One Kiss More (9 page)

Landon’s gaze lingered on her phone before he brought his eyes up to meet hers, pinning her with his stare. “Well, are you going to answer it?”

Chapter Seven

“Answer the phone, Emma.”

Landon refused to break eye contact with Emma and she looked like she might throw up. Her eyes grew wide and her chest inflated with her rapid breath. The expression on her face was a study of indecision. And fear. A protective urge spiked in Landon and he reached for the phone, bound and determined to shut down the cause of her distress.

“No!”

She tried to stop him, but his reflexes were quicker and he snatched the phone into his grasp. Landon noted the “unknown” ID of the caller before swiping his finger across the screen and hitting the speakerphone function. “Hello?”

“Hi! This is Tammy from bank card services. I’m calling in regards to a promotion we’re running and—”

Landon hit the button to switch the call back to the handset and placed it in Emma’s hand. The look of shock on her face didn’t go unnoticed, nor did the quaver in her voice as she brushed off the credit card solicitor’s offer. If anything, this was the proof he needed that Emma was not only hiding something, but also in a shit load of trouble.

Emma ended the call and stuffed her laptop and her phone in a briefcase. Her hands shook as she pulled the zipper closed and she tipped what was left of her coffee over in her haste to put everything away. Landon grabbed a napkin and began to mop up the mess while Emma pushed her chair away from the table in a growl of wood against tile.

“Don’t leave, Emma,” Landon warned as he reached out to grab her hand. The contact was electric. God, he wanted to pull her into his lap and hold her tight in his arms while he kissed her senseless.

A quick look around the coffee shop must have confirmed that people were beginning to stare because Emma sat back down slowly and leaned over the table, though she did nothing to disengage her hand from his. Landon wanted to close his eyes and soak in the physical contact. Revel in the warmth of her touch, softness of her skin, the weight of her hand resting in his. Which was so goddamned wrong and he knew it. But his career be damned, he did nothing to stop it.

“Let me ask you something. If you were in my position, and it was your dad, would you cooperate?”

Landon thought about that for about a half a second. “I would.”

“Because you’re just
so
right? Is that it? Black and white. Good or evil. There’s no gray area for you, and if your dad was in prison, it’s because he belongs to be there. Is that it?”

She had no idea how close to home she was hitting. Landon wouldn’t put it past his father to engage in some of those “black area” dealings that—if he didn’t have the best attorney money could buy—would land him in a federal prison somewhere.

“You can’t ask me to pass judgment on your father and what he might or might not have done. He was convicted and sentenced. And he escaped from federal custody. It’s not my place to determine if he’s guilty or not. My job is to find him and bring him in.” It was a hard truth that pained him to speak, but he wasn’t about to sugarcoat anything for her. “I’d cooperate because if my dad did something to land him in prison, he’d be there because he damn well deserved it.”

“Yeah, well, my dad is
innocent
,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “He didn’t deserve to have his career ruined by a federal investigation, and he sure as hell didn’t deserve to be thrown in prison.”

“Emma, he made a full confession.”

She gave him a sad shake of her head as though he were pathetic, not to mention dense. “Oh, and I’m sure no one in the history of history has ever been coerced into a false confession.”

Landon sighed. This was too damned hard. “That’s what you think, Emma? That he was coerced ?”

“I don’t think. I
know
.”

“Emma—”

“You have no idea what it’s like to be alone. Do you, McCabe?”

It aggravated him to no end that she refused to call him Landon. He craved that small intimacy between them even though he had no right to it. Emma’s voice was soft and sad, slicing through him like a knife, and he stroked the webbing between her thumb and forefinger with his own as if the small gesture could comfort her. “I have a better idea than you think.”

A curious expression accented her features as she canted her head to one side. Her dark eyes bored through him as though trying to break down the door into his memories. “You think you know me, but you don’t. You only know what the gossip rags tell you or what you saw during your investigation six years ago. We’re not friends, McCabe.”

