Amanda's Child Page 9

  So she opted for cleaning the mud out of the tub and taking her own quick shower. Then she flopped on the bed and fell asleep almost instantly.

  Matt knocked on the door several hours later, making her sit bolt upright.

  They spent the evening being excruciatingly polite with each other, watching TV and denying the supercharged atmosphere in the little cabin.

  HE NEXT MORNING, they were picked up by a man in a silver van who drove them to a small airport on the other side of town. Money exchanged hands, they climbed into a small two-engine plane, and a few hours later they were in Denver, where Matt left her again while he scouted out Tim Francetti’s office.

  “I watched the building for a couple of hours,’’ he told her when he returned with more roast chicken and side dishes. “Either Francetti’s holed up in there, or he’s on vacation.’’

  Amanda’s brow wrinkled. “So what are we going to do?’’

  “Not we. Me. I’m going to do a little B and E, after it gets dark.’’

  She set down her chicken leg hard enough to make her plastic plate bounce. “Like heck you are.’’

  “You have a better idea?’’

  “I mean, like heck you are—without me.’’

  “Staying here is safer.’’

  “But you’ll let me come because Colin is my problem.’’

  He nodded tightly, and she picked up her chicken again, although her appetite had almost disappeared. When she’d demanded to go with Matt, her insistence had been automatic, because that was her usual pattern with the men around Crowfoot. She had to show them she was as good as they were. The longer she stayed with Matt, the more she found she needed to rely on that self-protective mechanism to ward off the fear that threatened to swamp her when she thought about letting herself be vulnerable to him.

  She became aware that Matt was watching the play of expressions on her face.

  “Changed your mind?’’ he asked.

  “No. I’m just thinking about all the implications.’’

  “I don’t generally take pregnant women on illegal expeditions,’’ he said quietly.

  She knew he was reminding her that she was risking more than her own skin. Still, she never backed down when challenged. “Don’t try to use the baby to talk me out of this. I’m doing it for the baby.’’

  “If you say so.’’

  She ignored his tone of voice and asked, “I suppose we wait until dark?’’

  He sighed. “Yeah.’’

  The detective’s office was in a run-down section of town he told her was called LoDo, where most of the buildings looked as if they were constructed around the turn of the past century.

  “I thought Roy only hired the best,’’ she commented as she eyed the seedy exterior and the dirty sidewalk.

  “Maybe it will turn out to be a palace inside.’’

  Amanda snorted.

  Matt drove the battered Ford he’d acquired around the block and pulled into a parking space behind a nearby building, then led her down a dark, trash-strewed alley to a back door with the lock taped open.

  “Like the Watergate burglars,’’ she commented as he led her into a musty-smelling back stairway.

  “If it was good enough for Tricky Dick, it’s good enough for me,’’ he tossed over his shoulder as he started up the stairs.

  Once she was inside the stairwell, she felt the back of her neck prickle. It was all she could do to keep from grabbing Matt’s arm and telling him this was a mistake. Not just for her. For him, too.

  Instead she silently berated herself for her jumpy nerves and followed him to the first-floor landing, then down a short, narrow corridor lit at each end by a low-watt bulb. He stopped at a battered wooden door, slipped on rubber gloves and handed her a pair. As she put hers on, he produced a set of instruments from the bag he was carrying, then went to work on the lock while she glanced nervously up and down the hall.

  As soon as Matt opened the door, she sensed something was very wrong. It was too quiet. Too dark. Too much like a tomb.

  Matt glanced at her, and she knew he felt it, too. Ushering her into the waiting room, he closed and locked the door behind them, then crossed the carpet to the inner office. When he opened that door, she knew from the awful smell what she was going to see inside.

  Matt moved to the middle of the doorway, intent on blocking her view, but she couldn’t stop herself from moving around him and looking inside—at the dead man sprawled across a broad wooden desk.

  “Francetti?’’ she gasped, fighting the sickness that rose in her throat.

