Out of the Mist (Can't Help Falling Book 1) Page 4

  "No problem." He directed her back to her room. "Poke around the dresser if you want. If you'd rather not wear the lost and found stuff, my sister leaves stuff here for when she visits." His impersonal gaze ran over her. "She's skinny, too. But . . . shorter."

  The siren song of a hot shower proved irresistible. A few minutes later she shampooed gingerly, conscious of the tight, itchy stitches tugging her hairline. Warm water drizzling over aching muscles, her mind wandered.

  As though in a movie, she saw herself. Seated at a table— in her hotel room? Jotting directions for the meeting. With . . . someone. Excitement coursed through her as she prayed the image wouldn't dissolve. Where was the hotel? Who was she meeting? But her rioting emotions only pushed the images out of reach. Releasing a calming breath, she tried to relax. Or at least— fake relaxing. She rolled her eyes.

  The concept of mindfulness was lost on her. How did one concentrate . . . on nothing? Wasn't the very act of concentrating supposed to be focused on— something? "You can do this," she insisted. The drumbeat of soapy water massaging her tension away, she closed her eyes. Trust no one. Julie knew she'd heard those words. But why? What was happening that couldn't be shared?

  While drying off, she examined her rainbow of bruises. An image of Ski Mask Guy slamming her against a warehouse door startled her from the relaxed state she'd achieved. Hands shaking, she pulled on borrowed sweatpants. God— who was she? What had she done that had people chasing her? Was she a random victim? In the wrong place?

  Her mind rebelled over the possibility her attack had been deliberate. But the nagging voice persisted. How had she ended up in an abandoned warehouse? Was she a drug dealer? Or was someone trying to paint it that way?

  Her gaze drifted to the darkened porthole window. Wind gusted through the eaves. Bamboo wind chimes clicked gently on the porch. In the crackling energy of an approaching storm, they sounded sinister. It couldn't be random. He'd returned to the hospital to finish her off. What if he was still out there— waiting for another shot?

  ***

  "What've you got?" Matt balanced the phone on his shoulder while he switched on the stove.

  "Okay - so the black pants were mass produced last spring. The lot number on her label was shipped to the northeast." His SAC was all business. Friends before the promotion, the title jump to Special Agent in Charge had changed Leo. "We've narrowed the stores down to three in the Boston area where they could've been shipped."

  "How long-"

  "You'll know when we do." Leo cut him off. His friend had morphed from flexible, creative UC to an uptight manager playing everything by the book. But that's what happened when an agent came in from the field. Politics. Climbing over bodies to achieve the next rung. Matt had been offered the same track. But it wasn't his passion. Of course, getting shot chasing drug dealers wasn't exactly fun, either. He rubbed his aching shoulder. Once he officially returned, it would be time to re-evaluate. Maybe figure out where he belonged.

  "Did you come up with anything on Tori Stash?"

  "Not yet. Like you said, it's probably not Stash. We haven't found anyone in the database with that name. Nothing from state. No arrests."

  "What about a local angle?"

  "Like what?" His boss' voice suggested impatience.

  "I don't know," he admitted. "Anything unusual? A missing person? A dead body we can't ID?" Grasping at any feasible lead, Matt hesitated. "She drove herself out here. Any reports on a missing vehicle?"

  Leo sighed. "If she drove herself, it's probably parked at the hotel."

  His boss was likely pissed that Mullaney had gone over his head to get Matt reassigned. There'd be political fallout for his friend's loyalty. "She ended up in the trunk of someone else's car," he corrected. "That means her vehicle is somewhere . . . abandoned."

  "Hang on," he muttered. "Frank just handed me something."

  Hearing the shower start, Matt lowered the heat on the burner and tried like hell not to think about the hot blonde in his bathroom. He could imagine water sluicing off her naked, probably amazing body-

  "Okay— this just got very interesting."

  His brain took a hard left back to reality. "What?"

  "Your lab results are back."

  Hunting for bowls, he paused. "Anyone we know?"

  "The blood under her nails belongs to Matias Munoz."

