurysm. A few years later, he and Tory eloped and they went through some rough times before things between them settled down. Morgan’s college sweetheart walked out on her while she was in a coma, and Grace’s first husband died in the line of duty. I’ve seen the people I care most about totally devastated, all in the name of love. It makes me wonder if getting that close to someone is worth it.”

  “I take it where you’re concerned, no woman has ever merited that kind of risk?”

  “No.” He let his gaze skim from her soft, angular profile, down her slender, delicate frame. For the first time in his life, he was beginning to think lowering the walls he’d erected around his heart might outweigh the risk.

  “What about you?” he asked. “Has any man been worth taking a chance on?”

  She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. “I was engaged once.”

  “Things didn’t work out?”

  He saw emotion flicker over her face before she turned her head away. “He died.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”

  “It seems like a lifetime ago.” She lifted her chin, her gaze sliding back up to the top of the ridge. “So, to hedge your bets you avoid going up on Sundown Ridge.”

  “Location’s important when you’re talking real estate and gunshot wounds. Not so essential when it comes to finding a spot to conduct a little romance.”

  She turned her head so she faced him fully, her mouth curving. “Is this one of those spots where you bring women, McCall? Do you woo them into your arms by showing them moonstars?”

  “No, Ford, I conduct my wooing elsewhere. This is where I come when I need to do some thinking and want to be alone.” He angled his chin. “I’ve never brought anyone else here. Until tonight.”

  The intimacy in his voice was like a velvet glove against Regan’s flesh, sending a tremor up her spine. She sat up slowly, her smile fading. “Why me?” she asked quietly
. “Why bring me here?”

  “You’re on the run. Cut off from friends. Family. People you love. I just figured you might need a place to come and think about that other life you left behind.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut briefly. The fact he had even thought about that, considered how alone she felt had a myriad of emotions sweeping through her. Instantly she tried to block them, reminding herself she couldn’t afford too many good feelings toward Josh McCall. The cop.

  Yet, her heart wasn’t listening to the strict common sense she had imposed on it. With the spicy scent of his aftershave filling her lungs, she felt everything closing in on her—the need to flee Sundown, her desperate desire to stay. Her growing feelings for Josh which, until this moment, she’d steadfastly refused to acknowledge.

  “It has to be hard,” he continued as he shifted his gaze back to the lake, “not to have someone to talk things out with. To share your feelings with.”

  Harder than you’ll ever know, she agreed silently, achingly aware she’d opened herself up more with him than she had with any man since Steven.

  Tears blurred her vision as she pictured the memorial service, her fiancé’s coffin disappearing into his family’s lichen-covered crypt in a New Orleans cemetery. His killer, Payne Creath, standing amid the mourners, offering her solace.

  She kept her gaze locked on the moonlight glistening on the water like icy diamonds until the press of memories eased. Acknowledging that the hold she held on her control was tenuous, she diverted the subject away from herself. “When was the last time you came here just to think?”

  Josh took a moment to answer. “About a month ago.”

  She looked back at him. “Etta didn’t mention you were in Sundown.”

  “Etta didn’t know. It was a turnaround trip. I drove down from the city, spent a couple of hours here, then I headed back for a session with Internal Affairs.”

  Regan kept her eyes steady on his. It was her own session with a New Orleans PD Internal Affairs cop that made her realize how effectively Creath had blocked her from getting help from anyone in law enforcement. “Internal Affairs,” she said evenly. “Don’t they investigate wrongdoing by cops?”

  “Exactly. I’d been accused of several things.”

  “Such as?”

  “Evidence tampering, attempting to frame a suspect.” When she remained silent, Josh looked back at her. “Aren’t you going to ask me why I did it?”

  “Being accused doesn’t mean you’re guilty.”

  “I’m living proof of that,” he murmured. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “My partner and I were tracking a dirtbag who’d attacked six women. He raped and beat them, then forced them to take a shower to wash off forensic evidence. We pegged him the Shower Stall Rapist. An anonymous tip led us to a rich kid named Wahlberg. We gathered information on him that was enough to get a search warrant for his place, but not to make an arrest. Before we could serve the warrant, we got called to another scene where the MO matched the Shower Stall Rapist’s.”

  Regan remained silent, studying Josh. He seemed lost in thought, his profile hard and unyielding.

  After a moment, he continued. “My partner and I worked the crime scene while another team of detectives served the search warrant. I left my partner to wrap up things at the rape scene while I went to Wahlberg’s apartment to help wind up the search. We were getting ready to leave when one of the detectives who served the warrant did a final walk-through of the place. He noticed a minuscule blot of white sticking out from under the bed. He thought it was strange no one had noticed it before.”

  “What was it?”

  “A pair of women’s panties. Forensics later matched them to the last rape victim.”

  “That’s good, isn’t it?”

  “It would have been if any of the cops who’d already searched the bedroom had noticed the panties. The theory was they’d been planted. Since the crime-scene logs showed I was the only cop who’d been at the rape scene, then at Wahlberg’s apartment, the suspicion fell on me.”

  Regan heard the bitterness tinged with frustration in his voice. “And so you wound up at Internal Affairs,” she said quietly.

