Текст книги "Falling for Danger"

Автор книги: Chanel Cleeton

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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

Blair had accused me of being obsessed with what happened to Matt, and she was probably right. She’d told me I needed to move on, needed to find a life for myself. I just didn’t know how. We’d been a couple ever since my sixteenth birthday; before that we’d grown up together as best friends. I’d loved him forever. I hadn’t just lost my fiancé; Matt’s death created a hole in my life that I couldn’t fill. And more than that, it created a hole inside of me.

You didn’t bounce back from that.

I jerked up in bed, a loud crash coming from the direction of my living room.

My heart pounded, my gaze darting to the nightstand and the alarm clock next to my bed. Instead of the neon numbers I expected to see staring back at me, the screen was dark. I fumbled with the lamp, reaching for the switch. I flicked it on. Nothing happened.

Fuck.

A chill slid down my spine, my limbs filling with ice. Maybe there’d been a storm. Maybe it was just a normal power outage. Maybe someone had come to kill me.

Another crash—the sound of breaking glass—the noise once again in the direction of the living room.

It wasn’t a dream; someone was definitely in my apartment.

Fuck.

I reached for my cell, only to come up empty.

Fuck.

I’d left it in my purse, which was not-so-conveniently sitting on the coffee table in the living room.

I got out of bed, heading to the closet. I fumbled around in the dark for a moment, until finally my hand connected with the wooden handle of a baseball bat. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing. If I were lucky, maybe I could catch the intruder off guard. I definitely wasn’t going to stay here like a sitting duck, waiting to be killed. If I could get a good swing in, then maybe I could make it to the front door. I had a few neighbors—surely someone would hear me. Hopefully, they weren’t all gone for the holiday. Not to mention, since this wasn’t the best area, fights weren’t exactly something new. The hope that someone would overhear and call the cops was probably in vain.

My hands tightened around the bat, sliding over to the bedroom door, cursing the old construction and the fact that none of the interior doors had locks on them.

Adrenaline slammed through me, my body tense and poised for a fight as I waited, my gaze locked on the handle of the door, waiting to see it turn.

Dreading it.

A shout came from the other side of the door.

My breath caught.

Another shout.

Oh god, there’s more than one of them.

A loud thud, followed by a series of grunts, filled the night air. Then another thud—like the sound of bone connecting with bone. More grunts. A shout. Popping sounds.

Someone was fighting in my living room. The realization surprised me enough that the bat slipped through my fingers and dropped to the ground. Judging from when I’d gone to bed and the sliver of moonlight in the inky sky shining through my sixth-floor window, it was two or three a.m. And there were strange men fighting in my apartment.

All it’s going to do is get you killed.

Maybe I should have listened to Blair. Maybe I should have just let everything with Matt go. He was dead; why did I need to go dredging up old ghosts? What would it accomplish, really? And after a year of trying to research what had really happened to him, all I had to show for my efforts were a few cryptic pieces of paper, men fighting in my living room, and my imminent death.

But why were they fighting? If my father—or someone connected to him—had sent someone to kill me, why hadn’t they done it already? Why were they fighting each other? Assassin’s quarrel?

I picked up the baseball bat, my knuckles white. Silence filled the apartment.

I stayed in the corner, directly behind the bedroom door, my gaze trained on the doorknob, struggling to control my breathing, trying so hard not to make a sound. My limbs felt frozen, pulled down by fifty-pound weights. I was afraid to move, afraid to breathe too loudly, afraid to do anything except grip the baseball bat as though it were an extension of my body.

Minutes passed.

No one came to kill me.

Were they gone?

Indecision filled me as I struggled with what to do next. Part of me wanted to go into the living room and try to grab my phone so I could call the police. It was so quiet—maybe they really were gone. At the same time, it seemed crazy to run toward danger. And part of me couldn’t have moved if I wanted to—my body plastered against the wall, my legs frozen with fear.

And then the doorknob made the decision for me.

Horror filled me as I watched the knob turn, heard the creak of the hinges as it opened, and then I swung with all of my might, the bat connecting with muscle and bone with a sickening thwack.

The intruder crumpled to the ground with an oath and I leapt over the body, the bat dangling from my hand, running toward the living room, panic clawing at my throat. I grabbed my bag off of the coffee table, running toward the front door, my heart pounding as I prayed that I’d hit him hard enough to keep him down for a while.

I gripped the front door, pulling it open, when all of a sudden—

“Kate.”

I froze, my hand slipping from the doorknob, the sound of my name hitting my body like a blow.