“Really? You seemed pretty friendly last night.” The words slipped from his lips before he could think better of it. Now might’ve been a good time to bash his head against the table.
How does the sole of your shoe taste, you fucking idiot
?

She jerked her hand from his grasp, her expression that of utter disbelief. Or was it disgust? It was hard to tell which way her emotional compass was swinging at this point. All Landon knew was that his foolish words had spooked her, and in his experience, that led to all sorts of bad decisions. He couldn’t let her take off before he found out what was going on.

“You can’t run away and expect it to fix anything.”

“I’m not running anywhere,” she said, bucking her chin a notch. “I just want to get the hell away from you.”

Landon got up from his chair and blocked her path to the exit, not giving a single shit who might be witnessing their little drama. “You have to trust me, Emma.”

“Trust you?” The words tumbled from her lips in an incredulous burst. “You put my father in prison! Why in God’s name would I ever trust you?”

She had a point. To Emma, he was nothing more than the sanctimonious son of a bitch who took her dad away from her. How could he possibly earn her trust?

“Emma, I was doing my job.”

He was answered with a derisive snort as she rolled her eyes to the sky. “Right. Sorry to break it to you, McCabe, but you weren’t doing your job when you arrested my father. And now, because you didn’t do your job right the first time, I’m paying the price. Get out of my way before I sic my
very
expensive lawyer on you.”

No matter how badly he wanted to cuff her to him and force every last secret from her, he knew that his only option at this point was to give her a little space. The last thing he needed was for her lawyer to get involved and have the Seattle office coming down on him. And while Landon still believed Emma wasn’t about to bring a lawyer into whatever mess she was in, it was a chance he wasn’t willing to take. Lawyers had a tendency to fuck everything up and bring the pace of an investigation to a standstill. He did
not
need that kind of headache right now.

He took a single step to the side, his face devoid of emotion, and Emma brushed past him without another word. The sound effects mimicking camera shutters sounded off around him, and Landon closed his eyes while he expelled a low, slow breath.
Fucking smartphones
. Christ, smacking his face against the climbing wall had been a cakewalk in comparison to the humiliation he felt right now. Emma would suffer for their argument when photos went live all over the Internet. He probably wouldn’t undergo an ounce of scrutiny—nothing more than a deputy marshal doing his job. She’d look guilty while he played the hero, and that made him a king-sized asshole, didn’t it?

So before the eager tweeters and Instagramers could work their social networking magic, Landon banked on the fact that most of the patrons in Starbucks this morning would be oblivious to proper procedure. “Deputy U.S. marshal,” he announced as he flashed his badge to the coffee shop at large. “I’m going to have to ask everyone who documented that little scene to step forward with your phones.”

“You can’t stifle free speech, man!” some idiot called from the back of the room.

“I can arrest you for interfering with a federal investigation,” he said. Which, of course, he couldn’t. Nothing about what had happened between him and Emma a moment ago would hinder his case. That he knew of. “So, step up and delete any pics you might’ve snapped, or spend the day in jail. It’s your choice.”

A collective grumble spread through Starbucks as reluctant gossipmongers gathered near his table. He hated that people who didn’t even know her dehumanized Emma, turning her into some kind of media spectacle. And worse, he’d helped to fuel the fire by calling her out in a very public place. The least he could do was try to minimize the backlash by making sure as many photos of their encounter were erased from existence as possible. He had a feeling that, right now, she could use all the help she could get.

Emma rushed down the street, swiping at a traitorous tear that escaped her eye and rolled down her cheek. She’d always fought against the insecurity that plagued her when she was out in public—especially when people recognized her like the two girls at the counter had this morning—but McCabe had managed to decimate any bravado she had left.

As she hailed a cab, her phone vibrated in her pocket. Nervous energy sent her hands to shaking as she dug the phone out of her pocket, nearly dropping it into a gutter in the process. A taxi pulled up to the curb, but she waved it on. Instead, Emma ducked into an alley off Pike Street and answered.

“I thought you said you had the Marshals managed,
chica
.”

