by Pamela Clare
“Really.” He felt an impulse to kiss her, but squelched it. “Your father might not have appreciated you for who you are, but the rest of the world isn’t as blind as he is.”
“I don’t know. Most men don’t seem—”
Then he did kiss her—a soft brush of his lips over hers. “I’m not most men.”
She gave him a shaky smile. “No, you’re not. Thank God.”
Her brow bent in a frown, and she turned her face away from him again.
“I was telling the truth when I said my father never touched me. He wanted to. I could feel it. He would drink too much and say things.” Her voice dropped an octave, imitating a man’s. “‘You are a hot piece of ass, baby girl. I bet there isn’t a man on base who doesn’t want to fuck you.’ Or, ‘You’ve got a mouth meant for sucking cock. That’s what your husband is going to want, you know.’ Or, ‘One day those perfect tits of yours are going to make some man mighty happy.’”
Her voice quavered on those last words, dissolving into tears.
Nick had known something like this must have happened. He’d thrown it in her face when he’d interrogated her and had known he’d hit a sore spot. It bothered him to know that he’d dug this up. He had opened this wound inside her. “I’m sorry, Holly. No man should talk that way to a woman, let alone a child—his own daughter.”
He found himself wanting to beat the shit out of the bastard.
What kind of sick son of a bitch openly lusted after his own child?
“My mother got angry—at me. She was jealous. I think that’s why she had an affair—to try to prove to him how desirable she was.”
That was every bit as disgusting as what her father had done.
“I’m sorry.” You sound like a broken record, Andris. Say something helpful. “She ought to have protected you, put you first.”
“It doesn’t matter now. They’re not really a part of my life.” She turned her face toward him again, and he could see fresh tears on her cheeks. “You were right about me, though not in the way you think. I love my job in part because I get to bring down men who view women as nothing but mindless sexual toys—men like my father.”
Not knowing what to say, Nick drew her into his arms and held her.
* * *
Holly stood in the kitchen sipping a cup of coffee, a cool morning breeze blowing through the open doors and windows, fresh air and caffeine helping to smooth the rough edges off her emotions. She hadn’t meant to dump her baggage at Nick’s feet last night. She’d never told anyone about her father. Now she felt raw, exposed.
She’d lived so much of her life in boxes, moving from place to place as a child, taking out different personalities for different jobs as an officer, packing away her feelings as a woman and sealing them off until she had time to face them. Now it seemed all those boxes had come open, their contents strewn about for Nick to see. She just didn’t know how to put it all away again.
It doesn’t matter how you feel. All that matters today is what you do.
She put a pot of water on the hotplate to boil for instant oatmeal—they were out of eggs and yogurt—when she heard the crunch of tires on gravel. There were still operational farms nearby, so it wasn’t unusual for diesel trucks and farm vehicles to pass by the house during the day. But Holly couldn’t hear the engine, so this couldn’t be a truck. More than that, she could tell it was moving slowly.
She glanced upstairs, where Nick had just gotten into the shower, then hurried over to the window and peeked outside, careful not to be seen.
Fan-freaking-tastic!
She drew back from the window, her pulse racing.
A blue-and-white SUV with the words “Ríos County Sheriff” painted on its side had pulled to a stop in the road across from the driveway. The officer had probably spotted the tire tracks the minivan had made through the high grass just like Nick had feared.
She set her coffee down and ran upstairs, not bothering to knock before she opened the bathroom door. “We’ve got company—the county sheriff.”
“Fuck! Stick to the story. I’ll be right down.”
But Holly was already in the bedroom. Hoping to keep the officer’s gaze off her face, she slipped into a short denim skirt and pink belly shirt, then grabbed the baseball cap out of Nick’s gear bag and tucked her hair beneath it. Then she went back downstairs, willing her adrenaline to settle. An experienced law enforcement officer would be able to spot signs of fear.