  “That’s my best guess.’’ He took her by the shoulders and moved her toward a chair. “Stay here.’’

  She lowered herself onto the slick plastic because her knees simply wouldn’t hold her up. She’d seen dead animals. Large dead animals, like cattle and horses. She’d even been the one who had found her father dead in bed one morning. But this was different.

  For long moments she sat in the waiting room trying to get a grip. She would not lose her chicken dinner, she told herself. And she would not simply sit here while Matt did all the work—not when she’d insisted that she come along. So she pushed herself up on wobbly legs and tottered to the inner office door.

  Stepping inside, she saw what she hadn’t noticed before because she’d been so focused on the dead man. The place was a mess with papers scattered all over the floor, some of them sticky with blood.

  Matt looked up, saw her and cursed. “Get out of here.’’

  “I…want to help you,’’ she managed to say, forcing her features into set lines.

  He gave her a considering look and must have realized she wasn’t going to back down this time, either. “Okay, see if you can find anything in the filing cabinet.’’

  “They already got what’s in there,’’ she pointed out.

  “Don’t make assumptions. See if they missed anything. See if there was some stuff on Colin in another file.’’

  She slid into the room, staying as far away from the desk as possible. Reaching the filing cabinet, she grasped a cold metal drawer to steady herself. Then she began shuffling through folders. But she kept one eye on Matt, watching him coolly move around the dead man, avoiding the blood on the floor, checking desk drawers. Then he stood and looked around the room before starting to tap the baseboards. Next he lifted up the corners of the rug, took the pictures off the walls and inspected the backs.

  There was a video recorder and a television in one corner. He checked under them, then began examining the stack of video cassettes on the shelf above.

  “Bingo,’’ he sang out, holding up one of the cardboard cases. Instead of a cassette inside, there were five three-and-a-half-inch floppy disks. “One of these is labeled Logan,’’ he said.

  “Colin Logan?’’ she managed to ask.

  He shook his head. “Just Logan. I guess whoever killed Francetti and searched the place assumed he’d gotten what he came for.’’

  He looked at the computer on the short arm of the L-shaped desk.

  “Don’t even think about reading that here!’’ she warned.

  “What if it’s the wrong one?’’

  “We have to leave.’’ As she started toward the door, a noise in the outer hallway made her freeze.

  Matt had heard it, too. After sprinting to close the inner office door, he dashed to the window and pushed at the sash. It wouldn’t budge, and he banged on the frame, then gave a mighty heave. To her relief, it slid up and he motioned her over.

  Sliding past the desk with eyes averted, she took in the view. There was a full story drop to the pavement below.

  “I can’t go out that way,’’ she said.

  He took her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. “You have to. There isn’t any other way. I’ll catch you.’’

  As he spoke he was already stepping out the window. She watched him lower his body so that he was hanging by his hands. Then he dropped from view.

  She stood there, h
er heart pounding, knowing she couldn’t do what he’d just done—not unless she risked harming the baby. Then she heard the outer door open and voices in the waiting room.

  Chapter Seven

  Fighting sheer, blind panic, Amanda looked wildly around the office, almost gagging as her gaze collided with the top of the dead man’s head.

  “Come on!’’ Matt called from below.

  No, she almost screamed. Yet she took a step closer to the window and peered out. He was standing right below her, his arms outstretched. “I’ll catch you,’’ he said.

  “You can’t. The baby—’’

  “I’ll catch you,’’ he said again, his voice so calm that it pierced her agony of fear. God, I should have listened to him in the first place. I never should have come here. I never should have risked my child’s welfare.

  Even as the thoughts were going through her head, she was putting one leg out the window, then the other, because she had no choice.

  She was lowering herself from the window frame when the door to the office burst open, and she found herself face-to-face with a uniformed policeman.

  “They’re getting away!’’ he shouted, drawing his gun.

