“I feel healthier already. How are we doing on time?”
Charlotte looked up at the kitchen clock. “I’ve got to get them up in about fifteen minutes. Sometimes Matt will wander down on his own, but Hank is not a morning person.”
Joe turned and looked over his shoulder, his little gold earring gleaming in the overhead kitchen lights. “And her mommy?”
Charlotte smiled back, unashamed that she hadn’t stopped smiling since Joe had arrived with the yogurt taco more than six hours before. “I think I’m a night person forced to be a morning person. But I’m feeling legitimately perky this morning.”
Joe nodded and opened the refrigerator door. “I’m feeling pretty perky myself. You got any real milk in here or just the soy stuff?”
“Just the soy, which is real, too, just devoid of lactose, antibiotics, and growth hormones.” Oh, my, but Joe looked exceptional bent over in his jeans, scanning her refrigerator shelves. He’d run home a few minutes ago to take a lightning quick shower and put on something other than his boxers, insisting that he make the kids breakfast before school. She watched him straighten and laugh as he examined the soy milk carton.
“I suppose what doesn’t kill us only makes us stronger.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” she said, laughing, too.
Charlotte watched the ripple of muscle and tendon in his forearm as he whisked the egg, oil, and milk. She smiled to herself, recalling how that muscle and tendon had felt under her hands. She recalled how glorious he’d looked hovering over her with the night sky behind him, how perfect he’d felt inside her, how she’d allowed herself to fall in love with a veritable stranger.
Who is this man I’ve let inside…?
She took a giant swig of coffee for fortification and said, “Who the hell are you, Joe?”
The question popped out without a bit of adornment—and she heard her words hang in the early morning quiet. He stopped whisking in midstroke, leaving the hum of the refrigerator and the pounding of her own heart the only audible sounds.
“I don’t have a simple answer for that.” His wrist gave a few last twirls and he set the mixing bowl aside, keeping his back to her. She watched him measure out the pancake mix and level the cup with a sweep of his finger. He was precise. Careful. He was stalling.
“Then give me the complicated version.” Charlotte stood and walked to the coffeepot to refill her cup. She tipped the carafe over Joe’s empty mug. “Need another shot?”
“Is the pope Catholic?” He began to stir the batter with a wooden spoon, not meeting her eye.
“Are you?”
“No, I’m not the pope.”
She sniffed. “I should hope not, after last night. But are you Catholic?”
“Recovered.” He continued to stir. “And you’re Baptist, right?”
“Recover… ing.”
That got a smile from him, and he crooked his head to let his gaze meet hers. “If the kids are coming down in fifteen minutes, I don’t think I have time for any version at all.”
Charlotte checked the clock. “Fourteen minutes now. Just do your best.”
He chuckled, pouring out four puddles of batter onto the hot griddle.
“You know everything about me, Joe, and I know nothing about you. It’s a bit uneven, don’t you think?”
“It is.”
“So let’s hear it.”
“All right, Charlotte.” Joe sighed. “Both my parents are dead. My older brother died in college of a drug overdose. I got my bachelor’s degree in criminal justice from American University and did two years in the U.S. Army Special Forces. I’ve traveled a lot for my work since. I’ve never been married—that was just part of my cover story. I’ve had a couple serious relationships, but the women always left me because I wasn’t around enough to make a go of it.”
“I’m sorry about your family.” Her voice was soft. Then she frowned. “What do you mean by cover story?”
Joe took a deep draw of air to clear his head. He tapped the edge of the spatula against the griddle, realizing it sounded like the ticking of a time bomb. His time was surely up—he couldn’t hide the details from Charlotte a moment longer. He was in love with her. She had a right to know what she was getting into. The real trick would be telling her enough so that she could make an informed decision but not enough to frighten her away.
“I’m not a writer. I work in federal law enforcement and I can’t tell you much more, for your own safety.” Joe cringed at the sound of her laugh.
“Oh, really? As in you’d tell me, but then you’d have to kill me?”
