Hide From Evil

by Jami Alden

  He had just reached his car when he felt the air stir behind him. A hand closed over his throat from behind and before Stew could firm his grip on the gun he felt the icy sting of the blade as it slid in below his sternum.

  Chapter 9

  Despite her exhaustion, Krista spent a restless night in between the cheap scratchy sheets of the hotel room, too keyed up to sleep.

  She couldn’t shut off her brain, which raced with questions and scenarios of who was after them and why. Of course it had something to do with the little information she’d uncovered about Nate Brewster, along with whatever else Jimmy Caparulo was planning to tell her before he died. That much was obvious.

  It was clear she and Stew had homed in on something, but what? She barely knew anything—yet. What the hell was she getting so close to that it was worth killing not only her but also Sean? Who, she acknowledged with no small amount of guilt, was looking more and more like an innocent bystander in all of this, and not the source of key information that was going to lead her anywhere.

  And the even scarier question was, who was behind this? Karev? Maybe. But as powerful as he was in the local mafia, Krista wasn’t sure he had the capability to track every move and infiltrate law enforcement, backing them into a corner, ensuring they had nowhere to turn.

  She curled herself around the knot in her stomach, praying Sean’s faith in his former army buddy wasn’t misplaced.

  And her sleep wasn’t helped by the fact that she was hyperaware of Sean, only a few feet away from her in the dark, though it might as well have been miles. After he’d talked to his friend, he’d told her that they better get some sleep and turned off the lamp over his bed without another word. Turning his back to her, he pulled the sheet and blanket up over his head, and within minutes she heard his breathing reverberating through the room.

  His even breaths were like nails on a chalkboard as Krista lay there, vibrating with unfulfilled desire, itchy and restless. Every exhale, every shift of his big body against the sheets echoed in the room like a gunshot, snapping her awake each time she started to fall asleep.

  She finally fell into a fitful half sleep full of dreams that morphed the hotel room into a prison cell where a guard came in to retrieve her only to pull out a gun. Jimmy Caparulo was there, too, saying that he had something to tell her, but before she could get to him, the prison guard was shooting at them both.

  Then Sean was there, yelling at her, pulling her out of the way, telling her it was going to be okay.

  She jerked awake to find him leaning over her, roughly shaking her shoulder as he shouted at her to wake up. Her hands came up to clutch at his arms and only the realization that this wasn’t part of the dream kept her from hurling herself into his arms and burying her head against the warm wall of his chest until her heartbeat slowed down.

  He jerked away and told her they were leaving in ten minutes. “It’s already almost noon and we need to get moving.”

  She staggered to the bathroom, splashed cold water on her face, and slipped on her glasses. Even the thought of subjecting her gravelly eyes to contact lenses made her wince. Unfortunately, the heavy frames did nothing to hide the giant circles or the puffy lids.

  Three and a half hours later, she wasn’t looking any better, she thought as she stared at her pale, strained face in the restroom of the gas station Ibarra had chosen as the meeting point.

  She washed her hands, wincing at the icy bite of the water, telling herself it didn’t matter how crappy she looked. It wasn’t like she was trying to impress Sean. But that didn’t stop her from pinching her cheeks and biting her lips to get a little more color in them.

  She slid back into the passenger’s seat and closed the door behind her. Sean was tuning the radio dial, listening intently through the static. Krista rubbed her hands in front of the feeble stream of warm air blowing from the vents of the stolen SUV.

  “Are you sure he’s coming?” Krista asked. They’d already been waiting for forty-five minutes. “I thought you agreed on the meeting time.”

  Sean held up his hand for silence and turned up the volume on the radio. The newscaster’s voice popped in and out, so Krista could understand only about every other word. “Flynn…seen…west.…Tacoma.…dangerous…condition…Slater…”

  A faint smile pulled at Sean’s lips as he turned off the radio. “Tommy will be here. He already came through for us.”

  As though on cue, a beat-up Jeep Wrangler pulled into a space two slots down from them. The driver’s side door opened and a man climbed out. Sean opened and shut his door as he went out to meet him.

