The Getaway

by Hope Anika

  “Careful?” she repeated. “Is that how you see me?”

  “Control is important to you,” he replied with a shrug. “Nothing wrong with that. So long as you know when to let it go.”

  “The Bureau isn’t—”

  “I wasn’t talking about the Bureau.”

  Isabel met his gaze, and Tony stared back, his hunger plain. Direct, unflinching, exposed. Because he was done lecturing himself, done prioritizing. He wanted her. And he knew she wanted him. Whether or not they would happen had yet to be determined, but he wasn’t fighting it anymore. This woman…she’d become his partner in the last two days, trusted and respected and important. He hadn’t been lying; he did value her. And everything else notwithstanding, he’d decided he wasn’t going to lose her.

  What the hell that meant was anyone’s guess, but he’d decided. It was only fair to let her know.

  “We’re good together, Isabel,” he continued, and color surged into her cheeks. Those ebony eyes glinted at him. “Do you know why?”

  “I’m not having this conversation.”

  “Because sometimes—sometimes—I get a little impetuous myself, and you’re good at reining me in. A gentle hand, but a firm one. Capable and brave, and so fucking smart I have to run to keep up. I like running, Isabel. And I like you. You keep me grounded and focused. Just like I keep you balanced.”

  She arched a brow.

  Tony leaned across the table, until he was close enough to inhale her scent, so incredibly tempted to touch her. But he didn’t. He didn’t want either of them distracted. “Because you,” he told her softly, “can get a little intense. You focus like a bird of prey, and you work out a plan, and you get your man. That’s all good and well for the rest of the world, but for you…it’s not enough, sugar. You need more. Something to balance out the ugliness, something that makes all the sacrifice worth it. Something that belongs only to you.”

  Her cheeks were bright, furious red. “And you’re that something?”

  “We both know the answer to that.”

  She blinked at him. “You are…”

  “The one,” he said, nodding.

  A sharp laugh of disbelief escaped her. “Could you be any more arrogant?”

  “I could,” he told her. “But we don’t have time to fuck around.”

  She only stared at him, her eyes glittering, her cheeks flush with color.

  “I want you to think about it,” he said seriously. “Because I can’t stop thinking about it.”

  “Your timing—”

  “Sucks. I know. But things are going to start happening fast now, and I don’t want this to get lost in in the rush. I don’t want us to get lost in the rush. Because there is an us, Isabel. You know it, I know it. And when all this is over, we’re going to deal with that.”

  “Are we?” she asked coolly, but he could see the wild flutter of her pulse, the slight dilation of her pupils, and when he let his gaze roam over her gorgeous face and linger on her mouth, she inhaled. Sharply.

  “We are,” he promised.

  She narrowed her gaze, and his heart beat hard in his throat. He wanted to pull off her eyeglasses and unwind her braid and taste her. He’d hadn’t even tasted her yet. A crazy realization that changed nothing. Because he already knew she would taste good. That he’d grow addicted.

  Going to want to keep her.

  “You,” she said softly, “are the most—”

  Her tablet beeped loudly, and she cut herself off and picked it up. She said nothing, staring at the screen.

  “You going to make me come over there?” he asked.

  Her gaze jerked to his. “Aequitas.”

  “Yea or nay?”

  “Yea.” She swallowed. “But that’s not all.”

  Tony laid his hand gently over hers, which was clenched into a cool, trembling fist atop the table. “What else?”

  “The coordinates.” Her gaze met his. “The Cruz boys’ last known location.”

  He stood. “Let’s go.”

  “We can’t.” Isabel shook her head. “I’m no longer part of the investigation.”

  “That’s horseshit,” Tony told her. “You’re an expert in your field, and I can enlist any expert I want. The Bureau has no jurisdiction over me. Let’s go.”

  Isabel stared at him for a long, silent heartbeat. “They’ll know I was the leak.”

  “Can they prove it?”

  “Of course not.” A hint of ice that made him grin. “I know what I’m doing.”

