Ruthless Cross Page 22

  Callie saw the tension tighten Flynn's lips. Was his father involved? She couldn't imagine how he would deal with that, especially if his father had killed Arthur, who had been a second father to him.

  How horrible would that be?

  She was starting to worry about him as much as she was worrying about her mother. But it wasn't her job to protect Flynn, and he'd probably think she was crazy for even thinking she should try.

  "Thanks for sharing that," Flynn told Victoria, his tone showing no emotion.

  "I thought you should know."

  As Victoria left, Flynn came back down the hall. "You heard?"

  "Yes. Are you okay, Flynn?"

  His hard gaze met hers. "I'm fine."

  "You don't look fine."

  "Well, I am. Are you ready to go?"

  "Absolutely," she said, eager to leave. She needed sunshine and air and distance from this place. She didn't know how her mother was ever going to come back here to work. She would never be able to forget what had happened.

  They walked in silence back to the car. As they fastened their seat belts, she said, "What are you thinking about?"

  "Everything."

  "It was weird that Layana was there."

  "Was it? She's an artist at a museum—not that weird."

  "I guess not, but her lover died there a few days ago."

  "Maybe that's why she came."

  "It was also strange that Arthur set up the event that led to his death. That's ironic, isn't it? It almost makes me wonder if Gerard had some part in this. It seems like getting the show to happen could have been part of someone's evil, twisted plan. Plus, Victoria mentions your father again, after a conversation with Gerard. Doesn't it seem like they want you to start looking at your dad?"

  "It does," he murmured, glancing over at her. "There's a lot to consider."

  "There definitely is," she agreed.

  He started the car and pulled out of the lot. They made their way toward the steep, curving road that would take them down to the freeway. They had only made their way around the first curve when the roar of an engine behind them startled her. She turned around in her seat as Flynn checked the rearview mirror.

  There was a dark-green museum van bearing down upon them at a ridiculously high rate of speed.

  Flynn swore as he sped up.

  Callie grabbed the armrest, fear running through her. They were on a narrow winding road with steep drops on her side of the car. Only a small rail provided a buffer from the canyon.

  "Hang on," Flynn said tersely as he maneuvered the car around a tight curve.

  "Is he trying to run us off the road?" she yelled in panic.

  Flynn didn't answer, and she didn't need him to. It was very clear what was happening. She said a silent prayer as the van bumped them from behind, and they bounced off the guard rail. Her heart was beating so hard and fast it was all she could hear besides the deadly screech of tires.

  Chapter Twenty

  The van hit them again. Callie bounced forward, the seat belt preventing her from hitting the dashboard, but just barely. Her breath froze in her chest as she saw another narrow turn coming up. If they didn't make the curve, they would fly right off the side of the road.

  Flynn increased their speed. She squeezed her eyes shut, anticipating the car crashing through the rail, flying down the hill, turning over and over. It was so real she could see it in her head, but Flynn wasn't going out without a fight. He took the next turn on two wheels, almost throwing her into him.

  Her eyes jerked open just in time to see them clear the last curve, and then it was a straight shot to the exit. Once they passed through the gates, they turned right on the frontage road. The van turned left, going in the other direction.

  "We made it," Flynn said, a triumphant light in his eyes.

  "I don't know how," she said in amazement, as he drove onto the freeway, taking them back down to a reasonable rate of speed. Her heart was beating so fast, she was still gasping for breath.

  "Take it easy," he said. "Slow, deep breaths."

  "I—I don't know if I can."

  "You can do it, Callie. Breathe in—hold—breathe out."

  For the next few minutes, he talked her through her breathing. Finally, her heart began to slow down.

  "I'm okay now. I don't know how you can be so calm or how you can drive so well."

  "I've had a little training, and little is an understatement."

  "Who do you think was trying to run us off the road? It looked like one of the vans the museum uses."

  "It was. I never caught the license plate, but the museum should be able to tell us who has access to their vans."

