Shoot Out (The Baltimore Banners Book 7) Read online

  She had learned a lot of lessons during that one very long year, lessons she wouldn’t soon forget, no matter how much she wanted to.

  Nicole closed her eyes, squeezing them tightly as she pushed the unwanted images from her mind. She had been young and stupid, making a long series of mistakes in a short span of time. But that had been over two years ago. Surely enough time had gone by. Hadn’t it? Or would she be paying for those mistakes for the rest of her life?

  She shook her head, almost afraid of the answer, then pulled the memory stick from the computer and tossed it into the open backpack resting on the floor. She unplugged the external hard drive and carefully placed it inside the metal security box, making sure to lock it before pocketing the key. Her mother blew out a breath of impatience, the sound a sharp hiss in the stifling air of the small room.

  “I don’t know why you bother locking everything up. You act like all of that nonsense is so important.”

  “It is important, Mom. To me.” Nicole grabbed her camera and tucked it into the backpack then zipped the bag closed. She held onto the arm of the chair and carefully stood, holding the battered thing steady so it wouldn’t tip, then grabbed the bag and tossed it over her shoulder.

  Her mom was still leaning against the doorframe, her thin arms crossed tightly in front of her, a frown on her worn face. Nicole caught a whiff of stale cigarette smoke, just above the mixed scents of alcohol and perfume. But she didn’t say anything. Why, when it didn’t matter? It was her mother’s disappointment that came first, always. Nicole could feel it even now, sharp and biting, radiating from the woman in front of her. She shouldn’t be surprised, she knew that, but it still stung.

  Would it ever get better?

  Nicole adjusted the strap and tugged the bag higher on her shoulder, her chin held high as she watched her mother. Tired, worn out. A faded shadow of vibrant beauty battered by years of hard living and careless loving.

  Was Nicole looking at a reflection of herself ten years from now? Fifteen? Five?

  Please God, no.

  Guilt immediately swept through her. Deep down, she loved her mother. She really did. She just didn’t want to be her. Was that so wrong? So terrible? To actually want something from life instead of just coasting along? Not even coasting—more like being tossed from minute to minute, day to day, year to year.

  No, Nicole didn’t want that. But she had come so close to doing that same exact thing, to making the same exact mistakes, in an attempt to avoid becoming what she feared most. She’d learned her lesson. At least, she hoped she had.

  Nicole stepped forward, the small room suddenly stifling, unbearable, but her mother didn’t move. She swallowed, ignoring the beads of sweat forming along her hairline, and tried to smile. “Mom, I need to get going. I’m going to be late.”

  Her mother’s lips pressed together more tightly, her thin shoulders hunching around her ears. Nicole stiffened, trying to hide her sudden irritation and wondering if she’d be allowed to leave in peace—or if she was in for another lecture.

  A minute dragged by, long and silent. Her mother released a long sigh. She raised one shaking hand and dragged it through the tangle of graying brown hair, causing the short strands to stick up even more.

  “I don’t know why you even bother going. You’re just wasting your time. It’s not like they pay you.”

  Nicole bit the inside of her cheek, telling herself not to respond, not to rise to the verbal bait. They’d had this conversation before. Too many times.

  No, she didn’t get paid for her work at the hospital. But it was still important to her. Important to the kids. It gave her photography a sense of purpose—it gave her a sense of purpose. But her mother didn’t understand that. She didn’t think she’d ever understand.

  Nicole pulled the strap higher on her shoulder, her hand tightening around it, and tried to hide her irritation before stepping around her mother. “Mom, I need to go.”

  But her mom didn’t move. She just stayed there, leaning against the doorframe, her mouth pulled tight in that disapproving line. She finally sighed, the sound too loud and harsh, and shook her head.

  “Will you be home for dinner?”

  Nicole knew her mom was really asking if she was going to bring dinner home. She swallowed her impatience, tried to keep her voice neutral when she spoke. “No, Mom. I have to work tonight. I won’t be home until late.”

