Woman on the Run (new version)

by Lisa Marie Rice

  The little boy was hopping up and down with excitement.

  “That so?” Bernie smiled down at his son, and hugged him. “Well, it looks like you’re going to be a very busy little boy from now on, what with looking after the new colt and going over your lessons a couple of afternoons with Miss Andersen.”

  Rafael’s head turned sharply and his eyes widened. “I am?”

  “Yes,” Sally smiled. “If that’s okay with you. Of course, you’re going to have to help me groom my dog in exchange.”

  “A dog?” Rafael’s face lit up. “Neato! What breed is he?”

  Sally looked over at Cooper. “Cooper? What breed is Fred?”

  “Mixed.”

  “Mixed. Yes. I guess that about sums it up. Well.” She rubbed her hands together. “I guess I should be…”

  “Dad? What’s for lunch?” Rafael rubbed his tummy. “I’m starving.”

  Bernie fingered his bristly chin and shot Cooper a wry look. “I haven’t been doing much shopping lately, Coop. Who’s on kitchen detail today?”

  “Larry should have been,” Cooper answered, “but he had to run into Rupert for some baling wire.”

  “Well then, who’s gonna do the cookin’?” Rafael asked plaintively.

  As if pulled by an invisible string, three male faces and three pairs of dark eyes turned to Julia with pathetic expressions, looking so much like Fred had last night that she had to bite her cheeks to keep from smiling. “Would the three of you like me to cook something for lunch?”

  The two adults hesitated politely, but Rafael was too small to worry about manners. “Awesome! I’ll bet you cook real good, Miss Andersen.”

  “Well…” Julia replied. “Actually, I’m not a bad cook, if I have something to work with.” Her eyes slid to Cooper. “Just not what was in that bowl, though. And I peeked in your vegetable bin. It’s disgusting.”

  “You peeked in my what?” Cooper asked and Julia sighed.

  “Never mind.” She stood up, feeling unaccountably cheerful at the thought of having lunch with Bernie and Rafael. And, well, Cooper too. The idea of going back to her cold and lonely house was totally unappealing. “I’m sure you have a well-stocked freezer. I can’t imagine anybody living out in the middle of nowhere without a freezer. Where is it?”

  “Don’t have much in it,” Cooper replied.

  “No?” That stopped her. She tried to imagine turning something, anything, she had seen in that refrigerator into food, and failed.

  “No.” Cooper walked over to her and Julia looked up and met his dark brown eyes. There was a faint smile lurking in the depths. “But we do have a locker.”

  Information is power and, ultimately, information is money. The more secret the information, the more powerful it is and the more money it’s worth. The main law of modern economics, courtesy of Stanford.

  So, the professional thought. I don’t have Julia Devaux’s whereabouts. Yet. But I do have the addresses and new identities of two people under the Witness Security Program. That information is useless to Dominic Santana, but surely, there would be someone, somewhere who would be willing to pay good money for the information.

  All of a sudden, the professional froze. Yes! This could be the start of a new business model.

  It was time to get out of the core business. Of that, the professional had no doubt. With a good twenty highly successful hits under the belt, the professional had earned a brilliant reputation, but time was on the side of the police. Sooner or later, despite the most meticulous preparations, a slip-up would come. It was mathematically inevitable. It was definitely time to go.

  With Julia Devaux’s head, that made eight million dollars for early retirement in a warm climate in the luxurious beach house. But eight million dollars didn’t go as far as it used to. Granted, three and a half million were already in a decent mutual fund, invested in low risk bonds. Life was risky enough as it was and money was serious business.

  But relocating and purchasing the beachfront property would put a dent in the savings, which in turn would cut down on the income accruing.

  More money was necessary.

  The going price for an actual physical hit was $300,000 and up but there was a limit to the numbers of hits possible in a year.

  However, the information leading to a hit—the location, say, of a former employee turned state’s witness—well, that would be worth money. Serious money. With a decent computer and a modem, the information could be obtained from anywhere in the world, including a Caribbean island, and sent anywhere in the world, without any danger. And the sky was the limit as far as the number of info-hits was concerned.

