Читать книгу The Cradle Files - Delores Fossen - Страница 8

With water snaking down his body, Sergeant Garrett O’Malley headed toward the laundry room in search of a clean towel—something he wished he’d done before his shower. He only made it a step outside the steamy bathroom when he realized he wasn’t alone.

There was a shadowy figure standing at the other end of the dark hall.

Adrenaline knifed through him, and his heartbeat went into overdrive. He made a split-second assessment to make sure it wasn’t a family member. It wasn’t. And he automatically reached for his weapon, which obviously wasn’t there, since he didn’t have on a stitch of clothes.

He cursed.

Because that’s when he noticed the intruder was armed.

“Don’t move,” she said in a hoarse whisper.

She. It was definitely a female. Garrett didn’t hear enough of her voice, though, to recognize it. It was the same for the woman herself. She stayed in the darkness, her face and body hidden.

Well, if this was a robbery, she’d picked a good time for it. He was not only towel-less, he was totally unprepared. Garrett’s mind raced with questions. What did she want, and how the devil had she gotten in?

And did she have plans to kill him?

His cop’s brain immediately went to work, and within seconds he decided this wasn’t a good time for an all-out fight.

Not with her pointing that gun straight at him.

If he couldn’t talk her into surrendering her weapon, his best move would be to make a dive for his bedroom—where he’d left his loaded 9 mm, standard issue Glock on his dresser. Thankfully, his bedroom and that Glock were only about eight feet away, and the door was wide open.

Of course, being buck naked didn’t help.

And the dive onto the hardwood floor would hurt like crazy, but it was better than getting shot. He’d been there, done that, not once but twice, and he didn’t want to repeat the ordeal anytime soon.

“Who are you, and why are you here?” Garrett demanded while he calculated the best moment to disarm her or to begin that dive. If he could somehow distract her, that would help.

But he immediately rethought the idea.

Since she’d broken into the home of a cop and was holding him at gunpoint, she probably wasn’t the distractible type. If she knew he was a cop, that was. Maybe this was a random burglary. That didn’t make the situation any less dangerous. In fact, the stakes might escalate if she discovered who he really was. She might try to kill him just so she could eliminate a witness.

She stepped closer, toward the milky-yellow light that spilled out from the bathroom. Her cautious footsteps barely made a sound. But her breathing sure did. It was coming out in rough, hurried gusts.

“I need to talk to you,” she said.

Garrett froze and put his Glock-retrieving plan on hold. Now he recognized that voice, and it set off all kinds of alarms in his head.

Not good alarms, either.

“Lexie?” he asked. “Is that you?”

She froze. For a few moments. And then she inched closer still. She stared at him and squinted, as if trying to peer through the darkness for a good look. Garrett did the same.

Yep. It was Lexie Rayburn all right, though he’d never seen her wear her hair that long or in that particular style. Her straight rust-colored locks fell choppy, loose and disheveled onto her shoulders.

The last time he’d seen her, she’d been cursing a blue streak and had thrown her panties at him. Well, maybe not at him, exactly, but in his general direction.

He was lucky she hadn’t thrown something heavier and more lethal.

That throwing incident was… When? A few months shy of a year ago, when Lexie had walked out of his life. But she hadn’t just walked out. She’d left him with a lot of questions, no answers, and she’d put his badge on the line. Since his badge was the most important thing in his life, that had not sat well with him.

It still didn’t.

Garrett’s jaw tightened.

She moved even closer, and he got a better look at her gun. An RG .22, commonly referred to as a Saturday Night Special. Another surprise. The cheap, no-frills weapon wasn’t her usual choice of firearms, but then neither were the clothes. She wore loose faded jeans, scuffed Doc Martens and a baggy navy-blue flannel shirt that was frayed at the cuffs. It was at least two sizes too big and practically swallowed her.

“Garrett O’Malley?” she asked.

And it was definitely a question. No doubt Lexie’s version of sarcasm.

Oh, this was going to get messy.

He just stared at her.

“Are you Garrett O’Malley?” she pressed.

Riled at her dry-as-dust sarcasm, at the gun and at the woman herself, he opened his arms. “You tell me. You’re not seeing anything you haven’t seen before.”

He’d meant his remark to sting, a reminder that he’d been her one-night stand. Her choice. Not his.

