A Weaver Christmas Gift Page 11

  “No,” she said faintly. She hadn’t gotten hold of him to cancel their Sunday date. Shamefully, she hadn’t given him much thought at all after Casey had thrown her for a loop offering to accompany her to Denver. “In fact, I’m glad you did. I—”

  “I’m glad, too.” His smile widened. “I just got back from Cheyenne. You were the first person I wanted to see.”

  Her throat tightened. If she were any sort of decent person at all, she should have known that he’d been out of town. But the news was a complete surprise. “That’s...that’s sweet, Arlo. But—”

  “Thought maybe I could talk you into lunch before you get too busy here. I hear Jerry makes a mean grilled cheese sandwich.”

  Tears suddenly burned her eyes.

  He frowned, looking concerned. “What’s wrong?”

  She shook her head, feeling mortified. “My computer won’t work,” she said thickly, which just made her feel mortified and guilty.

  He tsked. “You’re upset about your mother-in-law in Montana dying.”

  “Colorado.” She let out a choking laugh that was closer to a sob. “Arlo, you’re way, way too good for me.”

  He angled his head. “Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”

  He was tall. Not as tall as Casey, but then, few people were. He had light brown hair and blue eyes. Kind blue eyes. Open blue eyes.

  There were no secrets hiding behind them.

  She chewed the inside of her lip and willed back the tears. “I haven’t been honest with you.”

  His eyebrows lifted. “About what?”

  About what, indeed?

  She didn’t have a relationship with Casey Clay.

  She didn’t have anything with him at all that she could possibly explain to this decent, kind man.

  So what if she didn’t feel bells clanging inside her and whistles blowing whenever Arlo looked her way? There were more important things. Like respect. Honesty.

  A man who wanted the same things she wanted.

  “It’s not important,” she murmured. “Just...just that I should have replaced the computer a year ago.” Instead of taking Casey into her bed, she should have let him take over the computer. It would have been a lot more productive in the long run.

  And a lot less painful.

  “I think I’m going to need to make a trip to Gillette,” she said. There was a broader selection of stores there than Weaver and Braden combined could offer. “Try to find a new one.” Then there was the matter of getting everything transferred onto it from her deader-than-a-doornail antique.

  Something else that Casey could have accomplished with his eyes blindfolded.

  Could this man please stop congesting all of her thoughts?

  Annoyed with herself, she pushed to her feet and stopped in front of Arlo. She was back in her comfortable cowboy boots, jeans and turtleneck sweater. She was in her office, on her turf, and a certain gray-eyed man had no business interfering.

  She rested her palms lightly on Arlo’s pale blue dress shirt and stretched up to press her mouth against his.

  She felt his hands lift to lightly clasp her shoulders.

  But that was all she felt.

  She had no interest whatsoever in ripping off his shirt. Or finding herself flattened between his body and the storeroom door.

  She lowered her heels again, wanting to rail at the universe. “You’re a nice man, Arlo,” she said again. Gently. “But I don’t think this is going to work.”

  “Because you’re involved with Casey Clay?”

  She blinked. Arlo’s easy tone hadn’t changed, but she certainly hadn’t expected the words. “I’m not.”

  “But you were.”

  “I thought you were an estate lawyer, not a private investigator,” she said in a light tone.

  He smiled ruefully. “What I am is observant. Just because I was out of town the last few days doesn’t mean I don’t know he went with you to your mother-in-law’s funeral.”

  “Memorial service,” she corrected him.

  “And that he’s been a regular...guest...at your place for some months now.”

  Not recently. She managed to keep her mouth shut on that one.

  “Nobody knew about that. We were extremely discreet. We didn’t want the town gossiping about things they knew nothing about!”

  He smiled faintly. His hands were still on her arms. “Maybe you were discreet enough to duck the grapevine’s radar, but that doesn’t mean everyone was oblivious.”

  She made a face. “But you still asked me out.”

  “To be accurate, you initiated that. When you asked Hayley to give me your number.”

  She rubbed her forehead. “God. This is so humiliating.”

  He patted her shoulder comfortingly before dropping his hands. “I enjoy your company, Jane. I figured if you were willing to go out with me in the first place that Casey didn’t have a lock on your time, no matter what was going on between you. You can’t deny that you and I have a lot of things in common. We’re after the same things. You want marriage and kids. So do I.”

  Which wouldn’t happen through immaculate conception.

  And whether or not she liked what Casey had said when she’d first shared her plan to become a mother, he had a point.

  Babies usually started out if not from love, then at least from passion.

  “But I don’t think that’s going to be in the cards for us together,” she said carefully.

  “Well.” His smile turned rueful. “I guess that message is pretty clear.”

  “I’m sorry, Arlo. I wish—” She broke off when he shook his head.

  “Don’t be sorry. We’re both old enough to know you can’t pretend what you don’t feel. I’d still like you to come with me on Sunday. There’s never a downside to having an interesting, beautiful woman nearby.”

  “You’re good for my ego, but going with you won’t change anything.”