  Shock strafed his spine. Suddenly aware of every sound, every creaking nuance of his home, Matt absorbed the hit. "Jeez . . . that is news." Hell— had he just seen him? Munoz had been a ghost for more than a year— leaving a bloody trail of violence with barely a trace of evidence. "He may have been the guy— at the hospital."

  "Yeah— I'll need you to work with a sketch artist. Email me some preliminary details," he directed. "Frank is contacting the hospital to get their footage. I'll notify Mullaney and Boston PD," he ticked off. "His Harbor investigation is damn sure linked to this one." Leo paused. "Where is she?"

  "In the shower." Matt quickly reassessed. Jonas needed to inform their guard of this new challenge. Small town cops didn't see the kind of action Munoz was capable of. They were now dealing with a powerful, well-financed cartel. "I'll ask Jonas to pull in a state police detail. We might need extra manpower."

  "Make sure she can't run."

  "The shower's running and she's humming— badly." The window was too high and too small to climb out. He'd already dead-bolted the locks and set the alarm. Julie wasn't going anywhere. In light of the new information, they'd be sharing a barricaded room tonight— a fact that would definitely not go over well.

  Leo chuckled. "Finn will be there first thing tomorrow."

  Matt rechecked his gun clip, no longer comfortable assuming they hadn't been followed. Four more magazines were stored in the hall closet, along with his emergency 'go' bag. After two months gathering dust, he'd restock it tonight. Munoz was an important player. If he was in Marsh Point, then he likely had associates. Concern warred with the eagerness surging through him. Their first break in months. "Smells like Viper."

  "No shit." Leo's voice turned serious. "We've been checking hotels and motels in a twenty mile radius under all his known aliases-"

  "You won't find him. Too many mom and pop places out here," he added. "Plus— he's seriously financed. Munoz might have a more permanent crib." Matt experienced a twinge of disappointment. He'd wanted to believe Julie was a victim. But that assumption was laughable now. And for him— possibly deadly.

  "Sounds like you're back in business. Forensics hasn't been the same without you."

  "I'm moonlighting," Matt reminded.

  "C'mon, it's been months."

  "Ten weeks," he corrected.

  "Don't you miss it?" Leo's voice held genuine curiosity.

  He didn't miss the stench of blood. Or the helpless fury he experienced each time he revisited the incident that changed everything. "Some of it."

  "It wasn't your fault, Barnes. Informants know the risks-"

  "Informants snitch to save their ass." Anger spiking, he interrupted. "They don't plan on dying."

  "I'm offering perspective."

  "My perspective is I effed up-"

  "You survived an ambush."

  Wearily, Matt rubbed his temple, a monster headache threatening. "My shoulder is still basically useless. And you know Dr. Bannett won't clear me on the psych eval."

  "Well, this case gets you in the back door. Kick some ass and you won't need her to sign off."

  His boss was hitting a little close for comfort. As if on cue, Matt heard the shower turn off as they disconnected. Unease prickled through him, a stark reminder to stay on his game. After a decade on the job, his instinct was still in wait-and-see mode about Julie. That alone was reason for caution. At face value, she didn't strike him as a drug dealer. She was educated. Established. But drugs blurred all social and economic lines. The reality was, she could be involved in one of the most ruthless cartels he'd ever come across.

  She was beautiful. And despi
te his efforts to keep her at a distance, he wasn't entirely immune. Lowering his guard had nearly gotten him killed the last time. He wouldn't make that mistake again. Tonight, he'd sleep with one eye open.

  ***

  Clean, hungry and sporting a second wind, Julie crutched back to the living room.

  "Feel better?" Matt ladled soup into two bowls.

  She smiled. "Your shower gel doesn't smell like disinfectant."

  "Nothing but the best for my guests." He motioned her to the table. "Have a seat."

  Outside, thunder rumbled in the distance. A fierce arc of lightning flashed beyond the window. But in Agent Barnes' kitchen, it was warm and cozy against the approaching storm. For the first time in days, Julie felt utterly safe. "Thanks for taking me in. It's a huge imposition."

  "I'll survive."

  If possible, his demeanor had grown more prickly while she'd been gone. "Can I help?"

  He set a mug of tea on the table. "Nope. Bread will be out of the oven soon." He glanced at her. "You should get off that ankle."