He felt his stomach lurch, thinking, I won’t be the one doing the killing. “Not exactly, Charlotte.”
As she watched him flip the four pancakes, it dawned on her that he wasn’t joking. Joe’s shoulders had stiffened and his mouth was pulled tight in seriousness. Charlotte began to feel a bit dizzy. She didn’t like this. Not at all.
He placed the golden-brown pancakes on a platter and started four more.
“I’m waiting, Joe.”
He turned to her and leaned a hip against the counter. “Do you trust me?”
She’d been asking herself the same thing, and though it was a simple question, it made her head spin. How could she trust a man she didn’t really know? Yet how could she be in love with a man she didn’t trust? And how could she tell him she wasn’t sure if she trusted him when it was obvious he wouldn’t tell her anything unless he had that trust?
“I’m sure trying.”
“That’s a start.”
Charlotte sipped her coffee, studied the grim line of his lips, and thought about the big picture for a minute—the gun, the alarm system, the secrets, the underlying seriousness. It seemed a little far-fetched, like something Matt would conjure up, but she couldn’t help herself. “So what are you, Joe? Some kind of secret agent? The Austin Powers of Minton, Ohio?”
His grin lasted a split second. “Not exactly. I work for the U.S. Department of Justice. And I’m in a bit of a bind. I was sent here to disappear, Charlotte.” He locked his eyes on hers. “And that needs to stay between you and me.”
Her hand fell to the countertop with a thud, sending a plume of coffee into the air and onto her wrist. “Ow! God! You’re kidding me! Hold on a second!” As she let the cool faucet water run over her arm, Charlotte tried to collect herself. Joe was some sort of cop? What kind? Why did he have to disappear?
“It’s better if you don’t know the details. That’s where the trust comes in.” Joe had moved close behind her and whispered this in her ear, his hands cupping her hips. “The less you know, the safer everyone will be.”
His hands stayed put as she spun around to face him. “What do you mean, safer? Who do you mean by everyone? Are you in some kind of danger? Are my kids?”
Joe kissed her hairline, ran little smooches down her temples, and nibbled on her ears. “I pissed off a few bad guys, is all. And I have to testify against them in court.”
“Stop right there.” Charlotte pushed him back enough to look at his face. “They’re after you? You came to Minton to hide from criminals of some kind?”
“Yes.”
“My God, Joe! How bad are these guys?”
“Real bad.”
“Will they find you?”
“They won’t find me.”
“Are you sure?”
“Pretty sure.”
“What do you mean, pretty sure?”
“Yo.” A small voice caused them to jolt away from each other.
Matt stood in the kitchen doorway in his jammies, studying them from under raised eyebrows and an uneven thatch of bed hair. He yawned. “Who won’t find you, Joe?” He frowned. “Were you just kissing my mom or something?” Then he glanced at the now smoking griddle. “Can I have cereal instead?”
Matt ate another spoonful of Mega-Wheats and banana, keeping a real close eye on Joe.
The guy had obviously been chewing face with his mother, and there was a tiny p
lace inside his heart that felt sad about that but a bigger place that smiled. Joe was outrageously cool. He knew better than to expect that he’d suddenly jump in and be his new dad, and Matt didn’t want that anyway, but if his mom had to kiss somebody, he was glad it was Joe.
“You sure I can’t talk you into a pancake or two?”
Matt smiled, remembering that his dad used to make pancakes on Sunday mornings—sometimes even the awesome fluffy, white ones. Matt looked at the stack Joe offered and shook his head. “No offense, but those things taste like hockey pucks even when they’re not burnt.”
Joe smiled at him. “I hear you, kid.” Then he sat down, doused them in maple syrup, and took a few huge bites. “Your mom says they’ll Roto-Rooter your insides, though.”
Matt laughed, nearly choking on a mouthful of cereal. Joe was funny, too. He was all right. “So you like my mom, or what?”
He watched Joe dab at his mouth with a napkin and take a sip of coffee, the way grown-ups do when they’re fishing for the “appropriate” way to say something.
