Getaway Girl

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Getaway Girl Page 17

by Michele Hauf


  “I’m going to dump this,” he said.

  “No!”

  “Give me some control, will you? Trust me, Jamie.”

  I didn’t take a moment to think, because I did trust him, damn me. I’d held this man in my arms and felt his happiness. And now I knew that his moral core struggled as much as my own.

  “Fine. But your aim had better be more accurate than your garbage can toss.”

  I lowered his window completely and slowed to eighty kilometers. The man had a plan, and it worked for me.

  Utilizing my tail draft to coast up close, the Mercedes quickly gained. A bullet pierced the back window. It hit dead center and traveled through the body of the car, landing the computer screen in the dashboard. Merde, the GPS was out. But worse, that jerk had just marked up my new car!

  “You ready? Hold onto the seat belt,” I directed Sacha.

  Swerving to the right shoulder, I saw the gunman poke his hand out the left window. Sacha’s shoulders and head plunged out the window.

  “Sorry!” I offered. Groping for some part of him to hang on to, my fingers slid over his suit coat, missing pockets. “Hurry, if they get any closer—”

  Sacha flopped back inside—sans explosives—and shouted, “Go!”

  Now that was a command I would listen to. Gunning the ignition to clear the blast radius, I wasn’t about to fall back to see what happened. I didn’t have to look. The rearview mirror ignited with a brilliant amber flash.

  “How did you—That went off merely by hitting the—” There were no answers I wanted to hear, at least not reasonable answers.

  Sacha didn’t look back. He wiped a hand across his forehead and rebuckled his seat belt. “Do you believe me now?”

  “Yeah.” I blew out a breath. “You’ve never lied to me, have you, Vital?”

  “How could I lie to a gorgeous lay like you?”

  Despite myself, I smirked. The man was a cad. But he was an honest one. Which meant everything he’d ever spoken to me was truth. Really. And that excited me.

  I had just switched sides. Again. I didn’t know what the hell to label the team I was currently driving for, but it felt right, so I’d cruise with it.

  “Where to?” I asked.

  “I thought you called the shots?”

  “I’m fresh out of ammo. We need a place to pull over and make a plan. Maybe Fitch can work some mojo and track the Faction through the—”

  “Through whatever it is Eight gave you to keep in contact with them?”

  Nope, not a stupid man. “There’s a cell phone in my duffel.”

  “Of course,” Sacha said. “Didn’t think they’d let you loose without a connection. Take the next right.”

  And I did, because I’d assumed my role. Driver. I might not always know the why, but if I knew the where and when, I could get you there safe and reasonably sound.

  “That no-talking rule?” I said.

  “Yes?”

  “I’ve canned it.”

  “Good. Got any rules about sleeping with the enemy?”

  “Not sure. Convince me you’re the enemy, and then I’ll worry about the hazards later.”

  Forty-five minutes later, the sun dashed a jagged crimson line on the horizon as it sunk beyond a hilly rise of field in back of the forested area Sacha had directed me to. I wasn’t familiar with any roads beyond the suburbs, unless they were main roadways that tracked between major cities.

  This was wild country to me. I half expected to see a wolf wander out from the brushy ditches.

  It didn’t even occur to me to be nervous a bad guy was taking me to his home to do…bad things to me, until I parked the Bimmer in his garage and turned off the headlights. For a moment, everything was dark. The engine sighed out. The new-car smell had been perfumed with human adrenaline and the faintest tang of male cologne.

  As if grabbed from behind, I jumped at the click of metal—the dome light blinked on when Sacha opened his door.

  “Home sweet home.”

  Cripes, why was I so jumpy now? Not the bad guy. In fact, dare I admit this, he was kind of sweet, in a goofy, OCD badly-in-need-of-anger-management sort of way.

  “How many homes do you have?” I wondered.

  I remained glued to the comfy leather seat, not too eager to enter the house where it would be just the two of us. I knew now why my nerves were twitching. The engine was cooling. Miles of roadway were not streaming beneath my body.

