Dangerous Web Page 2

  The blank expression on the man’s face said all Smith needed to know. Still, he asked, “Are you positive that’s all you got? Anything could be important.”

  “If I had something, I’d give it to you.” The nervous man leaned back into the sofa. “Nothing. Only the name and he wasn’t even conscious when he said it. Emma Craig.”

  “Stay here tonight, tomorrow get out of town. Go north. I hear Canada’s a good clean place. Or walk across the border into Mexico, if you like a warmer climate. Don’t come back to the U.S. until you’re told it’s alright. Got it?”

  “Yeah, yeah. I got it.” For the first time Leonard’s strained features relaxed and he stopped shaking.

  Without a backward glance, Smith walked out of the motel room. He let the door slam behind him and took the first breath of clean air since he’d entered the motel.

  In a nearly empty parking lot, a young man sat waiting in a grey nondescript sedan.

  Smith went to it, sat in the back seat, and leaned forward to speak to the driver. “Tyler, take me to my car and come back and kill Leonard before he causes us anymore trouble.”

  “Done.” Tyler smiled.

  In his new luxury SUV, Smith shut the door, and inhaled the aroma of fine leather. The car didn’t have license plates yet, but the payments had already started. It was metallic gold the exact color his wife, Julie, wanted. Not the best choice if one wanted to be inconspicuous, but it’d be a cold day in hell when she didn’t want people to gawk at her. It was one of the things that attracted him. Still, her behavior was beginning to wear thin. In his line of work, decorum and humility went along way to keep his real agenda undercover. A flashy car and a showy wife could be a liability. His muscle tightened thinking of her moaning while she moved under him. Damn I want her. Even so, he’d have to be certain she understood to keep a lower profile, if she wanted her affluent lifestyle to continue unabated.

  He grabbed his smart phone. Calling his superior couldn’t be avoided any longer. The boss had to know the assignment had failed. Ethan Lancaster was out in the world with information that could stop their expertly planned mission. The only hope was Ethan had bled to death somewhere before he could talk.

  Smith clenched his jaw. He shouldn’t be tainted with the failure of letting Ethan get away. After all, he hadn’t hired Leonard. Yet when he dialed his boss, he’d be the one bringing bad tidings. As the bearer of the bad news, his employer would always recall this as his failure.

  Shit.

  He took a deep breath and dialed.

  Chapter 2

  Emma watched Webb track a cloud as he stared out of the cabin’s great room window.

  “A storm’s coming, Emmy. You better get back to the city before it starts.”

  “I’m not leaving. This is my cabin. You go.” Would she let him take off before he explained where he’d been the last two years? Not likely. She waited. When he didn’t speak, she added, “Nothing to say to me? Not going to tell me anything? Why you left? Why you stayed away?” Anger grew as she stared at his stoic expression.

  He leaned against the hearth and closed his eyes as if in pain. He blinked and for a second, she thought he might not answer. “Emma, I don’t have time for this. We’re over. Get the hell away.”

  As if she’d been socked in the gut, she gulped for air. “You can’t talk to me like that. Not after what you did. You’re my husband.”

  He groaned and grabbed his side.

  “What’s wrong? What happened to you?”

  “Accident,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “Let me see.”

  “I don’t need your—”

  “Webb, I want to look at it.”

  When he moved and she could see blood had oozed through his shirt. She gasped.

  He grimaced.

  “What kind of an accident leaves a gash in your side?”

  “Never mind. Just get the first aid kit—duffle bag in the bedroom,” he said almost spitting the words. “Hurry.”

  He groaned and slumped against her. She tried to hold him up, but his height and weight was too much for her. Together they tumbled to the floor. He rolled onto his back. His eyes closed.

  “Webb!” Dear God.

  “I need the kit.” He choked, then coughed.

  She stumbled to her feet and ran toward the master bedroom.

  Still on his back, he hadn’t moved when she returned. Without checking to see if he was conscious, she tore open his shirt and pressed gauze against the open wound. Holding it with one hand, she pressed several more layers of bandage on top of the first one. She ripped strips of medical tape with her teeth and placed them to hold the everything in place.

