Page 26 of The Devoted Game
Martin smiled as he watched her exit the grocery side of the store’s front entrance. She chatted with two of her coworkers as she crossed the parking lot to her twenty-year-old Buick. The four-door sedan wasn’t much to look at, but it was paid for and it allowed Katherine to support herself with reasonable comfort on her paltry salary.
Katherine said goodbye to her friends and scooted behind the wheel of her car. She drove to the nearest exit and merged out onto Hackworth Road. At that same time, across the street, Martin pulled away from the parking lot of a gas station. He adjusted his speed, switched lanes so that he was right behind Katherine’s Buick, and settled in for the drive.
It wasn’t far. Only a few miles and that one weekly stop. That was what made Thursday nights special. Each and every Thursday night, Katherine stopped at the minimarket on her way home. One would think that was an odd thing to do since she had only just left the Walmart where she worked and prices were certainly lower. ButKatherine had her reasons. She didn’t want her coworkers to know about the wine she purchased each Thursday night. Friday and Sunday were her days off. Sundays she had church, but on Fridays she slept in. A whole bottle of wine made sure her Thursday nights were restful ones. She didn’t dream about the husband she had lost or the lack of opportunity in her life. Or about that one mistake that would haunt her until the day she died.
She stopped at the minimarket and Martin drove on past, went directly to her small ranch style home and parked across the street, keeping a careful distance from the one working streetlight on the block.
A few minutes later Katherine arrived and parked in her garage. Moments later the lights came on in the living room.
Her bottle of wine, he knew from watching her before, would be cloaked in a nice brown bag so no one could see it. She was so very careful. It was a shame she didn’t take such pains in her home security. No dead bolts, no alarm system. Nothing at all to deter the unexpected. Which told him more than anything else that she thought she had become invisible, that the world had forgotten her. Or perhaps she wanted to be forgotten, so she, in turn, could forget.
In a couple of hours, she would be sound asleep and a new, exciting episode in her life would begin.
Katherine Jones would be terrified. He regretted that part but it was necessary. The fear would wash away her one sin. But she had no cause for alarm. Special Agent Ryan McBride never failed. He was a true hero. He would save her.
Martin knew the truth about what happened three years ago. He would make them all see how wrong they had been, and they would finally understand the gravity of their mistake. Therats.
McBride would take his rightful place once more, and Martin’s beloved Deirdre would be so proud. She had been devastated by the way the FBI had treated McBride. Martin would make this right ... and she would finally be happy once more.
One day when he and his hero had the opportunity to meet, perhaps McBride would thank Martin. Pride welled in his chest. Yes, that would please him very much.
Martin lived for that day.
Soon. Very soon.
Nine
Tutwiler Hotel
Friday, September 8, 8:45 a.m.
Vivian clutched the shopping bag in one hand and rapped on the door to McBride’s hotel room with the other. She squared her shoulders and braced for facing him.
When a reasonable length of time had passed, she knocked again. She hoped he hadn’t stayed in the bar until it closed last night. If he was still in bed and hungover, Worth would count it asherfailure.
It wasn’t like she could watch the man 24-7 without sleeping with him. Unbidden and damned unwelcome, hot shivery sensations raced over her skin. That he could get to her on that level in spite of her determination not to allow it made her mad enough to scream.
Between worrying about him and fighting the nightmares, she had scarcely slept at all last night. McBride or the rats or the cemetery or a combination of all three had ruined her night ... made her vulnerable.
She hadn’t had one of those godforsaken dreams in over five years. The memory of it ... of the whispered voices ... the darkness ... made her shudder.
Sedatives usually efficiently blocked the nightmares, but going that route right now was out of the question.
And, unlike McBride, she refused to try drinking her demons away.
As she lifted her fist to pound a third time, the door opened. And there he stood, filling the doorway, half naked and to her surprise half shaven.
“Come on in,” he invited, that smoke-and-whiskey-roughened voice rumbling from deep within his bare chest.
The sound brushed against her senses, instantly disturbing her equilibrium. Mentally scrambling to recover, she remembered the bag and thrust it at him. “I stopped at Target and picked up some clothes for you. I hope I got the sizes right.” She considered the shaving cream on his jaw. “Toiletries too.”
He waved the razor. “Room service,” he explained. “It’s amazing what they’re willing to provide.” He took the bag with his free hand. “You coming in?”
Vivian managed a stilted nod as she crossed the threshold into his room. She would die before she would ask exactly what room service had provided in addition to shaving implements. The scent of soap permeated the air, but it was the tousled sheets that immediately captured her attention.
The door closed behind her and she jumped.Don’t start off this way. She had dreaded this moment all morning. Her reactions to this side of him were foolish. Davis or Pratt or Aldridge wouldn’t have this problem. That thought propped up her determination, giving her the courage to face the man. Just like yesterday, he had dragged on his jeans, leaving them unfastened as if he were prepping for a sexy ad campaign. Physically he looked damned good for a guy who drank too much, smoked no matter that it was no longer PC, and was barreling toward forty—all the more reason to utilize extreme caution in his presence.
“I’ll finish up,” he offered, then headed into the bathroom.