In the Enemy's Arms (13 page)

She met his gaze with a grin. “You’d have to compare me to a cat to insult me. I like dogs.”

“Me, too.”

“You ever intend to get married and have trust-fund babies of your own?”

The muscles in his jaw tightened at that hated phrase, but he let it go. “Get married, maybe. Have kids, no. There are enough kids already born who need a home. If I develop the need to be a father, I’ll adopt some of them.” After a moment, he asked, “What about you?”

“Get married, yes, if I meet the right guy. Have kids, no. I’m not exactly the mothering type. I like kids. I just don’t feel the need to have one.” She faked a shiver that set her ponytail swaying. “This is creepy. We’ve actually agreed on two things in a row.”

He laughed. It was kind of comfortable, seeing eye to eye on something. Not that he would put it past her to take the opposing opinion just for the sake of argument. Not that he would put it past himself to do the same. He liked arguing, especially when it was so easy to push her buttons, to make her cheeks turn pink and her mouth get all prissy-prim and to watch her hair catch fire.
Don’t poke the bear,
the saying went, but Cate was one bear who was damn fun to poke.

It was late afternoon when they reached Birmingham. While he followed the GPS directions to a neighborhood of grand old homes, Cate checked his tablet for an email from Garcia. “Donald and Monette Clarence. He’s a lawyer, she runs her own advertising agency, no other children. They moved into this house eight months ago, just a few days before they adopted a nine-year-old named Marisol.”

He ran through the images in his head, trying to place a girl with the name. He’d met dozens of kids at La Casa, all little girls with dark hair and big dark eyes. Some stayed only a few days, some for months. If he’d met this particular girl, he couldn’t recall her.

Marisol must have thought she’d hit the parent jackpot when she’d seen the big houses, the huge lawns, the luxury cars parked in the driveways. The shelter was probably the nicest place she’d ever lived, and the dorm there was nothing fancy. He knew because he’d been part of the remodeling crew.

He followed a gleaming black Lexus through the neighborhood. It turned into a drive on the right as the GPS’s female voice intoned, “You have arrived at your destination.” Speaking of jackpots…

Turning in behind the car, Justin stopped far enough back so the driver wouldn’t feel trapped.

Cate’s smile was nervous, but she was making a huge effort to hold it steady so he pretended it was. “Keep the engine running in case she releases the hounds. And pretend to be on the phone in case she wants to meet darling Lily’s daddy.” Then she popped out of the car, pushing the door shut with her hip.

Monette Clarence was halfway up the sidewalk before she realized she had company. She stopped, then backtracked a few feet to the driveway. Dressed conservatively—black dress, red jacket, heels—she carried a bulging attaché over one shoulder along with a smaller purse. Her hair, almost the shade of Cate’s, was pulled back in a fierce braid, possibly the cause of her forbidding expression. But Justin wouldn’t bet on it.

He did as Cate suggested, holding the cell to his ear, and rolled down the window to pick up their conversation.

“I’m sorry to bother you, especially just getting home from work.” Cate doubled the sweet friendliness in her voice and emphasized her natural accent. “My husband and I have just moved in down the street—” she made a vague gesture to the south “—and our neighbor tells me you have a little girl about my Lily’s age. She’s almost nine.
Hated
moving after school started. You know how kids are. Anyway, I was hoping we could get Lily and your little girl together this weekend for a play date so she’d have a familiar face at school next week.”

Monette radiated impatience and irritation, both showing in her cool, regal voice. “Your neighbor was wrong. My husband and I don’t have any children.” End of conversation. She dismissed Cate and continued to the house as if there’d been no interruption. She gave no sign she heard Cate’s mumbled, “Sorry to have bothered you.”

Barely opening the front door, Monette slipped through, with just enough clearance to give him a glimpse of an alarm control panel on the wall.

Cate slid into the passenger seat and buckled in as he backed out and headed out the way they’d come. “Okay, the backyard is privacy fenced, and there’s a sign along the sidewalk for their alarm company. Unless we want to risk peeking in windows or climbing the fence, there’s no way we can see if Marisol is there.”