“I like her a lot,” Joe said.
Matt nodded, a little embarrassed that his thoughts had suddenly turned to Lisa Bertucci, of all people! But he figured it was because lately he’d wondered what it would feel like to kiss her—her cheek, not her mouth the way Mom and Joe probably kissed. No way would he ever do something as disgusting as that. “Is that okay with you, Matt?”
Matt looked up at Joe and wondered if he could bounce a few ideas off him. He wondered if Joe would mind. “That’s cool with me. You know, I was kind of wondering….”
Joe raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
“How exactly did you let Mom know you liked her? I mean, did you blurt it right out like, you know, ‘I like you, Charlotte,’ or what?”
Joe thought for a moment. “Basically, yes.”
“And girls like to hear that crap?”
Joe cleared his throat. “Absolutely.”
“Huh.” Matt held up the bowl and slurped down the leftover soy milk.
“Is there a particular girl you’re thinking about?”
Matt felt his face get hot. “What? No way. I just… well…” Matt got up and put his bowl in the sink, thinking maybe he ought to let out the truth. Who else was he going to rely on for advice? His mom? Justin? Ned? Yikes! “Actually, there is… sort of… this girl.”
Joe leaned an arm over the back of the kitchen chair and gave his head a quick nod. “That’s cool.”
“Her name is Lisa. And I feel like such a dweeb when I see her, like my brain’s broken or something. Is that normal?”
“It is, Matt. Happens to the best of us.”
That was surprising news, and a big relief. “Did it happen to you with Mom?”
Joe laughed a little and took another big bite of hockey puck pancake. “At first, yes. I said and did some real stupid things, because your mom is so special and so pretty that I couldn’t think straight.”
Matt watched Joe go to the sink and rinse his plate and cup and stick it in the dishwasher.
“I think I’m doing a little better with your mom lately.”
“Cool.”
“Is Lisa special like that?”
Matt felt his heart slam in his chest. He didn’t want to get all gross about it, but maybe Joe would understand. “Sorta. It’s the weirdest thing, but when she walks past me, her breeze smells so good I have to close my eyes.”
Matt felt Joe’s hand come down soft on his shoulder.
“I feel you, man,” Joe said.
Matt couldn’t help but smile. Joe was even cooler than he thought. Maybe he could help him out with something else, too.
Just then, he heard his mom and Hank upstairs and knew it was now or never. “Hey, Joe?” Matt looked up at him, hoping like heck he’d take pity on him. “Can I ask you a really huge favor?”
Chapter Twenty
Joe leaned over the lengthy to-do list sitting on the kitchen counter and figured this must be the kind of strategic challenge Charlotte faced every day.
He should probably go to the jeweler first. Since he’d never bought an engagement ring in his life, he had no idea what he was doing and would have to rely on a knowledgeable salesperson. A jeweler’s wet dream, no doubt—some love-struck doofus with an open wallet.
If the ring wasn’t exactly what Charlotte wanted, they could always return it. It was the thought that counted, right? His heart jumped and he drew in a hiss of breath—God help him if she said no. It was a distinct possibility and he knew it.
After the jeweler, he’d hit the wine shop for champagne. At least he knew what he was doing in that department—maybe a good vintage demi-sec or a nice blanc de noirs?
Next would be Wal-Mart for decorations and then the florist. Then Kroger’s. He felt himself grow hard just reviewing the grocery list he’d made: spray cheese, crackers, grapes, chocolate, and strawberries. Oh, the things he had planned….
For insurance, he’d enlisted Bonnie to conveniently stop by Charlotte’s the moment she came home with the kids from baseball. That way, Charlotte would have no excuse not to accept his invitation for a few munchies and a night swim.
Joe grinned to himself in amazement. Yes, this was spontaneous. Yes, this was completely insane. Yes, it felt utterly right.
But for all his enthusiastic planning, there was something he’d forgotten, he just knew it, and he tapped the felt pen against the pad of paper until he’d created a big black blob that began to seep into the fiber, spread just the way Steve’s blood had soaked the pavement of the Denny’s parking lot….