  “Yeah, well, indulge me a little. All the other lawyers who’ll be there will have dates. I don’t look forward to being the odd man out. You might even have a little fun. It would be something different, at least.”

  She exhaled and headed out of her office. She paused when she reached the swinging door that led to the bar. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea, but okay.”

  He nodded, obviously satisfied. “I’ll pick you up about noon. Dress warm.” He pushed open the door for her to go through first.

  Casey was standing next to the bar, bouncing his keys in the palm of his hand.

  He looked terrible. As if he hadn’t slept in days. His bloodshot gaze slid over Arlo, then her.

  The last thing she expected was for Arlo to lean down and kiss her right on the lips, but that was what he did. Then he slid his mouth near her ear. “Keep your chin up,” he murmured.

  Then he straightened and gave Casey an easy smile before striding across the bar and pushing through the exit.

  “Not wasting any time, I see,” Casey said.

  She curled her fingers until her nails dug into the palms of her hands and willed away whatever concern she felt over the fresh lines in his face and the tension pulsing out of his cells. “Just because I was stupid enough to sleep with you for the past year doesn’t mean I’m a whore,” she managed tightly.

  He sighed. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. Not once have I ever thought of you like that.”

  She ignored him and went behind the bar, snatching up a bottle of vodka that hadn’t been replaced on the shelf where it belonged. “You found your truck keys, obviously.” Her chest ached so badly it was hard to get out the words. “So just take them and go.”

  “And if I made you feel like one—”

  She closed her eyes, tightening her grip on the bottle. She didn’t w
ant to drop it, because her palm felt suddenly moist and slick. Nor did she want to heave it at his head.

  Either was a distinct possibility.

  “—then I deserve every crummy thing you’ve ever thought about me. And there aren’t any apologies good enough.”

  She carefully set the bottle on the shelf and turned to face him. “I didn’t expect to see you. Steven from the plane said you’d be sending someone to get your truck.”

  “I didn’t expect to be here either.” He didn’t move from where he stood at the end of the bar but had stopped jangling the keys in his hand.

  Then why are you?

  And why did she hurt so badly inside because he was?

  She pushed the empty register drawer closed. “How did you get back from Denver?”

  “Picked up another flight.”

  “Cee-Vid has a bunch of planes at your disposal?”

  “It wasn’t Cee-Vid. But Tris does happen to have more than one.” He went silent for a moment. “I didn’t come for the keys. I came to tell you I’m going to be out of town for a while. A couple weeks, maybe.”

  “We’ve never kept up with each other’s schedules before,” she said, managing a halfway even tone.

  His lips tightened. “Maybe I thought you should know. So you wouldn’t think my being gone had anything to do with—”

  “Me?”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose, then dropped his hand. “With last night.”

  “Look, Casey.” She pressed her palms flat on the counter in front of her, feeling the textured rubbery mat dig into her skin. “We’re not lovers anymore. I think we’ve proven we’re not friends. So let’s just stop pretending there’s any reason why you need to inform me of anything, much less the fact you’ll be out of town for a few weeks. It doesn’t matter to me what you do. Or where you are.” Two bigger lies she’d never told in her life. “It was entertaining while it lasted, but it’s over.” She made herself shrug even though her throat was in a vise, her voice turning thin. “No harm. No foul.”

  “Maybe that crap flies with other people, but it doesn’t with me. Not anymore. You want to stop pretending?” He suddenly moved toward her, leaning across the bar until their noses were only inches apart. “Stop pretending that we were just a convenient hookup whenever one of us had...an...itch.”

  Her eyes burned. “What good would that do? It doesn’t get me any closer to the things I want in life!”

  “A baby.”

  She threw up her hands, backing up until she felt the counter behind her against her spine. “Yes! A baby. I want a baby. I want a husband. And you think I didn’t know that the second I said those words you’d be scoping out the closest exit? I knew, and it was exactly what happened!” Her choked voice rang out.

  And it was perfectly audible for the small crowd that had formed in the archway between the grill and the bar, avid expressions on their faces.

  Her shoulders fell. She lowered her hands to her sides. “Well,” she muttered thickly. “I guess we can forget about keeping things just between you and me.”

  He barely gave their audience a glance. “I wasn’t looking for an exit because I wanted to,” he said flatly.

  “I don’t even have a clue what that’s supposed to mean. I don’t have a clue what goes on inside your head. Inside your heart. The only thing I know for sure about you is that your work is always, always going to come first.”

  “It means I can’t give you what you want,” he said between his teeth.

  “You mean you won’t.”

  “I mean I can’t,” he repeated. Then he looked at the people watching them. Even Jerry, her cook, was there, his mouth open in shock.

  Casey shook his head, his eyes a stormy gray. “I can’t,” he said again.

  Then he turned and walked out of the bar.

  Chapter Ten

  “So that’s it.” Casey stared at a photo of the ramshackle hut situated across the narrow rutted road. The satellite image blazing across the wall in front of him was so clear he could have been standing within touching distance of the hut, rather than several thousand miles away, safe inside an air-conditioned vault deep within Hollins-Winword’s Connecticut compound. “That’s where Jon and Manny died.”

