True Shot

by Joyce Lamb

  “Relax. We’re in Jacksonville, and we’re coming up on rush hour. Even if Ford’s people track us, we’ll be long gone by the time they get anywhere near the area.”

  She didn’t relax, too tense from the anxiety of being on the run, not to mention the disconcerting flashbacks. The uncertainty of everything was getting to her. She hated constantly looking over her shoulder, not knowing who to trust or when Flinn and his muscle might bear down on them again. Most of all, she hated that being with her, helping her, put Mac in the line of fire. She wished he’d never gotten dragged into her mess. Yet, if he hadn’t, she knew exactly where she’d be right now: dead. And what if he ended up dead because of her?

  “Sam, come on, I mean it. You need to relax. I was careful, I swear.”

  “What did you say?” She tried to sound casual despite the fear that his good intentions had once again given away their location—or at least where they planned to be.

  “I asked Charlie to bring Alex and their respective boy toys to meet us at a hotel in St. Pete.”

  She smirked at his use of “boy toys.” She wouldn’t mind making him her boy toy . . . and, God, where had that come from? She picked up her burrito and hoped she didn’t look as flustered as she felt. “St. Pete?”

  “St. Petersburg. Just south of Tampa, about a hundred miles or so north of Lake Avalon.”

  “Right. I remember that now.”

  “I told her to leave their cell phones and any navigation systems at home and make sure they’re not followed. I also suggested they borrow someone else’s car. Their boyfriends both have law enforcement backgrounds, so they’ll know how to get that done.”

  “Flinn will be monitoring their e-mail accounts.”

  “I figured as much, so I didn’t mention St. Pete or the name of the hotel.”

  “Then how will Charlie know where to meet us?”

  “I asked her to meet us at ‘that place that we went that time.’ When we were dating, we took a weekend away from Lake Avalon only once. She’ll know what I mean.”

  She couldn’t stop the dubious arch of her brow. “How can you be sure?”

  “We both love that movie Broadcast News from the late eighties. We didn’t understand it when it first came out, of course, because we were only, like, eight or so. But Charlie has the DVD, and we’ve watched it over and over, laughing our asses off because what it says about the sad state of the news business is still true, twentysomething years later.”

  Sam smiled in spite of her anxiety. Sometimes the man talked in circles. Funny that that trait in anyone else would have driven her up the wall. But in Mac, she found it was . . . adorable.

  “So, right, back to Charlie and the hotel. There’s a line in the movie, where Albert Brooks calls Holly Hunter and says, ‘Meet me at that place that we went that time.’ Or something like that. They’re such good friends that she immediately knows what he means. Charlie will get it, too.”

  Sam wasn’t sure what to make of his assertion of his and Charlie’s closeness. Jealousy seemed inappropriate, especially considering the unspoken rules between sisters: Thou shalt not date your sister’s ex-boyfriends. At the same time, she wondered what Charlie had been thinking when she’d let this man go. She couldn’t imagine a kinder, sweeter . . . hotter guy. And while she didn’t remember Charlie in all her 3-D personality and foibles, she did have the sense that her sister was no dummy.

  “Sam?”

  She blinked. “I’m sorry. What?”

  He reached across the table to cover her hand with his. “It’ll be okay. Trust me.”

  She braced for the shock of memory, but other than a lightning flash of dizziness, nothing happened. Unless she counted the surge of warmth from his palm, the zing of adrenaline that pumped her heart faster, the urge to roll her hand under his and slide her fingers between his . . .

  Mac jerked his hand back. “Oh, damn. Sorry. Are you—”

  “Nothing happened.”

  “Really? That’s great. Isn’t it?”

  “From the standpoint of getting a headache, it is. From the standpoint of getting to relive something horrible that happened to you, it really is.” She gave him a smile that trembled some. She was such a wuss for a government spy. She hoped she wasn’t this weak on the job.

  “Kind of weird, though, isn’t it?” He peered at her so intensely she started to flush. “You got nothing?”

