Unforgivable

by Laura Griffin

  He heard steps on the carpet behind him. He smelled perfume. It was soft and musky and didn’t belong to Mia Voss any more than that voice did.

  “Take that gun out of your pants, and toss it onto the bed. Now.”

  Jonah sighed. “Lady, I’m a cop.”

  “Now.”

  Slowly, he pulled the Glock from the waistband of his sweatpants and held it up by the trigger guard. “Jonah Macon, San Marcos PD. I’m a friend of Mia’s.”

  “Are you deaf, too?”

  Jonah took a deep breath and tossed the pistol onto the bed, turning as he did to get a look at her.

  She was tall and blond and wore a short black dress and high black boots that left way too much to his imagination. And she held a snub-nosed revolver aimed straight at his dick.

  Her wide blue eyes didn’t leave his face as she stepped to the bed and collected his pistol with her left hand. Confusion flittered across her face as she realized she didn’t have a place to put it. She glanced around, then backed up a few steps on those four-inch heels and set the gun on an armchair.

  “Keep your hands where I can see them.”

  He noticed the tremor in her fingers, which didn’t inspire much confidence as she reached into the tiny purse hanging off her shoulder and fished out a silver flip phone.

  “Ma’am, would you just listen before you do that? I told you, I’m a cop.”

  A cop who, very unfortunately, had left his ID in his truck.

  She ignored him and punched numbers on her sleek little phone. Shit, was she calling 911? This was going to be a huge pain in the ass—

  “Vince? Hi, it’s Sophie.” Her voice shook only slightly as she held the phone to her ear. “I’m standing in Mia’s house, and I’ve got a man here claiming to be a police officer. Jonah Bacon.”

  “That’s Macon.”

  “Jonah Macon … Uh-huh. San Marcos PD, he says.” Those blue eyes widened a bit. “Okay, thanks. Make it quick, would you?” She dropped the phone back into her purse and thrust the gun forward. “My friend’s with the San Marcos police. He says he’s never heard of you.”

  “What?”

  “And he’s coming over. Along with several squad cars. They’ll be here any second.”

  “He said that?”

  “Yes.”

  Jonah rolled his eyes. No one said “squad cars.” And Moore was fucking with him, the little shit. This was probably payback for Jonah cleaning him out last month at the poker table.

  Jonah weighed his options. It would take him two seconds, tops, to disarm this girl, but if by chance she got a round off, he might seriously regret not talking his way out of this. He didn’t particularly feel like getting his balls shot off tonight.

  “Listen, Sophie, I really am a cop. I’m a friend of Mia’s, too. Call her up and ask her.”

  “What are you doing in her bedroom?” A little line formed between her brows, and he could tell she sort of believed him.

  “You want to aim that thing someplace else while we talk?”

  “That doesn’t answer my question.”

  Jonah closed his eyes and counted to three mentally. “Look, my partner, Ric Santos, was worried about Mia and asked me to check in on her, all right?”

  Evidently, “Ric” was the magic word, because all of the tension went out of her. She lowered her gun, and Jonah was surprised by the wave of relief he felt. He was tempted to drop to his knees and kiss her feet with gratitude. But then, that might have been because of the boots. He wasn’t sure where this woman was going dressed up like that, but he was extremely tempted to follow her.

  “Where’d Mia rush off to, anyway? Ric’s concerned.” He dropped the name in again, just for good measure.

  “That’s none of your business.” She glanced behind him. “Neither is her panty drawer. What are you doing in here?”

  Good question.

  “She skip town?” he asked. “Ric’s not going to like that. She’s wanted for questioning in an ongoing criminal investigation.”

  This got him a get-real look, and she thrust out her hip. “Mia Voss hasn’t broken any laws. Unlike you, who seem to be trespassing.”

  “And what are you, her house-sitter?”

  She gave him a peevish look, then stalked around him and retrieved a gray tackle box from the floor of the closet. “I’m here on an errand.” She veered around him again, and he got another whiff of her perfume. Then she walked into the hall. Jonah followed, snagging his gun as he went.