  “That’s it.” Tristan got up from where he’d been sitting beside Casey and moved past the computer consoles to stand next to the wall of screens. Currently, the screens were working in tandem to display this one huge image, and even his oversize uncle looked small in comparison as he walked over to stand just below the hut. He stared intently, as if he could see something that Casey and the others gathered together in the room couldn’t.

  For the past week, the six members of the investigation team had pored over every speck of data they had concerning the three agents’ activities during the months leading up to when Jon and Manny had died in that Honduran hut.

  There was no evidence their cover had been blown. To anyone who’d looked, they’d been three expats cranking out a meager existence alongside the locals in a small, nearly forgotten town. Their true task had been simply to gather intel on a drug lord who’d also been dipping his toes into human trafficking. Nasty stuff. HW had been feeding evidence to the authorities who were supposed to be able to do something about the situation.

  There was no hint, no sign, no anything, that explained how, when or why they’d been found out. Nothing to explain the bullets that had struck down Jon and Manny.

  It had taken Casey and the rest of their team four full days just to confirm that the two men hadn’t died where their bodies had been discovered, some hundred miles north near San Pedro Sula.

  Whoever had killed them had moved their bodies.

  Which tended to dispel the theory that the men might have died through some coincidence unrelated to their true mission.

  They’d spent the rest of the week trying to unearth the truth, and failing. And now the prevailing sense Casey got from the rest of his team members was that this particular mystery wasn’t going to be solved. At least, not by them.

  Not until they found McGregor. Either he’d killed his partners, which seemed unfathomable, or he was in so much danger he couldn’t be found.

  Casey didn’t like agreeing with the team’s assessment. But he didn’t have any basis to argue either.

  “Okay.” Tristan finally turned to face them. “Wrap it up.” He looked at the only female there. “Theresa, finish the report and have it to me in sixty. I want to be wheels up in sixty-five.”

  “Yes, sir.” Theresa de Santos gathered her stack of materials and left the room, followed by the other team members.

  They would be dispersing to various corners of the world. Only Casey and his uncle would head back to Weaver.

  “This sucks,” Casey said bluntly the second they had the room to themselves.

  “Yup.” His uncle agreed immediately. He stopped on the other side of the console and studied him. “Have you slept at all since we’ve been here?”

  Not much. And not well. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Jane’s face.

  Or he heard the bone-jarring sound of seven rifles being shot off at once.

  “I’m fine,” he said.

  “You’re not fine.” Tristan’s face was hard. “Trust me, kid. You won’t be the first Clay to ever get suspended from Hollins-Winword, but that’s what’s going to happen if you don’t pull yourself together.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with my work.” His voice was flat. “Except for losing three agents on my freaking watch, I’m as good as you ever were.”

  “Christ. You think I don’t know that?” Tristan reached out and flicked his finger stingingly against Casey’s temple. “What’s wrong is in there. You’re letting this eat at you from the inside, just like I warned against. You looked in a mirro
r lately? Maggie may be a bitty thing, but your mom’ll string me up from my toes if she sees you looking like this. And I don’t even want to think what your dad will do to me. You’re my nephew, for God’s sake. Bad enough we’ve already lived through Ryan’s and Ax’s experiences with the agency. Now it’s your turn?”

  He propped his hands on his hips and continued. “I swear to God, I’m never letting Cole pull anyone else I care about into this bloody business, no matter how good you are at what you do. Clean up. Take a shower, for cryin’ out loud. Close the file on this. Not just here—” he flipped his hand against Casey’s pile of notebooks and files, then jabbed him in the forehead even harder “—but here. Or I will suspend you.” Then he headed out of the room.

  Casey knew it wasn’t an empty threat.

  What would he do if he didn’t have Hollins-Winword? If all he really did was keep the systems for the public face of Cee-Vid running merrily along?

  There was nothing else in his life.

  Yeah, he had his sisters. His parents, Daniel and Maggie. He had nieces and nephews and cousins and extended family galore.

  But he couldn’t make a child of his own.

  He’d had to accept that failure a decade ago when the girl he’d loved tossed him out like yesterday’s trash after learning he’d never be able to put the babies she wanted in her belly.

  He’d been only twenty-one.

  He was long over Caitlyn now. He even recognized the fact that he’d escaped what would have been a disastrous marriage.

  But nothing else had changed.

  He was still sterile.

  He couldn’t be the man—the husband—that Jane needed.

  Which left him with only Hollins-Winword.

  What would he do if he lost that, too?

  * * *

  “Vivian,” Hayley said to the diminutive white-haired woman, “these are my friends, Jane Cohen and Samantha Dawson.”

  Hayley’s grandmother beamed at them, placed her narrow hand in Jane’s and shook it with surprising firmness. Then she did the same with Sam. “At least some people have been welcoming me to Wyoming.”