Hiding His Witness Part 15

At the start of the trail, a gray haired man in jeans and a flannel jacket stood from a wooden bench and approached them. He and Reilly shook hands.

Reilly introduced her. "Brent, this is Carey Smith. Carey, this is a friend of mine from the police academy."

Carey and Brent shook hands and the three of them walked along the well-worn trail. Reilly stayed close to her, his stance protective.

"You had the alleged Vagabond Killer housed at the detention center," Reilly said, heavy emphasis on the word alleged.

Brent tucked his thumbs in the front pockets of his jeans. "I knew him. Crazy son of a gun. Sat in his cell in some kind of meditation pose, mouthing words to himself. If he was sent to trial, I'd guess his lawyer would claim mental insanity. He sure was acting like he had problems."

"Did he make friends with anyone?" Reilly asked. "Did he talk to any of the guards or other prisoners?"

Carey hung on to every word.

Brent shook his head. "Word got around who he was, and by the way he behaved the other prisoners left him alone. They knew he was a short-timer. He was only being held until trial. If he was convicted, he'd be sent to a maximum security prison."

Brent glanced at Carey. "You look familiar. Do I know you?"

Carey squelched the bubble of hysteria that rumbled in her chest. Could she trust Brent with the truth? If word got out that she and Reilly had spoken with someone in Denver, Mark would be hot on her tail.

Recognition lit in Brent's eyes. He snapped his fingers. "I know who you are. You're the woman from the news. You stopped him from killing someone."

A surge of panic flared in Carey's stomach. She instinctively leaned closer to Reilly, wanting his protection and his rea.s.surance she would be okay now that she'd been recognized.

"We're trying to lay low," Reilly said, setting his hand on her lower back. Heat from his touch s.h.i.+mmered up her body. She wanted to bury her face into his shoulder, to let Reilly handle this situation.

Brent nodded. "I got you. I won't say a word."

Reilly lowered his voice. "Did you bring the visitor logs?"

Brent nodded once. "No one can know where you received these. This is unofficial at best."

"Understood," Reilly said.

They stopped on the trail. Brent extended his hand to Reilly and shook it. Carey saw a white slip of paper moving from Brent's hand to Reilly's. Reilly made the paper disappear into his pocket. "We'll get together soon for a beer."

"Sounds great," Brent said.

They said goodbye and Brent continued down the trail in the opposite direction from where they'd met.

Reilly and Carey hiked toward the car.

"You okay?" Reilly asked, glancing at her. He brushed his hand lightly over her cheek where she had a few scratches, frowning mightily at them.

This whole situation made her nervous. "I'm fine. I'm a little rattled that he recognized me. I thought the hair and clothes were a good disguise."

"Brent works in law enforcement and we were asking him about the case. He's trained to notice details and he had time to study you."

Reilly reached for her hand, clasping it in his. Whether it was intentional or a subconscious move to soothe her, she liked when he touched her. It forced away some of the tension wound tight in her muscles, heat infusing her body. Her insides clutched with yearning. Every moment with Reilly was precious and limited. Didn't he see that?

He squeezed her hand. "I'll keep you safe. Just relax."

Her thoughts turned to the visitor log. She inhaled sharply as realization dawned. "You're hoping Mark visited the Vagabond Killer, aren't you?"

Acknowledgment flickered in his eyes. "Or any name that jumps out at you from your past life. Maybe an a.s.sociate of Mark's, someone who would be willing to help the Vagabond Killer," Reilly said. He rubbed a slow circle with his thumb against her hand. The gesture tossed her train of thought off track, sending her heart skittering against her ribs. "Have I told you how much I like the new hair color?"

No, he hadn't. She patted her hair. "Better than the red?"

"Much." For a moment, his gaze switched to her mouth and she knew he was thinking about kissing her. Thinking about it and trying to talk himself out of it.

When they reached the parking lot, they lowered their heads to avoid eye contact with a couple entering the park.

Inside the car, Reilly said nothing as he pulled from the parking lot and onto the main road. Only then did he reach into his pocket and remove the sc.r.a.p Brent had given him. He handed it to Carey, one eye on the road, one eye on her.

She unfolded the paper. It was a quarter sheet of paper, with two names written on it. "It's the names of the Vagabond Killer's visitors." The first was Thomas Hartle, Esquire. The second name was Mark Connors. Carey's chest tightened. One of the aliases Mark used. Her hands trembled and her voice shook. "It's Mark. You were right. He visited the Vagabond Killer."

Tension pulsed off Reilly in waves. "How did Mark get in to see him without throwing up any red flags?"

Another show of Mark's power and extensive reach. "Mark has money and resources to bribe or build a cover. If he wanted to get into the detention center, he would have paid whoever he had to pay or lied to whoever he had to lie."

Why had Mark visited the Vagabond Killer? Did they have anything in common besides the fact that they were both killers and each had reasons for wanting her dead?

A cold s.h.i.+ver ran down her spine. Mark was a silver-tongued negotiator. If he wanted information, he would get it one way or another. Carey reached for Reilly's hand, needing his strength. His hand tightened around hers.