  He rolled to a sitting position, took a shallow breath, and tried to stand up.

  “Let me help.”

  “Emma, you’re not wanted here. I don’t need you.” He sank down again.

  “Yeah, I can see that.”

  “Leave me alone. Get out.”

  She recoiled from him, but something in his expression prevented her from leaving as he had two years earlier.

  Without her, he managed to stand. Still, she could see in his condition he’d never make it to the bedroom without her help, if that was where he was going.

  She took his arm. With it over her shoulder, they slowly staggered toward the bedroom.

  Who was this man? Yeah, Webster Craig, her husband, but what had changed him from the thoughtful, fun loving guy with a wonderful sense of humor, to the dark, brooding person with her now?

  In their old room, she helped him sit on the bed and lean back against the whitewashed headboard. She placed a pillow under his head and with a deep sigh, he relaxed.

  “Pain killer’s in first aid kit.” He coughed and blood marred the make shift bandage she’d used.

  “Tylenol and Codeine one or two tabs every four hours as needed for pain,” she read on the bottle. “No refills.” The name on the label said, Ethan Lancaster; who the heck was he? She shook the bottle, more than half full. Was it okay to give him someone else’s medication? What if he was allergic to it?

  She put her hand on his forehead. Fever.

  Carrying a glass of water from the bathroom and touched his shoulder. His eyes flew open and for a moment, she thought he might strike her. “Webb, it’s me.”

  “Oh—I” He sagged back in the bed.

  “You’re burning up, take these to bring down your temperature.” She handed him two tablets.

  He swallowed hard. “Go. I can manage from here on.”

  Startled by his directness, she hesitated. “I—I deserve a few answers first. You can’t deny me.” She set the empty glass on the bedside table and folded her arm across her chest. “Webb.”

  The wind rustled the large pines outside the bedroom window and he glanced away from her. “Hey, you better leave before the storm hits.”

  Was a rainstorm coming in or was he using it as an excuse to get rid of her? With her gone, he could disappear again and she’d never hear an explanation, no understanding why he’d walked out of the marriage without so much as it’s been fun. She wouldn’t allow him to get off that easy.

  A crack of thunder rumbled and lightening lit the darkening night. She shivered when the sky had opened up, and hail stones pelted the cabin.

  “Maybe we should both get out of here. Webb, I could drive you to an emergency room,” she yelled above the noise of the thunder.

  “Not safe to drive with the lightning. Looks like you got what you wanted. You’re stuck in the cabin.” He rolled toward the wall ending the conversation.

  “Damn you,” she said under her breath.

  Webb was here, but something dreadful had happened to him. Still, he was alive. She should be grateful. Right?

  ***

  Unable to sleep, Webb struggled to a sitting position. Pain throbbed in his gut, but it wasn’t the worst problem. He’d never meant to see Emma again. In the bedroom sleeping in a club chair, she was near enough to help if he c
alled for her. The good wife, she hadn’t left his side.

  “Hell,” he whispered under his breath. All the plans he’d made two year ago were now ruined. For her safety, he’d designed a clean break in a manner that caused so much anger and hurt she wouldn’t search for him. Instead of moving on with her life, as he thought she would, he’d only caused her to hate him. Great, he’d managed to take a happy young woman and turn her into the angry person sleeping in the chair near him. He closed his eyes against the thought of her loathing. He had comforted himself by believing she’d started a new life. It seemed nothing he intended had come to fruition.

  Here he was in bed like a weak fool, depending on the woman whose trust he’d betrayed. He groaned. With a quick change of position, pain ran from his right shoulder to his abdomen. He hissed and held his arm close to his body until the throbbing subsided—somewhat.

  Today, Emma had stood in the cabin, her dark hair glistening in the overhead light, as shock flashed in her blue eyes. She’d frozen in place, a confused expression on her sweet face. Right then, he wanted to take her in his arms, comfort her, and feel her soft body pressing against him. He took a slow breath. The pain in his side didn’t compare to the ache caused when, two years ago, he’d left her.