  As she looked down the barrel of the weapon, her fingers let go their death grip on the windowsill.

  Screaming, she dropped like a stone. But Matt’s strong arms were there to catch her, cushioning her fall, holding her upright, even as the policeman’s head appeared above her.

  “Stop or I’ll shoot,’’ he ordered.

  Matt grabbed her hand and pulled her around the corner of the building. A fraction of a second later, shots rang out in the alley where they’d just been standing. Still pulling her along, he reached the old Ford and threw open the back door. Shoving her inside, he climbed behind the wheel, started the engine and backed up so quickly that he almost smashed into the wall behind them.

  As he careened down the street she huddled in the back seat, hardly able to think beyond the sound of sirens that sprang up behind them. Matt pulled into a narrow street lined with warehouses. Screeching to a stop behind a parked car, he opened the back door of the Ford and pulled her out. Hastily he swung her into his arms, carried her to the second vehicle and stuffed her into the back again.

  Slamming the door, he climbed behind the wheel, backing out of the space, and was on his way again in moments. Only this time he drove at a normal pace.

  Amanda stared at him in shock.

  “You had two cars and two sets of keys?’’ she asked stupidly.

  “Yeah,’’ he answered matter-of-factly.

  She was still struggling to take it all in when she spotted a police car speeding toward them, its lights flashing. Cringing, she slid low in her seat, but the cruiser flashed by without a second look. Breathing hard, she pushed herself up again, wrapped her hands around her shoulders and tried to stop the shaking that racked her body.

  “Are you okay?’’ Matt asked, looking in the rearview mirror. “I mean…you and the baby,’’ he said in a thick voice.

  She leaned back, closed her eyes and pressed her hand against her abdomen. “I think so,’’ she answered.

  “Good.’’

  “I was afraid to jump out the window,’’ she whispered.

  “I know. But I knew I could break your fall.’’

  “That was…a miracle.’’

  “No. That was muscle mass. You can thank your friend Roy Logan for letting me keep up my weight training—at the gym where his hired thugs worked out.’’

  Leaning back, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “How did you think of a second car?’’ she asked.

  “The way things are going lately, I wasn’t taking any chances.’’

  The way things were going. Not so good since he’d hooked up with her. And now she’d just made their situation a lot worse.

  “That policeman saw me,’’ she said, struggling to speak around the giant knot in her throat. “He came through the door into the inner office.’’

  “He saw me, too.’’

  She dragged in a breath and let it out before going on. “Not from twelve feet away. Not face-to-face.’’ After another strangled breath, she added, “I’m sorry. I should have listened to you. I should have stayed at the motel. Then you would have gotten away with no problem.’’

  “Don’t worry about it,’’ he snapped.

  “But—’’

  “I said leave it alone. What’s done is done.’’

  She nodded, staring at his rigid shoulders as she huddled into herself. More words flowed in and out of her mind, but she left them unspoken. Words weren’t going to change anything now that she’d gotten them caught at Francetti’s office.

  Neither of them spoke as he pulled into the motel parking lot or as they entered their less than luxurious room.

  Amanda dropped into the chair by the window, wishing there was somewhere else she could go. But escape was impossible.

  Matt was pacing back and forth across the dingy carpet. When she caught a glimpse of his face, she saw it was an angry mask.

  “I’m sorry,’’ she said again, spreading her hands helplessly.

  He stopped pacing and stood towering over her. “You don’t have to take responsibility for this latest fiasco. This is my mess. I was trying to help you. Now you’re on the run from Roy Logan. On the run from Randolph Security, and on the run from the law.’’

  Her eyes widened as she took in his words. He wasn’t mad at her. He was mad at himself—with no good reason. “Matt, you can’t be serious. You’re the one who just saved me.’’

  “Yeah, and I’m the one who’s almost gotten you killed two or three times in the last few days.’’

  “No.’’

  “How would you describe it?’’ he growled.

  “I’d say the two of us have run into some bad luck,’’ she answered.

