Divorced, Desperate and Deceived

by Christie Craig

  Luke turned to the road and then back to her. “Someone’s in there?” he asked.

  She nodded and motioned to the tree. “I’ll be right back.”

  She had her pants down and was positioned in full squat by the pine, her jeans and panties as far away from spray danger as she could get them when she heard Luke call her name. She ignored him to enjoy the bliss of unloading her full bladder. It was better than sex, she thought. Well, better than sex with her ex, she amended. Remembering her fantasies about Luke, she reminded herself that maybe she just hadn’t had good sex.

  Then she heard someone behind her. “I said let’s go!”

  Startled, she nearly fell back and landed in the puddle she’d been making. Managing to catch herself, she twisted her head around to glare at Luke. However, stopping on demand wasn’t easy. Fully aware that her bare bottom was exposed, she screeched, “Get out of here!”

  “Now. Get up!” He had his gun in one hand and Goodwill in the other.

  “Turn around,” Kathy growled, both furious and embarrassed.

  He muttered something and turned around, looking ready to unload his gun on someone.

  Though she probably could have squeezed out another gallon, she jerked herself upright and hauled her panties and jeans up, too. “Have you ever heard of—”

  He grabbed her by the elbow and started moving.

  “Privacy?” she finished as he dragged her to the car. She started to give him a piece of her mind, but then she noted the seriousness of his expression. Remembering being chased and shot at, her gaze shifted around and she expected to see another car.

  “What is it?” she asked when she didn’t see any obvious danger.

  He opened the car door and shoved her and Goodwill inside. In seconds, he’d settled into the driver’s seat. The tires spat gravel as he threw the car into gear and they spun out onto the road.

  “You had better have a damn good reason for that,” she growled.

  He shifted the car into second gear. “I do.”

  “Would you like to share?” she seethed. “Because I could have done with a little more drip-dry time. And I don’t think I used up my two minutes.”

  “Remember the guy you saw in the porta-potty?” Luke looked in the rearview mirror.

  “Yeah.”

  “He worked for Lorenzo.”

  “Who’s Lorenzo?”

  “The guy I’m supposed to testify against.”

  “Oh.” Kathy’s heart started to pound. She turned to see if anyone was following them. “I don’t think he’s behind us.”

  “It’s not him I’m worried about,” Luke said.

  “Then who are you worried about?”

  He made a sharp turn onto another road but remained quiet.

  “Answer me!”

  He shot her a quick look. “The man in the porta-potty wasn’t breathing.”

  “Nobody breathes in those things. They stink,” she reminded him.

  He shook his head and chuckled grimly. “No. He wasn’t holding his breath. The guy in the porta-potty was dead.”

  Kathy’s heart skipped a couple of beats. She bit her lip and stared at Luke. “Was he the guy I hit over the head with the toilet tank lid? Do you think I—”

  “No. Different guy. I actually had the pleasure of meeting this guy when I was undercover. He was one of Lorenzo’s top men.”

  Kathy closed her eyes, leaned her head back and tried not to think about today being the absolute—the hands-down absolute, no questions asked—worst day of her life. Of course, she reminded herself, her bad day probably didn’t compare to that of the guy in the porta-potty.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Joey pulled up at the café, checked the parking lot for anything suspicious. It hadn’t occurred to him until a few minutes ago that Lorenzo’s contact probably already had info about the blonde. And if he knew about the blonde, he might suspect Joey of being up to no good.

  Not that it was “no good” Joey was up to. Some would say his plan was “for the good.” If Joey was successful, some kid would get to grow up with his mom. Maybe it wasn’t a grand thing, his gesture, but to that boy it would be a big deal.

  Reaching under his jacket, he checked his gun, then looked left to right as he got out of his car. Nothing. Nobody. No cop car either. Since the guy said he’d be the only one legally carrying, Joey had suspected he was a lawman. Pulling his jacket closed, he hit the clicker to lock his car and walked inside the café.

