Duck and Run

by TL Schaefer

  “I may be a man, but I do have a working washer and dryer.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” she responded with a smile. “I’d just as soon have this over and be back to my old life as soon as possible.”

  That sobered him. While he understood her words, a perverse part of him wanted this forced togetherness to stretch out longer than a few days. But he acknowledged that was the man in him talking, not the cop, not the Marine.

  “Jacobsen will keep us informed if anything changes.”

  “Sounds like a plan. I’m sure Linc will do the same.” She stood and stretched, and the motion made his mouth go dry. “Is there any chance I could grab a shower? A day of ducking and running has made me grungy.”

  Nick swallowed, and it was with great effort. “Um, sure. Guest bathroom is the first door on the right, your room is across the hall.”

  He watched as she snagged her bag and sauntered away, her walk unconsciously graceful despite the fatigue he knew she had to feel. Everything within him that was male responded to her, and he had a hard time remembering why he needed to take this slow. The urge to follow her into the shower was almost overwhelming, almost more than he could take.

  But he stayed planted right where he was, because he got the feeling that when he finally felt Cristine’s body, soft and slick against him, the wait would be more than worth it.

  Since he wasn’t a complete masochist, he chose to divert his attention from the conundrum currently undressing in his guest bathroom, instead focusing on the situation that had gotten them here.

  What did he know? The head of the car theft ring was operating out of Oklahoma City, and had assumed a retired cop’s identity. Not something altogether smart, considering the real England would have had lots of friends left in the metro area, as evidenced by Linc.

  An operation this big and detailed had to be run by more than the three people he’d seen. Where were they? There were obviously hubs in Kansas and Texas, but it was up to the KBI and Rangers to figure out the decay within their own states.

  The baddies were obviously running scared. Most hardened criminals wouldn’t have taken a shot at the Range Rover they’d escaped in. Rather, they’d have tried harder to talk Cristine out, maybe by holding the dispatcher hostage.

  They’d shown a bit of amateurism in that respect, but their winnowing out of Cristine’s information was first-rate. He had no doubt she’d buried herself as deep as she’d stated, especially with the power of her father’s office, and her former colleagues, at her disposal. No one should have been able to find her, especially not a crew of criminals who’d done everything wrong up until that point, at least when it came to dealing with him and Cristine.

  So where did that leave them? It was obvious now that he’d had a chance to think it out, and without Cristine’s involvement, it was probably something the task force would have learned far too late. There was someone on the inside. Someone who had access to her past and present.

  As much as he might like to take the easy way out and hang it all on Red River, it didn’t feel right. Linc would have discovered something by now if there was a connection.

  If it wasn’t the repossession agency or England and his enforcers, then it was entirely possible there was truly someone on the inside. Someone in law enforcement who’d provided the information to England. Someone who could find out who he truly was from a photo alone. Or a visit to the OSBI website, which proudly showed their cadre of training officers, right along with their photos.

  Shit.

  Was that why they’d tried to kill him after Cristine snagged the car? Or was that just complicating things even further? Damn. Now that he’d taken the time to think about it, he was afraid he’d begun chasing every red herring thrown their way.

  Nick stood and began pacing restlessly, his footsteps taking him closer and closer to the bathroom door.

  Dammit, he needed a sounding board, and at the speed his thoughts were moving, the possible danger they could be in, there was no other way than to do what he’d wanted to earlier, but for an entirely different reason.

  He knocked on the door, then let himself in.

  “What the hell?” Cristine yelped at his intrusion.

  Nick averted his glance after one long look at the frosted glass. And oh, what a glance it was. “Finish up fast, I think they’ve got someone on the inside. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

  She was silent for a long moment, then said, “You might be right. Let me rinse out my hair and we’re gone. Can you watch the perimeter?”

  “Done.”

