Freefall (25 page)

She hesitated, her fingertips sliding along the edge of the countertop. “Are you still interested in having children?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Anytime.”

Her gaze met his, searching. “Faith’s been keeping a box of pictures of my daughter. They named her Grace.”

His throat tightened. “That’s...pretty.”

“She knows she’s adopted. Her parents are going to let her contact me, maybe next year, if she wants to.”

He stepped closer, cupping his hand around her chin.

“I’m worried that she’ll hate me,” she said, her mouth trembling.

“She won’t hate you.”

“How can I start a family, after giving her up? She’ll think I didn’t love her enough.”

“You were seventeen. She’ll understand.”

“I’m so jealous of her adoptive parents, I could die.”

Sam slipped his arms around her, and she rested her head on his shoulder for a few minutes, crying softly. The fact that she accepted his comfort was encouraging. Little by little, she was letting him in.

When her tears quieted, she moved away from him, wiping her cheeks. “You’re really done with free-soloing?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I want to grow old with you.”

She laughed, as if he was joking. “What will you do for a living?”

The question took him by surprise. He’d been freeloading off his own wealth for the past two years, and he could do that indefinitely. “I’ve been invited to develop another video game. Rock climbing for Wii.”

“Is that fun?”

“Yes, actually. It’s creative, and the pay is unreal. I could feed a third-world country with the money they throw at me.”

“Where would you work?”

“From home.”

Her mouth pursed in contemplation. He doubted she was worried about his finances. She was skeptical about his life skills, which had been sorely lacking. In order to earn her trust, he had to prove he could be stable.

Sam realized that the transition from brain-damaged nomad to caring boyfriend wouldn’t be easy. He had to put effort into building a relationship with Hope. Recovering his memory hadn’t solved anything. Clarity wasn’t a miracle cure or a magic panacea. It was a starting point. He felt as though he’d been trapped in a fog on a mountaintop. He’d already reached the summit, and now he had to find his way back.

But, as all climbers knew, the descent could be treacherous. It offered infinite opportunities to stumble.

“Will you quit climbing, if the doctors tell you to?”

Sam couldn’t imagine leaving the sport. Not at his age. Another bump on the head might do him in, but as long as he had the mental and physical strength, he’d climb. It was who he was. “No. I won’t quit.”

The look in her eyes said that he was an idiot. An honest idiot, though. Her idiot. “What am I going to do with you?” she asked, lifting her hand to his cheek.

He could think of a few things.

But she looked troubled, and exhausted. He’d like to comfort her and help her sleep, but he didn’t want to rush anything. This time, he wouldn’t make the mistake of pouncing on her when she was vulnerable. She hadn’t even agreed to a date. He could keep his hands to himself while she made up her mind.

“I should call my sister,” she said.

He found his backup cell phone in a kitchen drawer and passed it to her. “You don’t have to return it.”

“Thanks.”

She appeared to want some privacy, or maybe just an escape. “There’s an extra bedroom upstairs. You can rest, take a shower, whatever.”

“I could use a nap,” she said, hesitant.

Instead of wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close, he stood still, leaving the decision up to her.

After a short pause, she slipped away.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

F
AITH
WENT
BACK
to work on Tuesday.

She was tired of moping around Charlie’s apartment, feeling like a third wheel. He had a new boyfriend and they were all over each other. Normally she’d have found their antics adorable—or hot. But she was nursing a broken heart, wavering between paranoia and depression.

To be fair, Charlie had no idea she’d been kidnapped or assaulted, so he didn’t realize she was traumatized. She couldn’t bear to retell the painful story, so she said her apartment had been broken into. She’d asked to stay at his place while her security system was being installed. Shacking up with a female friend might have been a better choice, in hindsight. Charlie was fit and strong, and they worked at the same salon, so he made a convenient bodyguard. He was also one of her best friends. But he was a man, and she didn’t think he’d understand what she was going through.

The day dragged on.

Late in the afternoon, a new customer walked in for a quick cleanup cut. Although Faith was available, she asked Charlie to take him.

Charlie pulled her aside. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she lied.

“That guy is straight.”

“So what?” Faith knew as well as Charlie did that hetero men were often more comfortable with female stylists. She usually jumped at the chance to service them. “If he’s homophobic he can fuck off.”

“We need to talk,” Charlie said, shaking his head.

Faith cleaned up her station while he did a short consultation. The client didn’t seem uneasy, and Charlie handled him like a pro. When the guy gave Faith a curious glance, she flushed, embarrassed by her skittishness.

He was just a walk-in. Not an assassin.

After Charlie was finished with the cut, he returned to Faith’s side. “He’d have given you a better tip.”

“Maybe I should have taken him to the back room for a happy ending.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Charlie said, frowning.

Tears pricked at her eyes. She blinked them away, frustrated. “I know. I’m just—upset. I left my round brush in my apartment.”

“Do you want to go get it?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. I’ll take you over there after work.”

Faith nodded, trying to pull herself together. Charlie was a good friend to put up with her psychotic behavior.