  The dark atmosphere smelled like grilled burgers. He shouldn’t be hungry after the four soft tacos he’d eaten at Lola’s, but Joey never passed up the opportunity to enjoy a meal—especially when it could be his last.

  He blinked a few times, pushing his eyes to adjust. Looking from back to front, he counted only three of the booths occupied. The first held a couple of painters with splattered clothes. In the second sat two elderly women. The third was a man, alone. He wore a cowboy hat. Okay, it wasn’t a cowboy hat but a state trooper hat. Here was a man legally able to carry.

  Joey took another step, and the trooper turned. Joey stopped so fast his expensive dress shoes squeaked on the floor. Trooper Foster? The man Lola hadn’t wanted to smile at. The man whose touch had made the pretty Latina cringe. Lola’s judgment was right on target. Not that anything explained her warm regard for Joey.

  Foster’s gaze met his. Joey saw recognition in the man’s expression. Well, damn. This would be interesting. Or not.

  Taking another step, Joey stayed ready to reach for his gun.

  As Luke drove, his mind wandered back to that morning. To the tender way she’d cared for his wounds. Then his memory stuck to the teasing way she’d given him permission to kiss her.

  “So if I kissed you right now, you wouldn’t go Texan on me and freak out?”

  “Haven’t I told you? I’m originally from Alabama.”

  It was a piece of information about Kathy Callahan he hadn’t known.

  “You’re not going to start freaking out on me again, are you, Bama?” Luke asked her, noticing her eyes were squeezed shut so tight that her brow creased. For the last ten minutes she hadn’t said a word. Maybe he shouldn’t have told her about the body in the porta-potty, but being honest had seemed his best option.

  She rolled her head toward him and opened her eyes. She looked scared—and so damn vulnerable he ached to touch her. To offer her promises of not only keeping her safe but of a future with him. But those were promises she wouldn’t want.

  “Bama?” she repeated.

  “You’re from Alabama, right?”

  She nodded. “How did you know?”

  “You told me.”

  “When?”

  He grinned. “Right before you kissed me back at my place.”

  “Oh.” She blinked, and her brow pinched in thought.

  He processed her reaction and joked, “Why? Is where you’re from a secret?” But, damn, if he didn’t want to uncover every one of her secrets.

  She sat up straighter, and he read a surprising hint of defensiveness in her expression. “No. It was just a long time ago.”

  Obviously not long enough, if the look in her eyes was any indication.

  She continued to stare. “However, for the record…I think you kissed me.”

  He didn’t doubt the change of conversation was a cover-up, but if that helped, he’d play along. “Are we keeping a record? Like, a score? Who kisses whom?”

  “No. But you’re also the one who kissed me in the parking lot. I haven’t kissed you…” She trailed off, blushing.

  “Yet?” he asked.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “It seemed to be implied. You didn’t end your sentence.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I did end it.”

  “So we are keeping score?”

  “No. But if we were, I’d win,” she snapped.

  “What fun would that be? Kissing me would be better.”

  “I don’t know. I really like winning,” she
countered. Then she smiled, but it quickly faded, and she went back to being quiet, closed her eyes.

  He reached out and brushed a hand over her shoulder. “Really. You okay?”

  “If you’re asking whether you need to start an argument with me again so I’ll stop hearing and seeing things that aren’t happening, the answer is no. But to answer the question if I’m okay…That’s debatable. It’s been a sucky—really, really sucky—day.”

  “I know. And I’m sorry,” he said. He meant it. “I promise that I’m doing everything in my power to make sure it ends okay.”

  She fell back into her seat and looked at him. “It isn’t all your fault.”

  “No? So which parts do you blame me for?” he asked, hoping that the question would help ease some of her frustration.

  “I definitely blame you for throwing away my phone.” Her mouth hinted at a smile, but then it faded and she nipped at her bottom lip. She shook her head and asked, “What do you think he died of? Do you think the smell could have killed him?”

  Even though he knew she was half-serious, he couldn’t help laughing. “I don’t think so.”

  “Maybe a heart attack?”