"They planned this together. Mark found a way to get the Vagabond Killer out," Reilly said. "But why? The killer doesn't know where you are. What does Mark gain by setting the killer free?"

Her mouth went dry and her heart pounded hard. She knew Mark. "When I show up dead, he gets the perfect person to pin my murder on."

"Holiday shoppers," Reilly said as they walked toward the front of the superstore. "We'll blend right in." He handed Carey the generic blue wool cap he had picked up at the gas station. She wound her hair to the top of her head and plunked the hat on top of it as he put on his generic red one. He wasn't worried about being followed to the superstore-he'd been careful about doubling back and watching closely-but he couldn't take the chance that someone would recognize either of them.

Carey got out of the rental car. "I'm desperate for some clean clothes." She plucked at her rumpled T-s.h.i.+rt.

Though the s.h.i.+rt was neither tight nor revealing, she looked like a knockout in it. Maybe because he knew what was beneath it. A thought that haunted him more than it should have. His libido was overriding good sense. The impulse to take her, right here, right now, was intense. Would he be able to make it another night lying next to her without kissing her? Without making love with her? He had good reasons not to touch her, not to destroy the case they were building, but those reasons wouldn't quell the longing to hold her.

Reilly forced his mind to their immediate concerns. They both needed fresh clothes. Their overnight into the city had turned into a much longer stay. "Keep your head down and keep close."

Without anyone recognizing them, they could pretend to be a couple and he could keep her close. Hand in hand, fingers interlaced, they walked to the entrance of the store where a blast of hot air and Christmas music greeted them. Carey's hand in his felt good; it felt natural. But it was part of their cover. He wouldn't allow it to lead to anything else.

With so many people taking care of last-minute shopping, Reilly stuck to the middle of the crowd, staying behind other people. He grabbed one of the last carts from the corral and headed in the direction of ladies' clothes.

Carey picked a pair of jeans, two zip-up sweats.h.i.+rts and two long sleeved T-s.h.i.+rts. As they approached the lingerie department, she glanced at him. "Why don't you head to men's clothes while I pick up a few things?"

Reilly shook his head, keeping his voice low. "This isn't a time to be modest. I'm not leaving you alone."

Because he knew she was embarra.s.sed, he didn't say a word when she threw a pair of pink panties into the basket. His body had its own comment, his stomach tightening and images of her parading around in them flas.h.i.+ng through his mind. She tossed in a few more pairs, burying them beneath the jeans and T-s.h.i.+rts. He couldn't stop himself from picturing her wearing the panties. Them and nothing else.

Although after the way he'd behaved, he might not get another chance with her after this case was closed. Did she understand he was doing his best to protect her and trying to keep his head where it should be, focused on the case?

Getting control of his l.u.s.t, he selected some things from the men's department and they moved on to the personal care section. Wandering up and down the aisles, they each tossed in a few items-soap, shampoo, razors. Carey lingered near the bath products, running her fingertips over the bottles. They held her attention for a few beats and then she shook her head, as if telling herself she couldn't have them. As he walked past, he added them to the cart.

He picked up two disposable, pre-paid cell phones. If Mark had hacked Vanessa's phone, he could hack into Reilly's. Though his phone was supposed to be safe, Reilly didn't trust it. The more connections he cut, the better.

At the end of the aisle, Carey froze and spun around, her eyes wide and her chest rising and falling fast.

"What's the matter?" he asked, alarm p.r.i.c.king at his brain.

"I thought I saw Mark."

Reilly pushed her behind him, peering around the corner. No one was harming her on his watch. "Thought? Or you did?"

"Thought. He looked the same from the back, but when he turned around, it was someone else." Reilly faced her and Carey shook her head, ma.s.saging her temples. "I've got to calm down. I'm seeing things."

Reilly rubbed her arms, concentrating on comforting her and ignoring the pang of desire that struck him. "We'll get out of these crowds soon, okay?"

Carey nodded, but she quaked with fear. Would she ever feel safe? Reilly wanted to make her feel better, but he didn't honestly know how safe they were anywhere. Mark had proven to have a long reach.

Reilly's resolve to give her back her life strengthened. She couldn't continue to live this way.

They waited in line for close to an hour to pay for their purchases, keeping their faces forward, heads down. While the waiting was tedious, the frazzled cas.h.i.+er would never remember them. Reilly paid for their items with cash and they collected their bags from the turntable.

"Thank you," Carey said to Reilly as they headed to the car, nodding toward the bags. "I'll pay you back."

Reilly shook his head. "Consider it a Christmas gift."

She smiled at him. "Thank you." The word was spoken with genuine grat.i.tude and he wished he had had time to get her a real gift. If a few necessities made her happy, how would she feel about jewelry or- Whoa, jewelry? Where had that come from? Jewelry was a gift for a girlfriend. He was trying to keep boundaries defined, not blur them and ruin the case. First, he'd take care of the Vagabond Killer and Mark. Then, he'd take care of Carey.

