Maverick Read online

  She blinked agreement.

  “What happened to it?”

  “I gave it back to Nathan. That was part of our agreement.”

  “What agreement?”

  Her lips clamped shut. She wouldn’t talk about it. Yet.

  “My partner was killed with a forty-four.”

  She glanced at the whiskey bottle and rubbed her forehead. “I didn’t kill your partner.”

  “No, you didn’t. Billy did. Right before I killed him.” Her eyes opened wide and he watched her pull concern and sympathy into her gaze. The ruse made him feel sick. Was it all a lie—everything he’d believed about her? Did she belong with Nathan and the Cormacks, after all? He didn’t release her eyes. “Was it the same gun, Maggie?”

  She looked surprised by the vehemence in the angry question. Worse, she looked hurt. Her fingers shoved harder at her forehead. “I don’t know. I only saw the gun Nathan gave me. As far as I know it was the only one they had—or they might have had a dozen.”

  “As far as I know you’re lying.”

  She opened her mouth to protest then closed it. “It doesn’t matter,” she whispered. “Melissa matters. That’s all.”

  “Where were you between the ages of ten and twenty one? Is that when you met Nathan?” He could see he’d surprised her with the question. He could also see she didn’t believe the answer was any of his business. She surprised him by providing one. “Foster homes. In Arizona.”

  “Why?”

  Her voice was soft and sad. “I don’t know.” Jack frowned at the lie. Not know why you’re in a foster home? He ignored the pain in her eyes and switched tracks again. If her head really did hurt that much, maybe he could keep her off balance.

  “When did you meet the Cormack brothers?” Maggie listened through a haze of pain. His sentences were starting to fracture again. She didn’t know how long she could keep putting them back together. “I met Billy three years ago.” Didn’t he already know all this? Was he trying to trap her?

  “Where?”

  “Chicago.”

  “So you did plan the robbery beforehand.” Disappointment and disgust laced the statement. Not even a question, but Maggie answered it anyway. “I didn’t plan anything.” If he really didn’t know all this background information she certainly wouldn’t supply it. And if he commonly jumped to conclusions like he was doing, little wonder it took him two years to find her.

  “You expect me to believe Billy and his dumb-shit brothers cooked up the whole thing?” He’d forgotten Nathan Mitchell. She wouldn’t remind him. Watching him calmly, she had a sudden flash of insight. “That’s what’s got you so upset, isn’t it? Billy and his brothers got away with it. You haven’t been able to catch them. You know they’re dumb as dirt—and you still haven’t been able to catch them.”

  Jack heard the accusation that pinned him squarely to the wall and scowled. Besides Maggie, the Mitchell/Cormack success irritated the hell out of him. He took the offensive. “I had them, darlin’. Or at least I had Billy. Until you waltzed in and stole the evidence. What was in that safe deposit box?”

  Despite the pain clouding them, her eyes laughed at him. He suddenly wanted to strangle her. Or kiss her. Neither action would convince her to trust him. He wouldn’t settle for less. “I don’t want to believe you were involved, darlin’. Unfortunately the evidence all points that way.”

  “Why should I care what you believe?”

  “You’d better care.” His gaze raked over her cooly, effectively masking his concern over the increased pain reflected in her eyes. “Tell me the truth.”

  “Why? You don’t believe anything I say.”

  “I’m an officer of the law. You’re a fugitive, facing some pretty nasty charges. I can help you. Or I can fry you.” He smiled. “Your call, darlin’.” She returned his smile. “My call?” she repeated sweetly.

  He nodded.

  “You can go to hell.”

  Following his gut, but ignoring his heart, Jack glanced down at her. “I probably will. But that’s got nothing to do with the current subject. If you don’t want to talk to me, that’s fine. I’ll call Nancy Frederick. She’d love to know we’ve apprehended the dangerous Maggie Chambers. I’m sure she’d be happy to do a follow-up show. Could be her viewers will be able to fill in some of the holes.” He watched her eyes flash fire. He continued carefully. “And Frank never even mentioned Melissa, did he?”

  Maggie’s eyes filled with fear.

  Bingo. Just like Derek. But he’d feel a helluva lot better if he actually knew what he kept hinting at. “Melissa doesn’t know.”

