Out of the Mist (Can't Help Falling Book 1) Page 8

  "You don't like being in charge?" His gaze firmly planted on the wall, he ignored the curious urge to substitute his fingers for hers. To feel the beautiful, silken weight slipping between them.

  "I didn't want it," she explained. "When he died I wanted . . . to run away."

  Matt sensed a gulf opening between them— could feel her aloneness. She'd been maybe twenty-eight? "That must have been difficult."

  Difficult? His polite words fell flat. How often had he uttered meaningless phrases like that? All under the guise of being considerate. When all he really wanted was more information. She'd lost both parents. 'Difficult' wouldn't begin to describe her life. "I can't imagine the pressure you must've felt."

  Her childhood had been nothing like his. He'd grown up with the security of knowing his parents were there. Despite her financial wizardry, his mother had been there when he and Lyss left the school bus. She'd baked cookies and bandaged knees with a calming regularity Julie had probably never known. He'd worn out half a dozen gloves playing catch with his father. And when his dad died, he'd wept for a week.

  "I was blindsided. Dad wasn't even sick."

  "You couldn't check out? For a little while?"

  "Not according to the board. We had so much . . . stuff to do. Contracts to negotiate. A warehouse our lawyer wanted sold." She met his gaze. "I felt guilty for wanting to leave-"

  Guilt etched her features. Loyalty. Sacrifice. Thrust into a role she hadn't wanted.

  "Without him, it doesn't mean much," she admitted. "Every day I walk through those doors . . . and I think of him." She released a ragged sigh. "I would've been relieved to sell my shares."

  "Why didn't you?"

  "Everything happened so fast." She swung her legs over the side of the couch. "I need to stretch." Sliding her foot into the boot, she winced when it made contact.

  "You okay?" The last thing he needed was her reinjuring the ankle.

  "Just aching." She took a wobbly step. "Mr. Dandridge said there wasn't time— that I should wait until things calmed down."

  Wait. What? "Who's Dandridge?" He wondered whether Julie was confusing memories. "Our attorney."

  A young woman grieving the loss of her father. Why would the attorney be against her selling and moving on? "You have shareholders?"

  She paused in her shuffle down the hallway. "Yeah. They weren't crazy about me, either. "They questioned my readiness and I . . . agreed, sort of."

  "Then why-" Matt's instinct had him wishing he could risk firing up his laptop, while the accountant in him was itching to review her financials.

  "Where's the bathroom?"

  Distracted, Matt guided her through the darkened hallway, his brain exploding with a dozen new questions. "Down here on the right."

  While she was in the bathroom, Matt located his backpack. No longer sure when or where he'd be able to meet up with Finn, he reminded himself to stay sharp. We might not be finished running.

  Finally, they were getting somewhere. Julie hadn't questioned Dandridge's motives in taking over her father's company. But context was everything. Twenty-eight. Alone. Grief stricken. The world on her shoulders, with no one to turn to. Matt only had to recall how overwhelmed he'd been when his own father passed. And he'd had his mom and sister to lean on. No family conglomerate to take over.

  The days following his father's funeral had blurred, immersed in a fog of grief. Returning to school had been difficult. Leaving his mother and sister behind— nearly impossible. What had that experience been like for Julie? To have an entire company's problems thrust upon her? It would've been easy to exploit her vulnerability— her desperate need to trust someone.

  "I'm hungry." Julie emerged from the gloom. "Do you mind if I find us something to eat?"

  He allowed her to pass, giving her booted ankle a wide berth. "I smelled coffee in the cabinet. I'll get a pot going." He checked his watch. "Ninety minutes before its light."

  Taking a chance, he turned his phone on. If someone was hunting them, they would've been discovered by now. Matias would likely resume his search at first light— if he hadn't blown town. Hiding out at the McCreadys had been a calculated risk. If Matias had enough men, he should've launched a search. But something was making him cautious.

  Murdering a small town cop wasn't exactly keeping a low profile. Shooting up Matt's cottage had raised the stakes. Noise. Cops— and the state troopers Jonas had likely called for assistance. Evidence left behind. Munoz' previous screw-ups likely had placed him on Viper's shitlist. Matias had three options. Fix it. Run. Or die.

