Chapter 3
THE SECOND Amber stepped into the steaming hot shower, the tears came. Her body shook as she hugged herself, letting the water roll down her body, stinging her skin. Bud Harrington was dead, and he’d died trying to uncover a mole in his own agency. She had to wonder if when he blew her off it was for her own protection, or if he’d always planned on giving her the file, which meant her source had tipped off Bud.
A million things raced through her mind like rapid bullets flying across the shooting range. As soon as one idea popped in, it was quickly replaced with another.
Only none of them stopped the tears. She’d held them at bay all through the night sitting in the back of a military transport aircraft. One or two trickled out when Hank greeted her at the small airport a few hours away. But between the weight of her situation, being back in Montana, and feeling Shamus’s strong arms wrapped around her, there was no way in hell she’d be able to stop the waterworks.
She needed to let it out. A good, cleansing cry, and thank God she didn’t have to do it around Shamus.
Taking in a deep breath, she vigorously scrubbed her hair and body as the tears subsided. She didn’t think she’d be able to peel away the grimy film feeling that coated her skin since hearing of Bud’s untimely demise, but she sure as hell would try.
Shutting off the shower, she wrapped a towel around her head and one around her body, padding her way into the bedroom and stopping just short of the log wood framed bed, staring at the green, plaid comforter with matching pillows. She clutched her heart remembering how nervous she and Shamus had been that night. They’d talked about it for weeks, wanting to make their first time special, and it was.
Until it wasn’t.
Knock. Knock.
“Amber, are you decent?” Shamus asked.
“Give me five minutes,” she called.
“I think I found something.”
Mrs. O’Neil had packed all the basic necessities. Amber opted for a pair of leggings, a loose-fitting shirt, and she left her waist-long hair down to dry. When she stepped into the main room, Shamus had plopped himself down on the reclining sofa with his feet up and a computer on his lap.
“I don’t remember that couch reclining,” she said, contemplating on if she should sit next to him or on the chair next to the couch, angled toward the television.
“Just bought it a few months ago. My back couldn’t take the other one. My pop was stoked we found the exact same style.”
“Your father has never liked change much.” Because she wanted to see the laptop screen, she opted for the seat next to him, though she made sure there was enough distance, so their bodies didn’t meet. “What did you find?”
“I think I found out who your informant is.” He twisted the screen, tapping on a name. “The email was joansmith, but we found no Joan Smith in any government directory, so I tried to pick apart the letters as I looked at the names at the MDA, and I found a Josephine S. Wesson.”
She cocked her head, staring at him. “That makes no sense.”
He smiled that cocky smile that made his dark eyes shimmer with the excitement of a little boy who thought he had all the answers. “The middle initial is Smith.”
“Smith and Wesson? That’s her name?” The corner of her mouth curled upward, releasing a bit of the tension suffocating her.
“I know, right? But turns out she’s a real gun buff, card carrying member of the NRA, all for second amendment rights. Imagine the odds of marrying someone with the last name Wesson.”
“How do we know this chick is the person who initiated contact with me?”
“We don’t. Yet,” he said, handing her the computer as he sat up slightly, reaching behind his back, groaning. He yanked out a heating pad and tossed it to the floor. “We’ve got one of our guys on a mission in the area, so he’s going to see what he can find out. But what we do know is that Josephine is the chief assistant to the director of the MDA, so she certainly has access to a lot of information.”
Instinctively, she reached out, resting her hand on the center of his back. “Should you be riding a horse?”
“It wasn’t from being on the back of a horse, though I’m sure that didn’t help.”
“What then?”
“Lifting a bunch of shit for my pop, who refuses to let my mother hire someone to do half the shit around the house. Stubborn old mule, that man. He’s seventy-eight years old. He should be front porch sitting with a lab at his feet and his wife on his lap.”
She squeezed his biceps, before dropping her hand to her lap.
He adjusted the recliner, stretching his back left and right. “Let’s get back to the reason you are here.”
“Right,” she mumbled. “Are your men going to interview her? I don’t want her to get spooked, if she is my source.”
“We’re going to keep digging and watching before we approach.”
“I should be the one to talk to her when the time comes,” she said, handing him the computer back. “Is there another safe house—”
“Right now, you’re not going anywhere. When we know more and who exactly we are dealing with, we’ll revisit bringing you out in the field.” He curled his fingers around her knee. “I have two priorities. Keep you safe and help you find the traitor if indeed there is one.”
She jumped from the sofa and started to pace. Not just out of frustration, but feeling his tender, but firm grasp on her leg made her nuts. “I can live with that,” she said, twisting her hair high on top of her head and putting it in a clip. “We have a possible lead on my source and someone watching her. Maybe I should contact her and see what happens?”
“Not a good idea. We don’t want to tip anyone off you’re here.”
He had a good point there. “What about someone doing it remotely, on my behalf?”
“That’s a possibility, one we’ve thought of, but we need eyes on her for a few hours before doing so.” The motor from the reclining sofa buzzed.