  Nick took a moment to change into something other than the too-tight sweats she’d loaned him, opting for jeans, a t-shirt and a ballcap. He threw a few changes of clothes into a gym bag that looked eerily like the bag Cris used, then laid the Beretta on top as he tucked his primary weapon, a Glock he’d had for years, into his holster. By the time he finished, the shower had shut off. Cris flew out the door, bag in hand, her hair hanging around her in wet ropes.

  “Let’s get gone,” she said, her voice determined.

  Nick pulled the Beretta out of the open top of his bag. “I’d feel better if you had this.”

  “Absolutely not,” she replied, and despite the pure steel of her tone, he heard a nervous tremor. She didn’t want to handle the gun, and given her past, he could understand it. He didn’t like it, but he’d deal.

  He sighed as he stuffed the weapon back amongst his clothes and walked to the kitchen drawer where he kept the secondary remote to the garage. Snagging that and clipping it to his jeans, he walked to the door, pushing the gym bag back to her.

  She understood his action without a word being spoken. He needed his hands free.

  They entered the garage warily but were in the clear for what seemed like the millionth time that day. When would their luck run out? They entered the truck and buckled in, and Nick punched the remote after placing his Glock in the cupholder. An inauspicious place, to be sure, but if he needed it, he didn’t want to have to grapple with his holster. He already missed the steering column mount he’d installed in his private vehicle.

  He ignored Cristine’s wince. The weapon was necessary, and she had the good sense to know it.

  Just like this morning, back in the repo yard, the door rose too slowly, and this time it was Nick who skirted death by moving out at the first possible second.

  But there was no one waiting for them, no one trying to ventilate them.

  Nick pulled onto the street with a screech and sped through the residential neighborhood, relying on her to watch their backs.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Into the country, to a fishing cabin I use from time to time. No one from OSBI knows about it, not even my family knows. It belongs to an old buddy of mine from the Corps who’s deployed to sandy places right now. We’ll be safe out there until we figure out who we can trust.”

  “Criminy,” Cristine breathed. “Even though it rang true when you said it back there, it really hit me now. There must be someone in the inside, someone who knew where to find me as soon as my name popped up on a search. They got to the house too quickly after the tornado for it to be anything else. And if they can find me, then they might be able to find you, no matter what Linc said.” She ran a hand through her wet hair.

  “These guys are likely wired into the system or it could be a legit cop who figured the whole thing out and was cashing in by broadcasting your location. And maybe mine.”

  She blew out a breath, then began braiding her hair with quick, deft motions.

  Nick watched her perform the feminine act out of the corner of his eye, then yanked his attention back to the road, to their predicament. He just hoped they weren’t going down exactly the wrong road. Both physically and metaphorically.

  Cris shivered beneath the weight of their words. But she was positive they’d been right. The pieces fit together too well. So now they knew the how—maybe. It didn’t make her feel any better. They w
ere still on the run, still being forced into hiding, and it went against every instinct in her body. Maybe it was because she’d been running on adrenaline for almost twelve hours and desperately needed sleep. Maybe it was because of the man sitting next to her in the suddenly too-close confines of the SUV. His scent, his presence, everything about him threw her for a loop. Intellectually, she didn’t like it one little bit, even as the woman inside reveled at the distraction.

  Then the object of her irrational obsession pulled into the deserted end of a grocery store parking lot and shut off the ignition.

  “Doesn’t look like a fishing hole to me,” Cris commented, wondering what he was up to.

  “Need to check for bugs,” he replied. “As much as I’d like to trust your boss, and Linc, I don’t want to stake our lives on it.”

  He was right. “I’ll check the inside if you’ll eyeball the exterior.”

  She thoroughly searched the obvious, quick spots someone might plant a mic or tracking device and came up empty. Then she dove into the not-so-obvious places and discovered exactly the same.

  Nick opened the door about the same time she finished and shrugged. They could do a more detailed search later, after they hit an electronics store and picked up a handheld spectrum analyzer. It was the best way to see if there were any mics.