  No matter how many firewalls the DOJ set up, the professional could slice right through them.

  The perfect business, the professional thought. Virtual hits, at, say, $100,000 a pop. Forever. With no risk.

  Stanford would be proud.

  “That was delicious,” Rafael said, mopping up his plate with the last biscuit. “Thanks, Miss Andersen.”

  “Well, you guys are sure easy to please,” she smiled. “Broil a few steaks, nuke some potatoes, then just sit back and rake in the compliments.”

  It was a bit more elaborate than that, Cooper thought. Sally had walked around the locker in wonderment, cracking jokes about its size and making an inventory of the contents. Then she’d managed to marinate the steaks, whip up some garlic butter for the baked potatoes and make a side dish of sautéed ham and peas in no time. She’d even made some biscuits from scratch.

  She was a fabulous cook. Everything she prepared was delicious, but above all, she made it easy on everyone. While she moved comfortably around the kitchen, she kept up a lighthearted conversation in a soft, gentle voice.

  Bernie lost that haunted look he’d had lately and Rafael laughed and scampered like the seven year old he was instead of moping around, looking as if he had all the cares of the world resting on his slender shoulders.

  They were eating a delicious lunch in an easy and relaxed atmosphere.

  In the Cooper kitchen.

  With a woman.

  Impossible.

  The Cooper Curse had been lifted for a few hours. Lunches with Melissa had been anything but lighthearted. Cooper thankfully had no idea what mealtimes with Carmelita were like, since he had avoided her as carefully, and for the same reason, as he would have avoided a tarantula.

  While Sally was busy turning his kitchen into a human-friendly place, Cooper was doing his very best, using every ounce of SEAL discipline, to keep his mind out of the gutter.

  He tried very hard not to notice Sally’s breasts and ass and tried even harder not to imagine her under him, slender thighs hugging his hips. Tried not to think of what it would be like entering her—she’d be small and tight, he was sure—and above all, he tried not to think about fucking her as hard as he’d like because he’d probably kill her, the way he was feeling.

  The carapace of ice that had enclosed him for as long as he could remember was thawing, which was good, of course, in the long run. In the short run, it meant clenching his fists to keep from throwing Sally onto the kitchen floor, stripping her and fucking her hard, for hours.

  This was not the kind of thing he should be thinking about when a very beautiful and very kind grade school teacher was going out of her way to help his best friend’s son and was even now turning his kitchen into a warm and relaxed place, a first in over four generations of Coopers.

  So Cooper sat and watched and listened, sketching a smile when the others laughed, eating the delicious food, enjoying Rafael’s smiles, scowling when Bernie flirted.

  All the time thinking of Sally naked under him or—God!—over him. He couldn’t get that picture out of his head, Sally riding him, smiling down at him as he pumped up into her. His cock swelled painfully against his jeans at the thought and he shifted in his chair, grateful that the table hid the hard-on.

  If she was on top, he could watch that beautiful face while he fucked her. Find out how s
he liked it. Hard and fast or slow and easy. It probably didn’t make any difference how she liked it, because right now he couldn’t imagine fucking her any way but frantically, for about a week straight.

  He usually had a lot of self-control during sex, able to use the strokes the woman wanted. He wasn’t good at communicating with words but he had body language down pat. A woman didn’t need to tell him what she wanted, he could read it in the way she moved her hips when he entered her, in the way her hands clutched at him, in the way she breathed.

  Sally Andersen probably liked it slow and gentle and romantic. She just had that kind of face. Everything about her was so delicate. She would want wooing, lots of kisses, plenty of foreplay. She’d probably want him to enter her gently, by degrees. He was big so he’d have to be careful. And once he was inside her, she’d probably want long slow strokes. She’d probably expect him to be a gentleman and not press his cock in fully but keep his strokes shallow.

  Not an option.

  He felt exactly like Grayhawk, his prize black stallion, mating with Leyla, a lovely Arabian filly. Horses coupled violently; it’s how nature designed them. Cooper usually kept the owners from seeing it, because they all had romantic visions about their stallions, attributing to them a nobility and courtliness stallions simply didn’t possess. Grayhawk was 1,300 pounds of pure male, pound for pound one of the strongest animals on the face of the earth. While mating, Greyhawk had bitten Leyla’s neck so hard he’d drawn blood and his sharp hooves had nicked her flanks.

