Now both Clarissa’s legs were around Stiver’s neck. Crossing her ankles, she squeezed her thighs as hard as she could. Stiver clawed at her, the cramped confines of the front seat of the car working more to Clarissa’s advantage than his. His face turned a mottled purple, his eyes bulging in his head.
The muscles in Clarissa’s thighs screamed in protest, but she held on. Stiver grappled with something, she couldn’t tell what, until he pulled the switchblade.
Panic gave her another burst of strength, and Clarissa twisted, throwing her whole body into it and slamming Stiver into the dash. His head snapped backward with a sickening crack. His body jerked once, twice, then collapsed on top of her.
Clarissa fought to breathe, the weight of the dead body pressing against her chest. Her arms were pulled up behind her back, her shoulders wrenched into a painful position.
Suddenly, the door behind her flew open. Clarissa stared up into the barrel of a gun.
Erik was breathing hard from his race to the car and took in the scene with a glance. He quickly holstered his weapon before reaching down to shove Stiver off O’Connell. The body fell to the side, and Erik was able to pull her out of the car. Her face was bloodless, and she struggled for air, pulling in short, quick breaths.
“Slow down,” he admonished. “You’re going to hyperventilate.” A lock of her hair had fallen across her face, and Erik tucked it behind her ear before he even realized what he was doing. Once he did, he jerked his hand back, but if she noticed the touch or his hasty withdrawal, she didn’t say anything.
O’Connell closed her eyes, obviously making an effort to calm down. Her wrists were still cuffed behind her back, which bothered Erik. He couldn’t forget the sight of her facedown in the water last night with those damn cuffs on. Reaching into the car, he dug the keys off Stiver and unlocked the offending bracelets. Tossing them to the side in disgust, he wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or horrified that O’Connell had managed to kill a man without the use of her hands or a weapon.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, anxiously watching as she rubbed her wrists.
She shook her head. “Other than the fact that I just killed someone, I’m hunky dory.”
“Did he say anything?” Erik asked.
“Just that Solomon wasn’t the only party interested in acquiring me.”
Sirens sounded in the distance. Erik made a decision, one that he should have made hours ago. He knew with a fateful certainty that there would be no coming back from the consequences. So be it.
Giving her a moment to collect herself, Erik searched the marshal’s car, taking two rifles from the backseat and another pistol. When he popped the trunk, he stopped dead.
“Well, I guess we know what happened to the real Stiver,” he said.
O’Connell peered over his shoulder, and they both stared at the dead body shoved into the trunk of the car.
Reaching into the trunk, Erik felt the man’s pockets until he pulled out a wallet. Flipping it open, he confirmed, “Yeah. This is Randy Stiver.”
“So who’s the guy I — ” She cut off her own sentence, asking instead, “Who’s the guy up front?”
“No idea.” The sirens were getting closer. “Let’s go,” he said, closing the trunk and taking the weapons to his SUV.
“Wait, what do you mean?”
Erik paused, glancing back to see that O’Connell hadn’t moved but was eyeing him suspiciously.
“The cops are coming,” he said. The sirens grew louder by the moment. “Do you really want to be here when they arrive?”
“But I thought you didn’t want to jeopardize your career—”
“I changed my mind,” Erik interrupted. “Now let’s get out of here before the cops haul both of us to jail.”
“We can call it quits right here,” O’Connell argued. “Dump the bodies, and I’ll take this car and go my way, and you go yours.”
“And what will you do then?” he asked. The thought of her on her own, with no one to help her, made him sick to his stomach.
She shrugged. “I’ll figure it out.” The bleakness and exhaustion in her eyes belied the casual words.
“You don’t have to do it alone,” Erik said. “I can help you. How far do you think you’ll get on your own? You know no one and have nothing, not even a memory.” More gently, he said, “Surely I’m a better option than going it alone.” He held his breath. He wouldn’t stop O’Connell if she decided to leave, but it would be a near thing. And not just because she was wanted by the FBI, but because he was afraid her life expectancy was growing shorter by the moment.
Erik’s gaze locked with hers. Her green eyes seemed unusually bright. Oh God, please don’t let her be crying. The thought made him panic slightly, though how she was holding it together after the past twenty-four hours, he had no idea. Any other woman of his acquaintance would have dissolved into hysterics long ago.