He jumped when the phone rang.
“You need to get an answering machine or a cell phone, Bellacera.”
“If I wanted to talk, I would have called you.”
Roger laughed. “You can run, but you can’t hide.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about Jay Mauk?”
“Shit, Joe.” Roger’s voice went low and soft. “Did Rich Baum give you the news?”
“Yes. Last week.”
“I should have been the one to tell you. I’m sorry. I just didn’t have anything concrete to pass on.”
Joe let loose with a bitter laugh. “Like Guzman’s men aren’t the only possibility?”
“The witness statements are a mess. It happened so fast, we’ve got nothing much to go on.”
“He was just a kid.”
“It’s been hard on all of us.”
Joe nodded in silence, knowing that the Albuquerque field office had been dealt more than its share of loss in the last few months. It made him sick. Guzman made him sick with fury.
“Are you doing all right, Joe? How’s it going with the girl next door?”
“Ah, well, funny you should ask.” Joe cleared his throat, knowing this was probably going to be as big a shock to Roger as it was to himself. “Tonight, I’m going to ask her to marry me.”
The line was silent.
“You still there, Roger?”
“Here.” Roger paused a moment, then said, “You’re pulling my leg, right?”
“No.”
“Damn, Bellacera. This is not the best time to be playing house. The woman has kids for Christ’s sake, doesn’t she?”
“Yep. Two great kids.”
“Joe—”
“Just say you’re happy for me.”
“I’m—” Roger chuckled nervously. “I’m stunned. I mean, this is going to make things infinitely more complicated. What if you have to up and leave?”
“I can’t live in fear like that anymore, Roger. I’m tired of it. I want something else for myself.”
“Look, I understand, but—”
“I want a real life. Other people manage it and so can I.”
“Are you telling me you want out of the DEA? Have you made your decision?”
“No. I’ll talk to Charlotte about it. We’ll decide together at some point. The trial comes first. Then I’ll worry about my job.”
“Have you told her eve
rything?”
“I’m telling her a little at a time. I hope it’ll go over better in small doses.”
“Uh-huh. And when do you plan to tell the woman there’s a million-dollar contract on her fiancé’s head?”
“Tonight. I’m going to tell her tonight.”
“And you expect her to say yes? Jesus, Joe! You’re going to get your heart stomped!”
Joe let go with a bitter laugh and shook his head. “I gotta at least try, Roger.”
“So if by some miracle there is a wedding, do I get an invitation?”
Joe laughed again. “I haven’t thought that far ahead.”
“Stay sharp, Joe. There’s no reason to think Guzman will ever find you, but please just stay focused and think sharp.”
“Of course.”
“Keep me posted. Oh, and happy birthday, Bellacera.”
The DEA hotshot sat across from Ned at one of the Creekside’s small outdoor tables, crossing and uncrossing his legs, nursing his beer, and fiddling with the whiskers of his goatee. The man was tense as hell, and Ned hadn’t even said anything yet. He figured he’d better just blurt it out, put the guy out of his misery.
“Okay, so I pulled your prints off an iced tea glass the night of the campout, Special Agent Bellacera.”
The blank look on Joe’s face was pure cop—Ned could see the internal wheels spin as Joe struggled with how he was going to play this, how much he could safely reveal.
Ned couldn’t say he blamed the man for being careful. From what he’d learned from his little bit of nosing around, Joe had put his ass on the line more than a few times. Ned figured he’d survived this long only by being real cautious.
It took a moment, but Joe’s face eventually softened into a wry smile. Then he shook his head and laughed. “Sneaky piece of police work, Ned.”
“Thank you.”
“You ran my prints through AFIS?”
“Yep.”
“Nice. You mind telling me why?”
Ned watched as Joe took a huge swig from his beer bottle, which was somehow comforting. Maybe they’d be able to talk, after all. “Three reasons why—Charlotte, Matt, and Hank.”