  Was there anything he didn't notice? Julie eased into a chair to watch him. Working with an economy of movement, Agent Barnes was clearly comfortable in the kitchen. His professor glasses lent an air of studious purpose as he filled colorful bowls. But when he turned those amazing blue eyes on her, she forgot to breathe. Matt Barnes was the hottest professor she'd never had a class with.

  "What's wrong?"

  Her pulse rioting, she gulped a breath. "I just . . . remembered something," she lied.

  Setting fragrant bowls of soup on the table, he returned to the kitchen. "Anything important?"

  Oh, hell. He'd assume it was the case. Instead of her fantasizing about the sexy cop- Who wants to throw you in jail. "I saw myself . . . writing at a table. I think it was my hotel room."

  "I don't suppose you remember where that was?"

  His voice was carefully neutral. As though he knew something he wasn't sharing. "No— just a room." When Barnes' expression didn't change, she felt unaccountably defensive. "I tried to see more-"

  "You're not supposed to force it."

  The delicious, familiar aroma of chicken soup made her stomach rumble. Barnes' sudden glance indicated he'd heard it, too. "Sorry— I just realized I'm starving."

  "You ever go to Murphy's on the pier?"

  "The place with the great chowder?" When Barnes stilled, she gasped. "Boston— that's in Boston." When a cold shiver jagged through her, she scrubbed her arms. "I-I've been there."

  "Maybe you live downtown." Pausing when the lights flickered, he set a basket of steaming bread before her. "We should eat before we lose power."

  "That happens a lot?"

  "Pretty often." His frank words made Julie glance around uneasily. A darkened cabin. Trapped inside with a handsome, distrustful man. Outside, a killer on the loose.

  "Super duper."

  A fleeting smile crossed his face. "This storm's gonna be wild."

  She glanced up at the first noisy raindrops. Soon it was lashing the windows and pounding the roof. An explosion of thunder reverberated through the cottage.

  "If I live in Boston," she muttered, "I wonder if the warehouse is there, too."

  "The one from your dream?" He buttered a slice of bread and handed it to her. "Seriously— you need to eat."

  She took a bite and groaned. Buttery, flaky goodness. "This is delicious."

  "You must really be starving."

  She flushed under his scrutiny, his amused smile revealing a flash of perfect teeth. She wondered whether he'd worn braces as a kid. Or if Barnes' smile was like the rest of him. The perfect, flawless, enigmatic, gonna-throw-her-in-jail man of her dreams. "I saw him again— the man in the mask. He shoved me against a wall."

  "Any details about the warehouse?"

  "I see things like it's a movie. Little flashes." She tasted the soup. "It's not very big as warehouses go. Not like the one at work-" She froze, spoon halted midway to her mouth. "I'm starting to not like this."

  Matt sat up straighter, seeming to look through her. "Remembering?"

  "It's like I don't know what will come out of my mouth next."

  "So, you have a warehouse where you work?"

  She nodded. "It's big. Not like the one in my dream."

  "I don't suppose you remember where you work?" His expression more sardonic than hopeful, Barnes' raised an eyebrow.

  "No." Julie stared at him, increasingly certain of the vibe swirling around them. He knew— something. "Are you not telling me something?" Thunder vibrated through the cottage, matching the edgy mood at the table.

  "What'd you do to piss off Matias Munoz?" Matt's voice rang with quiet authority.

  "Who?"

  "The man who attacked you is tied to a major Boston drug ring. "

  "I've never heard of him." Relief flooded her, brightening the shadow of gloom. "That's good news, right? A name?" They were finally making progress. "Can't you just go out and pick him up?"

  Barnes' mouth compressed in a tight, dangerous smile that made her shiver. "He's an enforcer who's killed several people. Now he's tied to you."

  "Because he attacked me," she cried. Every ounce of oxygen left her lungs as terror washed over her. "You make it sound-" Breathing suddenly hurt. "I-I don't know him."

  "Well, he knows you."

  "Why ask a question if you think you know the answer?"

  Across the table, she felt his assessment down to her bones. "Just checking your memory."

