Instead of answering, the dripping driver with the hard body leaned over into her space. She was about to push him back when, one hand still on the wheel, he flipped open the glove compartment. Two round, plastic-looking things tumbled out onto her wet lap. She had no idea what they were.
“I think these might have something to do with it.” He caught the confused expression on her face as he straightened again. “They’re distributor caps.”
Pru came to the only conclusion she could. “So the van’s disabled?”
“Unless one of them’s got a spare distributor cap in their pocket.”
Spinning the steering wheel around, the man executed a 270-degree turn and sped off in a new direction. Plumes of water flew up on either side of the vehicle while sheets of rain continued to come down. The road, when they finally reached it, was slippery, threatening to wrench control of the car away at the first unguarded moment.
He put the windshield wipers on high and they urgently began to duel with the rain. “You picked a hell of a day to be kidnapped.”
That she was rescued had not yet actually sunk in. The sensation was further impeded by the fact that she wasn’t completely sold that they were out of danger, no matter what the bare-chested man said about the distribution hats, or distributor caps, or whatever those things he’d taken off with were.
Prudence shoved both items back into the glove compartment, fighting with the door to get it closed. She was too full of adrenaline, too full of fury, to relax. And his smart mouth wasn’t helping the situation any.
“Next time I’ll have the kidnappers check the weather report before they abduct me,” she snapped, shifting in the wet seat.
He spared her a quick look, then shook his head. She caught the latter and it only served to further fuel her anger. “You really do have a sunny personality, don’t you?”
The mean-spirited nickname she’d been awarded immediately crossed her mind. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at his damn-near-perfect profile. Probably had women falling all over him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That sometimes the tabloids get it right.”
She stiffened, pressing her lips together as she pushed a fallen wet strand out of her eyes. God, but she was tired of having to defend herself, of having her every move scrutinized and found lacking by someone. And when the truth didn’t live up to expectations, there were always lies to use.
Her voice was monotone and weary as she said, “I had you pegged as someone who reads trash.”
“And just when did you make this character assessment, Prudence? When I crashed into the room to rescue you or when I used my body as a human shield as they were shooting at you?”
For a second, there was nothing but the sound of the rain, beating against the windshield and the noise of the tires as they struggled against the ever-softening ground. Prudence flushed. He was right. She was being incredibly waspish. Living up to, she realized, all the nasty stories that were written about her. Stories that were taken out of context because the public demanded its daily dose of gossip, whether or not it was true.
She took a deep breath, then said, almost in a whisper, “Sorry.”
“What was that?” He took one hand off the steering wheel and cupped it to the ear closest to her. “I didn’t quite hear you. Sounded like you said you were sorry.”
She didn’t know whether to laugh at him or hit him. She wanted to do both. Instead, she settled for warning him. “Don’t push it.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he quipped.
Joshua glanced in the rearview mirror. In the distance, on the road, he could just barely make out the beams of two headlights foreshadowing an advancing vehicle.
Had there been a third car somewhere? A car he hadn’t seen?
There’d been no time to go scouting into the barn or the garage. Now he wished he had.
Stepping all the way down on the accelerator, he drove as if it were a foregone conclusion that they were being followed by her abductors.
“Damn.”
Prudence jerked like a piece of toast popping out of its toaster. Twisting around in her seat, she looked behind at the road.
“Is that them?” she wanted to know. “Are they following us?”
Ordinarily, he’d say something to comfort the kidnap victim. But Pru didn’t strike him as someone who would appreciate being lied to or hearing half truths. So he shrugged and gave it to her straight. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“I thought you said you disabled the cars.” Her tone was nothing short of accusing.
Maybe he should have lied to her. “The ones I could see.”
She looked panicked. “Were there more?”
At this point he had no way of knowing with any certainty. “There could have been.”
“Could have been?” she repeated incredulously. “Isn’t it your job to know?”
He’d had just about enough of her carping. It was hard enough maneuvering in this weather on these roads without having to deal with her as well.
“Look, this wasn’t exactly D-day at Normandy. I didn’t have days to plan out your rescue. Approximately thirty-six hours ago, I was sleeping in my own bed, blissfully unaware of you as anything other than an occasional headline to my right as I deposited my groceries onto the conveyor belt at my local supermarket.”
His repeated references to the tabloids seemed to make her bristle. “And now here we are, cozier than two peas in a pod.”
“Or at least wetter than the aforementioned peas.” He dragged his hand through his hair, sending a small spray of water flying in her direction.
She put up a hand. “Hey,” she protested.
He raised a shoulder in a careless shrug, then let it drop. “Sorry, didn’t think you’d notice a little more water.”
“Can’t you make this thing go faster?” she asked impatiently.
“Not without a pilot’s license. Besides, if I go any faster,” he said from between gritted teeth, “I could lose control of the car.”
She had one better for him. “If you don’t go any faster, you might lose control over us.”