  “Then you’re worrying about me for nothing,” he pointed out. He leaned down, close, and gave into the urge to dip his head into the hollow of her neck and sniff. “But I appreciate the concern, sugar. It’s good to know you care.”

  She bristled. “Regardless of any lack of evidence, they will know, and if I accompany you anywhere, that stigma will stain you, may do significant damage to your career, and I won’t allow—”

  “Together, Isabel. Remember? You let me worry about riding shotgun with your rule-breaking ass. We can win this fight. But only if we don’t quit. Only if we do it together. So are you in or out?”

  Tony stared at her, his heart beating hard, part of him terrified she would turn him away, that whatever dynamic existed between them—the one that had allowed them to get this goddamn far—would be crushed within the fist of her intractable will.

  “Those boys are out there,” he added softly. “Lucia, Sam. We’re all they’ve got, baby. Just us. We started this. It’s time to finish it.”

  She didn’t move, and disappointment bled through him. It was heavy and dark and fucking painful. He wanted—

  Isabel suddenly got up. She grabbed her tablet and phone, stepped around him, and marched over to slide the electronics into the pocket of her luggage. Then she sat on the bed to pull on a pair of bright pink socks. Tony watched her closely, frozen, afraid to hope, but she only stuffed her feet into a pair of low-heeled boots and donned a hooded, dark blue coat. She stood and glared at him.

  “This is on you,” she told him, but while her words were cool, there was fire in her eyes and color in her cheeks. “There will be no whining when you get fired.”

  Tony grinned. “I’ll take my chances.”

  Chapter Thirty

  He’d kissed her to shut her up. Again. Damn him.

  Because Lucia was growing to like Sam’s kisses. Too much. Bad enough she’d been seduced by the hot, wild taking of her mouth while she’d been trying to chastise him. Worse was the emotion that had fluttered in her chest when he’d pressed his mouth to hers as he’d patched her up, so gentle and sweet, a tantalizing offer of comfort she’d absorbed like a sponge. Something she wanted more of.

  Which was disturbing.

  Double damn him.

  That he blamed himself for Ivan’s transgressions was also disturbing. Sam wasn’t responsible for anything that had happened—she was. From the first moment she’d contemplated taking the boys, Lucia had known the repercussions would find her. Ivan would find her. She’d accepted that, had been ready and willing to face the consequences—and she had faced them. At least, the biggest, ugliest one.

  And she’d won.

  While her heart was heavy with the knowledge she’d taken a soul—even one so dark and damaged and dangerous—Lucia knew she would do it again if she had to. She wanted to live. And she refused to be sorry for that. Every animal on earth fought for survival; she was no different. As she’d tried to tell Sam, she hadn’t expected him to save her. The boys, yes, but not her.

  And yet rage simmered within him; his regret was piercing and bitter, and Lucia didn’t know how to undo it. There was simply nothing to forgive. Words, it seemed, were useless. He wouldn’t listen. He seemed determined to punish himself, and she had no clue how to turn him from that path. As if his defeat of Enrique and Misha was nothing; as if his tender care of her—and his protection of the boys—was wholly negated by what he viewed as his personal failure to shield her from Ivan.

  But
Ivan had been her cross to bear. I knew he would let me have you.

  An inevitability, even if Sam didn’t realize it.

  She wanted to shake him, to make him listen. Make him hear her. Which was why she’d followed him from the cabin—in spite of the continuous rain and her aching body—that, and because they needed to talk. Really talk. Without little ears listening.

  Ben was very sick. He was growing more feverish and congested, and he was complaining of pain in his joints; he needed medical care. They were going to have to head toward civilization. There was no choice, because Lucia wouldn’t allow him to get worse—no matter what that meant. And now that they’d been found…it was only a matter of time before more armed, murderous men came.

  Before Donavon Cruz came.