  “Maybe my system is settling down. It’s been so out of whack . . . I really don’t know how it works. It might be inconsistent. I might need to concentrate to make it happen. Or maybe because I’ve already tapped into your memories more than once, my ability’s acclimated to that.”

  “That’d be handy. Even if that’s not the case, you’ve already tapped into the absolute worst thing to happen to me physically: the guy with the pipe wrench.” He straightened across from her, a wide smile sending his dimples into sharp relief. “Oh, hey. I got something for you at the library.”

  He pulled a folded piece of white paper from his back pocket and handed it to her with a flourish, as if presenting her with a diamond ring on a silver platter.

  Curious, and smiling at his anticipation—he could do such topsy-turvy things to her insides—she unfolded the paper. It was a printout from a newspaper archive.

  “I found it at the Web site of The State. That’s the newspaper in Columbia, South Carolina.”

  The headline from the article made her suck in her breath: “Former Governor’s Serial Killer Brother Slain in Prison.” The news story stated that Jake Baldwin, brother of Arthur Baldwin, had been found dead in his cell by prison guards. His cellmate had strangled him over a pack of cigarettes.

  “You didn’t kill him,” Mac said. “When Artie said you killed his brother, he must have meant metaphorically. You most likely helped send him to prison, which then led to his death.”

  She couldn’t bring herself to smile with relief. Because while she was relieved she hadn’t killed Jake Baldwin in cold blood, as she’d feared, she knew something Mac didn’t: According to her flashback with Flinn Ford, she’d killed another man—Robert Radnor. For revenge.

  No matter which way she rolled the dice, they kept coming up killer.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Hunter has made contact with Charlie Trudeau in Lake Avalon.”

  At Natalie’s excited voice, Flinn let loose a smile so wide his cheeks pushed his sunglasses up. “That’s excellent.”

  “It’s written in a rough code, but they’re meeting somewhere that they’ve been together before. Hunter warned her to dump her cell and GPS and use a friend’s car.”

  “Samantha’s on the ball even without her memory.” Not that he was surprised. A woman like her, with smarts, beauty and balls, came along rarely. Add her psychic abilities, and she was the perfect spy. Too bad all that talent had to be wasted.

  Natalie’s voice broke into his musings. “Our closest field office is in Tampa. Should I contact them to arrange a tail on the sister?”

  “Yes. Good work, Nat. Good work. Tell them it’s a need-to-know investigation and that they’re not to do anything but surveillance.”

  “Yes, sir. Anything else?”

  “Please contact Marco. Have him on a flight to Fort Myers within the next two hours.”

  “What if Sam’s not meeting her sister in Florida?”

  “She must be. Hunter told the sister to borrow a friend’s car, so wherever they’re meeting is within driving distance of Lake Avalon.”

  “Oh. That makes sense.”

  “Keep me posted, Nat.”

  He clicked off the call, sat back in the driver’s seat of his Audi and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. The DC traffic hadn’t moved the entire time he’d talked to his research analyst. Either road construction or an accident ahead. Not that he cared now. The important things were moving again. Soon, he’d have Samantha back.

  And if, God forbid, he didn’t have Samantha back, he’d at least have her sister to use against
her.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  The closer they got to Tampa and St. Petersburg, the faster Mac’s heart thumped with dread. Though he hadn’t mentioned Sam in the e-mail, Charlie was smart enough to know the reason behind all the cloak-and-dagger business, especially since he’d told her three days ago that he was with Sam and that bad people were after her. And once Sam had her sisters and their cop boyfriends to help and protect her, where would that leave him? He’d be the guy with no law enforcement skills. No gun. No fancy bodyguard training. No ability to punch a bad guy into next month. It was unlikely that Sam would need someone to make a joke when the going got violent. Which meant she wouldn’t need him anymore.

  He glanced at her sleeping in the passenger seat, her face still and peaceful, turned toward him. Funny that this was the first time she’d napped facing him rather than the window. Probably meant nothing. Maybe he was an idiot to hope it meant something. But still.