Hiking to the end of the lot where they had parked the rental, they threw their bags into the backseat of the car. They climbed inside and Reilly turned on the engine and heater. He rifled through the bags, found the prepaid cell phone he'd bought, and plugged one into the car to charge the battery. He powered it on and dialed Vanessa, wanting an update on the situation.

"I've been trying to call you. I even tried calling your parents' place. Where have you been?" she asked.

"I shut off my phone." He wasn't taking any unnecessary chances. "Did you get your phone wiped?"

Vanessa blew out her breath. "Yes, the IT guys gave me a new one and confirmed there was spyware on my other one. How am I supposed to get messages to you if you're not going to answer?"

"Leave me a voice mail. I'll check them from time to time."

Vanessa harrumphed. "Fine. I was trying to call you about the suspect we had in custody, John Sundry. After we released him, we kept a couple of tails on him, just in case. He lost them." A tremor of fear ran through Vanessa's voice.

Reilly gripped the steering wheel, tension knotting in his shoulders. "When? How?"

"This afternoon. Sundry went into a diner and never came out. They searched high and low. He's in the wind," Vanessa said.

Reilly swore inwardly. "Are you somewhere safe?"

"The lieutenant insisted I stay with him and his wife. Anyone closely connected to the case has been put on alert. Do you think we made a mistake? Do you think we had the right guy?"

"Men with nothing to hide don't run." After his visit with Brent, Reilly was doubly convinced they'd had the right man and he'd been sprung with evidence manufactured by Mark.

He heard Vanessa drumming her fingers on something hard. "I'll call if anything changes. Be careful out there." A touch of warmth tinged her voice.

"You do the same."

He disconnected the call and looked at Carey. She waited for him to speak, her eyes wide. "Something happened. Please, tell me quickly."

He hated delivering more bad news. "They had a tail on John Sundry, the man they had arrested as being the Vagabond Killer. They lost him."

Carey wrapped her arms around her midsection as if trying to hold herself together. "He's coming for me, isn't he?"

Not if Reilly had any say in the matter. "He has to find you first." And it was his job to make that impossible.

They traveled away from the city, searching for lodging, any safe place for them to stay. They were turned away by three hotels before they found one with a vacancy. The hotel was six stories high, the windows facing the front lined with garland. Green wreaths with red bows decorated them and trees trimmed with gold garland and s.h.i.+mmering Christmas ornaments filled the lobby.

Reilly checked in and they took the elevator to the third floor. They needed to rest, and weariness was showing on Carey's face.

He called Harris on his cell and when he didn't answer, Reilly left the number to one of the cell phones. Then he tucked it in his pocket, flopped on the bed and listened to the sound of children tearing up and down the hallway, their hotel room doors slamming, parents commanding them to be quiet, and giggles of excitement drifting under their door.

The sound brought back memories of his childhood Christmases.

Carey rifled through her duffel and pulled out her toothbrush and toothpaste. "I'm going to get ready for bed." She flipped her dark hair over her shoulder and gave him a small smile.

The urge to go to her and band his arms around her torpedoed through him. "You okay?" he asked, hearing something resonate in her voice.

She looked at the carpet. "Christmas makes me miss my father."

Reilly swung his feet to the floor and gestured for her to come closer. She crossed the room and sat on his knee, resting her head on his shoulder. Tenderness crackled in the s.p.a.ce between them.

"I know you think he was a bad man, but to me he wasn't a criminal. He was my dad." She wiped away a tear with her finger. "He took good care of me. After my mom left us, he had to be both parents and he didn't let me down. He came to my school events and he helped me with my homework." She swallowed hard. "It's hard to be alone."

Reilly slipped his arms around her. "You aren't alone. We're together."

She bit her lip and brought her hand to his hair, running her fingers through it, pus.h.i.+ng it away from his face. The gentleness of her touch ignited heat in his body.

"You should go to your parents' ranch and be with your family for the holiday. Your brothers came home so you could be together," she said.

Reilly read the sadness in her eyes, the guilt swimming there. He had committed to her and he was staying the course. "I told you. I'm not abandoning you."

She looked away from him. "I'm sorry for this. I don't know what to do next. Do you hear those children?" She pointed toward the door.

"Kinda hard not to. Do you want me to ask them to be quiet?" He didn't mind their laughter, but she was under a lot of stress. Maybe it was grating her.

"No. They aren't bothering me. They're having fun. They're with their families. I'll never get to have that. I'll never have a baby to hold in my arms or a husband who comes home to me at night. The best I can hope for is to find people to spend a holiday or two with before I have to change cities." Her voice cracked and she covered her face with her hands.

He gathered her close and stroked her hair. Her shoulders shook, wracked by sobs. "It's going to be okay. We're going to find the Vagabond Killer and we're going to find Mark. You'll have those things."

He could picture her as a mother, fierce and protective, yet willing to let her children explore. And in that picture, he could see himself beside her.

The realization caught him off guard. Why was he thinking about these things? The holiday getting to him? Or her? Was she getting to him? He'd hoped they'd have a future, at some point after this case was over, but the permanence of his vision startled him.