How could Cesar possibly know that she’d been with McCabe, unless he’d been watching her as well? Great. Was there anyone in the city not following her every move? “I told you, the Marshals aren’t a problem. But honestly, what do you expect, Cesar? My father’s missing and I’m his only living relative. Who else are they going to pester?”

“Nah, your papa ain’t missing. He
escaped
. Don’t you watch the news?”

What a raging douchecanoe. Emma had never hated anyone in her entire life, but she hated Cesar deep down in the pores of her skin. She knew he was trying to get a reaction out of her. Most likely so he could retaliate. And no way would she give him the satisfaction. “Are we going to do this, or what?”

“Not now,” he replied as though the suggestion was asinine. “Too much heat on you.
Mi patrón
wants to lay low for now. Until you can figure out a way to get the Marshals off your back.”

“How in the hell am I supposed to do that?” Panic choked the air from Emma’s lungs as the weight of the world seemed to press down on her.

“You’ll think of something,
si
?” Cesar remarked in his smooth, oily voice. “
Tu padre
is depending on you.”

“Yes,” Emma said. “I’ll think of something.”

“Good. We’ll talk soon.”

Emma looked around at the dingy wall lining the alley as though the answer to her problems might be scrawled on the bricks. She wanted to scream. To throw something, break everything in her path, and leave a swath of destruction that would make Cesar and his asshole boss cower in her wake. The helplessness she felt was nothing new and it was a cinder burning in the pit of her stomach. She’d experienced the same helplessness when her dad had been convicted of a crime he hadn’t committed. And she’d spent the entire six years of his incarceration working, and digging, and nosing around where she had no business doing so to prove that fact.

McCabe’s presence in her life had only made matters worse. Their hot make-out session aside, she believed that he wanted to help her. If only in the course of doing his duty. But she couldn’t trust him with the information she had. She couldn’t trust anyone. If she did, her dad would pay the price with his life, and she knew that neither Cesar, nor the man who employed him, bluffed when it came to their threats.

The thought of impending violence caused Emma’s knees to buckle, and she leaned against the wall for support. She wished she were stronger. Not just stronger,
tougher
. Like Cesar and those bastards who’d framed her father. Ruthless and devoid of emotion, ready and willing to do whatever it took to keep herself and her loved ones safe. Instead, she’d become a pawn in their game, and in trying to fight back, she’d enabled them to use her. Pathetic.

The text alert went off on her phone and she opened the message to find a thumbnail image that caused the air to stall in her lungs. She enlarged the image and stared for a long second before her mind grasped exactly what she was looking at. A strangled sob worked its way up her throat, and the image blurred as tears welled in her eyes.

Her dad was tied to a chair, gagged and blindfolded in a nondescript room that could have been anywhere. The walls appeared to be constructed of steel and there was a crude metal staircase directly behind him and huge crates in the background, indicating he was being held in some kind of storage facility, though Emma had no idea where. Still in his orange prison jumpsuit, the garment hung from his gaunt frame and he looked worse than he had a couple of weeks ago, the last time she’d seen him at visitation. Emma bit back the tears as she noted his bald head, which had once sported a mop of salt-and-pepper hair. He was too sick to endure what these bastards were putting him through. Apparently, Cesar didn’t trust that she’d get the marshals off her back and this picture was insurance to help guarantee that she would.

All she had to do was make Landon McCabe go away for good.

Chapter Eight

I don’t think. I
know.

The conviction in Emma’s voice when she’d spoken the words still had Landon a little rattled hours after their encounter. He tried not to weigh the possibility that he could have been wrong—or misled—in the course of conducting the Ruiz investigation six years ago. Evidence never lied. It didn’t mislead or play him false. He depended on the evidence gathered in the course of an investigation to justify his actions. Once gathered, evidence became fact and fact could never be disputed.

Right?

Javier Ruiz had confessed to the extortion charge. Looked Landon right in the eye when he said the words. Signed his name to the statement without a second thought or falter in his actions. What could have possibly prompted a man with a flawless reputation and flourishing career to admit so willingly to a crime he hadn’t committed?