  Sighing, he decided to focus on getting her to safety. He’d worry about what might happen next when the time arrived. If only the tight knot in his gut would loosen. If only his chest muscles didn’t cramp when he thought about leaving her with her sisters and walking away.

  He’d be kidding himself if he thought a badass government spy would stick with a guy like him. If Sam hadn’t desperately needed help, no way in hell would she have tolerated him as long as she had. He realized he should start accepting now that his time with her was reaching its end. And, hell, maybe he should celebrate the fact that bad guys would no longer be trying to put him out of his misery.

  “Why are you frowning?”

  He turned his head to find her beautiful blue eyes sleepy but open and fixed on him. He shrugged. “No reason.”

  “While I can’t see inside your head at the moment, I can still sense your emotions. You’re worried.”

  He laughed softly. “Well, yeah, I’m worried. Guys in black hats are after us.”

  He glanced at her to see confusion cinch her brows together. “Black hats?”

  “Good guys wear white hats. Bad guys wear black.”

  “Oh. I don’t think I’ve seen Flinn Ford in a hat.”

  “You probably just don’t remember. Amnesia and all.”

  “Good point. But, for the record, I think he’d look goofy.”

  Mac laughed. “Goofy” was not a word he’d expected to pass Sam’s very full, very kissable lips. “Especially if it’s one of those really tall, stovepipe hats.”

  “Abe Lincoln on steroids.”

  “With none of the honorable intentions.”

  As they laughed together, she shifted so that she lay more on her back than her side and looked around. Not much to see in the dark. “How close are we to St. Pete?”

  “About an hour and a half or so.”

  “Will they be waiting for us?”

  “I told Charlie we wouldn’t be in until tomorrow. I figured if I told her we’re arriving tonight, she’d be waiting for us and you wouldn’t get a chance to settle in and prepare yourself mentally.”

  “That wasn’t necessary.”

  “You haven’t seen Charlie and Alex in a long time. They’re both going to be pretty damn aggressive with the questions, especially Charlie. She’s one of those gung-ho, won’t-take-no-comment-for-an-answer reporters.”

  “You know her so well.”

  He shrugged. “We’re good friends, despite the . . . you know.”

  “Why did you break up?”

  He cocked his head to one side to relieve the tension in his neck. So odd to be talking about Charlie with her sister. Especially this conversation. “I was an idiot.”

  “So you regret it.”

  “Well, yeah. Don’t you regret it when you’re an idiot?”

  Her answering laugh was strained.

  “Sorry. I keep forgetting you don’t remember.” He chuckled. “That’s pretty funny.”

  “We’re getting punchy.”

  “I think I bypassed punchy about three days ago.”

  “Have we known each other three days already?”

  “Seems like three years.” He paused. Did he just say that? “I mean—”

  “It does seem like years. I don’t blame you for being sick of it all.”

  “I’m not sick of you, though. Just to be clear.”

  Her teeth flashed white in the dim light of the car. “I’m not sick of you, either.”

  That sounded like maybe she liked him. Jesus, how old was he anyway?

  Her sigh pulled him back out of his head. “I just wish things could be different,” she said.

  “I don’t know. We’re doing okay so far. I mean, we’re alive.”

  She released a choked laugh. “Sure, there’s that.”

  “For the record, the only thing I’d want to be different is Flinn Ford trying to kill us. Otherwise, best vacation ever.”

  She turned her head to stare at the darkness outside.

  Mac let the silence drag on for a few minutes. Maybe she needed some time in her own head. But then the need to tell her about Charlie got to him. He wanted her to understand what happened between them, wanted to make it clear that he and Charlie were okay and that there’d be no weirdness if he and Sam . . . whatever.

  “I was offered a promotion at work.”

  Sam looked at him. “I’m sorry?”

  “Charlie and I had just started dating when I was offered a promotion that would have made me her boss. The newspaper has a strict no-fraternization rule, so I had to choose between the relationship and the job.”