Minutes before closing time, another stranger walked in, and Faith couldn’t foist this one off on any of her coworkers. It was Special Agent Ling. Hope had called to update her on the latest news, so Ling’s appearance wasn’t unexpected.

Just unwelcome.

Faith studied the woman’s boxy trousers and uninspired ponytail. Her fingers itched to take down her glossy black hair and work some magic on it. Ling probably wouldn’t appreciate the style suggestions. She seemed like a no-nonsense type, sort of militant-looking. Not an ideal candidate for a makeover.

“Can we speak privately?”

“Sure,” she said, leading the agent to the esthetician’s room. Ling skirted around the waxing pots, declining the invitation to sit. Her brows needed refining. Faith smothered the urge to offer her a Brazilian. “What’s up?”

“Your sister told me you’d been in contact with Javier Del Norte.”

“That’s a lie,” Faith said, rolling her eyes.

“He didn’t speak to you the morning you were admitted to the hospital?”

She looked away, refusing to answer. In a moment of weakness, she’d searched translations online for the Spanish phrases he’d used.

Eres la única:
you’re the one.

Ojalá que nos econtremos otra vez:
I hope we meet again.

Faith wouldn’t share those private exchanges with Ling. Her last moments with Javier were special, and she didn’t want to be pitied or criticized for cherishing them. She already knew she was a fool for falling for him.

The agent removed a few photos from her portfolio and passed them to her. “Do you recognize this man?”

It was Nick. They’d found some better shots of him. In one, he even looked handsome. Her stomach turned at the sight of his youthful smile. He’d stolen her peace of mind, and he was barely old enough to drink.

“We found video footage of him assaulting you.”

She gave the photos back, her hands shaking. The thought of a group of federal agents watching those terrible moments, studying her like an insect, made her ill.

“If he raped you, why wouldn’t you agree to a swab?”

“He didn’t rape me, and a swab wouldn’t have proven anything.”

“It might have proved you had sexual contact with Del Norte.”

She moistened her lips, nervous. “Who told you that?”

“Caleb Renfro. Evidence to corroborate his story was found at the campsite where you and Del Norte stayed overnight.”

Faith couldn’t deny it. She lifted her chin, refusing to be shamed.

“You’re a beautiful woman, Miss Banning. Men like you. You like them.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What are you saying, that I deserved it?”

“Maybe you consented to both encounters.”

“No,” she said with vehemence, insulted by the accusation. “I slept with Javier by choice. I didn’t want what Nick did to me.”

“What did he do?”

Faith realized she’d fallen into a trap, revealing the name of her attacker and confirming that he’d touched her against her will. “Nothing,” she said, her throat closing up. “He did nothing.”

“Did he penetrate you?”

“No. He just held me down and thrust against me.”

Ling’s expression softened. She believed her. “We can still prosecute him.”

“For what?”

“Sexual assault and kidnapping.”

Faith gave her a brittle smile. “I’m not willing to testify.”

“If you’re subpoenaed, you won’t have a choice.”

She prayed that Ling was bluffing. Surely the FBI had better cases to pursue. Nick had been acting on Gonzales’s orders, not terrorizing her for kicks. He deserved to be locked up, but she didn’t think he was a danger to other women. Javier said he wouldn’t bother her again. Ling could find another victim to exploit.

Ling put the photos away. “We’ve identified him as Nick Kruger, son of Bill Kruger, the ranger your sister tangled with over the weekend. He worked for Hector Gonzales, former leader of a Las Vegas cartel.”

“Former leader?”

“His body surfaced in the Kern River. He’d been shot.”

Faith wasn’t sorry to hear it.

“There’s a rumor going around that Gonzales wanted to get rid of Del Norte. According to our informant, Gonzales thought Del Norte was sleeping with his wife. She was actually having an affair with Nick Kruger.”

“Maybe Nick killed Gonzales,” Faith said.

“Did you witness that?”

“No. It’s just a guess.”

“You could be right.”

“Will he go after my sister?”

“I doubt it. His relationship with his father was strained, though they worked together. Bill Kruger was arrested for spousal abuse several times. Until recently, Nick lived with his mother in Las Vegas.”

“What about Javier?”

Ling brought out several more photos from her portfolio. The first depicted a charred corpse in a plane. The second was Gonzales, his face swollen. Faith wrinkled her nose at the macabre shots.

“Your boyfriend is a killer.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” she said.

“There’s no reason to lie for him. The pilot was burned beyond recognition. We don’t know who shot Gonzales. Even if Del Norte murdered these men in cold blood, we can’t prosecute with little or no evidence.”

“Then why are you looking for him?”

“To offer our protection.”

In exchange for information, Faith interpreted. They wanted to take down every man connected to the cartel.

“If he’s still alive, he’s in danger.”

“You think he’s dead?”

“It’s only a matter of time. Gonzales’s relatives will be gunning for him. Either I’ll find him or they will, Miss Banning. Odds are on them, because Del Norte isn’t my priority. He’s a Venezuelan national. He’d probably be deported, rather than standing trial for drug trafficking.”

Faith was chilled by her reasoning.

“Will you let me know if he tries to contact you again?”