  Scrolling his phone, he discovered three messages from Jonas and one from Mullaney. Jeez— at four in the morning? That couldn't be good. He glanced at Julie. Her head in the freezer searching for breakfast, he decided to break out one of his burner phones and return Sean Mullaney's call. There was a ton of information to relay. Jonas, however, would have to get used to waiting.

  ***

  Julie swept crumbs into her hand. Though the cabinets were practically bare, she'd discovered biscuits in the freezer. While Matt was on the phone with the elusive Mullaney, she'd unearthed a cookie sheet and shoved them in the oven. Hunting through the refrigerator, she found a lone stick of butter of suspect age and a jar of strawberry jam. Her stomach rumbled appreciatively.

  "What smells so good?" Matt entered the room. "I'm starving."

  "I found biscuits." She'd readied plates while he'd been on the phone. "Any news?"

  A flurry of activity took place behind his eyes. His brain seemed to process information like a super computer, taking everything in, but rarely spitting out data. "We'll talk in a couple minutes."

  Translated— he wasn't sharing. After all the information she'd revealed— which he'd likely use against her. After everything they'd been through, Barnes still didn't trust her. Frustration welled in her chest. They were after her. Couldn't he be forthcoming about that? "When this is over, we should replace the food."

  He dropped into a chair. "I'll take care of it. I've been watching their house while I've been out here rehabbing." Splitting a steaming biscuit, he slathered it with jelly. "I'd love to know how bad they trashed my place, but we can't risk going back."

  Because of her. "I'm sorry, Agent Barnes. I'll pay for the dam-"

  "Agent Barnes?" His amused voice interrupted. "Jules— a few hours ago you practically tore my shirt off-"

  "I did not tear-" Heat and mortification flaring in her face, she glanced away. "Besides, I already apologized for that."

  "My point is . . . I think we're officially on a first name basis now."

  The dimple winking in his right cheek helped. That damned smile. That elusive, dangerous smile. The well-hidden sense of humor. Buried under his all-business demeanor was a man who'd rendered her boneless. Though she may have been the instigator, he'd been equally stunned by the force of their attraction. The awareness arcing around them now could trigger an explosion.

  Fisting suddenly nervous fingers, she dragged in a breath. The cranky agent might be sexy as hell, but he didn't trust her. And she was learning she couldn't afford to trust him, either. "You didn't sign up for this when you agreed to help yesterday."

  He waved off her concern before polishing off a biscuit. He lost no time snagging two more. Julie joined him, too hungry to care how it looked.

  "Once the team shows up, I'll get someone out there to board up the damage."

  "What happens next?"

  "Once we're done here, I'm heading outside for a look around."

  She startled, surprised to realize she'd assumed they were safe. "You think they're still looking for me?"

  Matt shrugged. "They haven't given up yet."

  Would her life ever be normal again? "Where's your partner?" It seemed like days since they'd left Matt's home in the dead of night. Instead it had only been hours. "Shouldn't he be here?"

  He checked his watch. "Mullaney won't get here until afternoon but Finn should be here in a couple hours." He stretched. "Time
for a perimeter check, before it gets light."

  "Can I-"

  "Stay here and don't move." His grim expression suggested she not question orders. "I'll be back in a few minutes. Then we'll discuss a plan."

  She moved to the French doors. "Can I peek at the lake? I've barely glimpsed it since I got here."

  "Remember what I said about risks?" At her disgruntled expression, he relented. "Stand to the side. Don't move the drapes."

  Careful to stay in the shadows, Julie scanned the postcard view. The hill sloped sharply down to the water's edge where a dock jutted into placid water. The muted orange smudge of sunrise nudged the horizon, slowly burning off the mist. Tall pines framed a view she would likely never tire of. "Is it foggy every morning?"

  "Til the sun burns it off." Matt pulled a gray hoodie over his head.