  Yes, it was time to go. Now. No matter how badly she hurt. Lucia didn’t care if every one of her wounds reopened, if every cell throbbed, if her head felt ready to explode, and her left eye was almost swollen completely shut. They had to go. Ben needed a doctor. And then…

  Then… She halted, a sharp, painful wedge caught in her chest. Her hands shook violently. Get a grip, chica. You have no time to shatter. Which was true. No time to digest all that had happened in the last three days; no time to lick her wounds. To mourn the loss of the life she’d left, or the one Sam—damn the man—tempted her to imagine. No, there was only the road before them, no matter how unpredictable, how dangerous.

  You must keep going.

  So she took a deep, gulping breath, and then another. Later. You can fall down later. And then she made herself continue on, following the sound of Sam chopping wood. Thunk! Thunk!

  Not unlike the sound of Ivan’s chest splitting open.

  Thunder rolled through the small valley as she made her way toward Sam. Lucia had grown oddly used to the rumbling sound. And the rain. Even the lightning that shattered the sky had become so commonplace in the last two days she found it unremarkable. As if the world had been overtaken by an endless storm, a manifestation of the chaos they now found themselves lost within.

  Ivan’s body was gone when she rounded the corner, and there was old hay strewn over the crimson pool where he’d bled out. A sleek black ATV was parked next to the one they’d ridden in on, and Sam was splitting wood with the same rusty ax that had ended Ivan’s life, its handle stained pale pink.

  He paused when she halted before him.

  “You should be resting,” he told her, that dark look sliding over his features.

  “Ben is sick,” she replied, unwilling to argue with him. “He needs a doctor.”

  Sam swore softly. “He’s worse?”

  “Yes. And I have no access to antibiotics—which would only work if he has a bacterial infection. If it is a virus…no, we are not prepared for that. He needs care I cannot give him.” A tremor moved through her at the thought this crazy mess she’d made could harm Ben—kill him if he became ill enough—and regret pierced her. Choices. You made all the wrong ones. But the realization changed nothing, forgave nothing, and fear welled in her chest. “We have to go now.”

  Sam tossed the wood he’d split down onto the burlap, where the pile she’d started before Ivan had appeared still waited. “They’re chipped.”

  She blinked. “What?”

  “The boys. Cruz had microchips surgically embedded in their skin. As soon as we hit satellite range, he can track them.”

  Lucia stared at him. “How do you know that?”

  “Tony texted me this morning.”

  Dread spread through her like a stain. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Sam stepped toward her. “And when should I have done that? At breakfast, in front of them? Or later, when I was cleaning up your blood?”

  His anger whipped across her, and she swallowed, nodding in acceptance. “That is how Ivan found us.”

  “Yes.” His tone was grim. “And as soon as we’re back in range, they can watch us in real time.”

  A dark, heavy sense of doom settled over her. “Then it is over. There is no escape.”

  “Bullshit.” Sam tossed the ax down into the wood, where it struck deep. “Cruz is a man, not a god. First, we’ll deal with Ben. We’ll find a doctor, and get him treated. Then we’ll deal with the trackers. One thing at a time, sweetheart.”

  Lucia watched him lean down to fill the burlap with the rest of the wood he’d cut and realized his leg was bleeding. Again. Stubborn, tough man; that he would pay for helping them haunted her. He deserved better, because he was a good man. He shouldn’t be penalized for her crime.

  “You took care of…Ivan?” she asked hesitantly, remembering what Alexander had told her. Sam killed Misha and Enrique with his bare hands. And perhaps she should have been horrified, but she wasn’t.

  She was grateful.

  “I stashed him out of sight, but the critters will probably find him.” Sam shrugged. “Not much we can do about that.”

  “Then he will provide value in death that he did not in life.” She paused. “You are still angry.”

  Sam only shook his head.

  “You must not blame yourself,” she said evenly. “We are better for everything you have done, Sam. Everything.”

  “You’re my responsibility,” he said, his voice clipped.

  “No, we are not. We are not your job. We never were.”

  “The hell you aren’t.”

  “No,” she said again.

  “I shouldn’t have left you. I knew better.”

  “I wanted you to leave,” Lucia told him bluntly.

  He flinched. “Good to know.”