  He pounced. “Doesn’t know what?”

  “Just doesn’t know.” Maggie’s voice was barely a whisper now. He had to lean over her to hear her. There wasn’t a hint of the vinegar she’d been spraying. He almost missed it. Her eyes clogged up with that ache he hated. She was close to spilling and he couldn’t afford to go soft now.

  “Want to keep it that way, Maggie?” When she didn’t respond, he ran his fingers down her arm. She jerked like he’d slapped her.

  “She doesn’t know anything,” she repeated, still frightened. She hadn’t even heard his question. Where did she go? Wherever it was, he hated the sadness and hurt it brought to her eyes. “Talk to me, Maggie,” he pleaded. “I can help you. And I can help protect Melissa.”

  Another shot in the dark. Another score. Then Maggie’s eyes shuttered as if she’d drawn a window shade down. “I can’t tell you.”

  “Then I can’t help you.”

  “I didn’t ask for your help.”

  The anger surged back. “You’re damn well going to need it. Do you know the charges you’re facing?”

  Maggie closed her eyes. Her cheeks slowly drained of color. “Assault, I guess. And—and theft, I suppose.”

  She supposed? Half a million dollars and she supposed she might be charged with theft? Her eyes suddenly flashed open. “You found his wallet, didn’t you? I left it in the dumpster.”

  Wallet? Frank’s wallet? “Yeah, we found it.” She’d helped steal five hundred thousand dollars and she was worried about the lousy ten bucks in Frank’s wallet? “I know I took the wallet—he—I was supposed to make the whole thing look like a robbery. I just assumed if you found it—well, that taking it wouldn’t really count. I didn’t take anything out—I didn’t even open it.” She was babbling—exhausted. Her voice broke. “I didn’t have a choice, Jack.” Blindly, she reached for the whisky bottle, cradling it to her side when he put it in her hand.

  She was an accomplished liar. And a thief. If he had a lick of sense, he wouldn’t pay any attention to that anguish in her eyes—he’d ignore that pleading in her voice. Jack sighed. Time to face facts. What she was, what she’d done, no longer mattered. He’d kick himself later, but that very real pain and anguish were all he cared about now. He had to try and ease both. He touched her hand and left her side to find the aspirin.

  Before he found the painkiller, he found the other things he’d bought in New Castle. Megan Chase might not, but once-upon-a-time Maggie Chambers had shown an appreciation for some of life’s finer things. He hadn’t questioned himself when he’d purchased the stuff in town. He didn’t question himself now. The wine she used to love would have to wait—mixing it with the whiskey would only hurt her head more in the long run. But there was tea. He put the water on to boil, found the aspirin and returned to the bed.

  She didn’t reach for the pills he shook into his hand. He didn’t offer them. He just stood, staring down at her. “Damn you, Maggie,” he whispered. The words were as much a caress as a curse. “You are a drug. And I’m a man with a very low tolerance.” Memories of the night he’d spent with her on the mesa were front and center in his mind. Unable to stop himself, he traced a gentle finger down her uninjured arm.

  Her eyes misted with helpless tears that made him feel lower than a snake with a belly full of buckshot. She traded him the whiskey bottle for the pills and he went to get her a gla
ss of water. He helped her to sit, wordlessly cradling her head against his chest for one long minute. She swallowed the pills, drank all the water then eased back against the wall, closing her eyes as the tears continued to spill over her cheeks. He doubted she knew she was crying. The tears broke his heart.

  Maggie knew she was crying. She also knew she was too tired and too sore to fight any longer. He was right. Until he retrieved her borrowed dirt bike, she couldn’t leave. She was out of options. She didn’t dare tell him everything he wanted to know. But she could tell him part of the story—try to explain why she couldn’t tell him the rest. Maybe that would be enough. Maybe he could help keep Melissa safe.

  Maggie brushed the tears away from her cheeks. Her voice was still a soft whisper. “I have—I had a deal with Nathan.” Her decision made, she opened her eyes. “I doubt Paul knows anything about it. I don’t think Kevin will keep it.”

  Jack waited.

  “You’ve got to promise me—Melissa must be safe.”

