She regarded him in silence, rolling her shoulder to ease the ache in it. Jonas wasn’t the only one who’d used up his quota of fast moves for a while. The object of her thoughts jutted his chin toward her.
"You do that a lot," he said. "Injury?"
Kate stiffened, disinclined to reveal any weakness to this man. "It's nothing," she said. "I pulled it getting you into the car last night, that's all.” Abruptly, she changed the subject. “So if you're not a criminal, and you're not an informant, who are you? And what the hell is your connection to the ATF?"
"You're not going to let this go, are you?" he growled. "No matter how dangerous I tell you it is."
"Not a chance."
Jonas rested his elbows on the polished wood surface and dropped his head into his hands. Fingers raked through thick, dark hair. Bare, muscled shoulders sagged.
"Bloody hell," he muttered.
She waited.
"Bloody, bloody hell." He lifted his face from his hands. Haggard eyes met hers. "My name is Agent Jonas Burke, Kate, and that was my office you just called."
Kate blinked at him, uncomprehending. She hadn't known what to expect, but this? This was so far from the realm of any possibility she might have imagined that she couldn't even wrap her head around it.
"Did you hear me?"
She tightened her grip on the gun, giving herself a mental shake. He was lying. Of course he was lying.
"I heard you. I just don't believe you. If you're with the ATF, then why would those guys"—she nodded toward the phone on the wall behind him—"want to know when your body surfaced?"
The blue gaze turned flat. "You know why."
She shook her head. "You’ve got to be kidding. You really expect me to believe—"
The crunch of tires on gravel sounded outside the kitchen window. Jonas went the color of the bandage taped below his ribs, and Kate's heart took up residence in her throat. Gun in hand, she thrust back from the table and hurried to the window. Holding aside the flowered curtain panel, she looked out into the yard as an OPP cruiser pulled up between her sedan and the family station wagon.
Everything in her froze.
From behind her came the scrape of a chair against the floor.
"Who is it?" Jonas demanded.
She watched the cruiser without answering. No one had stepped out yet. Why? Were they here for Jonas? Her? Had they traced the call she'd made already? No. They couldn't have. Then how—
Laura. It had to have been Laura. Hell.
"Damn it, Kate, who is it?"
She hesitated, torn. Jonas was lying. He had to be lying. But what if he wasn't? She dropped the curtain into place and tucked the gun into the back of her waistband again.
"It's the OPP," she said curtly, striding across the room toward the door to the hallway. "I'll be back in a minute."
Jonas let her pass, but his voice stopped her halfway into the hall. "Kate."
She didn't look back.
"I'm telling the truth," he said.
The damp chill of the post-storm morning crawled under her shirt as she stepped out onto the front porch and closed the front door behind her. She shivered and crossed her arms. Hesitated. Should she wait for whoever was in the cruiser to get out and come to her, or was it better to go to him/her? The pistol in the small of her back felt conspicuously huge. If it was noticed, there would be raised eyebrows. Questions.
But better that than leaving it in the house with the man who’d just made those outrageous claims.
Surreptitiously, she wiped sweaty palms against her jeans.
Pull it together, Dexter.
Relaxing her face into what, with luck, would pass for something resembling a smile, she walked down the stairs and crossed the drive to the police car. Was Jonas watching from the kitchen window? If whoever was in the cruiser looked that way, would they see him? Did she want them to?
A gust of wind lifted the back of her shirt, snagging it on the grip of her pistol. She tugged it back into place. A sandy-haired, square-jawed man watched her from behind the steering wheel of the police car as she approached, grinning through the open passenger window. Recognition sparked in Kate.
"Well, I’ll be. Scott Dunham," Kate said. “It's been what, ten years? What are you doing way out here? I thought you were posted on the other side of Whitehaven.” She braced her hands against the car door and leaned down as if she hadn't a care in the world.
Or a possible felon in the house behind her.