She tried to pry her gaze off him, but instead she soaked up his light-brown hair, dark-smoldering eyes, high cheekbones, thick biceps, and God, the way his chiseled abs filled out his shirt had her fingertips itching to touch them just one more time. A wave a dizziness overtook her. She swayed, grabbing the sofa.
In seconds he was at her side, his arms holding her body upright.
“I haven’t eaten anything since early last night.” That had to be the reason for her sudden loss of balance.
“Come on, babe, I’ll make you an omelet.” He rested his hand on her forearm.
She jerked away. “Stop calling me that.”
He narrowed his eyes with a puzzled glare. “I’ve been calling you that since we were fifteen.”
“Well, we’re not teenagers anymore, and I haven’t seen you in over thirteen years.” She planted her hands on her hips and let out a huff of air. “Perhaps we should address the past that is lingering in this room like a carrot on a stick in front of a rabbit who will never catch it.”
“The only elephant in this room is you left me when I needed you most.” He turned his back, taking large strides toward the U-shaped kitchen, waving his hand in the air. “But I got over that a long time ago.”
“Oh, really.” She stomped her way across the room. “Then why are we in this cabin of all places?”
He pounded his fist on the counter. “Because it’s possible someone might come looking for you at Hank’s, or my folks, and I didn’t want to put them in danger. Hank thought this would be a great place since it’s far enough from the ranch and the road that no one can see, but close enough to headquarters that he can be here, or we can be there, in a flash. How the hell was he supposed to know that we lost our virginity in this cabin that same night your…my—”
“Go ahead and say it.” Her heart pounded so hard, it rattled inside her head. She tried to swallow, but her throat muscles seized. “Come on, Shamus. Let’s just get it out there.”
“I have no problem saying your father killed my sister,” Shamus said behind a tight jaw.
“Of course not, what you have a problem with is you partially blame me,” she said, holding out her hand to shush him before he rattled off a bunch of bullshit reasons why he didn’t. “Maybe at the moment you didn’t, but trust me, over the years, you would have ended up resenting the hell out of me.”
“You don’t know that because you never gave us a chance.” His dusky orbs gave way to a tinge of sadness.
How could she explain this in a way that he’d understand? The guilt and blame she’d carried all these years had never gone away, and no amount of time would help. “At the hospital, when I saw my father, knowing he’d walked away from that crash, I thought to myself, why didn’t I hide the keys better? I knew he snuck out all the time, taking the few dollars he’d steal from me or my mother to buy booze.”
“You were fucking seventeen years old, and you’re not responsible for his actions.”
“And there’s the rub,” she said, raising her forefingers and applying pressure to her temples. She’d had this conversation in her mind over and over again. She’d even dreamt about it over the years, but she never imagined she’d have to actually say it. “Everyone knew of my mother’s diagnosis of Early Onset Alzheimer’s. That year, I got so many pity looks from everyone in this town that I wanted to scream, but it all came down to, because of my mother’s condition, I should have made sure my father could never get near a car.”
“Do you hear yourself?” he asked, inching forward, his hand resting on the counter. “I know for a fact you hid those keys, but when your dad wanted his liquor, he would have stolen a car to get it.”
“But that’s not what happened, and Colleen is dead…” She closed her eyes. It had been years since she let that name roll off her lips. Colleen had been one of her babysitters when she’d been like five or so, and she still remembered how she always smelled like lemons.
She tensed, sucking in a harsh breath, feeling his hands on her hips.
“Open your eyes, babe.”
Blinking a few times, she locked gazes with him.
“No one holds you even remotely responsible for what happened.” He leaned in, kissing her temple. “Other than you and I think it’s about time you let that shit go.”
“You looked at me differently that night at the hospital. Your entire family did.”
He raised his hand, tugging at her hair tie, letting her hair fall down her back, the dampness cooling her heated skin. “Not because we thought you were to blame in any way, or that we pitied you.” His soft finger tilted her chin. “My mom loved Colleen as if she’d been her own child, and my father was devastated. It changed them. But in the midst of all that pain, all they wanted to do was help you and your mom. They were ready to take you in, so you could finish your senior year. They wanted to help find your mom the best care. Hell, they would have bought the ranch if they thought it would help. They told me to give you some space, that you’d come back to me, but boy, were they wrong.” He dropped his hands, taking a step back. “We can’t change the past, but we can move forward. Besides, we have a case to solve.” He tapped his finger on the bar stool. “Sit. I’ll make breakfast.”
She stood there, her mouth gaping open, unable to utter a single word. Goosebumps lined her flesh. The word ‘help’ echoed in her brain like someone yelling in a tunnel, the sound repeating itself over and over again.
Even though she’d carved out a good life for herself and was proud of her accomplishments, nothing made her happier than her career. It had fulfilled her in ways no man ever could. She’d had a handful of loving relationships, but her career always came first, and that often caused problems. She’d shrug and move on, knowing the largest part of her heart belonged to someone else.
“Babe,” Shamus said, waving a spatula in her face. “For the third time, what do you want in your omelet?”
“Cheese. Just cheese,” she mumbled, climbing onto the stool, keeping her trembling hands in her lap.
“Your palate is still that bland?”
“No, I actually like all those things you have out, but I kind of want to have one good repeat memory from this place.”