  “Tell your partner that Mia is fine.” She pulled the front door open and stood beside it, inviting him to leave. “And if she wants to talk to him, my guess is she’ll answer her phone.”

  Jonah stepped into the cold night air. She punched a code into the keypad near the door, then joined him on the porch. She shivered slightly. He guessed she’d left her coat in the shiny black Tahoe that was parked in front of the house now.

  She turned her back on him and locked the door with a key from her purse, which was just big enough to accommodate that LadySmith revolver with the rosewood grip. Very nice.

  “You got a last name, Sophie?”

  “I do.” She picked up the tackle box and turned to face him. “Good night, Officer Macon. Tell Ric I said hi.”

  “What do you mean, she’s ‘indisposed’?”

  Ric stood at the Delphi Center reception desk as Sophie pretended to be both disinterested and professional.

  “She’s not available at the moment. If you’d like to leave a message—”

  “I already left a message. And I need to see her. Now.”

  “I told you, she’s—”

  “Listen, Sophie, this isn’t personal,” he lied. “I need to interview her in connection with a homicide investigation. I’m not asking, I’m telling. Get her down here now, or get me her boss.”

  Sophie glared at him. Then her gaze flicked behind him, and Ric sensed the very large security guard who had been stationed at the door a few seconds earlier.

  “There a problem, Ms. Barrett?”

  She gave him a saccharine smile. “Not at all, Ralph. We’re just fine.”

  Ralph backed off, and Sophie dialed something on her phone. “If you wouldn’t mind waiting a moment … ?” She looked at Ric expectantly, and he stepped away to admire the colorless January view through the windows as she finally summoned Mia. A few minutes later, the elevator dinged, and he turned to see a scrawny guy with glasses striding toward him. King of the lab rats. Great. Ric cut a glance at Sophie, but her attention was glued to her computer screen.

  “I’m Dr. Snyder, director of DNA Services for the Delphi Center. How may I help you today?”

  “I need to see Mia Voss. I’m sure she’s busy, but—”

  “Dr. Voss is on sabbatical.”

  “She’s what?”

  “We encourage our scientists to take a break from their case work from time to time.” A condescending smile. “We are, after all, primarily a research institution, Mr. Santos. Is there someone else who might be able to assist you?”

  Ric gritted his teeth. He glanced at Sophie, who looked to be on the phone now, although Ric hadn’t heard it ring.

  “How long is her sabbatical?”

  “That I can’t tell you.”

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  “We respect our employees’ privacy here, Mr. Santos. If you’re interested in the details of her schedule, you’ll need to contact her directly.” His gaze darted down to the badge at Ric’s belt. “I’m quite sure you have access to her contact information.”

  Ric shook his head as he left the lobby and put on his shades. Sabbatical. Un-fucking-believable.

  She’d run away. Something had spooked her the other night, and it had nothing to do with a raccoon. And now she’d skipped town without so much as a phone call. Why hadn’t she asked him for help?

  Ric returned to his pickup and roared out of the parking lot. This was why he hated relationships. Women were flighty and unpredictable. And even the
nice ones could be sneaky as hell.

  Not that he and Mia had a relationship. He hardly knew her. If his trip to Fort Worth had proven anything, it was that he didn’t know her at all.

  And yet he had this overwhelming urge to protect her. Kind of tough to do when he had no freaking clue where she’d gone.

  Did she have a weekend place somewhere? Maybe she was shacked up with a guy? He had no idea. The one thing he did know was that she’d be nowhere near her sister’s house. The last place she’d ever go was some-where that would draw unwanted attention to her nephew. Her sister probably knew where she’d gone, but Ric had done some more snooping yesterday and learned that Sam’s mother was a lawyer. Ric wasn’t going to waste his time trying to wring information from a lawyer who didn’t want to talk.

  He came to a juncture in the road and pointed his truck toward San Marcos. Wherever she’d gone, Ric needed to find her. Almost every murder case on his desk was linked to her in some way. Mia was the key, he knew it.

  And yet what did he really know about her? Even with yesterday’s poking around, it didn’t amount to much.

