Sweet Revenge

Chapter 9

Matt held himself still on the orange chair in the clinic’s waiting room, hoping the cheap plastic would hold his weight. Shutting his eyes, he leaned his head back against the cedar-grooved wall. The receptionist’s heartbeat alternated between slowing down and speeding up every time she glanced his way. He’d had to pour on the charm to get her to open up about which family practitioner was on duty and had finally caught a break. The doctor he needed to see, Millicent Vengas, was on duty and would see him soon.

His mind ran over the night with Laney. It had been perfect until the morning; then she’d withdrawn. No doubt the emotions swamping him had attacked her as well.

He hadn’t been sure how to reassure her, considering he was leaving town as soon as he captured the doctor.

So he’d left, telling Laney he was heading to the doctor to get the stitches removed. Relief had filled her pretty eyes. So much so that even now, grumpiness rumbled through him.

He turned his attention back to the moment.

Several heartbeats echoed through the building, some torturously slow, probably from drugs. If he were Shane, he’d probably be able to guess at the drugs. Shane had the best hearing of them all.

Matt’s gift lay in discerning movement before it happened. Maybe he read muscle movement, maybe he felt the slightest of air move. He didn’t know, and he’d never trusted the people who might’ve helped him understand it. The bastards who’d created him.

Right now, they tracked him, probably hoping they could force him to do their dirty work some more. If he didn’t eventually fall in line, they’d kill him. They’d also destroy anybody who knew about the program; anybody he’d become close with.

Sleeping with Laney had been a mistake. For one thing, she wasn’t the type of woman a guy loved and left. She was one to be loved and tucked close. Even if he wasn’t slated to die in less than two months, his past would always chase him.

Even one night with him might slap a bull’s-eye on her smooth forehead.

He couldn’t get her killed. The best course of action for them both would be for him to act the asshole and thank her for the quick lay. Piss her off, hurt her feelings, and get back to work.

No way in hell could he do it.

What a fucking mess he’d made of things. He’d kick his brothers’ asses if they screwed up like this. In fact, if he confided in Nate, Nate would show up in town and punch him in the face. Not because he’d slept with a woman. Nate wouldn’t give a shit about that.

He’d care that Matt was floundering. Completely confused by a woman he should be using as a cover. Matt couldn’t even lie and say he was investigating her. The fact that she’d fainted when she’d seen blood proved there was no way in hell she used to be the mysterious doctor. Though owning a bar instead of being in the medical field would’ve been a good move. In his experience, people who cut into people seemed to need that type of power. The doctor he hunted still held a scalpel, he was sure.

High heels clicking down the hallway pulled his attention away from his failings. Centering himself, he listened to the rhythmic gait. The doctor was probably about five eight and one hundred sixty pounds. The door opened, and a woman glanced around, a file in her hands.

Yep. Right height and weight, and Shane had been correct about the blond hair. Taking in her color tone and bone structure, he figured she could pass for a natural blond.

She lifted her chin. “Mr. Dean?”

“Yes.” He stretched to his feet.

Her gaze ran his length, appraising in a medical way.

He zipped back to times when Dr. Madison had studied him, and a ball of ice dropped into his gut. The doctor had been the closest thing he’d had to a mother, and she’d scared the hell out of him as a child. When he was a teenager, her gaze had warmed, and it had become worse. So much worse.

The bitch had made a move every chance she’d gotten. No wonder he very rarely trusted women. He’d ignored her until she’d propositioned Jory.

Matt had caught them in the clinic, Dr. Madison pressing against a terrified thirteen-year-old Jory. Matt had instantly ordered Jory outside before threatening Madison with a terrible death if she hit on one of his brothers ever again.

Her blue eyes had turned more calculating than afraid. She’d probably taken notes on the encounter afterward.

But she’d apparently believed him, because she’d stayed clear of his family from then on. Well, until she’d sicced her daughter on Nate.

Jerking himself back to the present, Matt plastered on a charming expression and moved toward the door.

Dr. Vengas motioned him inside. “We’ll go into exam room three.”