  Her mind raced back to the museum, to the people they'd met with: Layana, Victoria, Elaine Monroe and Shari Watkins. But who else had been there that they hadn't seen? There were probably at least twenty-five to thirty more employees who had been somewhere in the building, not to mention the visitors. There could have been a hundred people or more on the grounds, but they wouldn't have had access to a museum van; it had to be an employee who was driving. She wanted to believe that a security camera had caught the image of the driver, but so far whoever they were chasing was very good at staying out of sight.

  It took them about thirty minutes to get back to Flynn's townhouse, and it was dusk by the time they pulled into his garage at half past six.

  She followed him into the townhouse, waiting by the garage door, as he did a cursory sweep of his home and then waved her inside. They went into the kitchen/family room, with Flynn heading straight for the wet bar.

  "Do you want a drink?" he asked.

  "Absolutely," she said without hesitation.

  "Scotch okay?"

  "Anything with a kick to it."

  He poured Scotch into two small tumbler glasses and handed her one.

  She took a sip, the liquid burning a fiery path down her throat. Along with that blast of heat came a feeling of relief. "That's better. My pulse is still too fast." She sat down at the kitchen table.

  Flynn smiled. "It will slow down. I need to call the museum."

  "Can you put it on speaker? It will save you from having to answer my questions as soon as you hang up."

  "You got it." He set down his glass and picked up his phone. After connecting with the museum, he asked to speak to the director of security, Rand Bentley. A moment later, Rand's voice came over the phone.

  "Agent MacKenzie, what can I do for you?"

  "I was just at the museum with Callie Harper. When we left, someone driving a museum van tried to run us off the road. I need to know who that was."

  "Are you serious?" Rand asked.

  "You know I am."

  "Hold on. Let me check with the security desk."

  As they waited, Flynn picked up his glass of Scotch and took another draught.

  Callie sipped her drink as well, silently hoping that for once they'd get something other than a vague response.

  A moment later, Rand came back onto the line. "Greg Barkley checked out a van thirty minutes ago. He has not yet returned to the museum."

  "What can you tell me about him?"

  "One second." Rand took another minute and then said, "He's twenty-six years old and has been employed as a driver at the museum for the past year. He mainly transports pieces between the museum and the airport or the Port of Los Angeles. He lives in Culver City. His last job was driving for Harriman Art Couriers in Beverly Hills."

  "I'll take his home address." Flynn jotted down the street and number, then added, "I'll need you to detain him if and when he comes back to the museum."

  "Will do."

  Flynn ended the call and punched in another number. "Wyatt, it's Flynn. Are you still at the office?"

  "Just left. What's up?"

  "Someone tried to run Callie and me off the road as we were leaving the Piquard Museum. Security said a driver by the name of Greg Barkley signed out the van, but he hasn't returned. I have a home address for him. I'd go the
re myself, but—"

  "You need to stay close to Callie," Wyatt said. "I'm on it."

  "Take someone with you."

  "Will do."

  Flynn relayed the address. "Let me know what you find out."

  As he set down the phone, Flynn finished his drink and set down the glass. "Wyatt will check out Barkley's house, but my gut tells me that the driver will not be returning."

  "Wouldn't that mean he'd be giving up his job, his home? How does he just vanish so quickly? This wasn't planned out. Someone saw us at the museum and wanted to get rid of us. But we were only there an hour or so."

  "It was an impulsive decision," he agreed. "I don't think Barkley is the one who made the decision."

  "But he's once again tied to art—not only to the museum, but also that other courier service."

  Flynn nodded, picking up his phone to send a text.

  "Who are you contacting now?"

  "Savannah. I'll see what she can dig up on Harriman Art Couriers."

  "Do you need to go into the office?" Even as she asked the question, she was hoping he would say no, because her nerves were rattled and she didn't want to be alone.

  "No, we'll stay put for the moment."