“I wasn’t aware that anyone actually had control over you.” The retort came without thought. And from the look on her face when he glanced toward her, it had struck a nerve. “Sorry, didn’t mean to insult you.”
“Why stop now?”
“Look, I’m the guy who just risked his neck to rescue you.” He felt the vehicle begin to fishtail and he gripped the wheel, driving into the curve. A minute later, he straightened the wheel. “Shouldn’t you be nicer to me than this?”
He had a feeling she hated being wrong. Was she woman enough to admit it?
“You’re right. I should. Kidnappings make me nervous.”
“Yeah, me, too.” Since she’d mellowed for a moment, so could he. “This your first?” He was making conversation. There was very little about Prudence Hill that he didn’t know. It had all been succinctly captured for him between the pages of the dossier he’d been given. He’d managed to read all of it before they’d landed, having trained himself in speed reading just before joining the Lazlo Group.
She began to answer in the negative. He knew that there had been one previous incident, when she was a little girl and not yet the prime minister’s daughter. The plot had been quickly foiled.
He expected her to explain, but Pru turned her face toward the window on her side. “Yes.”
Since she didn’t bring it up, neither did he. “Well, it’s not mine. As far as kidnappings go, this is coming along quite nicely for our side.”
“‘Our’ side? Last time I looked, I was the one who’d been kidnapped, not you.”
“For the time being,” he informed her, ignoring her tone, “we’re a team. Only difference between us being that, should those be your former kidnappers behind us and they manage to catch up, you’ll be taken prisoner again. I’ll be killed,” he added with no emotion.
She actually looked at him with concern
. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
He nodded, keeping his eyes on the darkened road. “Didn’t think so.”
A wall rose up between them like a tower of cotton swabs suddenly filled with water. “Are you saying that I’m insensitive?”
Oh no, he wasn’t about to get sucked into this verbal waltz. “I’m saying that most kidnap victims don’t think beyond their own immediate situation.”
“I am not a victim.”
He hadn’t said it to take a dig at her. It was just the way things were. “Didn’t look to me as if you had the upper hand back there.”
Pru drew back her shoulders. “For your information, I had just cut through my ropes.”
He laughed shortly, then found himself narrowly avoiding battling a tree for the same physical space. Turning at the last minute, he let out a sigh of relief. That had been close. “With what, your X-ray vision?”
“With a piece of glass that I got by making one of those oafs drop a tray when he came into the room to feed me,” she informed him tersely.
He looked at her for a split second before returning his attention to the road. The headlights, he noted, were still behind them. No closer, no farther.
“Go on,” he encouraged. “I’m curious how it got from the floor to your hand.”
“I tilted the chair until it fell and then picked the shard up.”
He nodded, taking it all in. “And what was the guy with the tray doing all this time?”
“He’d already left.” She sounded close to being on the verge of eruption. “What kind of an idiot do you take me for?”
He had an answer for that. “One who refuses a bodyguard when her father has the key deciding vote on a hotly contested bill that’s currently on the floor in Parliament.”
She blew out a breath. “So you’ve been briefed.”
His mouth curved. “In a manner of speaking.”
“Just who the hell are you? And don’t give me that tripe about being my savior. Saviors wear more clothes,” she informed him tersely before he could say anything.
His smile deepened. “My name’s Joshua Lazlo.”
“Lazlo,” she repeated. “That’s—”
“Hungarian,” he supplied.
“You’re Hungarian?” She looked at him, marginal confusion echoing in her gaze.
“I’m a British citizen, born and bred,” he told her. “Of British parents,” he added lest there was any question of his allegiance.
“Why don’t I find that comforting?”
“You’re going to have to figure that out for yourself.”
She sighed again and lowered her eyes. Suddenly they widened. “You’re bleeding.”
He glanced down to where she was looking. And shrugged. That would explain the sharp pain in his thigh and why it continued to feel as if it were on fire, he thought.
“Looks that way.”
“Were you shot?” she asked incredulously.
He kept his voice devoid of emotion, as if they were talking about scones. “That would be my guess.”
She lost her patience. “My God, what are you, the British Clint Eastwood? Do you have a handkerchief?” she demanded. “What am I saying, you don’t even have a shirt.”
She looked around the interior of the vehicle, opening the glove compartment and rummaging through it. Then, muttering under her breath, she raised the hem of her T-shirt and bit into it where the seams came together, tugging on either side as she did so.
He watched her out of the corner of his eye, amused. “There’s a simpler way, you know.” She stopped and looked at him. “Just raise it over your head and toss it off. You don’t have to rip it off with your teeth.”
Pru glared at him, saying nothing. The next second, the material began to tear. To his astonishment, she forced it along horizontally, swiftly reducing her T-shirt to a belly shirt.
“There,” she declared in triumph. She held the strip between her hands. “All right, raise your leg,” she ordered.
He kept his attention on the road, realizing she meant to use her shirt as a bandage. “Your bedside manner leaves something to be desired.”