  "If I lived here, I wouldn't want to leave." Her gaze skimmed the lake's surface, the gentle swells belying the turmoil of the previous night's storm. Today, the path along the lakefront was the epitome of charm . . . with none of the murky, terrifying shadows she'd sensed during the night. She stared wistfully at the Adirondack chairs on the deck. If only circumstances were different. If she'd been here on vacation. And bumped into him. A smart, funny man she would have enjoyed getting to know. Or hell— just shared a few amazing nights with. A beautiful man she'd never see again . . . The crazy, not-like-her-at-all thought brought a smile to her lips.

  Except . . . Julie couldn't remember a vacation. Or a memory that didn't carry a fraught sense of tension. Worry. Overwhelm. Failure.

  "Most of the time, I like it better out here than Boston." Oblivious to her thoughts, Matt slid into his shoes. Checking his gun, he slipped it into the sweatshirt pouch. An armed man who would blend in with the pre-dawn mist clinging to the yard. "You're from Boston, too?"

  "Yeah. I work out of the Boston DEA office."

  "If I live through this, I'm coming back," she vowed, her voice suddenly husky with yearning. As though she had to convince herself. As though even she knew the likelihood was slim. And it had suddenly become the most important thing she could ever do. "I'll rent a place . . . for a month." Her sigh was filled with longing. "I'm going to read ten books. Take naps every afternoon. And every night, I'll sip wine and dangle my feet from the dock . . ."

  "Sounds like you need a vacation." The edge to his voice made her glance up as he jerked the hood over his head.

  She smiled. "I think I need a new life."

  His brooding gaze seemed to harden before her eyes. "Yeah, well we've got a few things to resolve before your vacation. Stay away from the windows," he ordered. "I'm heading outside."

  ***

  Matt inhaled several lungfuls of crisp, predawn air, trying to forget the hurt he'd put in her eyes. Wondering why he'd been such a dick. Methodically, he cased the house. No signs of attempted entry. No signs of life in the slumbering homes on either side of the McCreadys. Drawn to the solitude of water lapping against the wooden piers, he trudged down the hill. Julie hadn't done anything wrong . . . yet he'd bitten her head off.

  Comfortably slouched against the living room wall, her blonde hair had caught the first streamers of morning light when she peeked out the window. And instead of a murderous drug dealer, all he'd seen was an ethereal beauty trapped in light. A sensitive, smart, resilient woman who'd stolen his breath. He'd resisted the urge to drift closer, painfully aware of long, shapely legs lurking beneath yet another pair of ill-fitting loaner sweats.

  Her beautiful eyes turning wistful, she'd fantasized about a vacation from her problems. Jules' sleep-roughened voice had added a sexual edge to the unprofessional thoughts running through his overtired brain. Transfixed, Matt had conjured his own list. Except somehow—his plans had included her. Hiking his favorite trails, her hand tight in his. Introducing her to the secret cove where sun collided with water in a vivid glow of red and orange. Dinners on the deck listening to geese settling down for the night. Making love in the huge king bed . . . waking together to admire another perfect sunrise.

  Heat flooding him, he jerked free of the fantasy. Yeah— that was all he needed, his brain taunted. If ever a case screamed to be played by the book, this was it. If he fucked this up, the next bullet he took for a desperate woman just might be the last.

  Wisps of fog clung to the lake's surface as he ran a frustrated fist through his hair. Before him, the first rays of dawn pierced the mist, the vision otherworldly, yet comfortingly familiar. Releasing several cleansing breaths, the sharp, cool breeze loosened the tightness in his chest. The distant call of a hoot owl broke the peaceful silence.

  His phone vibrated, dissolving the ridiculous images as he headed back. Jonas again. He debated taking it, uncomfortable with anyone knowing their whereabouts. After last night he wasn't keen on taking chances. Paul was still an unknown. The local cop may have been a victim the previous night, another dead body in a long Munoz list. Or he'd been on Matias' endless payroll— until his usefulness had reached an abrupt end.

  The fewer people who knew their whereabouts, the better. But Paul's murder would be big news. Jonas was likely getting hit with uncomfortable questions the small town cop couldn't answer. Matt had left him to deal with a firestorm of bad press. "Hey, Steve."