Steering one-handed, Justin traded his cell for a cheap one from the console. It was a burn phone, a throwaway that couldn’t be traced anywhere but to the store that had sold it. The only number Garcia had programmed into it was the number of her own burn phone. “Hey, Garcia, Mrs. Clarence claims they don’t have any ki—”

Cate snatched the phone from him. “How good are you, Amy?”

He jerked it back and put it on speaker.

“So good I haven’t been caught.” The sound of knuckles rapping wood echoed.

“Can you get into the Clarences’ insurance database? See if they have any claims to a pediatrician, maybe a dentist or a therapist? And what about school records? Can you find out if Marisol is enrolled in school here?”

“It would probably be a private school,” Justin said. He heard the smirk in Garcia’s answer: “Which only means it will take a minute longer, privileged boy. I’ll call you guys back.”

Cate disconnected, then folded her arms over her middle. “Could you see the way she looked at me? Like I was an annoying little bug trespassing in her universe. As much as I want these adoptions to be legitimate, the last thing any of those girls need is an ice queen like that for a mother. Hugging her would be like snuggling with an icicle.” She shivered as if she felt the chill. “Now what do we do?”

Slowing to a stop at a red light, Justin glanced down the cross street. “I’m hungry. Are you hungry?”

For a moment she looked as if she might give a snarky response, then she rubbed her nose with one hand. “Yeah, I’m hungry, too.” Before he could ask, she added, “You pick.”

A mile down the street, he turned into a steak house parking lot. They passed a life-size bronze statue of a longhorn on their way inside, where a teenage girl in tiny denim shorts, a Stetson and cowboy boots seated them in a distant booth.

After they’d placed their orders and gotten their drinks, he asked, “Did you ever have to wear stupid uniforms when you waited tables?”

Cate’s slow blink was owlish. Did she think he’d forgotten that was how she’d helped pay for college, or that he’d never known?

He hadn’t forgotten anything.

“Only if you consider powder-blue polyester stupid, which I did.” She folded her hands on the table, slender fingers, no rings, the nails neatly trimmed and unpolished. Spending her work hours touching other people and their bodily fluids, the last thing she wanted, he guessed, were nails that might tear her protective gloves.

But they were good hands. Steady. Capable. Certainly skilled at smacking him.

“What was the extent of your injuries in the accident?”

He gazed into his tea, wishing it was beer or something stronger. “You’re the E.R. doc. You have an idea.”

“Were you wearing a helmet?”

“I was. Put a dent in it the size of a softball.” Though he couldn’t feel less like grinning, he did. “Go ahead. Make a joke. ‘How could they determine whether there was any brain damage? You were already an idiot.’”

She didn’t smile. Her gaze didn’t waver from his face.

“Look, it’s not my favorite memory. In fact, it’s not one of my memories at all. It happened. I woke up a week later. I rehabbed for a year or so. End of story.”

He expected her to press the issue. Hadn’t he commented repeatedly on her stubbornness? But she nodded. “Okay.”

Before he could register more than brief surprise at her easy surrender, she smiled and said, “Tell me about the community center instead.”

* * *

Cate waited while he unrolled silverware from the napkin, placing the cloth in his lap. He lined up the utensils exactly on the tabletop, then rested his elbows on the table, leaning toward her. It wasn’t much—a good span of the table still separated them—but she swore she
felt
him invading her personal space.

“Why do you want to know?”

Several answers popped into her head.
Because you don’t want me to.
Or
I’m having trouble seeing you as a kids’ mentor.
Or
You make fun of me for being a do-gooder when you’re one yourself.
She chose the truth. “I’m trying to figure you out.”

That made him draw back an inch—a major retreat for the Justin she knew. Or didn’t know, as the case seemed to be.

His smile wasn’t quite as conceited as usual. “You’ve known me forever. What’s to figure out?”

“Like you said, I’ve got this image of you from college. Trent’s friend. The smug rich kid who didn’t think I was good enough for his buddy.”

His eyes widened and his jaw dropped, but she went on. “But Susanna, Mario, Benita and Amy see a totally different person. I’m…curious.” Had he changed so much? Was he different with them than with her? Was she narrow-minded to think he was the same as thirteen years ago just because she was?

