by LENA DIAZ,
It was a good hour later before she felt somewhat human again. A hot shower had done wonders. So had a cup of the nasty-tasting coffee from the coffeemaker on the bathroom counter. The caffeine had made the horrible taste worth ignoring. Add to that a packet of aspirin she’d pilfered from the vet and she could now face the day with a bit of optimism. Or at least she would have if she had answered Devlin’s question with a lie instead of the truth.
He’d sprung the question on her after he came out of the shower, holding a towel around his waist, and saw the fresh set of jeans, shirt, and underwear Emily had laid out on the bed for him.
“Emily, where did these clothes come from? And the toiletries in the bathroom?”
“The superstore about five miles down the road.”
His eyelids drooped to half-mast. “You drove the Mustang—Ace’s Mustang?”
His overly polite, carefully enunciated questions were starting to make her realize she might have screwed up royally. But she didn’t understand why.
“I was careful. I used cash. And when I got back here I parked the car in the lot by the motel across from ours.”
When he shook his head, she couldn’t help feeling defensive.
“What’s the problem? Your shirt was bloody. Your jeans were cut up and covered in soot. And my clothes weren’t in much better shape. How are we supposed to blend in looking like that?”
He stared at her, his brows raised. Waiting.
Then it clicked. Shoot. “I suppose it’s possible I might have drawn a little attention with my soot-streaked shirt.” When he didn’t say anything, she continued. “And I bought clothes for both a man and a woman, and you might have mentioned earlier that Ace and his thugs would be on the lookout for a couple. And maybe I shouldn’t have driven the Mustang directly from the store to our motel.”
“Bingo,” he said. “Ace would know in order to blend in we’d need more clothes. A superstore is the most obvious place to get them. What time did you go to the store?”
“Probably about eight last night. But no one saw me. If they did, they’d have been here already. It’s past seven in the morning.”
“That’s not how it works. Ace is wounded. It would have taken him some time to get his Plan B into motion. He might not have had anyone at the store when you went there. But if it’s one of the main stores in the area, you can bet his men will be questioning the manager and tricking him into thinking they have a legitimate reason to look at surveillance video. That takes time.” He strode past her to the front window and pulled the curtain back a few inches.
From the way he stiffened, Emily knew her mistakes were about to come back to haunt both of them.
DEVLIN HELD THE curtain slit open so Emily could see what he was looking at.
“I don’t see anyone at all.” The relief in her voice was palpable. “We must be okay.”
“Check the other motel, the one across the parking lot from ours. Watch the last door on the left, bottom floor.”
A few seconds later, two men dressed in black flak jackets stepped outside the room. The word POLICE was written across the back in stark-white letters.
“Those aren’t the kind of jackets the Chatham County police use,” she said.
“I know.” He rushed to the bed to finish getting dressed. His shoulder was starting to throb again, but he didn’t have time to take anything for it.
“The hotel manager must think they’re real police,” she said from her position by the window. “They’re using master keys, going room to room.” She dropped the curtain and turned around. “Maybe they’ll search only that motel since that’s where the Mustang is parked.
“Do you really believe that?”
Her shoulders slumped. “No.”
Putting the Kevlar vest on was becoming a form of torture with his shoulder throbbing so hard.
Emily ran to help him, then insisted on popping some aspirin in his mouth and making him chase it with a cup of lukewarm coffee.
He grimaced and handed the cup back to her. “Thanks. I think.” He checked the loading of the gun he’d taken from Tuck. A full clip. Not enough if he got pinned down in a gunfight, but he hoped it wouldn’t come to that. He shoved it in his pocket; again not ideal, but he’d tossed his holster in Alex’s pond.
When he saw Emily, still dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, his stomach sank. “Please tell me you didn’t leave your Kevlar at Alex’s house.”
“I had to ditch it in the Charger. Drier would have known my vest was still at the office. He’d have asked all kinds of questions. And before you try to give me yours, there’s no way I could run or even bend in that thing. It’s way too big and heavy.”
She was right and he knew it, but it felt every kind of wrong to have a vest on while she didn’t. He crossed the room, relieved that the aspirin was already kicking in enough to dull the throbbing in his shoulder a bit, and peered out the crack in the curtains. “Well, the good news is they’re apparently searching for evidence in each room to see if we’ve been there.”
“Why do you say that? And why is that good?”
“As small as these rooms are, it would take only a quick glance under the bed, in the bathroom, and in the closet to know the room was empty. The most that should take is five or six seconds. They’re taking between thirty- and thirty-five seconds, longer sometimes, probably because those rooms are occupied. That will make it easier to sneak out of here. Plus, it will take them a few minutes to convince the manager of this motel to give them room keys. That buys us even more time.”
Emily shook her head. “I wouldn’t count on it taking them any time at all to get the keys. The manager didn’t even look at me when I got our room. He cared only about the money on the counter. He’s not going to ask about search warrants or probable cause.”
Devlin smiled. “Maybe not. Where’s the car?”
“On the far left, near the Dumpsters.”
“Too far away. We’d never reach it without being seen. We’ll have to wing it.”