She took his remark as an invitation. Her gaze combed over him, starting at his face. Her marine-blue eyes met his green ones. Briefly. And then she slid that gaze all the way past his bare chest and stomach to his equally bare groin.

Her eyes paused.

Considerably.

For a long time.

Normally, he wouldn’t have been so bothered by the close scrutinization from a lover, former or otherwise, but these obviously weren’t normal circumstances.

“Mind telling me why you’re here and what your plans are for that gun?” he insisted.

She nodded. Not a confident I’m-in-charge-here nod, either. It was shaky. In fact, there was something shaky about her entire demeanor. “I want answers.”

So, this was maybe a payback visit in order to rehash their last encounter. A blast from the past. Lucky him. “I don’t know the questions, but I have a few of my own. For starters, how did you get into my house?” Because he knew for a fact she didn’t have a key.

She tipped her head toward the kitchen. “The patio door. You left it unlocked when you took out the trash after you got home from work.”

Hell’s bells. Not the brightest move he could have made, especially for a cop. He’d made that little faux pas only about fifteen minutes ago, which meant she hadn’t waited too long to confront him. Maybe she’d delayed her entrance until he got in the shower so she could catch him when he wasn’t near his Glock. Or perhaps she’d waited until he was what polite company would call indisposed.

She’d succeeded.

He was as indisposed as he could get. Still, that theory only created more questions.

“Why the gun?” he asked.

She glanced at it and swallowed hard. “I wasn’t sure I could trust you.”

“You can’t.” And that was a sore spot for him. Even now. “But then, I obviously can’t trust you, either. Still, a gun? Judas Priest, Lexie. That’s a little over the top, even for you.”

Her forehead bunched up. “I wanted to make sure you listened to what I had to say.”

“Oh, I’m listening. Pardon the pun, but I’m all ears.” Garrett turned toward his bedroom, but then stopped and looked at her. Actually, he glared. And he knew his glare was a winner. That particular facial expression alone had gotten perps to surrender. “I’m going to get dressed now, and I’d rather you didn’t try to kill me while I do that, okay?”

He didn’t wait for her to respond or concur with his smart-mouth challenge. Figuring that Lexie wouldn’t shoot him in the back, Garrett headed to his bedroom.

“Wait a minute,” she snarled. She hurried after him, but then stopped in the doorway. “Don’t just walk away from me. I’m holding you at gunpoint.”

“Believe me, I’m aware of that. Call me old-fashioned, but I’d rather not have this conversation or try to wrestle that .22 away from you while I’m buck naked. And make no mistake about it—I am going to wrestle that gun away from you if you don’t come to your senses.”

Besides, if this did turn into a wrestling match or even more, Garrett didn’t want his fellow peace officers to show up and find him wearing only his birthday suit and a glare. There had already been enough rumors and career-damaging innuendos as it was. He didn’t want to add this to the record, even if seeing Lexie brought back memories.

Both bad and good—and very, very good ones.

Riled not only at Lexie, but at himself and his too vivid, lust-induced reminiscence, Garrett grabbed a pair of Wranglers from the floor and slipped them on. Not easily. His still-soaking-wet body caused the denim to drag, catch and cling. Worse, it dragged, caught and clung while Lexie gawked at the entire awkward, semihumiliating process.

He didn’t let her gawking deter him, though. He zipped them up—carefully, since he wasn’t wearing underwear—while he also checked the position of his Glock. He didn’t relish the idea of drawing that gun on Lexie, but it was obvious she had a bone to pick with him. He didn’t want that bone-picking argument to turn into shots being fired.

Ironic.

Because he’d never thought of Lexie as dangerous. Armed, yes. Capable of kicking butt. But not lethal in a criminal, out-of-control sort of way. He was obviously wrong. Any woman who would pull a gun on him so they could talk had gone a few steps past that dangerous level and was definitely out of control.

What was wrong with her, anyway?

Yes, she had a right to be riled. But, heck, so did he. More so than she obviously was. Yet Lexie seemed to be putting all the blame on him.

“You didn’t wait around for the trial to end,” Garrett said, figuring his words would hit a few raw nerves. Because she hadn’t waited around for a lot of things—like to finish her testimony. Or even to say goodbye. “But I guess you know your former boss was convicted on all charges and is behind bars?”

“William Avery,” she said.

