Page 52 of Hunted

Beep.

“Hi, Grandma! Hi, Grandpa!” said the child’s voice, bubbling with excitement. “Mommy says we’re coming to visit you for Christmas!”

“Ah, God …” Connor gripped the edge of the desk as if he’d sink to the floor without it.

The little voice went on, but Lexi hit the button to stop it. Then she turned to him, clasped his shoulders and searched his tormented face. “I’m sorry. Are you all right?”

His face was a grimace of agony, eyes closed tightly, lips thin and pale. “I will be,” he whispered. “Just as soon as I kill that murdering bastard.”

She took a step closer, hearing pain beyond the anger in his voice, wanting to hold him, to comfort him. But he turned away from her, opened his canvas bag and dug around inside. Then he was playing with something that looked like clay.

His entire countenance was meant to warn her away. She couldn’t reach him in that place where his pain sent him, so she didn’t even try.

He pressed his clay stuff to the safe and stuck little probes at the end of some wire, into it. Then he unrolled more wire from a spool as he stepped backward through the room, backing right out the office door, motioning for her to come with him. When she was out, he closed the door with the wire running underneath it. Taking a small, electronic-looking device from his pack, he attached the ends of the wires to it, then held it in one hand. He used his other hand to push her behind him. Then he moved a knob on the device, and there was a firecracker-like pop in the office. It made her jump, but that was all. For a bomb, it hadn’t seemed too terrible.

“Stay here.”

She did. When he opened the door, she smelled the heat and saw faint tendrils of smoke. He went back inside the office, and a few minutes later, the light went off, and he emerged with his little rucksack, a thick manila envelope, and the flashlight. Behind him she saw the safe neatly closed with the painting once again hanging in front of it. Nothing else was out of place. He’d even uncovered the smoke detector.

He aimed the flashlight’s beam on the handwriting across the front of the envelope. “Stoltz.”

“This is it,” she said, and her mouth went dry.

“Maybe.” Connor tucked the envelope inside his coat, reached to take her hand and started up the stairs. “We’ll read it when we get back.”

Those words filled Lexi’s soul with an inexplicable dread.

He didn’t just want, anymore. He needed. Dammit, when she touched him, she reached past the grief and guilt and bloodstains on his soul. Her very presence soothed the ache. Just looking at her eased the torture he’d lived with since the bombing. And he was getting used to that. He’d almost grabbed her when he’d heard that little boy’s voice on the outdated answering machine. He’d almost wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her hair. Like she was his refuge. Like she could make it all right. Like if he only held her close enough, long enough, he’d find salvation. Redemption.

It was so damned ridiculous it was almost laughable.

Only Romano wasn’t laughing. There was no room in his life for anything like this. No room for her. Only vengeance. Lexi Stoltz would take up too much space. She’d shove vengeance right out of his soul and fill it with her own brand of goodness instead, if he let her. He knew she would.

He couldn’t let that happen. He had to resist with everything in him, and he had to get away from her.

One more night, he vowed. Because tonight he’d find the truth and tonight he’d figure out a way to get Lexi to safety. Far away from him. Then he’d deal with White.

That voice, the precious voice on the answering machine had reminded him why he was here, what his job was. Thank God for that voice.

The house was warm when they returned. He found he was beginning to like the place. Somehow, she’d taken a cold, oversized log monstrosity and made it cozy. Cheerful. Even comforting. The fireplace was trimmed in darkly stained woodwork. The sofa was an overstuffed teddy bear of brown velour that hugged you when you sat on it. He stood beside her nearly naked Christmas tree, looking out the big windows at the moonlit night. It was too bad he had to keep his priorities in line. He might enjoy spending more time here.

And who the hell was he kidding? It had nothing to do with the house or the setting. It had everything to do with Lexi.

The envelope was clasped in his hands. He tore it open and pulled out a leather-bound book. And when he looked closer, he saw that it was a journal. There was nothing else.

Well, maybe the formula was in the book. He wouldn’t give up hope just yet. He opened the cover, then paused, feeling her gaze on him as surely as he would feel her touch.

Lexi stood across the room, near the fire. Her wide brown eyes filled with more fear than he’d ever seen in them.

He closed the cover. “Maybe you ought to read it first.” He held it out to her.

She came forward, her legs none too steady, and extended a hand that trembled as it closed on the supple leather. The way she looked at that diary in her hands, he thought she half expected it to grow teeth and bite her arm off.

She dragged her eyes upward, away from the dreaded book, to his face. “I will. Not yet, though.”

“Lexi—”

“Please. I need some time.”

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