  Krista frowned. The way Sean had talked about his friend he’d made him sound like a computer nerd, a guy who spent most of his time behind a monitor or in his lab as he developed cutting-edge communication and surveillance devices.

  Based on her view from the passenger’s seat window, Tomas Ibarra didn’t look like any computer geek she’d ever seen. Dressed in heavy work boots, worn denim, and a fleece pullover, he was a couple inches shorter than Sean but his shoulders were just as wide. Dark glasses hid his eyes and a dark-brown goatee covered a strong chin.

  He and Sean greeted each other with a manly half hug and slaps on the back. With their tall, rangy builds, chiseled features, and a don’t-mess-with-me attitude surrounding them like an aura, it wasn’t hard to imagine them dressed in fatigues and full combat gear ready to take any enemy, no matter how fierce.

  She felt the tension coiling in her spine ease a degree as she realized that with these two on her side, maybe she had a chance of getting out of this mess alive.

  Though whether Sean was on her side was still debatable if the narrow look he shot at her was any indication. He’d been hostile and close-mouthed ever since their…incident.

  Krista didn’t know what else to call it.

  But Sean had been avoiding her, as much as it was possible to avoid someone sharing the same tiny hotel room and within the confines of a car, anyway. Other than their argument about whom to call and a few words after she’d woken up late this morning, he’d all but ignored her, as though he was afraid he’d get contaminated just by talking to her.

  Now as she climbed out of the SUV to meet Ibarra and find out for herself how he thought he could help them, she felt Sean’s hard stare boring into her. Ibarra slipped off his sunglasses and hooked them over the neck of his fleece, and Krista fought the urge to squirm under the combined intensity of their gazes.

  But while Sean kept his look carefully blank, Ibarra’s curious stare had a hint of warmth as he studied her. Then, as though he approved of something, he gave a quick nod and took a step forward.

  “Tomas Ibarra,” he said quietly as his big hand all but swallowed hers up.

  “Krista Slater,” she replied. She met his stare with her own patented cool gaze, the one she used to make sure no one—not the lowlifes on trial, their smarmy attorneys, not even her colleagues in the PA office who secretly rejoiced in her failures—got it in their head to mess with her. “I hope you can help us. Sean seems to think you can.”

  Instead of taking offense, Ibarra smiled at her frosty tone. White teeth gleamed against his dark beard and tanned skin, and even as cold, exhausted, and scared out of her mind as Krista was, she’d have to be blind—no, dead—not to notice how attractive he was.

  Yet it was the surly man who glared at her and snapped “Mind if we get going?” who made her stomach flip every time she looked at him.

  Krista climbed up into the Wrangler, shivering as she braced herself for a cold ride to wherever they were going. Though the afternoon sun beat down on the mountain peaks, at this elevation, a sharp chill hung in the air. Despite the temperature, Ibarra had removed the top of his Jeep, leaving him and his passengers exposed to the elements.

  “What about the SUV?” Krista asked, practically yelling over the sound of the engine and the wind whipping around them as he pulled out of the gas station. “Shouldn’t we do something before the police find it?”<
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  “You swapped out the plates, didn’t you?” Ibarra called to Sean, who nodded.

  “Even if anyone notices it here, which isn’t likely, by the time the cops bother to check the plates against the serial numbers you two will be long gone.”

  The whipping wind and roar of the engine precluded any conversation on a drive that was mercifully short. Nevertheless, by the time they pulled off the highway and onto a single-lane dirt road, Krista was shivering so hard her muscles were starting to ache.

  Ibarra pulled the Jeep up to a heavy wooden gate and punched a code into the keypad. The Jeep barely cleared the gate before it slammed shut behind them. Ibarra must have noticed her jump. “I have it programmed to shut fast so no one can sneak in behind. My mom hates it,” he said and she could see the flash of his grin in the rearview mirror. “The last time she came up here the gate almost took off the back end of her truck.”

  “Your parents are close?” she asked.

