Chapter Thirteen
Catherine’s sleep was deep and dreamless. It was probably from yesterday’s activities. But the moment she did awaken, she was up with a start.
Matthew.
He was still asleep, thankfully. God, he looked handsome, even in his sleep. He was lying on his stomach, his face turned to her. A lock of hair fell over his forehead, and she ached to brush it aside.
No, she had to get out of there.
All this crazy talk about mates. A pain pricked at her, something she hadn’t felt in years. And more memories flooded her mind, ones she’d thought were long since buried, only making themselves known in her dreams.
No. She was no one’s mate. Not now, not ever.
Carefully, she crept out of bed. It would take her too long to get dressed in the clothes she had worn yesterday, so she grabbed his shirt and slipped it on. Big mistake as now she could smell him. But she couldn’t waste any more time, not if she wanted to get away.
She crept out and made her way back to her room. It was a good thing she didn’t even unpack. Grabbing the cleanest clothes she had, she quickly dressed. She put her coat and boots on, then slung her bag over her shoulder as she raced for the door.
“Catherine?”
Matthew’s bewildered face greeted her as she yanked the door open. “M-M-Matthew. You’re up.”
“I’m up?” he asked in an incredulous voice. “What are you—” he stopped short as his gaze landed on her bag. “Are you leaving?”
What could she say? She was hoping for a quick exit, but it was too late.
“Was it because of what I said last night?” He ran his hands through his hair.
“No, I—”
"Then tell me!" His eyes turned stormy, and his hands gripped her arms. "Why are you running away?"
“I’m not,” she said in a flat tone. “And please let go of me.”
“You’re not getting away from me,” he said with a growl. “I told you, we’re mates. You’re going to stay here.”
His words rang in her head. “You can’t keep me here against my will!” she shouted as she wrenched away from him. “I—”
“Matthew!”
They both stopped and turned to the source of the voice. Meg was sprinting down the hallway. She stopped in front of them, her breath coming in deep gasps. “Matthew … you have … to come … quick …”
“What’s wrong, Meg?”
“Chief Meacham,” she said when she caught her breath. “He’s here. And he’s not alone.”
Matthew’s face became a stone-cold mask. “Stay here,” he said, his voice deadly serious. “Are they out front?”
Meg nodded.
“Let’s go.”
Catherine watched him walk away, her heart thudding in her chest. Dread filled her gut. It was a Sunday morning, so she knew it wasn’t good news. There was no running now.
Ignoring Matthew’s order, she hurried down the hall and took the grand staircase two steps at a time. The front door was half open with Meg standing next to it. When the housekeeper tried to stop Catherine, she brushed the older woman away.
“Chief Meacham,” she greeted. She saw Matthew tense visibly when she appeared, but he said nothing.
Meacham was wearing his full uniform, hat on his head, and aviator sunglasses that obscured his eyes. “Miss Archer,” he said. “Glad to see you’re up. Mr. Lennox said you were indisposed.”
“What do you want?”
"You're going to have to come with me."
“What for?” she asked.
“I’m afraid you’re under arrest.” He waved a white envelope in front of her.
“No!” she cried. “I didn’t do it! I swear! I’ve never even owned a gun or fired one! I didn’t kill Jack Cunningham.”
Meacham's mouth pulled into a grim line. "I'm not here to arrest you for his murder."
“You’re not?” Now she was confused.
He shook his head. "No. We're arresting you and extraditing you back to California to answer charges for the murder of Clarissa Benton and Ivan Chesnovak."
“What?” The edges of her vision blurred, and her knees buckled. She braced herself against the door. “I didn’t kill them. Please, you have to believe me.”
"I've seen the evidence myself," Meacham said. "Your prints are all over the place and the murder weapon was found in your things. D.A. says it was a love triangle gone wrong."
"That's preposterous. I didn't do it!" She looked at Matthew. His face was inscrutable, his jaw hard and his eyes looking straight at Meacham.
“I have to do my job, Miss Archer,” Meacham said. “Now, please turn around and put your hands behind you—”
“No.”