"I'm filling in for someone for a couple of weeks. Heard you were in the area, so I thought I'd swing by and say hello." Her high school classmate reached over to place his hand over hers, squeezing gently. "I was sorry to hear about your folks, Kate. I know you weren’t close, but I’m sure it’s still tough."
"Thanks." Kate patted his hand in return, trying to appear suitably solemn even as relief gusted through her. Laura hadn't given her away after all. Thank heaven. "I think it's harder on Laura because she used to see them almost every day."
"I can imagine. Anything I can do to help?"
Leave! Kate’s inner voice screamed at him. She shook her head. “Not really, but thank you for the offer.”
To her relief, Scott changed the topic. "You going to be staying much longer? We should get together for dinner one night. Get caught up. Swap war stories."
Kate chuckled. "As tempting as that sounds, I'm heading back to Ottawa tomorrow. But Laura and I are nowhere near done clearing up the house, so I'll probably be back down in a couple of weeks. Can I take a rain check?"
"Of course. Give me a shout when you're back, and we'll set something up." He turned down the volume on his police radio as another car called in a traffic stop to dispatch. "I’d invite myself in for coffee, but I need to get back on the road. Just so you know, we're looking for a guy in the area right now, possibly armed and dangerous. Keep an eye out and be careful, all right?"
"Oh? Who is he?" Kate kept her voice casual, no small feat given her racing heart and constricted breathing.
"Jonas Burke. Six-two, two-twenty, thirty-four years old, dark hair, blue eyes."
"What's he wanted for?"
"Get this, the guy's a rogue agent from the ATF. He killed one of their targets and made off with one point five million a few days ago. We had a ‘be on lookout’ issued in the region yesterday, and I just got word that he called one of their offices from our area code this morning. They're running a trace, but he blocked the number, so it could take a while."
Shock held Kate's mind immobile for an instant as Scott rambled on to comment first about the nerve of the guy, then about dirty cops in general. Then the questions started forming, coming at her as fast as her brain could jump from one possibility to another.
Jonas had told the truth. He really was with the ATF. But theft...and murder? As jaded as her cop brain was, he didn't seem the type. And how had he gotten shot? His colleagues, as he claimed? By why? Unless he really had gone rogue. Maybe they'd caught him in the act...but no, Scott would have said something about him being wounded.
Maybe Jonas had a partner in crime and there had been a falling out. But if he had so much to hide, why give her his real name?
And why hadn’t the ATF told the locals about the female who had made that call in the first place?
Suddenly, her brain zeroed back in on Scott's words.
"—agents up to help with the search," he said.
"Pardon?" Her voice was sharper than intended, and Scott raised a brow. She gave him an apologetic smile. "Sorry, I didn't hear that last bit."
"I said the ATF's sending a couple of agents up to help with the search." He rolled his eyes. "Even with all the roadblocks we've got going, apparently they don't trust us rural types to do our job."
Kate’s blood chilled in her veins, and she flicked a glance down the drive, half expecting to see another cruiser—or, worse yet, a nondescript sedan—turning in from the road. Any relief at finding the driveway empty was tempered by a nagging urgen
cy.
Something wasn't right. U.S. agents to help with a search in Canada? No. That didn't happen. Not unless Jonas had told her more of the truth than she'd wanted to hear.
She dropped her hands and stepped back from Scott's cruiser. "I won't keep you," she said. The sensation of being watched prickled over the back of her neck. Don't look at the house. Don't give him away. "Take care of yourself, and I'll call you a couple of days before I head back down this way."
"Sounds good." Scott put his vehicle into gear. "Safe drive home tomorrow."
Chapter 9
Kate held herself still, willing herself not to bolt for the stairs as Scott did a three-point turn around the back end of the station wagon and, with an excruciating lack of hurry, drove down the driveway. He braked at the corner by the pond and waved a hand out the window, then—finally—disappeared behind the trees lining the road.