“Meaning?”
“If we hadn’t been forced to ditch my go bag at Alex’s house, I’d have some tools I could use to hot-wire a car.”
She winced. “And I’d still have my Sig Sauer and could protect myself instead of counting on you to protect me using the gun you stole from Tuck.” She shook her head. “I should have tried harder to get that bag past Drier. What can we do since you don’t have the tools you need?”
“The answer to that might be too hard for a reforming cop to swallow. I think I’d rather surprise you.”
The look on her face told him she didn’t like the sound of that, which also told him he’d made the right decision not telling her his plan. He just hoped she’d understand and wouldn’t hate him later.
He looked out through the slit in the curtains again. “They’ve finished searching the other motel.”
She joined him by the door. “I don’t suppose that means they’re leaving.”
He grinned. “Now, where would the fun be in that?” He strode toward the bathroom.
“What are you doing?” she called out.
He grabbed the trash can with the bloody towels and bandages she’d used on his shoulder. “Hiding the evidence that we were ever in this room. Can you lift the mattress a few inches?”
She lifted it and he shoved the whole bloody mess between the mattress and box spring before putting the trash can back in the bathroom. Between the two of them, they hid any evidence as well as they could. Except for the papers she’d taken from the binder earlier, which she shoved into the top of her waistband again, then dropped her shirt back down.
Devlin squeezed her hand in thanks. “Just follow me and do what I say. We’ll have to time our exit just right. But I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe, Em. Promise.”
“You’ve kept me alive this long. I have no reason to doubt you now. But just for the record, I’m a good shot. Get me a gun and I can watch your back.”
“Hmm. I wouldn’t
have guessed that from the basement incident.”
She flushed a pretty pink. “Not my best moment.”
He pressed a quick kiss against her lips. He didn’t know which of them was more surprised And since he was thinking about grabbing her for another much hotter, wetter, deeper kiss, he forced himself to turn away. He hurried to the door and waved for her to join him as he looked out the peephole.
“When we go outside, duck down. We’ll use the row of cars out front as cover and slowly make our way toward the office.”
“Got it. Duck down. Do what you say. And pray. You forgot pray. I’ve got that part covered.”
He grinned. “Get ready; they’re about to go into some rooms at the far-left end of our motel. “Wait . . . wait . . . wait . . . okay, go.” He threw the door open and pulled her outside.
He quietly closed the door behind them, then pulled her in between two cars. They hurried to the back bumper, ducking down low as he leaned out to watch for their pursuers. He tugged her to the next car, waited, watched. Another few feet to the next one.
“Down,” he whispered, pulling her with him to the pavement by the trunk. He listened closely to the sounds of feet shuffling, low voices, and motel-room doors opening. They were close, too close.
A few seconds later, he signaled to Emily to move again. They both ducked down and ran to the next car. Their pattern continued until they were almost to the manager’s office.
Shouts suddenly sounded from behind them.
Devlin whirled around. One of Ace’s men was standing along the row of cars, looking directly at them, clawing for his gun. Devlin picked him off with a shot clean through the temple.
Emily made a strangling sound in her throat. Devlin didn’t have time to apologize even if he’d wanted to. He yanked her in front of him, covering her as best he could.
“Run, Em.” He urged her around the side of the car.
The driver’s window exploded in as the sound of another gunshot echoed through the air.
Emily screamed and ducked down as glass rained on her.
Devlin grabbed her around the waist and lifted her, setting her on her feet and pulling her forward. “This way!”
They tore off through the breezeway by the manager’s office to the grass behind the motel. Devlin pushed her toward the road out front. She was about to learn his Plan B since he didn’t have his tools to hot-wire a car.
“What now?” Emily asked, gasping for breath.
Devlin grabbed her and pulled her to the front of the manager’s building, right by the road. Running footsteps sounded behind them.
“We’re trapped.” Emily put her hand on his arm.
“Don’t give up on me yet.” He kept his gaze focused on the road out front. An engine revved. Plan B came barreling around the curve in the form of a black SUV.
“Come on.” He grabbed her hand and ran with her out onto the road, keeping the manager’s building between them and their pursuers.
Devlin braced his legs wide apart and aimed his gun at the windshield. Brakes screeched. The SUV came to a shuddering halt.
He ran to the driver’s side, pulling Emily with him. “Get in the back.”
She gave the pale driver a look of apology as she scrambled inside.
Devlin yanked the driver’s door open, reached in past the stunned man to throw the truck in park. Then he unclicked the seat belt and tossed him onto the road, all so quickly the driver didn’t have time to react.
“Devlin!” Emily yelled, sounding shocked.
“Habit,” he growled, jumping into the driver’s seat and slamming the door. He threw the SUV in gear and punched the gas.
The gunmen rounded the corner of the manager’s building and spilled out onto the road.
“Get down,” Devlin ordered.
Emily dove to the floor. Shots rang out from behind them, pinging against the bumper. The rear window exploded in a hail of glass. Seconds later, they rounded a curve, and the sound of gunfire faded like a nightmare.
