Truth and Consequences (14 page)

Kathleen shrugged and looked away from his intent gaze. “It was something no one expected me to do.”

Seated on the steps, he leaned his head against the railing and tipped his bottle up, the same beer he’d been nursing all night. “That was important?”

“It was.” She stared into the distance, the lake dark and mysterious under a layer of night. With a sigh, she turned back to him. “I’d always done what everyone expected of me and I’d always messed it up. I thought I’d try the last thing anyone expected me to do and maybe I’d get it right.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “I can’t imagine you screwing anything up. But your plan worked, huh? You’ve done well. You’re a respected senior agent. I bet your daddy’s proud.”

How had they gotten from passion to a dissection of her life? The need had retreated to simmer over the last couple of hours, while they talked about the minutiae of their lives—likes in movies, hobbies, books. Now with the conversation drifting into personal territory…maybe sleeping with him would have been safer.

She glanced away again. “He says he is.”

“You don’t think so.”

“Do we have to talk about this now?” Agitation jerked under her skin. She rose from the lounge chair and walked to the far edge of the deck, her fingernails digging into the wood railing. “What about you? Why the army? Why not a drama scholarship?”

“Scholarships don’t pay everything.” His wry tone didn’t quite cover the edge of bitterness. “I was tired of always feeling like I owed someone. With the army, I was doing something for someone else and getting paid for it, plus college on the GI Bill.”

Kathleen frowned, glad he couldn’t see her face. College? His background file had not shown a completed degree. Or had she overlooked that detail? Her certainty that he was not what he seemed kicked up a notch. Her level of relief over that certainty was scary.

Cloth rustled behind her. “Where’d you go?” he whispered, his arms coming around her, hands covering hers on the railing. Body heat seared her back and his groin brushed against her bottom. Warmth flushed her neck and face.

He made her want him so easily. She shook her head, his chin brushing her hair. “Nowhere.”

“Enough about work.” He nuzzled the curve of her ear. “Tell me about the real Kathleen Palmer.”

Her stomach clenched, nerves this time rather than desire. “Then I’d have to tell you about work,” she said, struggling to keep her voice even. “Tell me about the real Jason Harding.”

“Not much to tell.” Distance invaded his voice, and she shivered despite the muggy air and the combined heat of their bodies.

“Jason.” She turned in his arms, but he was already pulling free.

“I’ve got to go. I’m supposed to be on duty at seven.” He glanced down, then back at her. “Oh, hell.”

He took one step forward, wrapped his hand around her nape and pulled her forward to cover her lips with his. Startled, Kathleen didn’t have time to react before he stepped back again. He shook his head, not smiling.

“I told you I couldn’t stay away.”

“And I told you I didn’t want you to.”

Now a slight smile flirted around his mouth. “Good. But I really do have to go.”

She caught his hand. He lifted an eyebrow at her in silent inquiry. “Come over when you get off duty. I’ll cook. And I won’t cancel on you this time.”

Wearing a uniform and badge, Jason committed a felony. Actually, a series of felony offenses. He scowled at the yellow lines bisecting the rural highway. His “light work” had begun. After completing his regular shift, he was making “public relations” visits on a “special patrol route”.

Uh-huh.

Somehow he doubted the real world’s definition of public relations involved collecting protection money and payoffs from small-time dealers and gambling operations. Paper bags, envelopes, even a Bible with money pressed between the pages.

He would receive a cut of that cash and he had to act happy about it. The thought made him sick to his stomach. He might have to take the money, but he didn’t have to spend it.

Yeah, he did. That was the whole point—to look genuine, even if it meant going against everything he’d been taught, everything he believed in.

And this was penny-ante stuff. Not the big deal the Bureau sought. At this rate, he wouldn’t have enough information to satisfy the FBI until he was old enough for mandatory retirement. Kind of like getting Kathleen to believe in him. He’d be out of the game before she let go of her invisible armor.

The damn charade made it impossible for her to trust him. The irony was the game bringing her into his life in the first place. Dangle just what he wanted in front of him and make it impossible to reach for it.

Hell, he knew
exactly
how Lancelot felt the first time the soon-to-be-fallen knight saw Guinevere. The closer he got to the woman Kathleen had become, he more he forgot about the ideal she’d been. He wanted to peel the layers away, find out what made her who she was. The irony in that desire brought his brows together.