  If Cooper wasn’t careful, that’s exactly how he’d mount Sally Andersen. From behind, using his strength to pound into her, holding her down with his hands and biting her neck.

  The idea horrified him and he tried to direct his thoughts away from the image, tried to ignore the prickling hot feelings that image sparked. Tried to remember that, unlike Grayhawk, he was supposed to be civilized.

  Cooper did his damnedest not to notice that Sally Andersen’s breasts were small and high and round. His cupped hand was probably larger than her breasts. He’d always thought of himself as a breast man, the bigger the better, but he’d just been an asshole. All of a sudden he could see that the old saying—a woman’s breast should fit into a champagne glass—was absolutely true. And here he’d gone for women whose breasts would fit into the ice bucket.

  She was wearing a sweater and if he looked carefully—while trying to hide just how carefully he was looking—he could see the faint outline of her nipple. It was small and delicate and probably tasted like a tiny cherry.

  And her ass—Jesus, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from it when she bent to check the biscuits in the oven. Slender but round. Perfect.

  He had big hands that would fit perfectly over each cheek to hold her still while he was thrusting into her…

  “What do you think, Coop?” Rafael’s childish voice asked.

  I think fucking Sally Andersen is the best idea I’ve ever had.

  Cooper blinked, horrified.

  Had he said that aloud? If so, he’d just have to go outside and shoot himself. He looked around frantically.

  Maybe he hadn’t blurted it out because no one was openmouthed with disgust. They were all looking at him expectantly. What the fuck had they been talking about? It sounded like a yes or no question, so Cooper took a shot at answering. He had a 50 percent chance of getting it right.

  “Yes,” he said.

  Rafael shot his fist in the air, “Yesss!”

  Bernie looked pleased and Sally was smiling. Cooper wondered if he’d just agreed to something irrevocable, like signing away the Double C to some cult.

  It couldn’t have been earth-shattering, though. Everyone continued sitting around the table smiling and eating. The food was delicious and they finished every bite. There wasn’t a crumb left when Sally stood.

  “Leave that,” Cooper said suddenly, when she made to gather up the dishes. “You’ve done more than enough. My men will take care of it.”

  “Okay.” She dusted her hands. “I’m sure glad the two of you have patched things up.”

  Patched things up? Cooper and Bernie exchanged blank looks. “Patched what up?” Cooper asked.

  Sally rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Well, far be it from me to raise painful memories, but the two of you were at each other’s throats a little while ago.”

  “Oh, that,” Cooper said, with a shrug. “Didn’t mean anything.”

  “Just getting rid of a little stress,” Bernie agreed.

  “Men.” Sally shook her head. “When I want to relieve stress I do something relaxing, like taking a walk or reading a good book instead of bashing someone’s head in. Speaking of which—” She turned to Cooper. “I wanted to ask you something.”

  “About bashing people’s heads in?” Cooper was startled. He hadn’t put her down as a violent woman.

  “No. Reading.” She propped her chin on her hand and directed the full force of that turquoise gaze at him. “I need to ask you something.”

  “Anything,” Cooper replied immediately, then saw Bernie grin like a fool and swivel his head back and forth between the two of them. Unfortunately, Bernie was too far away for a kick under the table. “We owe it to you,” he added, looking at Bernie pointedly.

  “Your books,” Sally said.

  “My what?” Cooper asked, surprised.

  “Books,” she sighed. “There isn’t any place in Simpson to buy books and I’ve seen that you have a lot of them. Where do you get your books from?”

  “Rupert,” he said and saw her wince. “Something wrong? Have you been to Rupert?”

  “Well…” Sally sighed. “Yes and no. It was my first weekend here and I thought I’d sort of…explore a bit.” She closed her eyes and shuddered. “And someone mentioned that Rupert was a nice town and that it was thataway, and they just pointed me down this road that went on and on and I started driving, not really knowing if I was going in the right direction or not…” She opened her eyes and glared at Cooper. “Did you know that there are no signposts to Rupert?”