  He slipped through the door on the deck, locking it behind him. "I'm sorry about Paul." He met Julie's subdued gaze across the living room, before she turned away— likely still hurt by his remark. Jonas launched into a somewhat accusatory speech regarding the previous night's events. Though Matt sympathized with the local cop, he was in no mood for a lecture. "I warned you this could get dangerous— and it's not over yet."

  If Mullaney's hunch was right, Marsh Point might be a way station for drugs making their way to east coast markets. It would be an easy entry point from Canada— winding back roads through the wilderness, sparsely populated water routes— especially in the offseason. And a chronically shorthanded police force whose skills varied depending on the village you passed through.

  His gaze slanted to Julie, conscious she was privy to the conversation. "Whether you want to believe it, you've got traffickers out here." Forcing his attention back to Jonas, he winced when the older man suggested they hole up at the station, or worse— his home. "After what happened last night, we're moving around." Just what they needed— exposing more innocent people to Munoz. His friend hadn't worked a drug case in twenty years— and he'd never faced a cartel like the one Viper controlled. It would be safer for Jonas to stick to running down leads.

  But Steve's voice was laced with pride, which meant Matt's suggestion required a measure of finesse so the old man wouldn't be insulted on top of everything else. Not exactly his forte. "We're gonna need you to do a background check on Paul." As expected, Jonas protested. "I know it sounds bad," he admitted. "But . . . if he was working for Munoz-"

  His friend cut him off, his anger controlled. If word got out Jonas was investigating his own deputy— a deputy killed in the line of duty- "I realize this is awkward, Steve. I can ask Mullaney-"

  After a charged pause, Jonas reluctantly consented. Releasing a measured sigh, Matt acknowledged there were days he hated his job. "Once you process the scene at my mother's place, let me know what you find." The stilted conversation finally ended, Matt disconnected with a muttered oath.

  Distracted, he glanced at his watch. He was tired of operating blind. Tired of not having answers. Before he could process Jonas' angry words, Julie crossed the living room in a hobbled rush. He was tired of analyzing how he felt about her. Guilty? Innocent? Why couldn't he make up his mind?

  Eyes enormous, she limped closer. The fear in her gaze sent an insidious warning down his spine. "What now?"

  "Outside." Her voice a panicked whisper, she pointed to the deck. "Someone's out there."

  ***

  "What do we do?" Heart in her throat, Julie clung to his arm as though Barnes would miraculously have answers.

  Finger to his lips, he tugged her int
o the kitchen. "Stay here," he breathed in her ear. "Get my bag and be ready to go." Unholstering his gun, he crept back through the living room.

  Legs quivering, Julie pulled on a sweatshirt. Scrambling, she found her shoe and slipped it on her good foot. Paralyzed as she watched him peer behind the drapes, the temptation was strong to bolt. Run to the opposite end of the house and head out the door. But where could she go? She wouldn't get far on one leg. No money. No clue where she was or how to get home. No idea who was a friend and who wanted her dead. Silently, she gathered his backpack and slung it over her shoulder.

  Endless minutes later, Matt finally returned, his expression grim. "False alarm. It's the kid who mows their lawn in the off season."

  Terror still pulsing through her, she groaned. How did anyone live like this? She dropped her head into shaking hands. "I'm not sure how much more of this I can take."

  "Like we have a choice?"

  "Can't you just . . . arrest me? Take me back to Boston?" She knew she wasn't making any sense. "I'll get a lawyer and just . . . try to prove I'm innocent."

  "Even if I did, it won't protect you from Munoz." His gaze implacable, he was like a damned robot. "Whatever your role is in this, he'll need to finish it."

  She was running on empty. Logic no longer seemed to apply. If possible, she felt more alone than ever. But she couldn't afford to rely on Barnes. The enigmatic agent protecting her felt . . . nothing. No emotion. No empathy for the situation she'd landed in. Damn it, she was innocent. And . . . her friend was still missing.

  "Jules, it's alright." He left the window where he'd stationed himself, stance rigid, his body on high alert. "The McCreadys gave him permission to be here."

  Slinging an arm around her, he guided her back to the couch. But the expected relief didn't materialize. The pressure inside her was building. If she were a tea kettle, she would be shrieking on the stove, scalding water spilling from the spout. A shudder tremored through her. "Why is he h-here so early?"