Kate's knees sagged. She wrapped her arms around herself and thought about the man hiding in the house. About how she'd just committed a full-blown crime by not telling Scott he was there. About how she might have just pulled the plug on a rather stellar thirteen-year career.
And for what? A hunch? A stranger's plea?
Turning, she stared at the kitchen window. At the flowered curtain panel held ever so slightly to one side. Slow seconds ticked by. The curtain dropped back into place. Kate exhaled slowly and walked across the driveway and up the stairs, her booted feet thudding hollowly against the wood. She pushed into the house and came nose-to-chin with a waiting Jonas.
"Well?" he demanded. "Was he here looking for me?"
She tried to sidestep around the still mostly naked man, but instead stumbled over a pair of shoes and rammed the side of her head into a coat hook. Rubbing the lump, she favored him with a sour look. Had the front entry always felt this small? And couldn't he have wrapped up in a blanket rather than a towel?
"Unless you have a six-foot-two, two-hundred-and-twenty-pound, dark-haired, blue-eyed twin wandering around the countryside," she retorted, "then yes. I'm pretty sure he was here looking for you."
Which still felt all shades of wrong, because there was no way Jonas Burke could have done what they'd accused him of. She'd been a cop for thirteen years. Interrogated dozens of suspects. Surely she would know if something was hinky here. Surely her instincts would be at least hinting that he couldn't be trusted.
Because if Jonas wasn't lying...
Jonas’s eyes turned bleak in a face made pasty by pain. He swayed on his feet and rested a hand against the wall to steady himself. Bulging bicep and corded forearm alike quivered with the effort.
"Why didn't you turn me in?"
If he was telling the truth...
God. Her brain hurt just considering the possibility. She scowled at him. "Where's the money?"
He narrowed his eyes. "What money?"
"Don't play games with me, Burke. You're in no position."
His gaze didn't waver. "No games," he replied. "You have my word. What money?"
Kate stared at him for a long moment, her gut churning in sympathy with her thoughts. It would have been so much easier if she didn't believe him. Easier yet if she hadn't made that damned phone call in the first place.
But she did.
And she had.
And now she'd landed herself in the middle of a mess she didn't know how to begin solving. All she knew was that here and now weren’t the place and time to figure it out. Not where they could be interrupted at any second and she'd have to start doing some interesting explaining. Not when her personal opinions regarding Jonas's guilt or innocence would mean squat to the powers that be.
Because she very much doubted those powers would make it past the aiding and abetting part.
"I'll find you something to wear," she said. She pushed past Jonas, gritting her teeth against the heated brush of bare skin that burned through her sleeve and imprinted on her arm.
"And then?" he called after her as she stomped up the stairs toward her parents' bedroom and the bags of clothes waiting to be donated.
She didn't answer.
She didn't have an answer.
***
Fifteen minutes later, dressed in a shirt that strained across his chest and sweatpants that left his ankles feeling distinctly drafty, Jonas stared at the car trunk Kate had lined with blankets—her answer to getting him through the roadblocks she'd told him about. He shook his head.
"I can't ask you to do this."
"You didn't."
"If they search the vehicle—"
"I'll flash my ID. Once they know I'm a cop, they won't search."
"And if they have a dog?"
Kate's lips tightened. Her hands became fists, one resting on a hip, the other on her sidearm in the holster she'd donned. She said nothing.
Jonas made no move to get in with the blankets. "I won't put your career in jeopardy. I'll find another way."
"How?" she snapped. "By sprouting wings?"
Frustration gnawed at his belly, right alongside the fire of his wound. She was right. He'd never make it through the roadblocks on his own, and he wasn't equipped—or in any condition—to strike out by himself in the woods at this time of year. Like it or not, he was at the mercy of this not-altogether-merciful fellow cop.