  “Probably not,” Cooper replied calmly. “Anyone born in Simpson can get to Rupert with his eyes closed.”

  “Well, I wasn’t and I can’t.” Sally swallowed. “So, like I said, I drove on and on and there was nobody on the road, and every time there was a fork in the road, I wondered where I was and it was just so…so empty. My car’s old and I kept thinking that if I had a flat tire or if the car broke down I would stay there forever and then the snows would come and I would freeze to death and they wouldn’t find my body until the spring thaw. And by the time I saw a few houses and this big ‘Welcome to Rupert’ sign, it was getting dark and I was drenched in sweat, so I just turned around and drove straight back.” She looked at Cooper with her heart in her eyes. “Is it a nice bookstore?”

  “It’s okay.” Cooper drained his coffee. “Bob’s got a good selection. And he’ll order anything you want he doesn’t have in stock. Takes about a week.” Cooper stood up. “It’s getting late and we’ve taken up enough of your time. I’ll drive you back. Er…by the way, would you like to come with me to Rupert next Saturday? I’ve got some business there.” He held out her jacket.

  “You do?” She perked up.

  “You do?” Bernie asked. “I thought we were going to drive over to—” Then he saw Cooper’s glare and slapped himself on the head. Something Cooper would have liked to have done. Only harder. “Oh, that’s right. You’ve got that—that important business to take care of. In Rupert. Riiiiight. You just go off to Rupert on Saturday and stay as long as you want.” Bernie winked. “All night, if necessary.”

  Cooper took Sally’s elbow and reminded himself when he came back to give Bernie a few pointers in discretion.

  With a cattle prod.

  Something was missing, Julia thought as she looked out of the window so she wouldn’t look at Cooper.

  But she didn’t have to look at him. He exerted this gravitational pull so she was aware of him at all ti
mes. It had been the same in the kitchen. He’d sat quietly in his chair, rarely talking, and yet everyone seemed to revolve around him, as if she and Bernie and Rafael had been minor planets to his sun. Bernie deferred to him, Rafael plainly adored him and she—well, she had trouble keeping her eyes off him.

  And she had felt…different all afternoon. What was it? It was such a hard feeling to pin down. It was something she’d felt before, she was sure, but a long time ago. Before her parent’s death, in fact.

  That was it.

  The last time she had felt this way had been in Paris four years ago, on vacation with her parents. The Devaux family had lived in Paris between her tenth and fifteenth years and they all had very fond memories of their life there. They visited the city as often as they could. They stayed in a charming pension on Rue du Cherche-Midi and visited with old friends. Her mother had had her hair cut at Jean-David’s elegant salon, just like old times. They’d laughed and shopped for her new move to Boston and she had felt lighthearted, carefree and…safe.

  Then her parents had died in a car crash and she hadn’t felt safe since. She was happy enough in Boston, but at odd moments she felt unsettled and lonely—cut adrift after her parents’ deaths.

  And, for the last month, she’d mainly felt terror and an immense solitude. This afternoon, for the first time in a long while, the heavy weight of fear and utter solitude had lifted from her soul. She had spent a happy and carefree afternoon, thinking mainly about how Rafael was looking better, how odd that huge kitchen was and how it somehow seemed to suit Cooper.

  Rafael had laughed and joked all afternoon. Happy as a pig in slop was the way Bernie had described it.

  She’d tried to prepare a meal the three males would like, nothing too fancy, though they’d practically been salivating by the time she’d set the food on the table. Anything short of sawdust would have done.

  She’d enjoyed bantering with Rafael and joking with Bernie, who’d shed his earlier truculence. Even Cooper’s silence had been an…interesting kind of silence. She’d felt a lot of things this afternoon—relief that Rafael was going to be all right, amusement at the men’s pathetic gratitude for a little cooking, excitement at the thought of making it to a bookstore, this crazy attraction to Cooper. But she hadn’t felt loneliness and above all she hadn’t felt fear—her constant companion this past month.