“William?” Garrett repeated. He stared at her. Well now, that confirmed something was truly wrong. Lexie always called her former boss Billy.

“I read about William, and you, on the Internet,” she continued. “That’s how I knew you were a cop. That’s how I figured out where to find you.”

Yet more confirmation that something was wrong. Lexie knew he was a cop, and she darn sure knew where to find him. “Are you okay?”

A soft burst of air left her mouth. Almost a laugh, but there was no humor in it. Her voice was laced with fatigue and sarcasm when she admitted, “No. I’m not okay.” And she left her somewhat lame explanation at that.

“Did Billy’s…William’s friends threaten you or something?” It might explain why she was here. Maybe she’d come because Garrett was a cop. However, that was a stretch. There were a lot of cops in San Antonio, and he was almost certainly the last one she’d ask for help.

“Maybe,” she mumbled, as if she were considering that for the first time. “I don’t know if he’s behind this or not. But I don’t think so.”

Her voice cracked on the last word, and she blinked back tears.

Actual tears.

All right. That took a chunk out of the Texas-size chip Garrett carried on his shoulder. Here, he wanted nothing more than to tell Lexie that her untimely departure had not only left him in departmental hot water, it’d also put a few fractures in his desires to get involved in another relationship—ever. But Garrett put his own issues and old grudges on the back burner. After what she’d done to him, he didn’t care much for Lexie. In fact, what he felt for her fell into the strongly dislike category, but it was obvious she was in trouble. Unfortunately, that and the tears brought out protective instincts that he knew he stood no chance of suppressing.

Still, he’d try. Hard.

Because, after all, this was Lexie. He wasn’t ready to go a second round with her. The sooner he could get her out of his life, the better.

“Other than the veiled threats he made to you during the trial, I haven’t heard anything from Billy Avery,” he tried to assure her, while he calculated how he was going to subdue her so he could confiscate that gun. “In fact, he’s been a model prisoner. Probably because he’s hoping to have the murder and racketeering verdicts overturned on appeal.” With that, Garrett paused. Rethought. “He threatened you so you wouldn’t testify against him if he was granted a new trial?”

Lexie shook her head and left the doorway. She stepped warily into the room, her gaze darting around as if she expected someone to jump out from the corners. “I haven’t spoken to Billy Avery.”

Garrett believed her, especially since prison authorities would have alerted someone in the SAPD if Lexie had phoned or shown up at the prison. But believing her on that specific point didn’t help clear up everything else.

“Look, I could stand here and try to guess what’s wrong,” he stated, “but wouldn’t it be easier if you just told me what this is all about?”

She looked at him as if trying to decide what to say. Or what not to say. Finally, she nodded. Then nodded again. “Someone tried to kill me.”

Whoa. That got his attention. “Who?”

But he was already fairly sure of the answer. If someone had tried to kill her, then Billy Avery or one of his associates was likely behind it. That was the reason the cops and the feds had wanted Lexie in the Witness Protection Program. A program she’d declined by simply leaving and not telling anyone, including Garrett, her whereabouts.

He hadn’t thought for a minute that she was dead, either. She was too resourceful for that. So over the past months he had come to accept that she’d disappeared because of him. Their little encounter had nearly cost the state a guilty verdict for Billy Avery, and it’d nearly cost Garrett his badge. The flack hadn’t stopped there. His brother and sister, both fellow cops, had had their own sterling careers tarnished by standing up for him.

No. Garrett wouldn’t forget the mess Lexie had made of his life and the trouble she’d caused for his family.

“I don’t know who tried to kill me,” she said. “But that’s not the reason I came here.” Lexie plowed the fingers of her left hand through her hair and scooped it away from her face. It didn’t help. The loose strands simply fell back into place. “I need to ask you something, something personal, and I want the truth.”

Garrett waited. And waited. But she didn’t finish her request for information. She just stood there, tears threatening and her bottom lip trembling. He forced himself to stay put. Comforting could lead to holding.

Or shooting.

Neither was going to happen, not tonight. Not ever.

“You need to know what?” he pressed. “I’m not a mind reader, Lexie.”

Without breaking eye contact, and without lowering her gun, she sat down on the foot of his bed. The mattress creaked softly.

She pulled in a long, weary breath, released it. “Are you the father of my baby?”