  “They’re about five miles farther up the road. They still live on the ranch my great-grandfather started when he moved over here.”

  Within a few yards the wooded drive opened up to reveal a sleek, modern-style house featuring a lot of heavy wood beams, natural stone, and glass. Though it wasn’t overly large, it was architecturally stunning, designed to blend in with the mountain scenery even as it was built to take advantage of the natural beauty of the surroundings.

  Sean had mentioned something about Ibarra being off the grid, and she noted the solar panels that lined the south-facing slope of the roof. “So you’re able to power the whole house on solar?” she asked through chattering teeth.

  Ibarra nodded as he led them up the front stairs and typed a code into another keypad to unlock the front door. “Mostly. Part of the reason I always had my eye on this property is the geothermal activity in this area. What the solar panels don’t collect, the hot springs and hydroelectric power make up for.”

  A hot spring sounded heavenly right now, Krista thought as her body gave another violent shudder.

  “Can we skip the alternative-energy lesson for the time being and get a cup of coffee into her before she turns into a Popsicle?” Sean snapped as he guided Krista through the door.

  “You should be grateful for the fact that all that alternative energy means this place is virtually untraceable,” Ibarra said with the bare hint of an edge to his voice.

  Nevertheless, within minutes Krista was huddled in front of a woodstove, soaking in the heat it was throwing off. She heard heavy footsteps and looked up to see Sean next to her with a cup of coffee. “Thanks,” she said, sighing in pleasure as she wrapped her hands around the hot mug.

  Sean grunted something indistinguishable and stomped back into the kitchen. She focused on Ibarra, who was giving her a look that made her feel like a bug under a microscope. Something about his attitude bothered her, an unflappable confidence that danced a little too close to arrogance for her taste. She lifted her chin, hoping a dose of attitude might throw him off his game. “It’s great you can use natural resources to fuel the house, but unless you’re a full-on survivalist, which you’re clearly not, there’s no such thing as untraceable. What about property records, taxes, stuff like that? And even without electricity, you’re running your own business here. There’s no way to do that without phones, Internet, all the other utilities.”

  Ibarra handed Sean a cup of coffee and poured one for himself. If he was annoyed by her questions, he didn’t show it. “The property is registered under an anonymous LLC and as for the other stuff…let’s just say it’s my business to find ways to work around traditional communication systems.” He paused and took a sip of his coffee. “Look, anyone who lives around here knows who I am and where I live, but on the unlikely chance someone tries to connect me to Sean, they’re going to have a hell of a lot harder time finding me than most people.”

  “And we appreciate the fact that you’re helping us,” Sean said, challenging her with his stare.

  “I’m sorry if I sound ungrateful,” Krista said, feeling a hot sting of shame. “I do appreciate that you’re willing to help us, especially considering that I got us all into this mess and have no idea where this ends.”

  She hated the pathetic tone in her voice. She had learned early not to show weakness to anyone. But she’d never been through anything like the last twenty-four hours.

  How the hell had she ended up here, on the run from the police and God knew who else, her life in the hands of two men she barely knew? One of whom had every reason to hate her.

  What happened back in that hotel room notwithstanding.

  She squeezed her eyes shut against the sting of tears.

  Strong. She had to be strong. Spine straight, chin up, show no weakness or they’ll go in for the kill.

  Quiet footsteps approached and a heavy hand squeezed her shoulder. She knew it was Sean even before she opened her eyes, recognized the woodsy scent of him even as her body heated at his touch. She looked up, her stomach flipping over as her eyes met his.

  The angry unease that had clouded his gaze all day had disappeared. In one look she saw that he knew exactly what she was feeling. As she met his steady stare, she felt a sense of calm flow through her, as though he was transferring some of his strength and composure to her body.

  Krista gave Sean a tiny smile of thanks and he moved away to take a seat in a leather armchair across from the woodstove.

  Ibarra flipped on the flat-panel TV mounted on the opposite wall. He gave a low whistle. “Damn, they just can’t get enough of you two. You’re still the lead story on the local news,” Ibarra said.