  He knew she had a dead sister. Amy Voss had been raped and murdered at the tender age of seventeen. The murder had happened twenty-one years ago. January seventh, in fact—the anniversary had just passed. Mia would have been eleven at the time, practically the same age as his daughter Ava. The crime was every family’s worst nightmare. It had to have been one of the defining events of Mia’s life—probably the defining event—and she’d never mentioned it to him.

  What else did he know about her? Not nearly enough, considering how wrapped up she was in his cases. He knew she was smart, top of her field. He knew she was a workaholic, same as he was. He knew she had a luscious body that she kept covered up with a lab coat most of the time, which for some reason was a major turn-on. He knew that despite the science degrees and the brainy talk, she could kiss like a … hell, he didn’t know what it was like. It wasn’t like anything. He’d barely touched her, and she’d practically combusted. There was no other word for it—all of that pent-up heat coming right at him. He couldn’t imagine what she’d be like if he ever got her into bed.

  Actually, he could. Vividly. And getting her there was becoming one of his primary goals.

  But it wasn’t just sex. He needed to know she was safe. Someone, for some reason, had threatened her, and so she’d run. She’d run from her house, her job, everything, including him. Goddamn it, he was pissed.

  He was also scared.

  As a forensic scientist, Mia kicked ass. As a woman trying to evade a killer? Different story. Mia hated guns. She couldn’t fight worth a damn. And she lacked the ability to think like a predator.

  She needed protection, and Ric would provide it, along with a few other things she needed.

  He just had to find her first.

  Mia wandered down the aisle, perusing the selection of fishing lures. Buzzbaits, Bumble Bugs, plastic worms, spider grubs. She’d never seen such a mind-boggling collection of fake invertebrates. She shifted the shopping basket on her arm and turned down the next aisle, hoping it would contain some items she actually needed.

  Cereal, bread, and granola bars. She added a box of Sugar Smacks to her basket and headed for the checkout counter.

  “Get you some bait today?”

  The man behind the register was large, bearded. And he wanted to sell her some bait. This was a bait shop, after all—Bud’s Bait Shop—and for all she knew, this was Bud himself, ringing up her groceries.

  “Actually, I’ll take some lures.” She reached over and snagged a package off a nearby display. This was a fishing town, and she had rented a fishing cabin. Wouldn’t hurt to reinforce her cover by throwing a few supplies in with her purchase.

  “You fishin’ for largemouth bass?”

  Oh, hell. “That’s right.”

  “That case, can’t go wrong with these.”

  A tattooed man in a leather Harley-Davidson jacket turned to check her out as he pulled a six-pack from one of the refrigerator cases. Something about his look made her skin crawl.

  “Best top-water bait around, you ask me.” Bud was still pitching his lures.

  Mia smiled. “They’re my boyfriend’s favorite.”

  “Need any beer today?”

  “That’ll be all, thanks.” She took out her wallet, careful not to flash him even a glimpse of her new fake ID as she pulled out some cash. The biker walked up behind her, and she tried not to tense her shoulders as Bud made change and bagged her groceries.

  “Good luck with the spooks,” he said, handing over the bag.

  “Excuse me?”

  “The Zara Spooks you got there. For your boyfriend.”

  “Oh, yes. Thanks.” She avoided eye contact with anyone as she left the store. Her no-frills Toyota pickup, the one Alex had been kind enough to rent under her name instead of Mia’s, was waiting right near the door. Mia tugged her ball cap down over her face as she walked the short distance. The cap, flannel shirt, jeans, and barn jacket were meant to make her blend in. They seemed to be doing the job. This town was pretty small—hardly more than a way station on the road to Canyon Lake, really—but it didn’t hurt to be cautious.

  She turned the ignition and noted the glowing fuel sign. An eighth of a tank. She could probably put off filling up, but the last thing she needed was to get stranded. She headed for the town’s only gas station as an intolerable country song about fried chicken drifted from the speakers. Mia changed the dial, but the music selection was as limited as everything else around there. She gave up and turned it off as she coasted up to a pump. She’d pay cash. She walked up to the attendant, who was too preoccupied with the basketball game on his TV to give her more than a glance.