O’Connell cleared her throat, took a deep breath, and headed toward him. Erik let out his breath, relieved more than he wanted to admit that she hadn’t left. He’d just gotten her back, amazingly enough unharmed, and he’d be damned if he was going to let her be hurt or killed because he was too much of a dumbass to figure out what was going on, which was obviously a hell of a lot more than what he’d been told.
He held the car door for her as she climbed in, refraining from touching her only with difficulty, and he wasted no time in getting them the hell out of there.
The miles flew by as Erik tried to get his head together. He was committed to a course of action now, aiding and abetting a fugitive. A fugitive that too many people wanted for reasons unknown, even by O’Connell herself.
Who had that guy been, and how had he known where they were going to be? The only explanation was that someone had known who was being transported. Someone had talked, laying a trap for him and O’Connell.
Grabbing his cell phone, Erik dialed SAC Clarke directly. When the man answered, Erik didn’t waste time with preliminaries.
“Sir, this is Agent Langston—”
“Tell me you’re on a plane, Agent,” Clarke interrupted.
“Negative, sir. I regret to inform you that…well, sir, I believe we have a mole in the office.”
“Just…wait, what?”
Erik heard a door shut and assumed Clarke was trying to get some privacy, which was a good thing considering what Erik had to tell him.
“We were ambushed, sir,” he explained. “The marshal was a fraud. He killed the real marshal and impersonated him.”
“Did he get the girl? Is she hurt?”
“No, sir. I was able to prevent that from happening. He’s dead.”
There was silence for a moment before Clarke spoke again. “All right, good job, Langston, but just because you think there’s a mole here doesn’t make it true. The mole could be in their office.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Looks like we’re going to have to do this on the down-low. Let me get a map.”
Langston waited, listening to papers shuffle on the other end of the line.
“Okay, there’s a bit of nothing town in southern Colorado right near the New Mexico border, called Branson. They have a heliport there. I’ll personally arrange a transport for O’Connell.”
“Will I be coming, too, sir?”
“No. Get back to Denver once you drop off O’Connell and dig into the marshal business. I don’t want to think one of my agents would betray his own like that.”
That didn’t sit well with Erik. He was responsible for O’Connell’s safety, which had been precarious at best. While he didn’t want to suspect his former partner, Kaminski was the one who’d contacted the US Marshals’ office and the only one who knew where they were meeting. It was a bit too convenient to be mere coincidence, but he didn’t say that to Clarke. Accusing a fellow agent without any evidence was a serious charge.
“Yes, sir.”
Clarissa watched as Langston ended the call. “So what now?” she asked.
With that he got out of the car, slamming the door shut behind him.
Clarissa sat, utterly dumbfounded. He’d lied to her. Even after what had happened with the marshal, he was still going to turn her in. She’d been so sure he was going to help her, so relieved that she wasn’t alone.
Though she had no memory, Clarissa felt that being alone was not a rare occurrence for her. You could only depend on yourself. No one could be trusted, not really. Wasn’t everyone out for themselves, anyway?
Well, it was high time she got on with the business of looking out for herself. God knew no one else gave a damn. She was an idiot not to have gotten in that marshal’s car and put the FBI agent far behind her.
Clarissa glanced around the gas station. It was empty of customers save for Langston. The windows into the building were dirty, and she couldn’t see through them. She’d just have to hope the person inside was bored and not paying attention.
Reaching in the back, Clarissa grabbed one of the rifles Langston had tossed in. Keeping an eye on Langston — his back was turned to the window as he filled the tank — she checked to make sure the rifle was loaded. It was.
Clarissa opened the door and slipped outside, shifting her grip on the rifle before rounding the car. Langston looked up, saw the weapon leveled at him, and froze.
“This again?” he asked, his voice cold. He turned away, putting the fuel nozzle back in the pump before screwing the gas cap back on.
Clarissa swallowed, licking her dry lips. “Give me your keys,” she demanded.
Langston crossed his arms, leaning casually against the side of the SUV.
“No.”
Clarissa gritted her teeth in frustration. “Give them to me, Langston, or I swear I’ll put a hole in you!”
Langston’s eyes flicked down to the rifle in her hand, then back up. His blue eyes were calm and his voice steady as he said, “You’re not running away from me.”
“You said you’d help me,” Clarissa fumed, hating the way her eyes stung with tears. She blinked them back. “You lied.”