  “Could be, but…I doubt that, too.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Because, considering what he’s in town to do and the kind of people he hangs out with, him dying of natural causes just doesn’t seem likely.”

  “So you think someone killed him.” Concern darkened her eyes.

  “That would be my first guess.”

  “Was he shot?”

  “I didn’t see a bullet wound.”

  “Was he bleeding, or did he have stab wounds?”

  “I didn’t see those either.”

  “Then how do you know he was dead? Did you even check?” she groused.

  “He had his pants down.”

  She made the cutest expression, meaning huh. “And…what does that mean?”

  He bit back a chuckle. “It means I’m a guy. And when a guy stumbles across another guy with his pants down, we don’t do a lot of checking.”

  Kathy smiled, but the humor didn’t linger. “You’re positive he was dead?”

  Luke sighed. “Afraid so. Not breathing, the bluish green complexion and the slight bloating around his face—that all pretty much nailed it down for me.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and shivered. “Ugh. Do you think someone killed him while he was in the porta-potty?”

  “Well, the only other option would be someone put him there after they killed him, and that wouldn’t make sense.” Luke shrugged.

  “But he was reading a magazine. I think it was on birding.”

  “A birding magazine? That doesn’t make sense either. I never figured him to be queer.”

  Kathy laughed. “You know what else doesn’t make sense?”

  “What?”

  “That he wore sunglasses. It’s dark in there. He wouldn’t be able to read with sunglasses on.”

  “That’s true,” Luke realized. And for the life of him, he didn’t know what any of it meant. Still, getting the hell away from one of Lorenzo’s men, even a dead one, had seemed the right thing to do.

  Half-crazed feminine laughter suddenly filled the car. “Oh, my gawd! Did you read his hat?”

  “No.” He studied her, concerned.

  “It said: ‘Shit happens and then you die’!”

  Okay, she wasn’t losing it. He belted out his own laughter, and then he had to wonder if maybe someone hadn’t put that body in the porta-potty. But why? Then again, he shouldn’t be spending too much energy worrying about who killed Lorenzo’s man. Instead, he needed to figure out a plan to make sure he and Kathy stayed alive.

  They drove a few more miles. “Where are we going now?” she asked, and gave Goodwill a loving pat. The dog, his head resting peacefully in her lap, opened his buggy eyes and glanced up at her.

  Puppy love. For just a minute Luke remembered trying to talk his ex-wife into getting a dog. Sandy had been dead set against it. Unlike Kathy, she hadn’t had time to nurture anything. Hadn’t wanted to. Not even his child. The last thought sent a whole chestful of emotions rumbling through him, so he pushed it back.

  “Do you even know where we’re going?” Kathy asked.

  “There’s a place we can hide out for a while.”

  “Do you think Harry Johnson will be reporting the car stolen soon? Shouldn’t we leave town?”

  “That’s what they think we’ll do. And yes, someone could have easily picked up Harry, so there’s a good chance he’s already reported the car. We take it out on the freeway, we’ll either be picked up by a trooper or spotted by Lorenzo’s men. Lying low is safer. When we get in touch with Calvin, we’ll meet him somewhere local.” If we get in touch with him. He reminded himself it hadn’t been that long.

  Kathy reached for the dash. “Do you think they’re talking about us on the radio?”

  “It doesn’t work,” Luke said. “But I tried, too.”

  She leaned back and sighed, frustrated. He could relate wholeheartedly.

  “Where is this place we’re going to?” she asked.

  “It’s about six miles off Cypress Springs. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Not too far from here there’s a café-slash-convenience store. Figure we could grab something to eat—and maybe something to hold us over in the morning if I don’t hear back from Calvin by then.” He reached back into his jeans for his wallet and handed it to her. “See how much cash I got.”

  “I got credit cards, so we should be fine.”

  “We can’t use those,” he pointed out.

  “Because they would trace them?”

  “Right.”

  “I swear, I feel as if I’m living a Law & Order episode.”

  He shot her a sympathetic smile. “You should count all your cash, too.”