She walked quietly up to the window, hoping he’d gone on his way, only to find that he had pulled into the driveway. He got out of the SUV, spoke into his hand mic, then turned toward the barn—and spotted the minivan.
There was no way out of this now.
The officer—a tall, muscular man with a handsome weathered face and a thick head of hair that must have once been red—walked to the back of the vehicle and spoke into his mic again, almost certainly calling in the number on the temporary plates.
Holly figured it was now or never. She picked up her coffee and stepped out the back door—and into the skin of Elise Bradley from Elizabethtown, Kentucky. “Good morning, officer. Can I help you, sir?”
If he was startled, he hid it well. “Good morning, ma’am. I was just driving by the property and noticed the tire tracks. Does this vehicle belong to you?”
“Yes, it does, sir. Well, it belongs to my fiancé. It’s ours.”
“I see. Excuse me.” Someone spoke to him over his earpiece, probably reporting back to clear the plates. He replied, speaking into his mic once more, then moved toward the porch, stopping at the bottom of the stairs, keeping a reactionary gap between the two of them and staying out of the line of fire from the doorway. “What’s your name?”
“Elise. Elise Bradley.”
“Can I ask what you’re doing here, Ms. Bradley?”
“Josh and I needed a place to stay, and we found this place deserted.” She hadn’t heard a Kentucky drawl for years, but it came back to her quickly. “We didn’t hurt anything. We cleaned the place up real nice.”
Okay, this was kind of fun—in an absolutely-nothing-can-go-wrong sort of way.
“Do you have an ID I can see?” His gaze was on hers, not her boobs or her belly.
“I do, sir. It’s inside. Should I get it?”
“Yes, please.” He was polite, but there was steel in his voice.
He meant business.
“Do you want to come in and have a cup of coffee?” She knew she was taking a risk inviting him in. If he searched the basement, he’d find the computers and a stack of documents labeled “Top Secret,” and then they would be in deep trouble.
“Is your fiancé inside?” The man was smart, clearly trying to assess the danger that Nick, aka Josh, might pose. He didn’t want to walk through the door and get assaulted or shot.
“He’s in the shower, sir.” She peered at his badge. “Deputy Davidson?”
“Sheriff Davidson.”
“Come inside, Sheriff Davidson. Josh will be down in a minute.”
The sheriff followed her inside.
Chapter Twenty-two
“We don’t have much—just some kitchen stuff we got from the secondhand store and our clothes upstairs in the bedroom.” Holly poured the sheriff a cup of coffee. “Josh got the water system fixed up all by himself. He got the generator working, too.”
“I noticed that.”
“Do you take sugar or milk?”
“Oh, no thanks. No coffee for me.”
She set the cup on the counter, grabbed her fugly denim handbag, and retrieved her false ID from her wallet. “Here you go, sir.”
“Thank you.” He scrutinized it, but didn’t hand it back.
“Good morning, sir.” Nick appeared at the bottom of the stairs, wearing a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, his hair wet, his face unshaven.
It was about damned time!
He held out his hand, speaking with a Midwestern accent. “Josh Young. I know we’re not supposed to be here, sir, bu
t I’m between jobs right now, and we needed a place to stay. We haven’t done anything to wreck the place.”
“Have you got an ID?”
Nick reached into his pocket, handed the sheriff his fake driver’s license.
“So you’re from Kentucky, Ms. Bradley?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Nice country there. Is that where you grew up?”
“Elizabethtown.” Holly’s father had been stationed in Kentucky for all of three months—long enough for her to know something about the area.
“I’ve got family on my mother’s side from Kentucky.” There was a smile on his face, and his voice was friendly, but Holly wasn’t fooled. This wasn’t casual conversation. He was testing her. “Where did you go to school—North Hardin High?”
North Hardin High was in Radcliff.
“I went to Elizabethtown High.” She raised invisible pom-poms. “Go Panthers!”