  He nodded. “Whatever it takes, Maggie. I give you my word.” He touched her fingers. “Melissa will be safe.” “And you can’t prosecute her.”

  “Prosecute Melissa? For what?” Jack watched her carefully. “What did she do?”

  Maggie ran her fingers over her wrapped wrist, then glanced up at him. “I—I’m not ready to tell you that yet. Not until I have your word. She doesn’t know.” “Doesn’t know what?”

  Maggie just shook her head. She wouldn’t say another word until he promised. Jack wasn’t about to promise anything—at least not until he knew what he was dealing

  with. Maggie was two seconds from closing up tighter than a clam. He was half a second from following through on his earlier urges. He still wasn’t sure if he’d kiss her or strangle her. Time to get some control back. Time for a break. “I want a sandwich. How about you?”

  The question surprised her—no doubt he’d intended to do that very thing. “I—no.” His sudden smile was disarming—another surprise. “I bought you something.” He handed her a cup. “I forgot—earlier—” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. With everything she was about to tell him threatening her like a loaded gun, the gesture was too casual, too intimate. She moved restlessly, turning her head away. She was too damn close to capitulation, when she ought to be running for her life. She focused on the cup in her hand and refused to look at him.

  “You enjoy that while I rustle up something to eat.” He took the lantern with him. She sniffed the dark contents of the cup suspiciously, then inhaled deeply.

  Earl Grey. She sat up straight, ignoring the immediate pounding protest of her head. She sipped the full, rich tea and couldn’t stop an appreciative murmur. The taste brought so much back. So long ago. . .another life. One with a promise of contentment—where her dreams still had hope of fulfillment.

  How did he know? Her eyes narrowed with suspicion and she sought his wide shoulders. His back was to her as he worked at the small table across the room. Even in the glow of the lantern she could see the play of his muscles under his shirt as he reached for something across the table.

  Why did he have to be so damn gorgeous? Completely unfair. She took another sip of the delicious memories, then sniffed. He might have remembered the tea before he’d made her drink that nasty stuff he liked.

  Maggie-whiskey. . . Of course his whiskey wasn’t really all that nasty once you got used to it. And it certainly went down easier when he helped her get used to it. She couldn’t taste the whiskey at all now. But she remembered every second of those kisses.

  As if he knew where her thoughts were headed, he stopped his preparations and brought another cup of tea to the bedside. “Better than the whiskey?”

  Maggie blushed and hoped he couldn’t see it in the dark corner where she lay. “Much,” she agreed crossly.

  Jack didn’t seem to notice. “Good. I brought plenty. Aspirin working yet?” “No.” That was a lie—but maybe it was the warm, soothing tea, not the aspirin. Whichever, at least her head wasn’t pounding quite so frantically. He patted her hand solicitously. “Give it a little more time.” He turned his back again, this time to retrieve the envelope, the leather pouch and the box. He left them on the far side of the bed, out of her reach without a stretch, she noted with a sniff. Jack flipped open a cooler. “Tell me about the picture—your family.”

  His voice was calm and even, but she’d bet his thoughts weren’t. He was scheming—planning something. Could she stay ahead of him with her head still precariously close to exploding? She had to try.

  “The picture was taken in Chicago. Mom, Dad, Melissa, me. We were moving. To California. That was our new car.” She watched those broad shoulders and wondered what he was thinking. “Daddy had a flask—like yours, only smaller.” She heard the hint of bitterness in her voice but ignored it. “Melissa and I were both asleep in the back. I woke up in the hospital.”

  He returned to sit on the side of the bed with a huge sandwich that looked delicious. He offered her a bite. She tried a nibble, but it hurt her head to chew the flavorful ham. She helped herself to a stolen slice of provolone cheese instead. “Were you hurt bad?”

  “That’s what they said.” He was too close again. She took another sip of tea and leaned back into the wall.

  “I’m guessing you don’t like to talk about it. I saw some scars earlier, under your chin and back in your hair. . .” When he’d stripped her naked . She handed him her cup when he held out his hand. “I was alone—they didn’t know my name, or where I’d come from. I didn’t see Melissa again for years.”

  Jack stopped eating, gaze intent on her. “Years?” “It took that long to find her.” She gestured to the envelope then. He handed it to her. She removed the picture—touched Melissa’s smiling face. When she continued her voice was soft and filled with pain.