Chapter Twenty-Two
* * *
AS IF CARJACKING wasn’t bad enough, the next crime Emily could add to her shiny new criminal record was another breaking and entering. She stood in the middle of the family room of a three-bedroom ranch home on a small plot of land just outside of Savannah, turning in a circle. Could she sink any lower? She supposed she should be grateful that Devlin had at least chosen a house whose owner wasn’t home.
“You seem pretty calm about all this,” she said. “I suppose you do this a lot? Break into people’s houses while they’re at work?”
“Would you rather we’d hung around outside and waited for Ace or his men to find us?”
She let out a deep breath. “No. Sorry. You’re right. I do appreciate everything you’ve done to keep me safe. And here I am complain—”
He pressed his fingers against her lips. “Don’t apologize. And don’t thank me either. Let’s just work together and see if we can figure out, once and for all, who started all of this and where he’s holding Kelly. One thing at a time. You have the papers?”
She patted the packet of pages hidden beneath her shirt. “Right here.”
He led her to the dining-room table and she pulled the papers out of her waistband and set them down. “Do you think we’re safe here?”
“For the moment, yes.” He picked up the top page and skimmed it.
“Devlin, when this is over, if we survive—”
He gave her a sharp look. “Nothing’s going to happen to you, Em.”
“I appreciate that, and I hope you’re right, believe me. If we do survive, what happens then? Now that you know the company you’ve been working for is wrong, evil . . . what will you do with the rest of your life?”
His dark eyes met hers. “What makes you think that I’ve concluded EXIT is evil?”
She blinked. “You’re kidding, right? They’ve been trying to kill both of us. Personally, I call that evil.”
He gripped the back of the dining-room chair in front of him. “EXIT’s mission remains the same regardless of our current situation. Cyprian wouldn’t have sent Gage and Ace after me if he didn’t truly believe I’d gone rogue and was a threat to others. There’s no evil in that.”
She stared at him in shock. “What about me? Your employer has given me a death sentence because I may know something about his secret purpose. How is that not wrong?”
“I didn’t say that wasn’t wrong. But Cyprian made an honest mistake going after you. He’s doing what he believes is necessary to protect the company’s mission.”
She shook her head, not wanting to believe what she was hearing. “Are you telling me that if we rescue your friend Kelly Parker, and she convinces your boss you’re innocent, you’ll go back to being an assassin, as if none of this ever happened?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
She pressed her hand to her throat. “What if . . . what if I die, Devlin? What if you get your life back, but one of your enforcers carries out my death sentence? What then?”
A look of pain crossed his face. He quickly closed the short distance between them, grabbed her shoulders, and shook her lightly. “You will not die, Emily. Do you understand me?” His voice was hoarse and raw. “You. Won’t. Die.”
He clamped his mouth down on hers. She shouldn’t have responded. She should have pushed him away. This was wrong. They had completely different moral centers and were worlds apart. But she did respond, drinking him in, molding her lips to his. Because, somehow, whenever he touched her, everything else fell away and all that mattered was how impossibly right it felt to be in his arms.
A shudder ran through him and he broke the kiss, but he didn’t let her go. He pulled her against his chest and rested his head on top of hers. Emily slid her arms around his waist and held him tight. Nothing was settled between them, but for now, being held in the protective cocoon of his arms was enough.
He stroked her back, her hair, and rubbed his cheek against the top of her head.
“I’m sorry about everything that’s happened to you,” he whispered. “If I could go back in the past and change it, I would. If you understand nothing else about me, understand this.” He pulled back and cupped her face. “I care about you, and I’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe.”
He winced and dropped his hands to his sides. “I’m going to find something stronger than aspirin for this shoulder and maybe . . . sit down a few minutes.” He turned and headed down the hall. His slight limp told her his burned leg was hurting just as much or more than his shoulder.
Emily slowly sank into one of the chairs. She supposed what Devlin really needed was some time away from her to compose his thoughts, to center himself. Because she needed the same thing.
He cared about her. And, impossibly, she cared about him too. But it didn’t matter. If, by some miracle, the EXIT order against her was canceled and she could go back to her old life, it wasn’t like she and Devlin could . . . what . . . date? See each other when he wasn’t on a mission somewhere killing people?
A rush of anger flooded through her. She shoved the stack of papers, scattering them across the tabletop. A wallet-sized photo fell out from the pages and fluttered to the floor. Emily shook her head and reached down to grab it. A beautiful young woman smiled up at her, her long blonde hair perfectly brushed and lying just right across her shoulders, her makeup perfectly done to look natural but cover every possible blemish. Emily self-consciously lifted her hand to her own makeup-free face. Even if she had a professional cosmetologist to work on her, she could never have the flawless complexion this woman had.
She flipped the picture over and froze. Little cartoon hearts drawn in blue ink marched across the top. And, beneath them, a name: Arianna Ross. Devlin’s Arianna? When she read the next line, written in exuberant, girlish-looking script, she had her answer—The Future Mrs. Devlin Buchanan. Beneath that, closer to the bottom, was a date. The date the picture was taken? The date they were supposed to get married?