He smiled, looked down at Nick’s ID. “So how did a fellow from Illinois meet up with a young lady from Kentucky?”
Nick explained what they’d rehearsed, telling the sheriff how he’d been between jobs and had met her when she’d been working tables at a diner. “It took me a couple of weeks to get up the nerve to ask her out.”
He smiled at Holly, his gaze warm. She smiled back, tilting her head away, playing shy. They were just a happy couple reminiscing on their romance.
“What brought you two to Colorado?”
“I’m looking for work,” Nick answered. “We thought Colorado sounded nice.”
“How long have you been here?” Sheriff Davidson glanced around.
Holly looked over at Nick, counting on her fingers. “Almost two weeks. I got stung by some yellow jackets that had moved in upstairs, stung real bad, but Josh got rid of them. We’re trying to take good care of the place, seeing that it isn’t really ours. You could say it’s our way of paying rent, I guess.”
“I saw a child’s car seat in the minivan. Is there a child here with you?”
Holly looked at Nick, her pulse skipping. They hadn’t anticipated this and hadn’t rehearsed an answer. “Well . . .”
* * *
Nick saw the spark of panic in Holly’s eyes. He hadn’t thought about the damned car seat when they’d crafted this scenario. There was only one way to handle it.
He walked up to stand behind her, slid his hand over her lower belly. “The baby is right here—right where I planted it. We saw the car seat, and she had to have it.”
He looked down, saw an adorable flush in Holly’s cheeks. Either he’d embarrassed her, or she was pissed. He’d bet it was the latter.
“So you’re pregnant, Ms. Bradley?”
“Yes, sir.” She slid her hand over Nick’s. “I’m almost three months along. We want to get married before the baby comes so it’ll have Josh’s name and all, but Josh needs work first.”
“What kind of work do you do, Mr. Young?”
Nick shrugged. “A little of this and that—I’m a good mechanic—cars, boats, machinery. I can also do construction.”
“If you’ll give me a moment.” Still holding their IDs, he walked outside and down the porch stairs, speaking into his mic.
Holly whirled on Nick, glared at him, but he could see the smile tugging at her lips. “You didn’t tell me Josh was such a macho redneck. ‘The baby is right here—right where I planted it.’ Good grief!”
“You never told me how sexy you are as Daisy Duke. That accent turns me on.” Nick kissed her on the nose, poured himself some coffee, lowered his voice to a whisper. “We need to go the minute he rolls out of here. I’ll pack the computers. You handle the stuff upstairs. We’ll have to steal some plates or a car, now that he’s got the temp plate number for the minivan. It’s only a matter of time before the BOLO on us catches his attention and he puts the pieces together.”
“Okay. Sure. But can our next lair include air conditioning at least? Fewer yellow jackets, spiders, and snakes would be good, too.”
They heard footfalls on the porch stairs. The screen door opened, and the sheriff stepped back inside.
He held out their IDs. “I understand that you’re down on your luck at the moment. The family who lived here before you—good people—got down on their luck, too. They had farmed this land for three generations before a run of bad years forced them out. It’s a real shame what happened to them.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Nick said.
“I’m real sorry,” Holly echoed.
“If the bank wouldn’t let them stay here, a family who’d been living on this land for a century, they certainly won’t want you here. By law, you’re trespassers, and I could have you arrested and removed.”
“Arrested?” Holly edged closer to Nick, looked up at him with worry in her eyes.
He felt an answering tug of protectiveness.
Damn, she was convincing.
He wrapped his arm around her waist.
The sheriff held up his hand. “I’m not going to arrest you. I can understand how a young couple starting out might find themselves in need of a place to stay for a few days. There aren’t any shelters for couples here, especially unmarried couples. There is a shelter in La Junta that would take you in, Ms. Bradley, given your condition.”
“I want to be with Josh.”