“Obviously everything is a big joke to you. Well, you aren’t about to bleed to death on my account. Do as you’re told.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied meekly, raising his thigh as far as he could off the seat while still keeping his foot on the pedal.
Pru snorted at the polite term. “That’ll get you a kick where you really don’t want one,” she warned him as she secured the bandage around his thigh.
She pulled too tight and he jerked before he could stop himself. The car went out of control, its wheels all but flying off the road.
The front of the vehicle took a nosedive down the embankment and kept on going despite Joshua’s best efforts to stop it.
Chapter 5
The car’s downward slide was fast and furious. Hanging on to the steering wheel, Joshua did what he could to guide the vehicle down the steep incline, praying that it wouldn’t flip over. He was vaguely aware that his heart was pounding in his ears.
And then the vehicle came to a sudden, abrupt halt near the bottom of the incline, close to a heavily wooded area. Trying to take in everything and quickly assess the situation, Joshua was vaguely surprised that the person next to him hadn’t screamed.
He had a bad feeling about that.
Pain shot through his skull, originating where his forehead had made jolting contact with the air bag.
The fact that he felt pain was a good thing. It meant he wasn’t dead.
He had amnesia for exactly three seconds. And then everything came crowding back into his brain.
The prime minister’s daughter.
Instantly, Joshua was working his seat belt loose, trying to turn in her direction. From what he could make out, it looked as if the air bag was in the process of swallowing her.
“Are you all right?” he demanded. When she didn’t answer, Joshua felt the last bit of his adrenaline shooting through his veins. With effort, he pushed aside his air bag and elbowed his way beneath hers. “Prudence. Prudence,” he repeated more urgently, taking her hand and massaging her arm, trying to get her circulation going. She was unconscious. It was impossible to see if she was breathing, there wasn’t enough light. “C’mon, open your eyes. Open your eyes for me, Prudence.”
And then he detected a small flutter. Her lids raised ever so slightly.
“Why?” she asked thickly. “So you can drive off another cliff?”
He sighed, relieved. She was alive. And grumpy as ever. Joshua dropped her hand.
“Yeah, you’re all right,” he muttered. “And it was an incline, not a cliff.”
Pru tried to take a deep breath. The air bag was in her way. “My mistake. Hard to tell the difference at a hundred miles an hour in a monsoon.”
The accusatory note in her voice irritated Joshua beyond words. “You’re the one who wanted me to go faster.”
He didn’t bother reminding her that had she not been attempting to bandage his thigh, they might not have gone off the side of the road and down the incline in the first place. There was no point in taking her to task for her one act of compassion. It might disincline her from ever performing another one.
“Right,” Pru muttered.
She put her hand to her aching forehead, trying to focus. The rain was beginning to let up. She didn’t know if that was a good thing or not, considering that they still might have pursuers and the poor visibility could only act in their favor.
If it didn’t get them lost first.
As she tried to move, Pru felt the seat belt cutting into her, refusing to give. Feeling around to the side, she found the release button. Except that it didn’t. No matter how hard she pressed the button, the belt stayed where it was.
“Is this hell?” she wanted to know, addressing the question to Joshua.
“Pretty much,” he acknowledged. If this were heaven, he would have been trapped in a car with one of
the scores of young women who made his life so pleasurable, not Pru the Shrew. “Get your seat belt off and let’s see if we can get out of here.”
“What do you think I’m trying to do?” she snapped. She hit the release button one more time, then yanked at the seat belt. Neither would give. “It won’t open.” The words were no sooner out of her mouth than she saw Joshua unbuckling his belt and pulling it out of the loops of his slacks. Something skittered through her stomach. She banked it down and demanded, “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Easy, Pru,” Joshua said in a patronizing tone that made her want to punch him out if she could only reach him. “I’m not about to have my way with you. I’m getting this.”
“This” was a knife attached to the inside of his belt buckle and carefully folded against the leather. Before she could say anything to the effect that most men, if they carried a knife at all, had it as part of a Swiss Army set that resided in their pockets, he’d taken his knife by the hilt and imbedded the blade in her air bag. The bag collapsed instantly, giving him better access to her.
One swift pass and she and the seat belt parted company.
“You are useful,” she commented, hoping that the flippant remark covered just how relieved she was to be set free.
“So they tell me.” Slipping the belt back on, Joshua tried his door. Although the handle moved, the door didn’t. Smashed into the body of the vehicle along the lower edge, it refused to budge. He put his shoulder to it, but got the same results. Frustrated, he looked at the passenger door. “Let’s see if yours works.” He gave Pru no chance to pull back. Leaning the length of his body over her side of the vehicle, he grabbed the door handle.
“I can open my door,” she informed him, using her shoulder to push him back. She took hold of the handle and pushed it down. Or tried to. It wouldn’t give.
Joshua watched her go through the motions three times before asking, “What’s the matter?”
“I can’t open my door.” Pru ground out the words grudgingly. “It’s stuck.”
My Spy Page 4