  “My aunt took the picture, right before we left. We all smiled, Aunt Nan took the picture, Daddy refilled his little bottle one more time. We stayed in Nebraska the first night. Mom and Daddy had a fight. Melissa and I didn’t pay too much attention. We were even more excited the second day. We stayed in Colorado that night. They fought again, about his drinking. We didn’t get much sleep and we were all up early. Melissa and I talked about California for hours—until Daddy yelled at us to shut up. Even then we whispered for ages more. I remember that Melissa finally went to sleep. I guess I did too.”

  She sighed. “I lived in foster homes until I was sixteen. Then I just walked away. It was always such a shuffle, house to house, family to family.” She started to shrug, but winced instead. “I only wanted to find Melissa. So I learned how to search—and how to hide.” She gave him a sheepish smile. “Not as well as I’d hoped.”

  “Well enough,” he growled, but then his features softened.

  “It wasn’t a skill I meant to cultivate, especially once I found Melissa again.” Jack nodded.

  “I spent eleven years looking for her.” She frowned. “I shouldn’t really count the first five. They never let me search much. But still—it was time away from her.” “They?”

  “My foster parents.” She tried for a sparkling smile and knew she failed miserably. “All twelve sets of them.” “Twelve? In six years?”

  “Five years. I was in the hospital for most of the first year.”

  Jack curled his fingers around hers. The contact didn’t bother her at all now. The sympathy in his eyes made her restless though, so she closed hers, blocking out the sight of him. “How did you find her?”

  “I knew my name was Maggie, but I thought my last name was Ruth. Mom used to call me that when she was mad—’Maggie Ruth!’. Anyway—I had the name Chambers in my head, but not as a real close connection.”

  She risked a glance, relieved when he nodded understanding. She didn’t know how else to explain her memory loss and she wanted this part of the story over as soon as possible. “I was found in a hospital parking lot in Mira Vista, Arizona. And I remembered the trip to Arizona. I didn’t reme
mber Chicago for a long, long time. From my injuries I assumed there’d been an accident, so I started searching the papers for any mention of a wrecked yellow convertible. By the time I found one, my parents had been dead for six years. I found a tiny article in a small newspaper.”

  She pulled a scrap of faded newsprint from the envelope and handed it to him. While he read, she retrieved an old map and smoothed it out in her lap.

  Two people perished in an auto accident on County Road 18 last week. Their identities remains unknown.

  “Two passengers?” Maggie nodded wearily. “My parents. I hitchhiked from Mira Vista to the police station in Alta Palms. They gave me my mom’s locket and the photo. The camera was the only thing in the car. When they couldn’t identify the bodies, they developed the film. There was a picture of a sign in Nebraska, another one from Colorado and the one of the four of us. They said they’d wondered about the little girls.” Maggie’s smile was tight. “Obviously, they didn’t wonder that much. There was a cemetery down the block. The lady did offer to help me find their graves, but after that long, they didn’t really matter to me.” She sounded harsh and callous in her own ears. “Only Melissa mattered.” She risked a glance at him. He looked angry. She closed her eyes again.

  Just as well. He knows a lot about you already—may as well know the rest. She fingered the map. It was torn and brittle now, but the faint rings she’d drawn with a borrowed compass were still visible. Circles, ever widening circles. “I had my memories and the picture. I went to every library in every town. I read every old newspaper I could find. I left copies of the picture on bulletin boards in grocery stores, laundromats, everywhere I could. The picture had the Alta Palms’ police station number on it.”

  Her voice faded to a whisper. “I saved every spare cent and made the phone call as often as I could. No one ever called. But I never gave up. Everyone said she probably died in the accident, but I wouldn’t believe them. I couldn’t give up.”

  Tears slid down her cheeks. She was too tired to brush them away. She startled when she felt Jack’s hands on her shoulders, but his murmur was a soothing rumble in her ears. “Shhh, now, darlin’. I know you never gave up. You never would. Shhh now. . .” He drew her close, snuggling her into his solid warmth. The awful loneliness of that time always left her feeling cold, but here in his arms there was warmth and safety and she didn’t have to be alone any longer.