Oh my god.

Oh my god.

I knew that voice. Had heard it say my name hundreds of times. Thousands of times.

I told myself it was the stress of the night catching up with me, that it couldn’t be what I thought it was, hoped it was. I told myself to keep running, to call the police, told myself not to turn and face the intruder in my apartment.

It can’t be.

I struggled to calm my breathing, to keep it together, when suddenly I felt like I was falling apart.

My hand left the knob, the baseball bat falling from my other hand, my body turning as the power of memory beat out any fight-or-flight response I might have had.

It was dark in the apartment—too dark to see anything but a shape looming in my open bedroom doorway. A strangled gasp escaped my mouth.

He was tall. Just like Matt had been.

Broader than Matt, though.

It can’t be.

And then I heard that voice again. “It’s me. I’m not going to hurt you.”

My body sagged against the front door. This had to be a dream. All of this. Maybe I was still sleeping.

He began walking toward me, slowly, nothing menacing in his stride. He approached me without a sound, gliding through my living room like a ghost. With each step, he sucked the air out of the room.

My throat clogged with unshed tears, my entire world reduced to each step he took. And then he was in front of me, and I looked up, up, and stared at the man standing before me, searching for some sign that I wasn’t crazy, that this wasn’t a dream.

That it really was him.

I blinked, for a moment wondering if I was wrong, if I’d just walked into a trap and gotten myself killed. His face was covered in a dark beard, his hair obscured by an even darker ski cap. Up close, his body was even bulkier than I’d previously thought. His mouth was slanted in a hard line, nothing like the teasing smile I was used to seeing on the boy I’d loved and lost.

He reached out and I flinched.

Maybe this was it. Maybe Blair was right and I’d totally and completely lost my mind.

But he didn’t kill me.

Instead, his fingers curled around the gold chain at my neck, his hand grazing my skin as he touched the little gold disc with my initial etched on it. The one he’d given me six years ago.

Our gazes connected and I stared into familiar dark eyes—

I stared at a ghost.

Chapter Two

Senator Reynolds and his wife attended the concert at the Capitol. Rumor has it the senator might be considering a presidential bid in the next election cycle. Does he have what it takes?

–Capital Confessions blog

Matt

I’d thought I could handle seeing her again. Told myself that if I ever did, I would be able to keep it together. Apparently, I’d lied.

It was too dark to do more than make out the shape of her—her face, the blonde hair that fell to her shoulders. Lips I’d kissed so many times.

The sight of her was a punch to the gut. I released the necklace she wore—the one I’d placed around her neck years ago—the gold slipping through my fingers like sand, my knuckles brushing her soft skin.

I remembered that, too.

I staggered back, my hip still throbbing from where she’d hit me with the baseball bat. I should have anticipated that Kate would be armed. Thank god she hadn’t hit my head.

Neither one of us spoke, adding to the surreal quality of the night. I’d dreamed of this moment, but I’d never thought it would actually happen. I didn’t know what to say to her or how to handle this. And, after fighting a guy off in her apartment, I was starting to think the most important issue that needed to be addressed wasn’t my reappearance, but rather why someone had broken in—by the way he’d fought and the ease with which he’d slipped in, clearly a professional.

I broke the silence between us, my mind racing as training took over. “Where’s your breaker?”

“My breaker?” she squeaked.

God, her voice. For a moment, the memories hit me hard. It took everything I had to push them back and focus on the mission.

“Yeah. The guy disabled your power.”

“The guy?”

It sounded like she was in shock, a tremor filling her voice.

“The guy in your apartment. The one that broke in.”

She took a deep breath. “That wasn’t you?”

“No.”

Her gaze darted around. “Where did he go?”

“Ran out your door. I went after him, but I lost him when I hit the street.” My jaw clenched. “He knew what he was doing. I came back to make sure you were okay.”

Kate reached out and clasped my face. “Did he hurt you?”

I swallowed, the familiar scent of her hitting me hard, the ache in my chest intensifying. “No.” I took a step away from her. “Where’s your breaker?” I repeated.

It took her a few beats to answer me, and when she finally did, I heard the tremor in her voice again.

“Kitchen.”

I left her and walked into her kitchen, feeling my way around until my palm connected with a metal panel in the wall. I flipped it open, flicking switches. Sure enough, he hadn’t cut the power, just switched off the breaker.

I turned on the kitchen light, walking into the living room and turning that one on, too.

Kate sat on the floor, her back to the front door which she’d closed when I went into the kitchen, her face pale, eyes wide.