  “Electronics store next?” she asked, not so surprised when he grinned at her. Dammit, he was enjoying this, just a little. Or at least the prospect of figuring out who the mole was.

  “You read my mind.”

  They pulled back into traffic, found a mall with a high-end hobby shop and bought the requisite equipment. Their search of the truck this time around was just as empty as the first, and real relief swamped her. While it didn’t completely negate the possibility that her friends had sold her out, it certainly lessened the chances and pointed more towards law enforcement involvement.

  Through the course of their investigation, afternoon had faded into evening. They got back on the road, heading toward Nick’s mysterious fishing cabin.

  She turned her attention to the rear of the truck as twilight slid into the dark of night. No headlights followed them, though if they had, they would have stuck out like a lighthouse beacon in the desolate countryside. Peppered only by the occasional farm or ranch house, it was Oklahoma living at its best. One moment you were in the center of a metro, the next you glided through fields and thickly wooded copses that made you forget everything but the stark beauty.

  Her soul needed that right now, needed to feel the balm of her adopted state.

  The silence that had descended between her and Nick was comfortable, weighted by their joint understanding of the evil that could be unleashed in the clear light of day as easily as the darkness of night.

  In the comfort of that silence, she could allow herself to imagine what might happen if she called Nick on his lush kisses, if she allowed it to go further. She could feel his big, strong hands on her body, the heat of his mouth against her breasts, her core. Could feel the corded heat of him as he thrust inside her, making her forget everything but the inferno building between them.

  “Hey, you okay?” Nick’s voice was concerned, instead of full of masculine desire.

  Cris jerked away from the truck’s window, feeling the cold imprint of it against her cheek. Nick was still behind the wheel, and the dashboard lights made him look vaguely wolfish. She shook herself. Jesus, she’d dozed and almost had a wet dream.

  “I’m fine,” she lied. “Must have nodded off.”

  He looked unconvinced but pointed to a driveway coming into the glare of the headlights. “We’re almost there. Still no tails, thank God.”

  Trees loomed over what had become a dirt road, reflecting across the canopy, casting the road in an eerie shadow. A shiver chased down her spine that had nothing to do with their predicament and everything to do with their surroundings.

  “This place really is desolate,” she muttered.

  “Don’t worry, it has heat, air and running water,” Nick replied dryly. “Morgan, the guy who owns it, uses it as his vacation home when he’s stateside, which isn’t very often, nowadays.”

  Yeah, Cris could certainly understand that. The deployment tempo for anyone associated with the armed forces was brutal, and his friend was likely rarely here in the States.

  While her recent experience with military types might be less than comprehensive, she’d spent a lot of her youth watching her father pay tribute to their sacrifices, and he’d become especially vocal since 9/11. It only made her even more proud of her dad, more proud of her country.

  Then Morgan’s “cabin” came into view and she saw what Nick had meant. The place had more than running water, that much was certain. It was a neat little house, one story, with a white porch complete with a swing. All that was missing was a thirty-something woman pruning the rosebushes that should have graced the front yard.

  “Fishing cabin, my ass,” Cris said with a smile, grateful it wasn’t the dilapidated building with a sagging couch she’d half expected.

  “Hey, it’s what he uses it for most of the time,” Nick responded, laughter lurking in his words. “He gave me carte blanche to use it when I retired.”

  Cris turned her mind away from the charming cottage and back to their situation, as much as she didn’t want to. “Security?”

  “Top of the line. Morgan’s a communications expert, and a computer geek to boot, not that you’d know it to look at him. He’s a Marine, through and through.” There was pride in his voice, a sense of belonging colored by wistfulness she knew he didn’t hear. He missed his buddies, missed the brotherhood of the Corps. She could understand that wholeheartedly, and it awakened a pang she hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

  They pulled to a stop beneath a carport. Cris stepped out of the truck and allowed the pure sounds of the night to filter through her. Frogs croaked somewhere close, so the lake had to be nearby.