Kate flipped unruly blond curls over one shoulder. "Whether or not I'm here when they trace that number, I'm screwed. So the way I see it, we have two possible courses of action here. One, I can give you the benefit of the doubt and get you past those roadblocks before your friends come looking for you. Or two, I can drive away and leave you to fend for yourself. What's it going to be?"
Jonas stared into the trunk. So much at stake. So few alternatives. Such a goddamn mess.
A hand settled on his arm. He looked down and sideways into a golden gaze that was equal parts worried and determined.
"If you're telling the truth and you stay," Kate said, "you're a dead man. Let's at least get you out of here so we can figure out your next move."
If you're telling the truth. Jonas tamped down a surge of disappointment at her words, twisting it into irritation instead. Whether Kate Dexter believed him or not didn't matter, because there was no we. There had never been a we in his entire life, and there never would be, especially if it came with this overwhelming sense of responsibility for someone.
"I'll let you get me past the roadblocks," he said at last, "but that's it. Your involvement ends there, and I go my own way. Even if they trace the number here, you'll still have plausible deniability. You were out at the barn, asleep, in the shower...I don't care what you tell them. All that matters is that you didn't hear me come into the house or make the call. You never saw me, understand?"
One fair eyebrow arched high. "You're kidding me."
He shifted his stance to hide his increasing unsteadiness. Damn. If he didn't sit down soon, he'd fall down. "I don't follow."
Kate didn't immediately respond. Instead, she went around to the car's back seat and pulled out another blanket. When she returned, her face was set and her eyes implacable.
"First of all, I spoke to whoever was on the other end myself, remember? And second of all, not turning you in makes me responsible for whatever happens next, Agent Burke. So until I know exactly what's going on, there is no way in hell I am turning you loose on your own. And because I have no intention of standing around debating the issue, I suggest you get your butt in there"—she pointed at the open trunk—"so we can leave. Unless, of course, you have any better ideas."
Iron-jawed and out of arguments, Jonas folded himself into the barely adequate space of the sedan's trunk. The blanket Kate had retrieved followed him in.
He spread it over himself, then looked up at her. Sunlight framed her head, turning blond curls into a halo at odds with the hardness of her gaze.
"You might want to take another of those painkillers Laura gave you," she said. "There's eleven kilometers of gravel before we hit pavement."
The trunk lid
slammed shut.
Chapter 10
It was a measure of Kate's resentment that she felt no remorse jolting over the potholes left by the previous night's storm. If only Jonas had come clean the night before and told her about being with the ATF, they might have avoided all of—
She sighed and rubbed her shoulder. Who was she trying to kid? They would have avoided nothing, because she wouldn't have believed him, and when she'd found that paper this morning, she still would have made that phone call. Because no matter how much his please might have resonated with her, she was still a cop.
For now.
And she still resented the hell out of this whole situation.
But half an hour later, as she sat in a line of cars waiting to go through the roadblock, remorse had not only surfaced, it had blossomed into full-fledged guilt. Tinged with panic. She glanced at her watch for what seemed the hundredth time in the last three minutes. How long could an injured man survive locked in a car trunk, anyway?
Visions of finding an expired Jonas Burke wrapped in blankets danced through her head. If she thought aiding and abetting were bad, try explaining a dead body to her boss. Her gut churned at the idea.
She drummed impatient fingers against the steering wheel. Ahead of her, the OPP roadblock had a van and two semis pulled over for a cursory search. Behind her, a line-up of another dozen cars stretched back. More precious seconds ticked by.
At last the car ahead pulled away, and the OPP constable waved Kate forward in the line. She flipped open her ID and pulled abreast of the female officer, who leaned down to smile at her.
"Good morning, ma'am. Can I ask where you're heading today?"
"Ottawa," Kate replied equably, handing over the ID. "Back to work."
The cop's eyes scanned Kate's badge and ID card. She handed them back. "I have a brother in the RCMP," she said. "He tried to talk me into joining, too, but I wanted to stay closer to home. He ended up posted out in B.C."
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