His heart rate slowed, and his emotions shut down as he entered the room and sat on the examination table, the paper crinkling. If he ever let madness consume him, the crinkle of the thin paper would be the ignition point, since the sound drove him nearly crazy.

Vengas shut the door.

He drew his shirt over his head. “No nurse?”

“We’re understaffed.” Vengas tossed the manila file to the narrow counter and quickly washed her hands in the always-present examination room sink. “Freedom, huh?”

He glanced down at the tattoo over his heart. “That’s the goal.” Would she understand the subtext to his statement?

She turned. “That is a good goal.” Pursing her lips, she approached and glanced at the stitches. “Is that tackle line?”

“Yes. I was in a pinch.”

“Interesting.” She reached for a box on the counter and drew out latex gloves. “Your medical form is rather brief and uninformative. You’re positive you have no allergies?”

“Yes, and it’s brief because I merely need the stitches taken out.”

She clipped the knotted end and smoothly pulled out the tackle line. “You really didn’t.” Intelligent eyes studied him. No judgment, just resigned curiosity. “We don’t hand out unnecessary prescription drugs here.”

“I don’t like drugs.”

Her eyebrow lifted. “Why are you here?”

He flashed his dimples. “My boss insisted.”

“Your boss?”

“Yes. Laney Jacobs over at J’s Bar. She said she’d fire me if I acted like a doctor again and took out the stitches by myself.” He shrugged as the lie rolled off his tongue. “I need the job.”

For the first time, the doctor smiled. “Now, that makes sense. I’ve met Laney, and she definitely takes care of people.”

“Like you do. I mean, with being a doctor and all.”

Vengas drew a can of antibacterial spray from the counter to cover his wound. “That’s kind of you to say. To be honest, I figured being a doctor would allow me to build a stable life someday so I could stay in one place.”

He drew in air as the cold spray hit his skin. “You want to stay in one place?”

“Yes.” She ripped off the gloves to toss in a garbage can. “I grew up an army brat, and we traveled the world my entire childhood.” She glanced at a row of old bullet holes across his upper ribs. “You saw combat.”

“Yes.” If she was telling the truth, she wasn’t the right person. “Was it your father or mother who was in the army?”

“My dad. He was a chaplain. What about you?”

“Marine.” He might as well stick with his most current story. “Ah, do you mind checking out an old wound on my back? Just to make sure the scar isn’t too much.” Standing, he turned around. While he couldn’t see her face, he tuned in to her breathing and heart rate. If she recognized the cut next to his upper vertebra, he’d know it.

“Which one?” she asked softly.

“Upper back to the right of the spine, diagonal cut.”

She leaned in, her fingers tapping across the cut that guaranteed his death. “This is surgical.”

Her heart rate and breathing remained constant. When he turned around, only curiosity sat on her face.

“Yes. A doctor removed a metal splinter from an IED.” The lie came easily.

She lifted her eyebrows. “The doctor did a good job.”

That’s what she thought. He yanked his shirt back over his shoulders. Once he got back to the bar, he’d send Shane the information to see if this family practitioner was telling the truth. If so, he’d narrowed down his search.

The coroner and he were going to meet again soon.

Laney tossed more salt into the soup upon recommendation of Rufus and Aaron. While she prepared the food basically to feed them, they’d been surprisingly helpful the past year.

The soup did need more salt, a fact she’d confirmed after taking a quick taste.

She did a quick jig and then laughed at herself. Yeah, happiness felt good. Matt Dean felt even better. The night with him had been so full of passion, she wanted more. Sure, they were both lost. Maybe they could find each other.

Enough daydreaming. Glancing at her watch, she dropped the lid into place, fetched Betty’s keys, and headed out the door. Betty had taken the day off to recoup from overindulging, and Laney had agreed to drive the Jeep out after lunch.

The car smelled like Matt. Male, wild, and free.

Her abdomen heated as images from the previous night zipped through her brain. While by no means a virgin, she’d never experienced such a night. He was amazing.