  Nick brushed past her and opened the front door, turning off the security system. “Code is 2001,” he said, then flipped on the lights. Through the window Cris could see a living room decorated by the typical male—with money. Long, low leather couches were slung beneath a behemoth of a television, one she suspected featured either the Sooners or the Cowboys on any Saturday between September and December.

  She climbed the porch stairs and entered, closing the door behind her and reset the alarm.

  “Layout is pretty much the same as my place, guest bath right down the hall, room across from it. Are you hungry?” Nick hollered out of the kitchen, which was separated from the living room by an eat-in bar.

  As Cris’ stomach rumbled, she grinned wryly. “Obviously. Guess it took my body some time to catch up.” Whoever this Morgan guy was, he was obviously not hurting for cash. It was an interesting tidbit she might explore later, but right now she needed to refuel.

  “Pizza okay? It’s frozen, but so is everything else.”

  “At this point, I’d eat almost anything,” she admitted and perched on one of the barstools. Nick shot her such a pointed glance there was no way she could mistake his meaning. She felt herself blushing, and mentally kicked herself when Nick blinded her with a smile.

  Cripes, her seriously neglected libido would have to wait until this was over. Then, and only then, would she consider what to do with her outrageous, and totally reciprocated, attraction to Nick McLain.

  Chapter 9

  Cris awoke from the nightmare of Austin, breath heaving in her lungs, sweat beading on her forehead, between her breasts. Her heart thundered in her chest, the sound drowning out everything around her.

  She flopped back on the pillow, relief and frustration raging through her blood. It had been almost a year since she’d dreamt of the bloodbath. Since she’d relived the carnage in her memory.

  The blood was still as garish, the screams of the dying as visceral, heartbreaking and guilt-rending.

  Even with everything that had happened after, she remember
ed those moments the most clearly.

  The aftermath, the terror that had coursed through her veins the day Lori Wright tried to kill her.

  The utter futility of having a degree in psychology but being unable to help herself.

  Flipping off the sheets, she stood and paced. The act was all that had sustained her in the past, but she wasn’t sure it would do the trick tonight. No, as of today, the possibility of witnessing, of being part of such bloodshed again was all too real.

  What was she going to do about it? Apparently run away--again. But was there anything else to do?

  Not really, and that was what galled her the most.

  They were waiting for a group of thugs to make their next move—unless Linc and the task force got to them first. And in the meantime, she’d been forced to hunker down with Nick. A man she was finding disconcerting on multiple levels, to say the very least.

  As if summoned from her thoughts, Nick appeared in the doorway. He was shirtless, clad only in a pair of athletic shorts. “Can’t sleep?”

  Cris hesitated for a moment, then told the truth. He’d seen and experienced enough to understand. And to be honest, all his bare skin was doing a great job of distracting her. “Bad dream. Austin.”

  He settled against the doorframe, corded arms crossed against his muscular chest, the globe-and-anchor of his tattoo vivid against his bicep. “You know you’re not the only one who’s been there, right?”

  She nodded.

  Nick pointed to his left knee, and Cris saw, for the first time, a snaking mass of angry scars. They were obviously old, but just as obviously had been excruciatingly painful.

  “We were in a Green Zone,” he said, referring to the supposed safe zone in forward deployed locations. “Just chilling, enjoying a few precious hours off patrol. Things had been quiet for a bit, with only IEDs to contend with, and they weren’t as prevalent as they became later. Anyway, out of nowhere, a mortar arcs in and detonates on the other side of the square. Blew me and my squad mates out of our chairs. The sound was deafening, the only thing I could hear was screaming, and even that sounded like it was coming from miles away. Then I realized it was me screaming, and that I was wearing what was left of my buddies. My knee was mangled to shit. It was so bad I couldn’t move without puking. When the medics found me, I was half out of my mind with the pain and the knowledge I was the only man left standing in my squad.”