  “Sam,” she said softly and waited until he looked at her, those brilliant eyes of his glittering like finely cut stones. “You are a distraction I cannot afford.”

  His gaze narrowed on her. “That works both ways, you know.”

  Something warm and dangerous bloomed low in her belly, but Lucia said nothing, painfully aware of the heat burning in her cheeks. His eyes traveled over her, and she turned away, embarrassed by her battered appearance. So much stupid. But she couldn’t help it; she knew she looked a fright.

  “Don’t,” she said, her throat suddenly aching.

  “Don’t what?” He stepped over the pile of wood to stride toward her, not letting her hide. He stopped before her, so close his heat pressed against her skin, and his scent flooded her nostrils. So close she had to crane her head back to look up at him. Too close. And yet, not close enough. He reached up and skimmed his fingers down the unbruised side of her face, the pads of his fingertips rough and hot and proprietary. “Don’t look? Don’t touch? Don’t want? It’s way too late for that, sweetheart.”

  He stepped closer, until their bodies touched, and Lucia couldn’t bring herself to move, even though she knew she should. No, instead her hands lifted to tangle in the slick, damp material of his coat, where his heart beat strong and steady beneath her palm. Because he was too tempting. All tensile muscle against her, hard and strong and warm; she knew what it was to be surrounded by that strength and heat. How carefully he wielded the power he contained. That alone was seductive; how gentle he could be, how tender. His restraint was far more enticing than another man’s show of brute strength. And as he stared down at her, his thumb rasping along the line of her jaw, Lucia felt drunk on him.

  What was between them…she hadn’t lied to him: it could not be. She was a wanted fugitive, and nothing was going to end well for her. She had no future; to want him was foolish and selfish and unfair, but part of her had stopped caring. When she’d turned and found Ivan there, waiting… regret had engulfed her. All of the things she’d not done, places she’d not seen, people she’d not known. But more than anything…Sam. And now part of her was determined to take whatever little bit of him she could have, for however long she could have it. Something to hold close, hers, when she lost all else. She’d almost died; now she wanted to live. And Sam was a fine man. They were…almost friends. Collaborators. Conspirators.

  A team. And no matter
how many times she told herself to turn away, she remained. Life was short, and hers would be even more so. Whatever brief, fleeting moments of freedom she had left she wanted to spend living.

  “You scare me,” she told him, her voice raw, an admission she’d not planned on making. Ever. “I did not expect you. This. Us.”

  That dangerous smile curved his mouth, startling her. “Then we’re even. Because I sure as hell didn’t expect us, either.”

  She searched that bright, glinting gaze. “But you are not afraid?”

  “Only a fool doesn’t feel fear.”

  She blinked. The hand at her jaw slid down to cup her throat, gentle, possessive, and the wound left by Ivan’s bite made a flicker of something dark and deadly move through Sam’s gaze. “And yet you persist,” she whispered. “You believe it can be.”

  “Yes.”

  The seriousness in him made her breath lock in her throat. “Why?”

  “Faith.” He leaned down, and his breath washed over her parted lips, and her heart lurched against her ribs. He moved infinitesimally closer, until her breasts met the wall of his chest, and his thighs pressed into hers. His free hand slid around her waist, curved down over her bottom, and then he lifted her carefully against him, bringing her flush against the hard plane of his body. “I have faith.”

  But faith is a lie… Lucia didn’t get the chance to say the words. Sam’s mouth pressed against hers, careful of her split bottom lip, a tender caress that made heat splinter through her, a fierce, white-hot webbing she didn’t expect. His beard rasped against her skin as he kissed her: her mouth, her cheek, her closed eyes. His mouth whispered over her, pressing with gentle reverence against her skin. A gasp escaped her when his tongue licked delicately at her upper lip.

  “Sam,” she whispered, shuddering as a pulse burst to life low in her belly. Awareness lashed across her skin; against his chest, her nipples budded, and his tongue stroked into her mouth, rubbing hers in a carnal motion she felt at the juncture of her thighs.