She accepted another business card that she had no intention of using. “Where do you get your hair cut?”

“My aunt does it.”

“The color and texture are great, but I know a style that would suit your face better.”

Ling gave her an icy stare. “Maybe some other time.”

After she left, Faith cleaned the mirror at her station, feeling surly. She worked in a salon because she enjoyed making women feel good. Sparring with Ling hadn’t improved her day. She wasn’t usually so sensitive about her fun-loving reputation.

Men liked her. Big deal.

Faith had never cared what anyone thought. That hadn’t changed, but she saw
herself
differently now. The assault had stripped away her easy confidence and flirty style. Although Nick hadn’t even penetrated her, he’d gotten inside.

She’d always been a social butterfly. Dressing up, going out and getting noticed were her favorite activities. She wasn’t like Hope, who preferred trees and animals to human interactions. Faith thrived on male attention. It soothed and satisfied her.

She realized that the date rape had changed the way she related to men. Maybe she’d ramped up her sexuality as a defense mechanism, but she hadn’t let the experience break her. She’d overcome this, too.

Faith knew what she needed to erase Nick’s touch: another man. A positive sexual experience, chosen and controlled by her, would fix her right up. If she couldn’t have Javier, she’d find someone else.

Charlie put his hand on her shoulder, startling her. “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” she said, grabbing her purse. “Let’s go out tonight.”

* * *

J
AVIER
FOLLOWED
F
AITH
home from the club.

Since he’d crawled out of the woods, and hitched a ride to L.A. in the back of a semi, he’d been keeping an eye on her. A cursory internet search at the local library had brought up her Facebook page and place of work. From there he’d found a copy of her hairdresser’s license, which listed her home address.

If he could find her this easily, so could anyone else.

She’d been staying with a friend, and lying low, but tonight she’d gone out. Javier didn’t enjoy watching her flirt with other men. He hadn’t felt this jealous since Alexia’s wedding. Actually, those circumstances didn’t compare. By the time his ex married Gonzales, Javier had been over her.

He still wanted Faith. Desperately. But while she sipped her drink and cock-teased a stranger in an expensive suit, he stood on the street corner like a bum, his eye still black from the beating he’d taken.

He couldn’t blame her for moving on. He was a fugitive. They had no future together. Even so, it hurt to see her smile at another man, days after she’d smiled at him. When she touched her breasts to his arm, Javier’s blood boiled. He fought the impulse to charge in and drag her away. A few minutes later, her hairstylist friend had stepped between them, encouraging her to leave the club. She stumbled out the door in her high heels, giggling and tipsy. Her friend held on to her arm to steady her.

It was clear that their relationship was platonic, but Javier was jealous of him, too. He longed to be the one she laughed with, the man she leaned on.

Faith got into a car with her friend while Javier hopped on the bicycle he’d bought at a thrift shop. He wouldn’t be able to retrieve his money from the storage locker until the heat died down, and he was already running low on cash. Luckily, he could pass for Mexican as easily as Californian. With his baseball cap and old clothes, he looked like an undocumented immigrant. He could work like one, too. He’d survive.

Instead of going to her coworker’s apartment, they drove to Faith’s. Her friend took her inside and came out a few minutes later, whistling.

Javier regretted telling her that she’d be safe as long as he kept his distance. He didn’t think Nick would bother her, but he couldn’t be sure. He had no idea who Kruger worked for, or why he’d spared her. What if someone decided Faith was a liability?

He’d assigned himself as her secret bodyguard for the next few weeks, and he vowed not to invade her privacy. She’d never need to know he was there. Even if she paraded boyfriends in and out of her bedroom, or performed sexual favors by the pool, he wouldn’t give away his location. He owed her his protection. Her personal life was none of his business.

Parking his bike in the alley, he set up camp behind some bushes across the street from her apartment. She lived on the second floor in a building with minimal security. The front entrance was open; anyone could walk in. Out back, the pool area was surrounded by a tall fence with a locked gate.

He’d already scoped out the complex and memorized its floor plan. There were laundry facilities and a storage room. Each section of the building had a different staircase, offering a number of dark corners to crouch behind.

On the plus side, it was a quiet, artsy neighborhood, not gang-infested. It wasn’t near the freeway or any of the major colleges. If Faith could afford to live here, she was doing well for herself. Perhaps hairstyling paid more than he thought, because she seemed to have an array of designer purses and shoes.

Maybe she’d been pampered by rich boyfriends.

He squashed the thought in annoyance. Faith wasn’t Alexia. She might be flighty, but she liked sex for its own sake. He could tell. A gold digger wouldn’t have been interested in scruffy Jay Norton. A coldhearted opportunist wouldn’t have helped him escape, or slapped him for deceiving her, or cried when he left.

It didn’t matter, anyway. He wasn’t here to judge her character, and compared to him, everyone was a saint. As long as no one tried to attack her, he’d move on.

Hasta la vista,
baby.

While he sulked in the dark, hungry and unwashed and alone, he catalogued all the cars on the street. He couldn’t identify any suspicious vehicles or people. Traffic lulled. After about an hour, his eyelids started to droop.