  I was facing life outside the car. And everything was always a little more challenging when outside my haven.

  Sacha stood beside the passenger door. “Two or three homes, including an apartment in Brooklyn. Coming inside, or do you love her so much you’re prepared to snuggle up right out here?”

  “She is gorgeous.” I palmed the leather shift. The damaged GPS looked like a scar on a model’s face. I was just glad it hadn’t penetrated farther into the engine. We could have been goners long ago. “Just one question.”

  “Shoot.” He leaned down and impossibly green eyes waited for my reply with a whimsical glitter that challenged my desperate need to keep it platonic. And so not serious.

  “This is what you wanted, right,” I asked, “to get me for yourself?”

  He waggled a lascivious brow. The cad had come out to play.

  “For devious means, Sacha, not for sex.”

  “You’d rather I torture you, then make love to you?”

  “Is that what you have planned?” My nerves started dancing the idiot disco, a far cry from the ballroom blitz.

  “Jamie, if you thought I had intention to harm you, why did you drive me here?”

  I sighed. Because I did trust the man, even if it had taken an all clear from Dove, a spectacular explosion and almost dying to learn that.

  So I’m stubborn.

  And really, had I any choice? I could have shoved Sacha out onto the ground and left him to the Faction, then driven off into the sunset.

  Yeah, I’d had a choice. And I’d made it.

  Sacha sat on the edge of the passenger seat and leaned an arm across the headrest. A move that stretched his suit coat over the hard body beneath. Nice. “Here’s my question.”

  “Fire.”

  “After escaping from me the first time, didn’t you want to turn tail and run as far from the evil kidnapper as possible?”

  “Hell, yeah.”

  “Then why didn’t you? Who convinced you it would be a smart idea to become my hired driver?”

  Kevin. The man was a jerk, eight times over.

  “Exactly,” he said, and then stood again. “I think the Faction has put us together to kill two birds with one stone. We going to let that happen?”

  “Nope.” The garage lights blinked on and I got out of the car. “Our two birds are worth a heck of a lot more than their one stone.”

  The BMW was dusty and battered, having taken a bullet for the cause, but she was mine. I never give back a gift, no matter what the implications. Pressing my fingers to my mouth to kiss them, I then delivered the morsel to her hood.

  “What do you know about the Faction?” I asked as I followed Sacha inside the house and into a starkly white-and-chrome kitchen that was lit by a few fluorescent strips concealed beneath the glass-faced steel cupboards. “Good, bad or ugly?”

  “All of the above.” He opened the fridge and took out two glass bottles of water. Snapping off the caps, he then handed one to me. “There are no good guys, Jamie, just bad guys wearing masks and chasing the other bad guys.”

  “But the Faction—I had thought Max approved…They…rescue people.” Why I was still arguing their case, I didn’t know.

  “They do. And ninety percent of the time, they turn the person over to the authorities or the family, if they were hired that way. Doesn’t mean they don’t have their own agenda. The Faction works for whoever has the big bucks. But it’s not always the good guy with the big bucks, if you know what I mean. And if someone pisses them off…then they take matters into their ow
n hands. Have a seat.”

  I settled onto a plush white sofa in the dining cove. Everything was white, but a nice contrast to Kevin’s evil yellow abode. No wonder Sacha was a neat freak; look at his environment. The light from the kitchen cast a pale haze over the dining area, but I was glad for the subtleness. I wanted to sleep.

  “The Faction is basically good,” Sacha conceded. “But there’s always a bad apple in every organization. It’s a simple fact.”

  I bent over and unlaced my Doc Martens. “Did Max piss them off?”

  Leaning against the kitchen counter, Sacha slugged back his entire bottle of water, wiped a hand across his mouth, and then said, “He had information on the Faction that could destroy their covert operations. Information he had called to hand off to me that morning of his death. He’d been getting nervous. He knew the Faction was tailing him, and had asked for my help.”

  My boots toppled onto the pale hardwood floor, and I tucked my feet up under my legs and snuggled deep into the lush cushions. No, don’t even think that word, lush. Might get too comfy, and even…relax.