  Her mother’s shoulders slumped and Nicole was immediately filled with guilt. She shouldn’t be, knew her mother well enough to know it was a calculated act. Everything was with her. But the guilt still came, unwelcome and bitter. Nicole pressed her lips together, knowing she shouldn’t do it, she shouldn’t give in.

  She couldn’t afford to give in, in more ways than one.

  But even as she told herself that, she reached into the outer pocket of the backpack and pulled out her tattered wallet. She didn’t have to look to see how much she had: sixteen dollars. She thumbed through the bills, hesitating, then finally pulled out the biggest bill she had, a ten, and held it out.

  “Here, you can have this.”

  Her mother reached out to grab it, her hand closing over the bill and snatching it away, like she was afraid Nicole would change her mind. She didn’t miss the scowl on her mother’s face, though, the look of disappointment and accusation as she tucked the bill into the pocket of the robe.

  “I need the rest, Mom.” And she did. But that didn’t stop her from feeling guilty for not giving it all to her mother

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  You didn’t have to.

  But Nicole didn’t say that out loud. She couldn’t. And it wouldn’t have made a difference even if she had because her mother wasn’t listening anymore. She had what she wanted and now she was moving down the stairs, her steps slow and hesitant, her hand gripping the railing. Nicole watched her, wondering if the money would be used for food—or something else.

  She swallowed back more guilt and disappointment and followed her mother down the stairs, watching as she turned and moved through the door leading to the kitchen. Nicole almost followed, almost gave in to her mother’s silent accusation to give her the rest of the money, but she didn’t. Past history told her the futility of that. So she kept moving, straight out the door, pulling it shut behind her and checking to make sure it was locked before descending the cracked steps leading to the sidewalk.

  She checked her watch then hurried her steps, walking the two blocks to the bus stop, afraid she’d miss it. It was too far to walk all the way to the hospital, and she didn’t have enough for a taxi.

  She just made it, finding an empty seat as the bus pulled away from the curb. Stale air filled the inside, not even coming close to passing for air conditioning. Nicole adjusted the grip on her pack and leaned against the window, not really seeing the dirty streets and block after block of broken down rowhomes they passed.

  Yes, every penny mattered. It had to, if she wanted to get out on her own, make something of herself. She wanted to do more than just survive, and she didn’t want to rely on anyone else for that. Her mother had done that—was still doing that—and it hadn’t turned out well.

  Nicole herself had thought she could do the same thing, and look where that had gotten her. More than a year in hell, and over two more trying to claw her way out. But she was getting there. Slowly, so slowly. She had money saved up now, all cash, in a secret cubby her mother didn’t even know about. She couldn’t use a bank, not yet, not without risking losing everything. But she was getting there. She’d even had enough for that quick trip to New Orleans. A trip to celebrate her recent freedom.

  Her hand patted one of the side pockets of the backpack, her fingers tracing the ridges of the plastic beads tucked inside. She felt herself smile before she realized what she was doing and tried to stop it. A month had gone by, she shouldn’t still be smiling.

  But she couldn’t help it. She’d only been there for two nights, barely long enough to get a quick t
aste of the city. It was so alive. The architecture, the people, the food…no, she hadn’t splurged for any of the finer meals but she’d still been able to get a taste. It was amazing the deals you could find when you were looking. And she’d been able to capture so much with her camera so she had more than just memories.

  But it was her last night that stayed with her. Her night with Mat. She shouldn’t have gone back to his room, she knew that. But she’d taken one look at him, one look at those unusual deep green eyes, and all common sense had flown from her mind. She knew better, but she did it anyway.

  And she didn’t regret one second of it.

  No, that wasn’t quite right. She did have one regret: she hadn’t been able to get a picture of him. She’d thought about it, thought about snapping a quick one before she left the next morning, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to do that, no matter how much she knew the camera would love him. It seemed too…perverted. Cheap. It didn’t matter that it had only been one night, it wasn’t a cheap encounter.