  She took another sip of scotch, relieved by his answer. "Do you think someone paid this man to run us off the road? Or was he operating on his own? He works at the museum. He could have been involved in Arthur's murder. Maybe he saw us there and took it upon himself to try to get rid of us."

  "It's possible. This was a good thing."

  "Are you serious?" she asked, bewildered by his words. "We could have died. You have no idea the visions of smoke and flames going on in my head."

  He smiled. "I was not letting us go over that rail. Since we survived, the good news is that we have another lead to follow. Our perpetrator is getting nervous, making impulsive decisions. Bad decisions can lead to big mistakes. Barkley could be our key to this whole puzzle."

  "If he lives. What if he ends up like the guy at the hotel?"

  "That would not be good."

  She shook her head in bemusement. "I can't believe we're talking so cavalierly about people dying." She got up from the table, feeling too filled with adrenaline to just sit.

  "Sorry. I sometimes forget that you're not used to this."

  "No, I'm not. What's next, Flynn?"

  "We'll wait to see what my team comes up with."

  "Waiting doesn't sound very proactive. You don't like it either," she said, noting his nervous energy as he went to pour himself another drink. "You want to be the one kicking down doors and chasing down leads instead of babysitting me."

  He set down the bottle and moved across the room to her. He put his hands on her shoulders. "This is exactly where I want to be and where I need to be. Keeping you safe is the most important thing in the world."

  She was incredibly touched by his words. "I—I don't know what to say."

  "Well, that might be a first," he said lightly.

  "You're a nice guy, Flynn."

  He winced. "Nice? Ouch."

  "It's not a bad thing," she said with a laugh.

  "When a woman tells you you're nice, it's usually part of the kiss-off."

  "It's not that now."

  "Are you sure?"

  His hands tightened on her shoulders, and she had a feeling his question went much deeper than what she'd just said. She licked her lips, feeling not only grateful to be alive but also reckless and needy.

  Flynn must have seen something in her expression, because desire flared in his beautiful blue eyes. "Callie?"

  "You turned me down last night, Flynn."

  "You had a concussion."

  "I don't anymore."

  "We're trying to slow your heart down, not speed it up."

  "What if I don't want to slow it down?"

  "It's natural to want to blow off steam, but there's always a morning after, Callie. I don't think you're ready for that."

  "You don't need to make decisions for me, Flynn. And the way things are going, who knows if we'll even make it to morning?"

  "You're safe here. You're safe with me. I will not let anything happen to you."

  She had never had someone so determined to protect her. It was mind-blowing and heartwarming and so damned sexy. "Flynn, I don't want to just blow off some steam; I want to seize the moment. The last few days have shown me how fragile and short life can be. I've spent too long putting off things I want, telling myself there will be a better time, a better place. I don't want to do that anymore. I want to live. I want to be happy. I want to be with you. Please don't say no again."

  His eyes sparkled as he moved his hands through her hair, cradling her head, pulling her close. "Last chance."

  "I don't need a last chance. I need you. I want to see where this can go."

  "Then let's find out."

  He pushed her back against the wall and took possession of her mouth in a desire-fueled hunger that matched her own. She loved being pressed between Flynn and the wall. She could feel every hard angle of his body, and tingles of anticipation shot through her body, from her head to her toes.

  Flynn had made her feel safe, but now he made her feel wild and free to be whoever she wanted to be. No responsibility. No worry about tomorrow. No care for anyone else but Flynn and herself. It was just the two of them on an island of desire, and she opened her mouth to his, tasting the fire on his lips, the Scotch on his tongue. It was a heady feeling. Her body felt weightless. Her head was spinning. And then Flynn's hands slid under her sweater, his hot fingers sending shivers down her spine.

  Impatient to touch him, she pulled his shirt up, sliding her hands up his back, and around to his chest, her fingers sliding lower. He groaned with pleasure against her mouth.