  She took his wallet, carefully set the sleepy puppy on the floor, unlocked her seat belt and then reached for her purse in back. While she was stretched across her seat, Luke shamelessly ogled her shapely backside.

  Settling back, Kathy struggled to get her purse strap from Goodwill, who’d decided it was playtime. The puppy sank his teeth into the leather strap and yanked his head back and forth, mischievously growling. She finally managed to get the purse free.

  “Do you really think this…this Calvin is going to call you back?”

  “I’m sure he will,” Luke replied and tried to remain positive.

  Actually, the fact that Calvin hadn’t already called was giving him a bad feeling. A really bad feeling. Like how deep was Lorenzo’s penetration of the US justice system? Could he have found a way to infiltrate the US Marshals and Wit-Sec? It wasn’t probable…but neither was it impossible.

  He didn’t want to jump to conclusions, though. Honestly, it had been only about six hours since he’d tried to reach Calvin. He figured he’d give his contact until morning, and between now and then he would come up with plan B.

  While WitSec had preached against ever trying to contact anyone else, he knew a few names from the Bureau—names of people who four years ago might have considered him their friend. They were people who could check in with the US Marshals to see why Calvin was MIA…people whom he’d pushed out of his life while trying to deal with his grief.

  “What if he doesn’t?” Kathy asked.

  “We’ll handle it,” he replied, pushing his past away and concentrating on her. And damn, if she wasn’t nice to concentrate on. Even frazzled, devoid of any makeup, she looked great. A few light freckles spattered her nose. Without lipstick, her lips were a soft rose color.

  And yet, while everything about her physical package, from her hair to her toenails—which he’d noticed she kept painted pink—had him enthralled, that wasn’t what intrigued him most. It was who she was: the emotionally genuine, dog-loving, kid-loving spirit.

  He’d seen her cry once, when she found her son’s turtle dead in its fishbowl. Then she’d run out to the
pet store and bought another one the same size to spare her son the grief. He’d seen her laugh herself silly when the pipe he was working on under her sink broke and water sprayed the hell out of him—she hadn’t given a damn about her carpet getting wet, the way most women would have. He’d seen her push a Tonka truck through the mud, getting down and dirty all because her son asked her to play with him. She was so damn unpretentious, so good-hearted—but still maintained a certain feminine sass.

  Unexpectedly, a different image of her filled his mind: pants down, squatting precariously behind that tree, furious at him for interrupting her. Unable to stop himself, he laughed uproariously.

  “What?” Kathy asked.

  He looked at her. “I’m never been so glad that I can pee standing up.”

  Her mouth dropped open, and she slapped his arm. “I knew sooner or later you would bring that up. You’re not gentleman enough to just forget it.”

  He continued to laugh and she continued to frown, but he saw an amused twinkle in her eyes. Which was what he loved about her most of all. They could tease each other, laugh with and at each other. And damn, he liked who he was around her. It reminded him of who he’d been before…before all the bad stuff happened. The bad stuff summarized by the dead man’s hat.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “For what?” Kathy asked.

  “Everything,” he said—and then felt silly. He pointed to his wallet. “Let’s see how much money we have.”

  She opened his wallet, thumbed through, set the cash in her lap, then rechecked the billfold. “You have twenty-one dollars and…” She peered inside another compartment. Her gaze shot up, and her hazel eyes darkened.

  “What…?” he asked. Then he remembered.

  “And two condoms,” she continued.

  He bit back a smile and took a chance that she was still in a teasing mood. “We could always buy more if you don’t think that’s enough.”

  Joey cautiously approached Foster, never forgetting exactly where his gun was, or where the other people in the café sat.

  “Where is Donald?” the trooper asked.

  When the man motioned for him to sit, Joey obliged. They had barely done more than nod at each other before the waitress, a woman in her midthirties with a pretty face, came to the table. Joey ordered coffee and a hamburger. No french fries. Normally, he’d have ordered the fries, but he remembered standing in front of Lola and wishing he hadn’t been so lax about watching his waistline.