  Not to her.

  She’d seen Bridget at the hospital once since then and had thought about asking her about Mat. But she changed her mind at the last minute. She didn’t know Bridget that well, more like a passing acquaintance. And she didn’t know if Bridget knew she had gone back to the hotel with Mat. She thought the woman probably did but still, just in case…. No, it was better if Nicole kept the memory to herself, to savor and revisit when she needed.

  The bus pulled to a stop, jerking her to the here-and-now. She grabbed her bag and stood, her hands running along the back of each seat as she jostled up the aisle with the handful of other people getting off at this stop. There was still another block left to go but it would be an easy walk, one she would enjoy while savoring the memory of deep green eyes and softly whispered words.

  Chapter Four

  Mat glanced down at his phone, debating if he should reply to the text or just delete it. He could always say he never got it. He didn’t think that excuse would go over well, not since Derek and Kenny both were texting him.

  He put the phone on silent and tossed it into the cup holder then shifted in the seat. If he was smart, he’d leave and head over to The Maypole. Grab a bite to eat, maybe a quick drink, then go home. It wasn’t like he had anything else to do, not until the golf game tomorrow morning with Ian, JP and Derek.

  He was half-tempted to cancel. If Bridget told Derek that he asked about Nicole, asked when she’d be at the hospital, he’d never live it down. Derek would read him the riot act and tell him he was acting like an obsessed fool. And if JP found out, he’d never hear the end of it—especially after he accused JP of being a stalker last year.

  What was he doing now, if not stalking?

  The reality hit him, making him feel like a fool. He was sitting in his car outside the hospital, hoping to catch a glimpse of a woman he didn’t even know. And he had accused JP of being a stalker?

  Mat glanced at his watch then leaned forward and hit the ignition switch. The engine rumbled to life before smoothing out under him. He was leaving, just going straight home. He wasn’t in the mood to socialize, didn’t want to hang out with his teammates and their wives and girlfriends.

  Didn’t want to feel the like fifth wheel again.

  He put the car in reverse and packed away from the curb, his mind only partially focused on the traffic. It was still rush-hour, still hot and humid with the sun beating down on asphalt and concrete and brick. Mat leaned forward and cranked the AC to high, thankful that he wasn’t walking outside in the heat like so many others. The foot traffic was almost as heavy as the vehicle traffic. Not surprising, since this area wasn’t exactly a prime location in downtown Baltimore. At least, not from what he could see, not if the vacant, boarded-up rowhomes meant anything.

  The car in front of him squealed tires, shooting out into the intersection before making a hasty right. Mat slammed on his own brakes in reaction and muttered under his breath. It was supposed to be a no-turn-on-red light but the idiot in front of him apparently didn’t care and had damn near caused an accident.

  And wouldn’t that just top off his night? It would be no less than what he deserved for stalking. He shook his head and muttered to himself again, his attention still focused on the car that had been in such a hurry to make the turn.

  It was stopped off to the side now, not quite at the curb, gray exhaust pouring from the rusted tailpipe as traffic tried to get around him. Mat watched, wondering what the driver was doing, why he was stopped like that and making traffic either stop or go around him. More horns blared, the sound harsh even through the closed windows. Mat could see the silhouette of the driver leaning across the seat, knew without really hearing that he was shouting something to the group of people walking along the sidewalk. The car pulled ahead another few feet, almost getting hit by a truck that was trying to pass.

  Why didn’t the idiot just keep going instead of blocking traffic? Or move up ahead where there were no cars parked along the curb?

  A horn blared behind him and Mat looked up, saw that the light was now green. He absently waved and pulled out, trying to make the right turn. But the other car was still sitting there, still blocking traffic. Mat inched a little closer, his gaze darting to the side mirror to look for a break in traffic so he could go around. He started to move then hit the brakes as another car zoomed around him.