  "We have to slow down," he said roughly.

  "Not now. I want to go fast. I want to fly."

  His blue eyes darkened as he kissed her again and then swung her back around so quickly she got dizzy.

  "Bedroom," he muttered, kissing her down the hall until they reached his room.

  "Your bed isn't made," she said, smiling at the tangled covers.

  "I'm glad I didn't bother now," he replied with a grin.

  "Me, too." As she leaned forward to kiss him again, he pulled slightly back.

  "Hold on. Before we both lose our minds, I need to get a condom." As he moved toward the adjoining bathroom, he said, "Don't move."

  She had no intention of moving or leaving. She was exactly where she wanted to be. She pulled off her shirt and slid down her jeans, standing next to his bed in her mismatched white lacy bra and pink panties.

  Flynn rushed back into the room, his gaze widening as it raked her body. He dropped two condoms on the nightstand and then ripped his shirt over his head as he moved back to her. His chest was broad, tan, and muscled.

  "You're…wow…" she murmured. "I had no idea your clothes were hiding this."

  "I was going to say the same thing about you," he said with a sexy grin. He kicked off his jeans, taking his black briefs down at the same time.

  She swallowed hard. "I've run out of adjectives."

  "I don't need adjectives, babe. I need you. You took my breath away the first minute I saw you, before I knew your name."

  "That can't be true," she said automatically, but she wanted to believe him. She wanted to linger in the admiration of his gaze.

  "I told you I wouldn't lie to you, Callie. I meant it."

  "I meant it, too." She opened her bra and let it slip over her shoulders.

  And then his hands were on her breasts, his thumbs sliding across her nipples, sending jolts of desire down her body. He kissed her again, his tongue sliding deep into her mouth as his fingers teased her nipples into hard, needy points. And then he moved his mouth across her cheek, his tongue swirling around the curve of her ear, making her shiver once more.

  He licked a path of heat down the side of her neck, taking a tremendously long time to get to where she wante
d him to go. Finally, his mouth settled on her breast, and she ran her hands through his thick blond hair, feeling a little weak from the overwhelming rush of desire. "I feel like I could fall," she said.

  He lifted his head, meeting her gaze. "I'll catch you."

  She believed him in a way she'd never believed anyone else. After her father had died, there had never been anyone to catch her. She'd always had to be in control.

  "You can let go," he said, his gaze meeting hers. "You can hang on to me."

  "I want you to let go, too."

  "Oh, trust me, that won't be a problem." His hands slid to her panties, sliding them down her legs, his fingers slipping into her heat, making her mindless with pleasure.

  They moved onto the bed together, and as he covered her body with his, she sighed with happy joy as they came together—skin-to-skin, mouth-to-mouth—her legs wrapping around his, his hardness pressing against her softness. They rolled around in the tangled covers, touching, tasting, teasing, tormenting until the intense heat sent her flying in exactly the way she'd wanted.

  And Flynn caught her, just like he'd promised, his arms wrapping around her as they floated back down to earth.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  They made love twice, grabbed a late-night snack around midnight, and then Flynn held Callie in his arms as she slept, as the moon moved low in the sky and slivers of early morning sunlight filled the bedroom. He'd drifted off for a bit himself, but now he found himself wanting her again.

  Her body fit perfectly with his. Even now, he could feel their hearts beating in sync. He felt connected to her in every possible way. It was unlike anything he'd ever experienced. It wasn't just sex…it was more. He didn't want to sleep, because he didn't want to miss a second of this, and he felt almost desperate to make the night last as long as possible, to keep the sun from coming up.

  He didn't know what today would bring, but he wasn't ready to find out. He wanted to stay in this bed forever, spend as much time as he could getting to know Callie, learning every ticklish spot, every touch that made her sigh. He liked the catch in her breath when he kissed her breasts, the way she said his name when she was mindless with desire, as if only he could make her feel the way she did.