He swung the car onto Smokehouse Road. Potholes rutted the surface and the yellow lines had faded into near nothingness. Road maintenance wasn’t a high priority for the Haynes County Commission.

Four miles down the road, he steered into a long, narrow dirt drive. Trees arched overhead, shutting out the sunlight, and the occasional bush reached out to screech twigs along the side of the unit. The car bounced over a washout and he winced at the jarring his spine took.

The driveway opened into an overgrown yard. A small doublewide trailer sat between large oak trees. Someone had tried to turn the place into a home—plants struggled for life amid the choking weeds, rickety wicker porch furniture graced the tacked-on porch and a faded “welcome” flag fluttered from the end of the trailer. Memories of his mother’s attempts to brighten their tiny mobile home flitted across his mind.

Shaking off the depression, he called in his location and stepped from the car. A tricycle lay overturned on the makeshift brick patio in front of the porch and a doll lay forgotten under a shrub.

Great. He was putting the shakedown on somebody’s daddy. The depression tried to grab him again.

Halfway up the porch steps, he remembered the handheld radio lying on the seat. Damn it, he couldn’t get used to carrying that thing.

He rapped on the front door and waited, his gaze sweeping over the tree line behind the house. Wonder how many marijuana plants the thick woods concealed? Great place for a meth lab, too.

The door swung open and he had to look up at the massive man in the doorway. Long, dark hair hung over huge shoulders and the guy’s beard brushed the lightning-and-skull design on his black T-shirt. “What d’ya want?”

Oh, hell. The behemoth wasn’t expecting him. Someone had informed all of his other stops to be prepared for him today. This guy had been left out of the loop, and from the thunderous expression tying his thick eyebrows together, that wasn’t a good thing.

Jason tensed, watching the man’s wild, bloodshot eyes. “Sheriff Thatcher sent me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” Jason shot a glance at the steps and the distance to his unit, his instincts screaming at him to just get out of the situation. The last time he’d seen eyes like that was the crazy private who’d attacked Bull Jones after a night drinking. Bull outweighed the kid by thirty pounds, but had ended up in the emergency room with two cracked ribs and a broken nose.

“What’s the sumbitch want?” The words wafted on a wave of Jack Daniels-scented breath.

Jason edged toward the steps, trying to maintain a calm, authoritative stance at the same time. “Listen, sir, I’m sorry I disturbed you. I’ll have the sheriff contact you—”

“Man, what are you
really
doing here?” Bearded Behemoth demanded, stepping forward. The door slammed shut behind him.

Jason took another sliding step.

“Who are you? You’re not one of Thatcher’s boys. I ain’t seen you before. You’re a freaking Fed, ain’t you?”

Behemoth reached into his back pocket and sunlight flashed on a blade.

Oh, holy shit. Only eight feet or so between him and that knife.

A suspect with a knife can be lethal at twenty-two feet. At that range lethal force is justified.

His Quantico instructor’s voice invaded his head, drowning out Behemoth’s continued ranting. He’d screwed up, walked into this situation with deadly complacency.

The realizations raced through his mind in nanoseconds, his instincts guiding his actions, his hand already reaching for the pepper spray at his waist.

With a snarl, Behemoth rushed him, slashing wildly.

Jason staggered back and fired the canister, enveloping them both in the fiery spray.

The other man kept coming and Jason was still spraying when they crashed through the porch railing and onto the brick patio below.

The shock of impact jerked through Jason’s spine, the breath whooshing from his lungs. Choking and coughing, he struggled to extricate himself from Behemoth’s weight. The man crawled away, screaming and clawing at his eyes.

The knife lay abandoned on the brick.

Tears streaming down his face, Jason scrambled to his feet, kicked the knife into the bushes and pulled his cuffs from his belt. Trying to catch his breath, he ignored the burning of his skin and went after Behemoth. He pushed his knee into the other man’s back, shoving him onto his stomach.

Jason choked, his voice emerging a hoarse croak. “Hands behind your head!”

Sobbing now, the man complied, mumbling and crying. Jason cuffed one wrist, yanked it down and followed with the other. He pulled the man to his feet and used a pressure grip to guide him to the car.