“This isn’t a dream,” she whispered.

I shook my head, not sure I trusted my voice to speak. I put my hands in my pockets to keep from reaching out and touching her. Kept several feet between us for safety’s sake.

This was not how I’d intended for this to go down. Of course, I also hadn’t imagined that I’d find someone trying to kill her. Whatever she’d gotten mixed up in, it was bad.

The need to stay dead no longer felt as important as the need to keep her safe.

Kate

He was alive.

The room spun around me. My body trembled. I’d sunk to the ground, my legs too weak to keep me upright. I couldn’t get my bearings, couldn’t reconcile the sight of Matt—or whatever version of Matt stood before me—alive, in my living room. It felt as though I’d gone to sleep and woken up in the Twilight Zone.

He’d died. I’d grieved him. Still grieved him. Except apparently, he hadn’t.

“How are you here?”

Of all the questions swirling around in my head, that one seemed like the most obvious one to ask. Or maybe it was just the answer I needed most.

He folded his giant arms in front of his chest, his expression inscrutable. “Every man with me that day died. I didn’t.”

I blinked. That was it? This was the reunion I received after nearly four years of thinking he was dead? What the fuck? Everything about this felt wrong. He was alive. Why wasn’t he kissing me? Why was he standing so far away? And why did it feel like an impostor stood where Matt should have?

“Yeah, I figured that out.” My gaze narrowed, anger breaking through the wall of numbness surrounding me. “Why did someone tell me that you did?”

“Because everyone thinks I’m dead.”

His voice had changed in the years since he’d been gone. The teasing note had died, the happiness that I’d heard every time he talked to me forgotten. He spoke now like I was a stranger.

He was back, and yet, he wasn’t.

“So you just let me think it, too?”

His gaze hardened, a tic forming in his jaw just below a nasty looking gash on his cheek. Another one marred his temple, an angry red mark on the opposite cheek. He’d gotten those injuries protecting me tonight.

“It was safer that way. I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

“Are you joking? You didn’t want to hurt me?” My voice broke. “You killed me.” Tears fought their way to the surface and I dug deep to push them back. “I’ve thought you were dead for almost four years. Do you know what that was like?” The pain in my chest intensified, the lump in my throat turning into a boulder that cut off my airway and nearly robbed me of breath. “Do you have any idea how hard it has been to get up every morning thinking I’d never see you again?”

I rose, anger propelling me forward, closing the distance between us, my fists connecting with his chest.

He stood there while I shoved him, hit him, pummeling him with my fists, his body an immovable mass. The tears came, my resolve no match for years of grief. I waited for Matt to put his arms around me, waited to feel that connection again, but he didn’t. He just stood there while I crashed into him over and over again like water against a rock.

We stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, time moving on around us as we remained frozen in a non-embrace—the only part of our bodies that touched, my fists beating into his chest as tears rained down my face. He took it. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. He just stood there while hurt and betrayal poured from me until it hollowed me out to nothing.

It felt like I’d lost him all over again.

I pulled back, my feet not moving quickly enough to put the distance between us that I needed. I felt like a fool. Like I’d loved someone who had never existed at all. Because whoever stood before me now, he wasn’t Matt. Not the Matt I’d known, at least.

“Why are you back? Why are you here with me, if you’re not really here with me?”

His jaw clenched, his gaze sliding away from me. “I didn’t come back for you.”

If I wasn’t dead inside, those words would have pierced me.

As it was, I rocked back an inch, putting even more distance between us. He looked like a wild animal that had been released from its cage and for the first time it hit me that he could be dangerous to more than my heart. That I had no idea who he’d become in the last few years, and the depth of all he’d lost yawned between us. If I hadn’t known and loved him all of my life, I would have questioned the threat before me. As it was, I recognized the danger in him when I saw it. All I could do was hope that he had enough affection for the memory of us to keep him from hurting me. That somewhere beneath all of that hardness, there was still enough of the old Matt to make him more ally than enemy.

“Why did you come back?” I repeated, not ready to take his silence for an answer. He couldn’t just resurrect himself and not expect any questions. Couldn’t just crash back into my life and expect me to accept his presence as gospel.

He cursed under his breath.

“Why did you come back?” I repeated, my voice more forceful now. I’d never been one to shy away from a fight, and I sure-as-shit wasn’t going to start now.

“Come away from the window.”

I whirled around, staring at the giant glass windows in my living room. Shit. Was he seriously worried about someone shooting at me through the window?