  The first time he’d seen her, she was standing on Union Street in San Francisco waiting for the traffic signal to change. Her dark hair had glistened that day too and her innocent smile had drawn him to follow her into a bookstore. He should have known she was a romantic when she went to an aisle marked English poets.

  He could have admired her for a few seconds, as he’d done with so many other attractive women, and been on his way. For some reason, he’d needed more. Why? Not being one to ponder questions without answers, he’d never asked that until tonight. Yet on that day, he’d engaged her in conversation. Standing next to her, he’d pulled a book from the shelf and said something inane.

  Emma had laughed, a lilting sound. With eyes wide open, she’d said, “Are you trying to pick me up?”

  “If you’ll let me,” he had replied.

  He forced his thoughts from the past and grabbed the pain meds. The only thing he needed tonight was sleep. Tomorrow plans had to be made, foremost, get Emmy out of here and back to her current life.

  A crack of thunder shook the windows and a second later lightning flashed. Years ago, Emma had been terrified of thunderstorms. Was she still afraid? He was hit with the desire to protect her, stupid since he was the person putting her in danger.

  ***

  He didn’t remember dozing off, but he must have because he woke in the cold dark room in pain. In the corner chair, Emmy purred in her sleep. His body heated as he recalled sharing a bed with her. Stop.

  He scratched the stubble on his chin. In the morning, if he could make it to the bathroom, he’d shave. He stifled a groan and managed to slide to the edge of the mattress. He pushed his body to a sitting position and forced two pain killers into his dry mouth, hoping he could swallow them.

  Outside the sky had turned to a timeless charcoal gray. It could be middle of the night or early morning, no way for him to tell. It didn’t matter because he wasn’t in any shape to go anywhere. Even so, his heart pounded knowing the schedule he worked under didn’t allow extra time to rest.

  He managed to inch down the hallway toward the bathroom holding his right side. Half way there he stopped and grabbed the wall while a wave of nausea washed through him. Codeine had never agreed with his system, but it was better than pain. An upset stomach was the choice of the day. Soon the hurt would subside and he’d move more freely.

  In the bathroom, he relieved himself and sat on the side of the tub. How long before the pills kicked in? With closed eyes, he listened to the pouring rain and raging wind as it lashed the vintage cabin. The old building must have seen many such storms and it still stood strong. Could he do the same? Stand sturdy and not let his need to shelter with Emma take him off his objective?

  Testing the strength of the meds, he drew a breath, an ache, but not excruciating pain. In the vanity drawer, he searched for the small screwdriver he’d placed there three years earlier. If it wasn’t there, he’d be the one who was screwed.

  “Yeah,” he whispered when his fingers wrapped around the plastic handle. Even in the small beam from the nightlight, he knew it was the one he wanted.

  Without too much trouble, the fake outlet opened showing the small box made for belongings, a good place to hide jewelry from a thief. This one concealed house and car keys, twenty hundred-dollar bills, and a few twenties. That would keep him until he could get to his next stash of cash. He shoved the money and keys in his jeans, put the cover back in place, and left.

  In the bedroom, the medication had starting working because, though he fought to stay awake, he was losing the battle. Shouldn’t sleep. Too much to do. He adjusted the pillow under his head and let the dreams capture him.

  “Come to me.” A blue-eyed angel raised her arms to him. “Let me hold you. You’ve done enough. Just relax and come to me.”

  She tempted him to give up the fight and stop the anguish of his current life. “No. I can’t. People are depending on me.” He fought to awake up. No good.

  “Why is it so hot?” He was burning up until a cool hand touched his forehead.

  “Hush, Webb. Don’t worry, it’s all right. Rest.” With a gentle hand, the angel coxed him to lean back in bed. “I’m here. You don’t have to do anything but sleep. I’ll do everything else.”