  He nodded. “I’ve got a rep for being able to dig up evidence on dirtbags that a lot of cops can’t get. That’s mainly because I’ve made a point to keep in touch with some of the less-than-savory contacts I made during my rebellious youth.” As he spoke, Josh trailed a fingertip along the thin scar winding out of his collar on the right side of his neck. “And I don’t mind cutting corners to get what I need to take down a piece of scum. But I don’t break the law to get it.” He lifted a shoulder. “Even so, a lot of cops thought I’d planted the evidence in Wahlberg’s bedroom. My own captain made noises about standing behind me, but I knew he thought I’d done it. After a couple of weeks of other cops giving me suspicious looks I got close to walking into the chief’s office and tossing my badge on his desk.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “Two reasons. My family believed in me. And I was innocent.”

  So was she. Regan curled her hands into fists so he couldn’t see them shake. “What happened?”

  “I kept going over things, making lists of everyone I’d seen at the rape scene, then at Wahlberg’s apartment, and comparing them to the scene logs. Nothing. Then I remembered something.”

  “What?”

  “Like I said, Wahlberg was a rich kid, his family high profile. One of the TV stations had gotten wind we were serving a warrant on his place, so they set up outside and filmed sound bites. I went to the station and reviewed their tapes, over and over. I finally caught a glimpse of an assistant D.A. named Rhodd whose name hadn’t shown up on the Wahlberg scene log. It wasn’t until then that I remembered seeing him at the rape scene, too.”

  “Why was an assistant D.A. at either place?”

  “Most all the A.D.A.’s show up at crime scenes occasionally, so it wasn’t a big deal that he’d been there. Besides, his boss is retiring next year, and Rhodd had already announced he was running for the job as the ‘tough on crime’ candidate. He knew his prosecuting the Shower Stall Rapist, who’d had every woman in Oklahoma City looking over her shoulder, would cinch the election. After I saw Rhodd on the video, I asked around, and a couple of uniforms also remembered him showing up at the rape scene.”

  “Why wasn’t his name on either log?”

  “At the rape scene a rookie was filling out the log. There were detectives, CSIs, EMTs all over the place, and the rookie couldn’t keep up. Rhodd just detoured around him and walked on in. He used the same type of move to get into Wahlberg’s apartment. Just slipped in.”

  “So, he stole a pair of the victim’s panties, then took them to Wahlberg’s apartment and planted them under the bed?”

  “That was my theory.”

  Regan had theories about Payne Creath, but nothing she could prove. “Since you’re still a cop, I take it you figured out a way to prove Rhodd did that?”

  “Actually, I got lucky,” Josh replied. “The lab found one of Rhodd’s hairs inside the panties. He’d have had to handle them in order for the hair to get where it was.”

  “And that put you in the clear?”

  “After a month of suspension, yeah. Rhodd’s now a former A.D.A., with felony charges pending against him.”

  With emotion flooding through her, Regan pushed off the rock and moved to the edge of the clearing. “Why did Rhodd want to set you up?” she asked, aware only after she’d spoken that her voice sounded thick. Tight.

  “His intention was to cement the evidence against Wahlberg, not set me up. I just happened to get in the way of a power-hungry A.D.A.’s wrecking ball.”

  Wrapping her arms around her waist, she stared at the moon. “If Rhodd hadn’t shown up on that TV news tape, you’d have lost your badge, maybe wound up in jail. Would you have just been able to accept that?”

  “Hell, no. I was innocent. I’d have kept digging for evidence. Looking fo
r a way to clear my name.”

  Langley, the P.I. she had watching Creath, had assured her the evidence Creath had manufactured against her was compelling and unbeatable. When her lips trembled, Regan gave thanks that Josh couldn’t see her face. She just needed a minute, she told herself. Time to pull back, get a grip on control before she told him it was time to take her home.

  Home. Whom was she trying to kid? Etta’s house was just a port in the storm in the roiling ocean that was her life. She didn’t have a home, would never again have one. She pressed her fingertips against her lips and tried to will the moment to pass. She was so tired, so scared. Sick from knowing that any minute her secret might be revealed. Then she’d be in jail for killing the man she’d loved and planned to spend her life with.

  A tear escaped and slid down her cheek. She dashed it away, then wrapped her arms tighter around her waist, aching inside.

  Here she was, sharing a moment in time with another man she was very afraid she could fall in love with. A man whose life she risked just by going with him for a drive in the moonlight. Oh God, she felt so lost. Alone. She wanted—desperately wanted to have someone to share things with, to belong. She just wanted to feel normal again.

  But her life was far from normal and she had no way to change things. It had been wrong of her to come here with Josh. Risky and careless and selfish. Using her fingertips to swipe away another tear, she dragged in a breath. Then another.

  When she felt steadier, she turned. Only then did she realize Josh was no longer sitting on the rock, but standing only inches from her.

  The dim light deepened the hollows in his face, casting his eyes into shadow. Even though they weren’t touching, it was as if she could feel the strength in him. He could be fierce, she imagined, just as easily as he could be gentle.

  She forced her mouth to curve. “I’m glad things worked out for you. That you got to keep your badge.”

  “So am I.”

  “And I appreciate you sharing your thinking spot with me, McCall. I might use it sometime. I’d better get back to Etta’s.”