After She's Gone (West Coast #3)

After She's Gone (West Coast #3) Page 130

“I know. I essentially told him the same thing.” She was finally starting to warm up.

“Don’t you think it’s weird that he lured you to leave, told you to not tell anyone, right? Why not go to the police? Why target you?”

“He knows I’m trying to find Allie.”

“So are the cops.” Trent’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t like it.”

“I don’t either. But Trent, I can’t leave any stone unturned. And I can’t go to the police. Detective Nash already thinks I somehow had something to do with Allie’s vanishing act or . . . or whatever.” She closed her eyes and was suddenly dead-tired and angry as hell. “None of this makes any sense.” She just wanted to collapse and forget about everything. She felt as if she could sleep for hours, maybe even days.

“Hey,” Trent said. “You okay?” He took her hand and made a sound of dismay. “You’re freezing.”

“I’m fine.” She was still chilled but didn’t want to admit it. “Just a little wet.”

“A lot wet.” He smiled faintly in that heartbreaking way that always got to her, touched her at a very private level. Though not exactly Hollywood handsome, Trent Kittle was rugged-looking, almost rangy, his face interesting, his eyes sometimes distant, other times focused sharply, his nose no longer straight, if it ever had been.

He found a blanket on the couch and wrapped it around her shoulders. The kind gesture nearly broke her heart. “You should go up and take a hot shower.”

“Sounds like heaven.”

“Just a sec.” His fingers wrapped around her wrist, pressing warmly against the skin just above her palm, touching the spot where she’d been scratched.

“What?” She tried not to concentrate too hard on his skin touching hers, but her mind was fractured.

“You should know that your friend . . . Rinko?”

“Yes . . . Rinko.” She silently cursed the breathless quality to her voice.

“You were right about him. He’s like some kind of genius when it comes to cars. Carter took the information Rinko gave us about the Santa Fe to some guy he used to work with at the state police.”

“Larry Sparks.” She managed to draw her hand away from his, tried to quiet her hammering heart.

“Right. Anyway, Sparks did some legwork and started chasing down owners of all the 2007 Hyundai Santa Fes matching the description Rinko gave us.”

“And?”

“And he got some hits. Rinko only failed with the whole bucking bronco imagery, but Carter’s working on that, too. So,” he finished, “it’s still a long shot, but at least now it seems we may be able to track down whoever was in your room at the hospital. There’s a chance she’s not a ghost, but a real live person with a driver’s license.”

Relief was instantaneous. All her worries that the nurse had been conjured by her own frail mind dissipated. Cassie had almost come to believe she’d imagined the woman. “Thank God.”

“We’re not out of the woods yet,” he said, and his gaze locked with hers.

He was right, of course. This bit of information about the Santa Fe didn’t mean much, at least not yet. But, it was something. Maybe somehow this whole mess would be sorted out.

As if reading her mind, he said, “We’ll figure this out, Cass.”

“Is that before or after I end up back in the hospital or behind bars?”

“Pessimist.”

“I guess.”

“Don’t worry.”

She nearly laughed out loud. “Easier said than done.”

“Trust me.”

How long had it been since she’d been able to do just that?

“So you’re in this with me?” she asked, remembering how he’d said he wanted to get back together with her, that he didn’t want to divorce. “Despite me taking off and not telling you where I was going, you’re still on board?”

“Yep. You can’t get rid of me that easy. But I still think this is something that should be handled by the police.”

“If only it were that simple.”

“It is.” When she didn’t respond, he said, “I’m serious.” His gaze held hers and she felt her pulse go wild at being this close to him. She swallowed with difficulty, her mind wandering down a dangerous, sexual path. She remembered the nights she’d spent with him, the way his skin rubbed against hers, his hot breath playing along her flesh, how he pressed urgent kisses at her hairline on her nape. Often she’d lain facedown in the pillow, the length of his body stretched over hers, his chest hairs scraping her back and lower as he’d slid against the curve of her spine and the rise of her buttocks.