Deadly Promises (Tracers #2.5)(62)

“Don’t.” She let herself touch his arm, just one last touch. “You don’t need to explain anything. And you don’t owe me anything. But I owe you. I owe you my life. More, even. You gave me the adventure of a lifetime,” she added, desperate to make him think she wasn’t dying a little inside. “To steal a line from my all-time favorite movie, ‘You’re the best time I’ve ever had.’

She made herself smile for him. “What matters is that I asked you for a moment back there. You gave it to me. And it was wonderful. But now it’s time for both of us to move on with our lives.”

She averted her gaze to the window then, willing back the tears that threatened to expose her for the liar that she was.

If he realized how close she was to coming unglued, he wisely chose to pretend right along with her that everything was fine.

Black and white and gray and fine.

CAV WATCHED THE G-550 Gulfstream business jet taxi down the tarmac, wait for clearance, then fire its powerful engines and roll down the runway.

For a full minute after the sleek silver bird disappeared he stood there in the rain, soaking wet and numb to the bone.

Carrie was on her way home to Georgia. Exactly where she should be, safe and sound, doing good things, having good things happen to her.

He was right to let her go. Like she’d said, what they’d had was a moment in time. And it was over.

He turned and climbed back into the waiting limo. Made a decision.

He was going to find himself a big bottle of scotch. He shoved his wet hair back with both hands, closed his eyes, and leaned his head back against the seat. A huge f*cking bottle. Then he was going to do his damnedest to drink her out of his life.





Fourteen

“Hey, sugar. Got a cup of coffee for a thirsty man?”

Carrie looked around her computer monitor to see Wyatt Savage standing in her office doorway. During the past two weeks she’d gotten used to his impromptu visits. Since Sophie was a patient here, Wyatt spent most of every day at the hospital with her, but he often popped in to say hello.

“Pot’s on. Help yourself.”

She’d been home from Jakarta for fourteen days now, and life had remained as gray and dismal as the weather. As fate would have it, the rain had followed her from Jakarta to Georgia and hadn’t let up yet. She hadn’t seen the sunshine since she’d been back.

“How’s Sophie doing today?” she asked as Wyatt helped himself to coffee from the fresh pot she kept on the credenza beside her desk.

Carrie had been shocked to learn that Sophie had been admitted to the hospital the same day she’d left for Myanmar. While it had been touch and go for a while, as of yesterday both Sophie and the baby were in stable condition.

“She’s doing great.” Wyatt sat on the leather easy chair across from her desk. “So’s the baby. The doctors are thinking she’ll make it to full term now. They may even release her by the end of the week.”

“Oh, Wyatt, that’s wonderful news.” Carrie smiled at her friend. Between worrying about Sophie and the baby and concern over her, he’d been a wreck when she’d returned. It had taken him a couple of days to tune in to her somber mood, and he’d chalked it up to her harrowing ordeal. But it hadn’t taken long for him to put two and two together and realize there was something more going on.

“So how are you doing?” he asked over the steam rising from the cup.

“I’m good,” she said meaningfully. “And I don’t want to talk about it.” Her face flushed with embarrassment as she thought about the way she’d fallen apart yesterday.

She’d had a long, grueling day, a “poor me” moment, and Wyatt had caught her with her defenses down. She’d sniveled all over his shoulder about her heartbreak over David Cavanaugh. It had not been her finest hour.

“I’m good,” she repeated when he gave her a look that telegraphed concern, skepticism, and pity. Then she glanced out the window. “I’d be a lot better if the sun would come back out.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment. “He’s a complicated man.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “Who’s half a world away with a life to live. I’ve got a life, too. A good one, so stop looking at me like my dog died. Go back to your wife and give her a hug for me. I’ve got to tie up this report, then I’m heading home. It’s been a long day.”

“Fine. I get it. I’ll butt out.” He rose, his kind eyes assessing. “But if you ever want to talk…”

“I did enough of that yesterday. Now go. I’m fine.”

She was still trying to convince herself of that when she pulled into her driveway an hour later. The drizzle had transitioned to a steady rain, so she gathered her purse and laptop and sprinted for the door.

“Come on, come on,” she muttered as she dug into the bowels of her purse for her house keys, trying to keep from dropping her laptop.

“Can I help you with that?”

Her head flew up.

And there he was.

The man who had haunted her days and kept her awake at night.

She simply stared incapable of speech as he relieved her of the laptop.

“I don’t know about you” he said with a trademark David Cavanaugh smile, “but I’m getting a little wet.”