  “I’ve got to—”

  “Yes, but later, after you sleep. Then you can go.” She tenderly stroked his brow with a cool cloth, his tension abated, and his eyes remained closed.

  ***

  He woke with a start. A beginning of the day, except it wasn’t morning coming through the window—the light was waning as night fell. He must have slept around the clock.

  His side wound ached as he stood, but the swelling had gone down and a clean bandage replaced the bloodied one he remembered. The bedroom was empty. Emmy no longer sat vigilant in the corner chair.

  In the hall, to his surprise, the aroma of pancakes floated in the air. He took a deep breath and was rewarded with twinge in his right side. Still, his stomach growled and acid from hunger gnawed at him.

  Emma, dressed in gray sweat pants and a pink T-shirt, her hair pulled up in a ponytail, held a spatula, ready to flip a pancake. With the ease of a short order cook, she sent food into the air and it landed back in the frying pan.

  Suddenly, he was aware what an ordinary life looked like and remembered the many Sundays he’d spent with her. A time when he’d thought there was a chance for him to turn his life from secrets and lies to living with a wife, kids, station wagon, and a dog. Some men ran away from it, but he’d wanted the life. Until—he didn’t want to remember.

  “Webb, you’re awake.”

  His mind quickly returned to the present. Her expression appeared friendly, no malice in it.

  “Sit down.” She carried a platter of hotcakes to a table which had already been set for two. “Sit and butter them before they get cold.” She motioned to the chair nearest the backdoor. “How do you want your eggs?”

  “What?” He was having trouble focusing on the conversation. He’d been remembering the deaths that had torn his brother’s life apart, while she was blithely jabbered on about eggs.

  “Scrambled or fried?”

  “Fried, easy,” he said. He was tempted to say hard because that’s what this was, hard pretending to have an ordinary conversation with his wife in what had once been their honeymoon cabin. Damned awkward.

  “It must feel like morning to you, so, I decided to make breakfast.”

  “Yeah. Okay.” He wasn’t in the mood to play house. If she asked if he wanted one or two eggs, he was going to leave the room hungry or not.

  “When we’ve eaten, you can get cleaned up and then we need to talk.” It didn’t seem to be a demand, more a statement of fact.

  S
he nibbled on the one egg and a small hotcake she had on her plate. “Sorry there’s no syrup. I only have strawberry jam. I brought it for peanut butter sandwiches.”

  He wolfed down the four pancakes and two eggs she’d given him and wished he had more. She, no doubt, was waiting for him to talk. That wasn’t happening. He wanted to kiss her, bed her, and leave her. Hell, she wasn’t supposed to be at the cabin.

  Finally, he said, “I’m not going to apologize for leaving you. But you deserve a few answers.”

  Chapter 3

  Webb pushed back his plate and drummed his fingers on the table. “I’ll tell you the truth.”

  Stunned, Emma didn’t respond. Did that mean he hadn’t told her the facts during their marriage?

  “You’re not going to like what I say.” He stood up.

  “Are you leaving?” She grabbed his hand.

  “I’m turning on the light.” He pulled away. “It’s almost dark.”

  “Oh.” Embarrassed, her cheeks burned. “I thought—never mind.”

  In the quiet room, she heard the rain hitting the roof.

  “The first day in San Francisco was my fault.”

  “What?”

  “Emma, we should never have met.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I knew what I was. You had no idea.”

  “Dear God, you’re a bigamist.”

  He laughed, then grabbed his side and grimaced. “I wish it was so simple.”

  “Damn you. I don’t see anything funny.”

  “You’re right.” His smile vanished.

  “What were you going to say?” She’d better get her emotions under control or he might not continue.

  He hesitated, then said, “I saw you for the first time and you were so damned beautiful, sweet, and innocent. Such a counter point to my life—I was selfish.” He paused. “I didn’t work for a computer company in their IT department, like I told you. It was all a lie.”

  “But you…”

  “I needed a story to convince you it was okay to go out with me. I never thought our relationship would go as far as it did.”