Eyes stinging, Jason performed a swift, thorough search and deposited Behemoth in the backseat. His chest heaved with exertion, his lungs starving for oxygen. He collapsed into the driver’s seat and reached for the radio’s handset. “H13 to Haynes.”

“Go ahead, H13.”

Agony seared his lungs and settled in his side. He gripped the muscles, trying to squash the stitch. Fluid gushed over his fingers. Disbelieving, he stared at the blood coating his hand.

“Haynes, request H2 at 147 Smokehouse Road. Officer injured.”

“10-4, H13. Request an ambulance?”

“Negative, Haynes. Just H2.”

He slumped against the seat and clutched his side, eyes closed. Scant minutes passed, filled with burning skin, searing pain and Behemoth’s mindless ramblings.

A siren chirped once and he opened his eyes to blue lights flashing behind his unit. Jim Ed approached and pulled the door open. “Hell, boy, what happened to you?”

Jason stumbled to his feet and nodded at his cousin, accompanied by Sheriff Thatcher. He jerked his head toward the backseat, where Behemoth moaned about his face. “Someone forgot to let him know I was coming.”

Thatcher shook his head, brows drawn together in disgust. “Take the boy to the hospital and get him stitched up, Jim Ed. I’ll stay here and clear things up with Johnny.”

“That vest saved your life.” The physician’s assistant probed at Jason’s side again, her slender mahogany fingers wringing a pained gasp from him. He swallowed a curse and she smiled. “Sure you don’t want something more than a local?”

“I’m sure.” Jason pushed the words out between clenched teeth. Jim Ed leaned against the wall of the ER, watching, and Jason couldn’t risk a stronger medication loosening his tongue.

“So tell me how this happened again?” The PA’s lyrical voice held a note of tempered steel.

Jason winced against the pull of the suture material and focused on counting the dots in the acoustic ceiling tiles. “Chasing a suspect. Ran into a barbed wire fence.”

“With only one barb?”

“He told you what happened.” Iron laced Jim Ed’s voice. “Just put in the damn stitches.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jason wanted to laugh at her sarcastic salute, but her other hand pierced his side with the needle again, putting all thoughts of laughter out of his mind.

The line of interrupted stitches took forever to put in, but finally, he sat on the edge of the exam table and waited for his discharge papers.

“Here.” Jim Ed appeared around the curtain and tossed him a clean white undershirt. “It’ll probably be a little big on you.”

“Thanks.” Moving with painful awkwardness, Jason tugged the shirt over his head. As predicted, it hung on his frame.

“Listen, the sheriff just called, and I’ve got some business to take care of. Can you find a way home?”

“Yeah.” Jason touched his cheek, the skin still irritated and tender. “I could probably call Kathleen.”

“Guess you’re poaching on Calvert’s territory now, huh?” Jim Ed laughed and slapped him on the back.

Pain shot through his side, swamping the anger. Jason gritted his teeth again. “Guess so.”

“So is she any good in the sack?”

“Didn’t you have something to do?”

Jim Ed’s laughter rumbled in the room. “Yeah, I’m out of here. I’ll come by and check on you later.”

Jim Ed passed the PA on his way out. She laid a sheaf of yellow and pink papers on the end of the exam table and handed Jason a prescription bottle. “You can take one of these every four to six hours for pain. Keep that wound clean and dry, and see your doctor in seven to ten days for suture removal. Any questions?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Sign here.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Jason signed the release forms. “Is there a pay phone I could use?”

Unsmiling, she pointed toward a phone hanging on the wall. “Dial nine for an outside line.”

Stuffing his copies of the papers into his back pocket, he shuffled to the phone, each step pulling at his side. He punched in Kathleen’s number and waited, his forehead against the wall.

She picked up on the third ring. “Hello?”

He let her voice wash over him before clearing his throat. “It’s Jason.”

A pause stretched over the line. “Are you calling to cancel this time?”

“Sort of.” Food was the last thing on his mind right now, with his side aching and fire still searing his throat with every breath. “I need a ride home.”

“Where are you?”

He winced at the suspicion in her voice. “Emergency room. Chandler General.”

She swore softly. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”