  “Oh.”

  “Before you think, ‘What a complete dick,’ let me explain.”

  “I wasn’t thinking that.”

  “You should have been.”

  “Okay, I’ll think it now.”

  He laughed under his breath. “Terrific. So I have this kid sister—”

  “Jenn.”

  “Right. Jenn. When the job opening came up, it was at the same time that I was trying to figure out how I was going to help her pay for college. Do you know what small-town reporters make? Well, maybe you do, what with your dad’s history owning the Lake Avalon Gazette. But it’s not much. The promotion made a big difference in pay for me.”

  “It sounds very responsible.”

  “That’s what Charlie said. Of course, when she said it, her voice was dripping with sarcasm.”

  “That’s Charlie.”

  He looked at her sharply. “It is?”

  Sam didn’t get why he seemed so shocked until it hit her. She pushed up straighter in her seat.

  “Your memory is coming back.”

  She thought about it for a long moment, hoping to conjure up a face and a voice to go with the name Charlie. She managed both, but the images and sounds came from the flashback she’d had about leaving Lake Avalon, not anything solid from actual memories.

  “Don’t try so hard,” Mac said. “Maybe it’s better if it just comes to you instead of trying to force it.”

  “You’re probably right.” She blew out a breath that whispered through the stray hair on her forehead. “So you dumped my sister for your job. Did she kick your ass?”

  “Nope.”

  “Maybe I should do it for her.”

  He grinned at the feral thrill that coursed through him at the idea of Sam wrestling him to the ground and having her way with him.

  “You’re supposed to quake in fear, dumbass, not look forward to it,” she said with a lazy drawl.

  He tried his best to lose the grin but couldn’t. “Sorry. You’re just so incredibly hot when you get tough.”

  She held his gaze until he had to look back at the road, but he saw her eyes glitter and wondered if her cheeks had pinkened in the dark. He could definitely feel a flush slinking up his neck. This was most definitely flirting.

  Sam said, “How inappropriate would Charlie think a statement like that is? Considering.”

  He gave it some thought. “I don’t think she’d care. She moved on
very quickly, and she seems happier with Noah than she ever was with me. He pretty much swept her off her feet, and I don’t think he’s put her down yet.”

  “Hmm.”

  He didn’t know what to make of her noncommittal response. Had she been merely making conversation or was she trying to figure out where he stood with Charlie because . . .

  The thought trailed off as he realized how deeply he was kidding himself. Tough-chick psychic spy for the FBI Sam Trudeau falling for him? A guy who didn’t know the difference between a Glock and a SIG. A guy who knew so little about cell phones that he’d led the bad guys right to Sam the first time he’d made a call.

  Not likely.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Flinn checked the caller ID on his cell before answering. Relieved that Natalie caught him before he boarded his flight to Fort Myers, he flipped the phone open. “What’s going on, Natalie?”

  “I just heard from the Tampa field office, sir. The agent assigned to keep an eye on Charlie Trudeau has reported that he’s lost her.”

  Flinn turned his back on the other fliers at National’s Gate C38. “Lost her? How?”

  “The gentleman accompanying her has defensive driving experience, sir.”

  “Well, goddammit, how the fuck did he outdrive the fucking FBI?” Catching the startled look of a young mother with a toddler, he stalked far enough away that he could talk without being overheard.

  “I don’t know, sir,” Natalie was saying, a tremor in her voice. “All I know is that the agent chose not to endanger civilians by attempting pursuit.”

  “Who else was in the car? Besides Charlie and the man doing the driving?”

  “No one, sir. Just the two of them.”

  “So the other sister might still be in Lake Avalon.”

  “Shall I put in another request with the Tampa office?”

  “Yes. And then I want you to check Hunter’s credit records for places he and Charlie might have stayed together. You said he indicated in his e-mail that he wanted to meet somewhere they’d gone together in the past.”

  “Yes, sir. Uh . . . I assume you want me to do that under the radar, sir?”