I jerked my head toward my tiny kitchen, my heart pounding, crossing over the threshold, not waiting to see if he’d followed me. What the hell was happening to my life? Who else had been in my apartment? So many questions filled my mind, and I had no clue where to start.

I turned back to face him. Matt stood at the entrance, his hip against the refrigerator. There was something so familiar about the pose—us hanging out in my apartment my freshman year of college or me visiting Matt in his—that a knot bubbled up in my throat. I beat it back with everything I had.

He wore head-to-toe black, some kind of commando-looking pants and a short-sleeved black T-shirt. Black boots that looked ready to kick some ass. The boy I’d known had been khakis and Top-Siders. What had he been up to in his absence? Killing people and living off of snakes? My hands itched to tug the black cap off of his head, to get a good look at the rest of him. I shivered slightly at the sight of the black gloves on his hands.

Yeah, he definitely looked like a killer.

“We need to talk,” not-Matt said.

I sucked in a deep breath, trying to push back the anger so I could get answers. Someone else had been in my apartment. Someone had broken into my apartment. I was clearly in trouble. And as much as a part of me hated him right now, he was a powerful ally and the only person who could fill in the blanks that had haunted me for years.

“Fine. Talk,” I commanded, even though my tone sounded more like a plea than a demand, even though he’d shaken my world upside down.

His gaze narrowed.

“Where have you been …” I couldn’t say the words “since you died,” but they lingered between us anyway, and by the way his body tensed, he knew exactly what I meant.

“Everywhere. Nowhere.”

He’d been gone for more than three years. I’d thought he was dead. I’d mourned him. How dare he act like I didn’t have a right to know, as if we were little more than strangers? The boy he’d been, the boy I’d loved, would have told me. Would have understood that I needed to know. I didn’t recognize this man standing before me; he was cold in a way Matt had never been.

“Fine,” I snapped, my temper flaring, my heart, shriveled though it might be, icing over. “Let’s try this. Why are you back?”

He wasn’t the boy he’d been, but I had a feeling he was beginning to realize that I wasn’t the girl I’d been, either.

I waited for him to speak, waited …

Nothing. It was like he was dead inside, even though he stood in front of me, alive.

My hand moved down to the gold necklace around my neck; I’d never taken it off, had worn it as a talisman that carried Matt with me always. When he’d proposed he’d been living on an enlisted salary, hadn’t had a lot of money for frills. I wasn’t the type of girl who cared about jewelry beyond the sentimental value, so we’d forgone the traditional engagement ring. I’d had my necklace and that was all I’d needed. I clutched it now even as it felt like everything slipped away.

“What happened to you?”

“You don’t want to know.” He pulled his cap off, running a hand through his hair, the move so familiar that my heart ached at the gesture. I averted my gaze, unable to look at him for another second. It was like staring at his reflection in a carnival mirror—the image before me was Matt and yet it wasn’t—he’d been distorted into something else entirely.

“I wasn’t prepared for this,” Matt answered, his voice tight. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you again. I was watching your apartment and I saw the guy go in. I was worried you were in danger and followed him.”

“You saved my life.”

“He wasn’t here to kill you.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because if he had been, you’d be dead.”

I gripped the countertop.

“He was a pro,” Matt continued. “Someone hired him to break into your apartment.”

“But not to kill me? Why? It’s not like I have anything valuable. In case it escaped your notice, I kind of live in a shit hole …”

Oh god.

I ran into the living room, my gaze sweeping over the mess. There were obvious signs of a struggle between Matt and the guy—furniture overturned, a lamp broken on the floor. Was that a bullet hole in one of my sofa pillows? My gaze settled on the coffee table, my heart clenching.

“Fuck.”

“What’s wrong?”

I jumped, the sound of Matt’s voice in my ear startling me.

“What’s wrong with you? After everything, do you really think it’s a good idea to sneak up on me like that?”

“Sorry. Habit.”

I didn’t even want to think about what that meant.

“What’s wrong?” he repeated.

All it’s going to do is get you killed.

Blair had been right—this was about me investigating Matt’s “death” in Afghanistan. Did my father hire someone to break into my apartment?

My chest hurt as though someone had punched me.

“Someone stole the papers.”

“What papers?”

So stupid. I should have put them in a safe. Should have realized this would happen. I’d made copies, but still. This was not good.

I glanced at him, another puzzle piece sliding into place.

“The papers you sent me.”

Matt’s gaze hardened, sweeping over the living room. “I didn’t send you any papers.”