  “Damn. Really dude?” He blew out a deep breath and clenched his jaw. Yeah, this was no more than what he deserved. If he had gone out with Kenny and Derek, he wouldn’t be stuck in this mess.

  If he had just stayed home, he wouldn’t be stuck in this mess.

  But no, he had to go acting like some crazed lovesick fool and try tracking down a woman he didn’t even know. Idiot. Nicole obviously didn’t want to stay in contact—she would have left a phone number or a note or something. It had been a month already since that night in New Orleans. Kenny was right, he just needed to let it go.

  And yeah, he really did need to let it go because he could swear that woman standing near the curb looked exactly like Nicole. Mat squeezed his eyes shut then opened them, glancing at the traffic to his left then back at the woman by the curb. It wasn’t her, he knew that. But he wanted to look again, just in case.

  Just as he thought, it wasn’t Nicole.

  Except it was.

  He slammed on the brakes and leaned forward, squinting to make sure he wasn’t seeing things.

  No, it was definitely Nicole. She looked different, dressed in skin-hugging ripped denim capris and some kind of flowing shirt. Her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail and a frayed backpack was slung over her left shoulder. He couldn’t see her eyes because they were hidden behind large sunglasses. But he could see her frown. Not just a frown—she looked angry. And maybe even a little frightened as she shook her head and stepped away from the curb.

  Mat still had his windows up and couldn’t hear, but he was pretty sure the idiot in the car in front of him—the one that was blocking traffic—was shouting something to her. She shook her head and moved away, walking up the sidewalk. The car followed her, moving slow enough to keep up, slow enough to still make a mess of the traffic.

  Mat clenched his jaw and moved forward, no longer caring about the other cars. His focus was completely on Nicole and the car following her. Was somebody giving her a hard time? Yeah, from the look on her face—a frown changing to worry—somebody was. Who the hell was it?

  Did it matter?

  No, it didn’t.

  Mat glanced to his left then gunned the engine, pulling out into traffic. Horns blared and tires squealed as cars hit their brakes but he didn’t care. He pulled forward, darting in front of the car that was following Nicole, and hit the brakes one more time. He opened the door and put one foot on the ground, partially stepping out of the car.

  “Nicole!”

  She paused, confusion marring what he could see of her face as she looked toward him. She shook her head then kept walk
ing, her steps faster now. The car behind him, the one following her, moved forward again. Mat scowled, wondering if the idiot was going to keep going or if he was going to stop before hitting Mat’s car.

  The car lurched and the driver leaned on the horn. Mat couldn’t really see who was driving, not with the late sun reflecting off the dirty windshield. But he didn’t care. He turned back to Nicole and pulled off his sunglasses, hoping she might more easily recognize him if he did.

  “Nicole!”

  She stopped again, her right hand coming up and grabbing the strap of her bag, like she was trying to secure it before taking off running. And damn, he didn’t mean to scare her.

  Scare her more, that is. Because she was scared. He saw it on her face, in the slight tightening of her features when she glanced over her shoulder at the car behind her then back at him.

  He didn’t know if their eyes actually met or not. It felt like it, but that could just be his imagination. But he knew when she recognized him, saw her body relax just the smallest bit as something like relief crossed her face.

  “It’s Mat.” And what did it say about him that he felt the need to tell her his name? Yeah, he remembered her, remembered that night…but he couldn’t be sure she did.

  A horn blared again, the sound ending on a dying squeal. He glanced back at the car behind him then looked over at Nicole. “Did you need a ride or something?”

  She didn’t even hesitate, just stepped off the curb and made a beeline for his car. Mat hit the button for the power lock at the last minute, just before she pulled on the handle. The car behind them blared the horn one last time then shot out into the traffic, damn near causing another accident. Mat jumped back, wondering if he had come as close to being hit as he thought, or if it was just his imagination.