Matthew's words were like a knife, cutting through the air around them.
Meacham took his sunglasses off. "Excuse me?" His eyes had that unearthly glow. Of course, he was a shifter, too, Catherine thought.
“You will not lay a hand on her,” Matthew said, his voice deadly serious. “If you want her, you will go through me.”
Meacham put his sunglasses into his front shirt pocket and shook his head. Then, he raised a hand in the air. A dozen red laser dots appeared on Matthew's chest. "I don't want to do this, Matthew," he said. "You know when I lost that last election for sheriff, it was your father who helped me become Police Chief here. But I swore to carry out the law and that's what I have to do. I've brought back up. I've got snipers ready to pump you full of sedatives. They've been told to fire if they see even one scale or claw."
“Don’t!” Catherine cried. “Please …” She looked at Matthew, then back at Meacham. “I’ll go. You don’t have to cuff me.”
“I—”
“You can cuff me in the car.” She didn’t want Matthew upset. Didn’t want to see him shot down. “Let’s go.”
Meacham nodded and took her arm, then led her to the waiting police car. She didn’t even glance behind her as they drove away.
***
Matthew stood still, his body numb, as he watched Meacham take Catherine away. Inside him, his dragon was screaming and roaring to get out.
He had hesitated. His mate was faced with wild accusations, and he had waited to defend her. Stood there and did nothing. Because he was hurt. Hurt that she had snuck away from his bed and that he had caught her about to run away. Why, he asked himself. He had told her she was his mate; he was ready to give her the world if she wanted it. But she threw it in his face like it was nothing. His heart was breaking, and he wanted to hurt her, too.
But his dragon wouldn’t let him. Mine. It knew that Catherine was in trouble. It didn’t care about the law or justice. No, their mate couldn’t be guilty. She wasn’t a murderer. She was good and kind. It was clawing its way out of him, ready to fight anyone who would dare take her away.
Now he wished he had his dragon’s resolve. His own stubborn, analytical mind was telling him that it made sense. It explained why she was so secretive and why she was running away. She was guilty. Meanwhile, his broken, hurt heart was doing nothing to defend her.
Yet still, she protected him, didn’t want to see him hurt. Like a good mate would do.
“Matthew!” Meg cried. “What are you doing?”
“Huh?”
“For God’s sake! She’s your mate, right? Why did you just let her go?”
“What was I supposed to do, Meg?” he asked. “I was ready to fight for her. My dragon was ready to burn anyone who would take her away, but those tranquilizers would have taken me down anyway.” Coward! his dragon seemed to roar.
“You don’t think it’s true? That she murdered two people?”
“No, of course not.”
"Then go after her," she said. She put up her hand when he opened his mouth. "No, I'm not talking about turning into a dragon and burning up the entire police department. Go be with her. Tell her you believe her and that you’re going to stick by her side no matter what.”
"Damn." Meg was right. "Call Sorkin," he said. "Haul him out of bed; I don't care. Tell him to be at the police station when I get there, or I'm going to find another lawyer for Lennox Corp."
Meg held out her hand. His keys were in her palm. “Go.”
Matthew gave Meg a grateful smile and grabbed his keys. He was going after her. It wasn't too late. He jumped into his Range Rover and revved up the engine, before tearing down the dirt roads. They hadn't been gone too long, so he could probably catch up with them. No, wait. He'd keep a respectable distance, in case they thought he'd changed his mind and was going to try and bust her free. He would do this the right way. He would pay whatever bail they asked and make sure she never saw the inside of a cell. Because he was positive she couldn't be guilty.
He knew these roads like the back of his hand, so he drove slowly. Hopefully, Sorkin would already be on the way. In a couple of hours, he would have arranged her release. Or he would fly out to L.A. and hire the best attorney there. It didn't matter. This was something he was going to face with her, and when they put it behind them, it would be only a distant memory.
The sound of the explosion in the distance shook him out of his fantasy. He didn’t know how, but he was sure Catherine was in danger. He slammed his foot on the gas. This time, he would not hesitate.