  Mia leaned against the pickup and watched her breath form a frosty cloud as the numbers scrolled on the pump. She hugged her arms closer to her body for warmth.

  The town was quiet, secluded. It was exactly what she’d been looking for when she told Alex she wanted to drop out of sight but stay somewhat close to home at the same time. Alex had come through completely. Before joining the Delphi Center, Alex had devoted her career to helping women in trouble disappear, and Mia had expected nothing less. Alex knew how to hide people, and in only a few short hours, she’d managed to throw together a cover and give Mia instructions on how to stay lost for a while. So far, everything had gone as planned.

  So why did she feel antsy? Mia gazed down the long empty highway and finally put a label on the emotion that had been hounding her these past three days.

  She felt lonesome.

  It was silly, she knew. The whole point of being there was to be alone, as far removed from her job and her family and San Marcos as she could safely get and still carry out her plan. And yet the fact that she hadn’t had a real conversation in days was starting to needle her. Her brief meet-up with Sophie at the truck stop where she’d delivered Mia’s evidence kit to her didn’t count. The instant Sophie had mentioned bumping into Jonah, she’d quashed Mia’s interest in chitchat.

  If Jonah was looking for Mia, then Ric was. And although that didn’t come as a surprise, she didn’t want to dwell on his interest, or she might waver from her course. And she couldn’t. Not yet. She couldn’t afford to reach out to Ric or anyone else, no matter how much she wanted to, until she had answers to some of her questions—namely, who was threatening her and her family. Mia intended to find out as soon as the fingerprint evidence she’d submitted the day before came back from the lab.

  The nozzle clicked, and Mia removed it from the truck and replaced the gas cap. She wiped her dusty hands on the legs of her jeans and pulled the keys from her pocket. A wool glove fell out, and she stooped down to get it.

  Crack!

  She dropped to the pavement. She knew that sound. It was—

  Crack!

  Grit kicked up into her face, and she scrambled around the truck. Someone was shooting at her!

  The teenager stepped
out from his booth. “What the—”

  “Go back inside!” she screamed, flattening herself against the back bumper of the truck. She glanced around frantically. Where had the shots had come from?

  Brakes squealed, and she whirled to see a big silver grille coming straight at her. Her heart skittered as it screeched to a stop inches from her face. She lunged away, but a hand clamped around her arm. A wall of leather surrounded her. She thought of the biker guy and started kicking and screaming like a banshee.

  “Mia, come on!” And then it was Ric’s face in front of her, and she was being hauled across the pavement. He jerked open the passenger door to his truck and threw her inside, then dove in behind her. In seconds, he was behind the wheel and peeling away from the gas station, his door hanging open beside him.

  “Close your door!” he yelled, yanking his shut.

  Mia reached for the handle from her position on the floor. She started to crawl into the seat, but Ric shoved her head down.

  “Stay low!”

  She curled into a ball and squeezed her eyes shut as she tried to get her breath. It was happening. Again. Someone was shooting at her, and her heart hammered, and she couldn’t breathe. Ric took a corner on what felt like two wheels, and Mia bumped against the dashboard.

  Ric’s expression was mean, warlike. She noticed the gun in his hand. She cowered away from it, not wanting to be anywhere near the thing if it accidentally went off.

  He took another corner and looked back over his shoulder. Then he looked at her again.

  “Hold this.” He thrust the gun at her, butt-first. She took it. It felt warm from his grip, and she didn’t know what to do with it, so she rested it on the seat—pointed at the door—as he dug into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out his cell phone.

  “Please don’t call the police.”

  His gaze snapped to her, and his eyes narrowed.

  “Please?”

  For a long moment, he watched her, his expression loaded with hostility.

  “Ric, the road.”

  He looked into the mirror again. His foot eased off the gas, and he looked down. “You can get up now. He’s not behind us.”

  She returned his gun to him and pulled herself into the seat, shocked by the amount of effort it took. Her knees throbbed. They felt bruised, probably from dropping to the ground. Her palms were bleeding. She wiped them off on the legs of her jeans and brushed the hair from her eyes. She looked back over her shoulder, but the road behind them was empty. She glanced ahead. Empty that way, too.