And temporary. Very temporary. She had to remember that fact and not start dreaming about the wounded soldier. There was no question he was wounded, and it wasn’t her place to heal him. She had enough to worry about.

She ignited the engine and hummed softly until arriving at Betty’s house. The accountant loped outside, her face pale, her gait stilted.

Laney leaned out the window. “The bar overserved you.”

Betty grimaced. “No shit. I should sue.”

“Very funny.” Laney scooted over to the passenger side. “Take me back, and I’ll feed you some delicious beef noodle soup.”

“Ugh.” Betty stepped into the Jeep, secured her seat belt, and backed into the street. “I may never eat again. I threw up in front of your sexy bartender.”

Laney covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh God. How embarrassing.”

“Then I knocked him into shrubs.” Betty snorted and turned the Jeep. “Poor guy.”

They turned another corner and both gasped at the myriad of blue and red swirling lights. Police vehicles, an ambulance, and even a fire truck all blazed with emergency lights.

Betty slowed. “That’s Claire’s house.” She rolled down her window and gestured the sheriff over. “Todd? What’s going on?”

Todd hitched his belt and walked over, hazel eyes sober. At about forty years old, lines of stress cut into the sides of his mouth. “Claire’s cleaning lady showed up earlier today and found her. Dead.”

Laney peered out the window at the body being rolled from the house, her heart thumping. A white sheet covered Claire but had slipped off her bruised and battered face. Lacerations cut into her chin, cheeks, and forehead. Clear strangulation marks marred her neck, and her nose was a broken mess.

Betty rubbed her eyes. “Oh my God. We went out last night and she was fine.”

Todd narrowed alert eyes. “When did you last see her?”

“We dropped her off about midnight,” Betty said, her voice cracking.

“Who dropped her off?” the sheriff asked.

“Um, Laney’s new bartender and me.” Betty’s eyes widened. “He dropped me off and then took Claire home.”

The sheriff’s shoulders went back. “What time exactly?”

Betty’s hands fluttered together. “I’m not sure. I think I went to bed a little after midnight.” She looked at Laney. “Did you see Matt when he returned to the bar?”

Yes, and he’d been a mess of scratches and shrubbery from falling. “Yes. I think he walked in about two in the morning,” Laney whispered. There seemed to be a gap in the timeline, but had Matt really had a flat tire? If not, why would the soldier kill Claire? It didn’t make sense.

“I’m going to need this vehicle as well as statements from you both.” The sheriff opened the driver’s side door and assisted Betty out. “My deputy will take you to the station.” He waited until Laney had exited the SUV. “How well do you know your bartender?”

She swallowed. After the previous night, she knew what made him growl, what made him smile, and what made him come. “Not much. I only hired him two days ago.” Yes, she’d need to tell the full truth about their sexual encounter at the station. Wouldn’t she?

The sheriff sighed. “Okay. I’ll be to the station as soon as possible to take your statements. The timeline is crucial, so please start thinking about last night.”

Betty eyed Laney as they scooted into the back of a squad car. “You don’t think—”

“No.” God, no. Laney hadn’t spent the night with a murderer. But really, what did she know about Matt except he was expertly trained, definitely dangerous, and just passing through town? Maybe he was a man on the run.

“Me, either.” Betty’s voice lacked conviction. “I’m sure it’s a coincidence Charmed had its first murder in decades the same time the tough guy shows up in town.”

Laney cut her a look. “I saw him last night, and there weren’t any bruises on his knuckles. Anybody who beat a body like that would show some damage.” Well, except for the massive bruise across his hand. But that hadn’t been a defensive injury. Probably.

“So he was fine?”

“Except for some scratches from your shrubs.” Laney settled back into the seat and tried to swallow past the lump in her throat.

“I’m not scratched at all from falling in those shrubs,” Betty said.

Laney looked her over. She was telling the truth. Not one scratch or bruise marred Betty’s pale skin. Skin much smoother than Matt’s. “Matt didn’t kill Claire.”

He just couldn’t have.