  “Why you?” I snagged the water bottle between my fingers, dangling it over the floor. “I’ve never heard of you before—well, I have—but not from Max. At least not as a friend.”

  “I wouldn’t go so far as to call us friends. We were business associates. If we had been more than that, perhaps I’d have known you were Max’s girl the night we met.”

  “Would that have stopped you from seducing me?”

  “Memory fails you, gorgeous. It was you who did the seducing.”

  “Fifty-fifty,” I offered. Tilting my head back was a mistake, because the cushions received my heavy skull like a blissful dream. Man, I was tired.

  “You wore a sexy little short skirt that night. It was all sparkly. Green, I remember. With dangling beady fringe things that stopped high on your thighs. Woman, your legs are killer.”

  “We’re getting off subject here.”

  “I know. But you gotta admit, you were dressed to seduce that night.”

  “It was my birthday, I was celebrating and feeling…”

  “Like a million euros?”

  I could appreciate his appreciation, but back to the subject. “Why did Max call you?”

  “Because we had spoken the night before. Made a connection, is my guess. He understood my quest to find my sister. Maybe he thought he could trust me. Or maybe he simply wanted to spread the danger in my direction, put the Faction on my tail. I just don’t know.”

  “Yet you don’t know what it was Max knew that would make the Faction want to kill him?”

  “Unfortunately not. We only talked about a minute before, well…you know. But obviously the Faction has placed me as a confidant of Max, and now they won’t stop until they have me in hand. I suspect they won’t even bother to interrogate me. A bullet to the skull should prove sufficient. They’ve done it once…”

  “And you’re not afraid?”

  “I’m not screaming for my mommy, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “So you never get afraid?”

  “What is fear?”

  I felt the couch sink and knew he’d sat next to my folded legs, but I’d closed my eyes, and prying them open felt a tremendous task.

  “Fear is knowing your life is in danger,” I answered, “and reacting.”

  “By running like a rabbit? Max give you that name?”

  I made a confirming noise.

  “Tired?”

  “A little.” Actually, a lot. Why else would I feel so serene just lying here in a strange man’s house? “What’s the plan? We can’t stay here; they will find us. Besides, if they do have the princess…”

  “I’ve got perimeter scanners that’ll alert me to approaching vehicles. I don’t know how to find the princess, unless you can put in a call to Fitch.”

  “I will.”

  “Good. We’re safe for the night, Jamie. I’ve a guest room…”

  “Actually, I’d like to snuggle up right here. This couch is…” yawn “…comfy.”

  “Suit yourself. I’ll get you a blanket.”

  As he left the room, I dragged my loose limbs upright and skipped over to my duffel bag and took out the cell. Fitch was already working on the global satellite imaging, but the trail ended with the burning Mercedes. She would work through the night; I was confident of that.

  I wasn’t aware of Sacha covering me up. Immediately after hanging up with Fitch, I drifted into a dream of the night when I’d made love with a sexy stranger.

  After showering and wrapping a towel about his hips, Sacha padded out to the dining area to check on Jamie. Toes tucked under a throw pillow and hands pressed together and tucked under her cheek, she looked like a little girl curled up on his big overstuffed sofa. A little girl who needed someone to take care of her.

  Had she been on her own only since Max’s death? Likely. From the little he knew of the Network, they liked to claim their female protégés young and naive. And Ava was only twenty-three.

  It was odd that, even though Montenelli had died, someone from the Network wasn’t working with Jamie. Or had she escaped their grasp with Max’s death?

  Sacha doubted it.

  And look at the trouble she had found in the little time she’d been on her own.

  His guess was she’d scoff at the idea of any man taking care of her. And he knew she was far stronger than she appeared. Behind the wheel, she kicked ass. Physically, he wagered she might hold her own in a fistfight, but not against big hulking thugs such as the ones he hired (but they were basically just for looks). Jamie’s skills kept her behind the wheel, but she couldn’t drive away from the Faction forever.

  Nor could he.