“In that case, your best hope is to head to Colorado Springs. There are some churches there that might be able to help you find work and get settled.” He handed them a couple of business cards. “You can give these good folks a call when you get there. They ought to be able to set you up for a night and help you get started.”
“Thank you, sir.” Nick took the cards from him.
“If you need to stay a couple more nights, well, I understand. But be out of here by the next time I drive by on patrol.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Nick shook his hand.
Holly did the same. “Thank you, sir.”
“I appreciate your understanding, sir.” Nick walked the sheriff to the door, his gaze on the road beyond, searching for any sign that the man had recognized them and called for backup.
“Good luck with that baby.” The sheriff’s gaze warmed when it landed on Holly.
Holly smiled back, her hands pressed to her belly. “Thank you.”
Nick watched as the sheriff climbed into his patrol vehicle, backed out of the driveway, and headed down the road. “He’s gone. Let’s go.”
* * *
It was almost midnight when they rolled into the parking lot of the Big Chief Motel off Highway 50 north of Pueblo. The place looked like it hadn’t been maintained in some time, grass and weeds growing up through the asphalt in the parking lot, the white lines that delineated parking spaces all but gone, the neon sign out front blinking “V can y” in hot pink.
Holly looked out the window of the minivan, feeling hopeful at the sight of the AC units in the windows. “Maybe it’s nicer on the inside than it is on the outside.”
Nick parked at a distance from the entrance. He was trying to avoid security cameras, Holly knew, though she seriously doubted this place had any. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
“Make sure to ask if they’ve had problems with bed bugs.”
Nick shot her a look, then closed the door and strode off toward the entrance.
Holly rolled down the window, the buzzing of the hotel’s neon lights like some kind of creepy soundtrack. How surreal this all seemed.
They’d left the farmhouse ten minutes after the sheriff had driven away, packing everything into the back of the minivan. Then they’d taken back roads toward Colorado Springs. Nick had stolen license plates off a car that was sitting in long-term parking at the airport. After that, they’d driven southeast, putting distance between themselves and the city, trying to stick with roads that didn’t have traffic cameras. Now they needed a place to stay, a no-tell motel that would take cash.
Holly watched the hotel entrance, her gaze drawn to the highway every ti
me a pair of headlights appeared. The sheriff had spent enough time with them to form a solid mental image of their faces. The moment he spotted a BOLO about them, he’d call in, and then federal agents would descend on this corner of the state—CIA officers, the marshals service, FBI. It was only a matter of time.
She pulled down the sun visor, turned on the lighted vanity mirror, and did her best to tame her hair, aware as she did it that she was only trying to soothe herself. The encounter with the sheriff had reminded her how much was at stake—and how quickly this could all come crashing down on them. They needed to find something on Dudaev’s computer that would prove Bauer’s guilt so Nick could negotiate his surrender and put Bauer behind bars.
And then . . .
She would be safe to return to her life, while Nick went to Langley to try to set things straight with the Agency. They would say good-bye and move on.
Why should that thought leave her feeling so desolate? They’d never talked about being together, never made any promises. They hadn’t even had The Talk, the one where two people try to DTR—Define the Relationship. Did they even have a relationship? Or was this just about sex like it had been with every other man she’d known?
No. No, it wasn’t just sex. Nick meant more to her than that.
He made her laugh. He made her feel appreciated. He understood her in a way no one else did, not even her friends.
Quit being ridiculous, Bradshaw.
He understood her better than her friends only because he knew about her real job. She was able to be herself with him in a way she couldn’t be with the others. For the first time in a very long time, she didn’t have to pretend. That didn’t make him special. It made him well informed.
What was wrong with her? Why was she letting her emotions get caught up in this? She and Nick weren’t dating. They were trying to bring a corrupt Agency officer to justice—and save their careers and their lives. There was nothing more to it.
She ignored the lump that formed in her throat, looked out the window, tried to get Nick out of her mind, only to find he wouldn’t budge.
I’m not most men.