  Krista grimaced as yet another reporter regurgitated the cop killer kidnapping angle, and then she felt her stomach flip as the newscaster announced, “Members of Flynn’s family refused to comment, but earlier today, Kimberly Stevens from our Seattle affiliate was able to speak to Slater’s father, renowned defense attorney John Slater, as well as her colleague, Seattle prosecuting attorney Mark Benson.”

  Krista’s chest squeezed as her father and Mark appeared together on screen. Mark looked exhausted, his face deeply lined, his eyes red-rimmed as though he hadn’t slept in days. “We are of course incredibly worried about Krista. All we want is to get her home, safe and unharmed.” Guilt assaulted her at the thought of what Mark must be going through. He would be out of his mind with worry. To Krista, the idea of Sean hurting her was preposterous. But as far as Mark knew, she’d been kidnapped by a former convict with a serious grudge.

  She watched as Mark stepped aside so her father could speak. His appearance shocked her. In her entire lifetime, she’d never seen him less than perfectly dressed and put together. But today his suit was rumpled as though he’d slept in it, and his eyes, like Mark’s, were red-rimmed. And, she realized as she took a closer look, damp? With tears?

  “Krista,” he said, his voice choking on her name. “If you can see this, know that we love you so much. And we’re praying for you to get home safe. And Flynn, if you’re watching, I know she seems tough, but she’s still my little girl.” He broke off and held his hand to his mouth as though he couldn’t go on.

  There was a queer twisting in her stomach. A cynical part of her wanted to dismiss it as grandstanding for the cameras—Lord knew her father could put on a show for the courtroom—but the grayish cast to his skin and the deep lines carved in his face told her this wasn’t purely for show. And to be fair, they didn’t see eye to eye on a lot of things, but she knew deep down her father loved her. As much as he was capable of loving anyone, anyway.

  “I need to get in touch with them,” she said to Ibarra. “Just to let them know I’m okay.” She looked to Sean, who was staring at the TV screen, which now displayed his mug shot, his face hard and unreadable. “And to tell them they’re wrong about Sean.”

  Sean’s gaze flicked first to her and then to Ibarra. “Do you have a way to call out that won’t be traced?”

  “Why don’t we go in my office,” I
barra said, rising from his chair and motioning them to follow him down a short hallway. The room was all windows on one side, showcasing the view of the mountains and capitalizing on the natural light. A sleek desk dominated the center of the room and three high-definition flat-panel screens were mounted on one wall. One was a news feed, the other a satellite map of the region, and the third was dark.

  Several phones were lined up on the desk like an arsenal. Ibarra picked one up, switched it on, and handed it to Sean.

  “It’s a COMSAT Planet-1,” Ibarra explained. “Totally secure, totally untraceable, so well encrypted even the CIA can’t hack into it,” Ibarra said.

  Krista didn’t know him that well, but she thought she heard a hint of boastfulness in his tone. Boys and their toys.

  Krista nodded politely, trying not to glaze over as Ibarra went through a detailed description of all the tweaks he’d done on the sat phone to boost the connectivity.

  Sean’s voice jerked her out of her daze. “If your goal is to get into her pants, I don’t think the high-tech nerd talk is going to do it.”

  Krista shot him a glare and felt her face heat with embarrassment. With her pale skin, dark under-eye circles, and librarian glasses she didn’t kid herself she was getting second looks from anyone.

  “Can’t blame a guy for trying,” Ibarra replied.

  Flustered, Krista quickly dialed her father at home, relieved when no one answered. “Dad, it’s me, Krista. I just want you to know I’m okay, and I’m not in any danger from Sean.” Not physical anyway, but that was another can of worms she didn’t want to open right now.

  Mark answered his cell on the second ring.

  “It’s Krista,” she said. Even his cautious hello was enough to offer a small degree of comfort as her life spun out of control.

  “My God! Where are you? Are you safe?”

  “I’m okay. I’m with Sean. We’re—” She stopped short as Sean jerked the phone out of her hand and covered the mouthpiece.