  The cell phone she must have been holding was precariously close to falling off the sofa. He snatched it and folded it shut. Then unfolded it. Walking into the kitchen, he checked the call log. Fitch. About twenty minutes ago. To be expected. And before that, no calls made for more than a week. So this must be her phone. Which meant…

  Sacha noticed the duffel bag abandoned by the door that opened to the garage. He had no compunctions about bending over it and spreading it open. He pushed aside the iPod that lay atop a scatter of makeup accoutrements and empty gum wrappers. Makeup? He held up a lipstick vial. The woman didn’t wear makeup; she was a natural beauty.

  Curious, he twisted up the lipstick. Sports-car red.

  He twisted the tube until it notched—and started to vibrate. “What the hell?”

  The device was a…

  “Well, I’ll be.” Smiling widely, he twisted it back down and returned it to the bag. So the woman carried all the necessities. His kind of gal—independent, fiery and sexier than all out.

  There were two cell phones—the one he’d given her…and then this one. Had Eight given this to her? As a means to track her once she had him in hand?

  He squeezed the back of the phone and the battery panel fell onto his palm. Ripping out the batteries, he then tore the thing apart, looking for a tracer, anything that did not belong. Not that he knew the innards of a cell phone, but…it looked legit. Replacing the parts and batteries, he then quietly set it on the floor by the canvas bag. A peek around the corner verified Jamie hadn’t moved.

  Ready to leave it, Sacha noticed a few papers wedged between the iPod and an unopened pack of Black Jack gum. A passport, some euro bills and a photo he recognized—the same photo he’d given Max that night at DV8 before his murder.

  “Ava,” he whispered, stroking a finger along the shape of the woman’s dark hair.

  He swallowed hard. Why did Jamie have this picture?

  “I will find you. But I hope it’s not working for the Network.”

  His sister an assassin? She’d been closer to Father than he had been, yet Sacha had always had hopes she’d go to college and leave behind the family curse. Dancing had been a passion of hers. When they’d been kids in Brooklyn, she’d dreamed of moving to Spain and learning t
o dance the flamenco. They had never been close, but that didn’t mean Sacha wouldn’t die for Ava. Or die trying to save her from the twisted sense of reality their dad had instilled in her naive juvenile heart. The two of them had seen so many things, wrong things, criminal things.

  He wished Jamie had information about the Network. Maybe she did, and she wasn’t telling him everything? Should he rough her up? Force it from her?

  Not his style. Besides, to even think of harming a single hair on her gorgeous head…

  You slapped her in your office.

  Asshole. He’d been angry, and more than a little confused at the time.

  Pressing the photo between his palms, Sacha bowed his head and closed his eyes. Breathing out, he vowed he would harm no woman. Especially not one who intrigued him as much as Jamie. And he didn’t need a smooth stone to tap three times to refocus any angry compulsions. But he wouldn’t stop delving, prodding her until she was completely honest with him. He had given Jamie nothing but truths.

  Time to strip the lies from her facade and get to the one truth that could save Ava.

  Chapter 19

  I awoke, and exploded into a hacking fit of coughs. Remembering the water Sacha had given me earlier, I groped for the plastic bottle, but the haze of night was so thick and…smoky.

  And then I smelled the smoke and saw the flame. The entire kitchen was on fire, and that was just the bits I could see. I heard the fire but couldn’t see it.

  Jumping to my feet, I rushed into the kitchen. Beyond the doorway a wall of flame whipped madly.

  “What the hell?” I jumped as a ceiling beam creaked and snapped right before me. Smoke choked me.

  Scanning the room, I faltered as I rounded the kitchen counter and went with the motion, landing on my hands and knees. Down in a crawl position, it was less smoky and I could breathe.

  The house was on fire. I don’t know how, but I wasn’t about to start wondering. I had to get out.

  Crawling on all fours, I scuffed the heel of my palm on the strap of my duffel bag. Slinging it over my shoulder, I then crouched and jogged through the house and toward the hallway where there was minimal smoke and no flame.

 

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