“I never said you weren’t good enough. I never thought that. I just…” His mouth thinned, then he shrugged. “…didn’t like you.”

Closing her eyes, she raised one hand to her face.

“Hey, I’m sorry— I didn’t mean—”

“No.” Laughing, she lowered her hand again. “I didn’t like you, either. You were arrogant and obnoxious.”

“You thought you were better than me because you were smart and had a do-gooder goal.”

“I never doubted you were smart. I just thought you were lazy and self-centered.”

“I never doubted you were too good for Trent.” His expression turned rueful. “When I said you didn’t deserve him, you didn’t think…?”

She nodded.

He winced. “No wonder you looked right through me at the wedding.”

“It wasn’t my happiest day. Me, my groom who had apparently passed second doubts and gone to fourth and fifth ones, and a thousand of his family’s closest friends and business associates, 950 of whom I’d never met. Hell, I’d never met half my bridesmaids until the week of the wedding.” Four sisters and a best friend hadn’t been enough to satisfy Emilia Calloway and her wedding planners, so they’d chosen another five from Trent’s cousins. “It was a spectacle.”

“It was,” Justin agreed. “And you were the most elegant, most stunning woman there.”

Cate’s stomach flipped. First he’d agreed with her twice in one day, and now he was complimenting her.
Elegant? Stunning?
Warmth crept into her cheeks and along her skin.

He was exaggerating, of course. There had been dozens of more beautiful women there, starting with his own date, the sort of woman who made men and women alike look twice.

“You have to say the bride is the prettiest one at the wedding. It’s a rule,” she said as dismissively as she could manage.

“When have I ever followed the rules?”

“You do when you’re diving. And mountain-
climbing. And dealing with kidnappers. I, on the other hand, have never broken the rules.”

“Obeying people with guns seems to make sense. I take calculated risks, not stupid ones.”

Cate sighed wistfully. “I don’t even take calculated risks, and yet here I am, in the same situation.”

He stretched out his hand, curving his fingers over hers, and squeezed. “We’ll find something to use against the Wallaces.”

“Like what?”

“Proof of what their agency is really doing.”

“How?”

“I don’t know.”

“Not a very reassuring answer.” But she did feel better. There had to be
something
out there they could use against the brothers. Amy was good at ferreting out secrets on the computer, and Justin had the courage to go out and do the physical stuff. Cate? She was just along for the ride.

The waitress served their meals, the rich aromas of medium-rare beef, salt-encrusted baked potatoes, mushrooms sautéed in red wine and buttery, crusty bread making her forget everything else for the moment. “I love good food.” The steak was so tender she could cut it with a fork, and she happily chewed and swallowed.

“You ever learn to do more than boil water?”

“No. I work twelve-hour shifts. I live alone. I can’t really see the point.”

“I live alone, too, but I cook.” He broke a small, dark loaf of bread open and tasted it. “I can do anything with seafood, and my bread is at least as good as this.”

She eyed him as she ate another bite of steak. What little she’d seen of his kitchen in the Cold War house had been impressive, but she’d assumed it was there for looks or resale value. Surprisingly, though, she wasn’t finding it hard to imagine him in it. “Where is home mostly these days?”

“Mobile. I still travel some, and I spend a lot of time in Cozumel, but mostly I’m home.”

Volunteering at the community center. Being the older brother or father figure the kids never had. Maybe teaching them a little from his own mistakes with regard to the accident he’d been in.

Teaching… Yesterday on the boat, he’d said he taught dive classes sometimes. She’d made a smart-ass comment about divas and debs, and he’d walked away without responding. He’d hardly spoken to her for hours after that.

She’d insulted him, she realized—maybe even hurt his feelings a bit.

She speared a mushroom and savored it before cautiously remarking, “That’s where you teach dive classes, isn’t it? At the community center.”

He stared at her so long she was sure she’d ticked him off by bringing it up again, then he shrugged.

“What’s the matter, Justin?” she pressed. “Are you embarrassed that you’re a do-gooder, too? Or are you afraid I might be impressed? After all, I may be clinging to the image of you from college, as you pointed out, but you have to admit, you haven’t done anything to dispel that image. From the moment you walked into Susanna’s office, you’ve been pushing my buttons just like old times.”