  He combed his hand through his hair, paced to the window and lifted a venetian-blind slat before letting it fall back into place with a metallic click. As if he hadn’t heard her, he said, “Maybe I should leave you.’’

  “What?’’ she asked, feeling a cold shiver slither down her spine.

  “Find a safe place for you and clear out of your life.’’

  She felt as if she were standing in an elevator that had just plummeted fifty feet. “No!’’

  He raised his head and studied her. “You’ve been uncomfortable with me since the beginning. And lately you’ve been acting like you couldn’t wait to get away from me.’’

  “No,’’ she managed to state around the giant fist clamped around her windpipe. Then more strongly, “That’s not true.’’

  “Then what?’’ He stood with his hands on his hips, large and formidable and very male, challenging her to tell him the truth.

  Ducking her head, she took refuge by casting her gaze toward the floor. “It’s not you. It’s me. I mean, I’m afraid to…trust what I’m feeling.’’

  But he wouldn’t allow her to hide from him. “Which is…?’’ he pressed, the force of his dark gaze piercing her like a laser beam.

  Clasping her hands to keep them from shaking, she moistened her dry lips with her tongue. Here it was. She had to tell him about her miserable past and risk everything. Or keep silent and risk even more.

  Closing her eyes, she tried to shut out the painful images flashing through her brain. She had promised herself she would never tell anyone about them. And now…

  Her heart felt as if it were going to pound its way through her chest. When she tried to take a full breath, it was impossible to pull enough air into her lungs.

  Unable to look at him, she said in a halting voice, “Matt, when you went to school—’’ She stopped short, sure she couldn’t go on. But somehow she braced herself enough to say it. “When you went to school, there was probably some kid that everybody else teased, made fun of, played jokes on. And it was okay, because everybody did it. So that kid didn’t have any friends. And…that made her afraid to trus
t anybody except her family.’’ She dipped her head, then forced herself to raise it again and stare in the direction of his face, though her vision was too blurred to see him clearly. “In Crowfoot that kid was me.’’

  He shook his head in denial. “That can’t be true.’’

  “You think I’m lying?’’ she whispered, swiping her sweaty palms against her hips.

  His face had been angry before. The expression wasn’t much different now. “No. I just don’t want to believe it.’’

  “Right, you can’t believe you’re mixed up with the class geek.’’

  “That’s not what I mean at all,’’ he denied.

  As if in a dream she saw him reach for her, felt those strong arms of his pull her up and into his embrace.

  Her own arms hung at her sides like lead weights, but she let her head fall to his shoulder.

  “Why? Why did they do it to you?’’ he asked in a low voice.

  She sighed. “Maybe it was because I was real scared that first day in kindergarten. Then a few days later, I got sick and threw up on the floor. When I tried to run away, I fell down and slipped in it. They all started laughing about it. About me. And they never stopped, until—’’

  Again the sentence choked off, and again she had to collect herself before she could continue. “In high school things were different. Some of the boys started being nice to me. They took me out on dates—but we didn’t go anywhere except maybe a fast-food restaurant, then to park in some deserted pasture.’’ She sucked in a breath and let it out. “They wanted me to do stuff with them. And I thought they’d like me if I did.’’ She felt his hand tighten on her arm. Still with her face averted, she added, “I didn’t go all the way with any of them. But I was thinking about it—until one day I was behind a column in the cafeteria. And three boys were at a table where I could hear them laughing and talking about me, comparing notes on what they’d gotten me to do.’’

  Her face was hot. Her throat was thick. And she was glad she didn’t have to look him in the eye, because now he knew why she was such a failure at things that were as easy as breathing for everyone else.

  He made a strangled sound and shifted away from her, and she braced for the feel of his hands on her shoulders, pushing her away. Instead he lifted her into his arms and cradled her against his chest as he crossed to one of the double beds in the room and lowered himself so that he could cuddle her against him.