  "You were testing me? To see if I'd lie." She startled when thunder reverberated, as though the wild storm had entered the room with them— mimicking the mounting tension.

  "I was testing your recall."

  "My recall? Of a vicious killer." In Agent Barnes' eyes, she wasn't a victim. His expression suggested she never had been. She was a potential suspect. Suddenly sick with the realization that truth might never be enough for him, Julie pushed her soup aside. "Why don't you just tell me what you've learned?"

  His scrutiny only intensified. "Try to eat. You need to regain your strength."

  "Is this a game to you?" She'd had it with his snarky comments— always judging. And her always coming up short. "My life is falling apart and you want to make it worse."

  "Exploring and eliminating theories is part of the job. I'm sorry you feel insulted."

  Agent Barnes didn't appear sorry at all. "If I'm involved at all, it's because someone is trying to frame me. But until I can prove that, you'll just twist my words to fit the hole you need plugged."

  "I search for facts. Everything else falls into place."

  His voice remained icily calm while her heart pumped with fury. Which was better than fear, she reminded. She'd be crazy to trust him. Barnes might say all the right words but if he was protecting her— it was only because she was an asset to his case. Not a person in danger.

  You're on your own, Jules. At least that felt familiar. "The truth doesn't seem good enough for you." He'd already found her guilty— of something.

  "I'm a cop. I understand evidence." Matt squared his shoulders, his expression chilling. "It's not a question of wanting to believe you."

  "You believe what's obvious." Agent Barnes had an uncanny knack for making her feel stupid— something she was tiring of. "If your theory doesn't work, you massage it into something more convenient."

  His jaw tightened. "I guess that sums up a decade of knowledge and experience."

  "I've been beaten, robbed and left for dead." Julie ticked off her troubles. "I own a company in trouble— but I can't remember what sort of troub-"

  Her angry words launched into the yawning gap between them. When he stilled, she clapped a shaking hand to her mouth. She'd done it again. Owned. She owned a company. Tears blinding her eyes, she rose from the table. "I c-can't do this anymore."

  "It's not that I don't believe you, Julie. It's that I can't prove it."

  "That's very c-comforting. Hopefully, before you throw me in jail I'll rememb
er something I can prove." Provoking Barnes wouldn't help, she reminded. Julie needed to cool down before frustration overtook her judgment. Pushing back her chair, she retrieved her crutches. "With that vote of confidence, I guess I'll go to bed."

  "Change of plans." His voice was razor sharp. "We're sharing a room."

  Shock rolled through her. "You said-"

  His eyes still simmering with accusation, he shrugged. "That was before I learned who your boss is."

  "Fine." She'd had it with his accusations. Damn it, she was the victim. And Barnes needed to start acting like it. Scrubbing the goosebumps on her arms, she spun away from him before Agent Dickhead accused her of using tears to gain his sympathy. "I hope I keep you awake all night. I hope I snore like— like a monster."

  ***

  Despite tension knotting his neck, Matt cracked up. Guilty or not, she was a fighter. And damned if feisty didn't look good on her. Limping into the living room, she reminded him of Gram without her walker. When she sank to the couch, lower lip trembling, her brief flash of spirit vanished. Hell— he'd known his tactics would work, but he hadn't counted on a bucketful of tears threatening to spill from those beautiful eyes. Every instinct he possessed told him her confusion was real. Her fear was credible.

  He'd taken his frustration out on her. Matt regretted his words— since they partly stemmed from his attraction to her. Now, she seemed fragile— her drawn face hollow with pain. His gut knotted as he battled the urge to cross the room. To wrap her carefully in a blanket. When thunder shook the cottage, she flinched. Anger, he could handle. But tears would render him as powerless as he'd felt when Leo delivered the news about Munoz.

  Julie was in serious danger— whether or not she'd brought it on herself. Anything less than calm, clear-headed logic on his part left them exposed. Forgetting the dishes on the counter, Matt followed her to the couch where she sat, head in her hands.

  "I'm sorry you're upset." Softening his tone, the interrogation skills he'd honed to surgical precision kicked in. Keeping the dialogue open worked to his advantage. Even better— her believing they were on the same side. "I need your help to resolve this."