Langston's body was a coiled predator feigning ease as he pushed himself upright and moved toward her. “I didn’t lie. I am going to help you.”
“By turning me in?” Clarissa’s voice was shrill, and her hands shook. She tightened her grip on the gun, taking a step backward as Langston slowly advanced.
“You’re a strong woman,” he said, eyeing her carefully, “but you’re inches away from losing it.”
Clarissa couldn’t stop the tears now, which only made her more furious, and she dared not loosen her grip on the rifle to wipe them away. “You would be too,” she spluttered angrily, “if you had no memory of who you were or what you’d done that had all kinds of horrible people wanting to capture or kill you! I’ve killed two people in as many days, done things, know things, that terrify me, and the one person I do know is hell-bent on turning me in to the cops so I can get sent to jail! So yeah, I think I’m entitled to be a little upset!”
Langston was blurry in her vision as he stepped closer until his chest was pressed against the rifle’s muzzle. His hand lifted, and Clarissa knew with a sinking sensation that it was over. She couldn’t shoot him, which was bad enough, but even worse, he knew it too.
To her shock, though, he didn’t try to take the gun. Instead his hand brushed her cheek, wiping away the tracks of her tears. Confused, she looked up at him. His brows were drawn; his lips pressed tightly together as his eyes, so startlingly blue this close, studied her.
“I wasn’t going to leave you alone, Clarissa,” he said. “I planned on going with you, keeping you safe, helping you. I didn’t lie to you.”
Langston’s hand was rough against her cheek even as his touch was featherlight. His thumb brushed her cheekbone as his palm cupped her jaw.
“I’m trusting you with my life,” he said quietly, reminding Clarissa of the loaded weapon pointed at his heart. “Trust me in return.”
Clarissa couldn’t take her eyes from his. He seemed so sincere. Could she trust him? Did she have a choice? Would he betray her?
Even with all these things running through her mind, there was a deeper reason she didn’t want to leave, one she’d refused to think about back at the marshal’s car. The truth was she didn’t want to leave him. Clarissa was an utter fool to feel that way; she knew Langston didn’t feel anything for her, but she couldn’t make herself give him up. She’d have to at some point, she wasn’t stupid, but not just yet. Right now, he was all she had.
Lowering the rifle, she flicked the safety back on before looking back up at Langston. He hadn’t moved away. If anything, he was closer now, though his hand had dropped back to his side.
The fact that he’d seen her cry embarrassed Clarissa. She wasn’t weak and didn’t want him to think that of her. “I’m not some weepy female who can’t take care of herself,” she muttered, dropping her chin so she wouldn’t have to look him in the eye.
“I got that,” Langston replied.
“I’m just tired. And…really don’t want to go to prison.”
“I got that too.” Langston reached out and took the rifle from her hand. She didn’t resist relinquishing the weapon, and neither did she resist when he cautiously wrapped an arm around her.
Unsure but obeying the gentle pressure on her back, Clarissa stepped into Langston’s embrace. She tentatively slid her arms around his waist and rested her head against his chest. She was rewarded when his hold tightened, and he settled his chin on top of her head.
O’Connell’s body was stiff against his, reminding Erik of a wild animal, hesitant and poised to run. He doubted she was the type of person who allowed others to see any weakness or vulnerability, with or without her memory intact. Her survival in the world she inhabited depended on it.
A few moments passed, and he simply held her, saying nothing. Ever so slowly, she relaxed into him. Erik tried not to think about how well the curves of her body fit against him. This was about comfort, not sex. He’d bet his next paycheck that O’Connell could really use a friendly hug right about now.
Considering what she’d been through — losing her memory, being captured, attacked, and nearly abducted — she’d held up remarkably well. It amazed Erik. Even though she had nothing and no one, she was determined to hold on to her freedom. He’d always known Clarissa O’Connell was an incredibly intelligent woman, albeit of a criminal bent, he just hadn’t understood until now how truly extraordinary she was.
“What happened in the car?” he asked. “Did he attack you?” Erik had noticed the car had been pointing the wrong direction when he’d pulled O’Connell out. Had the fake marshal hoped to get her to talk by hurting or threatening her?
Pulling back slightly, O’Connell looked up at him. “He’d stopped the car so he could ambush and kill you.” She gave a slight shrug. “So I killed him instead.”
Erik looked at her, utterly taken aback. “You realize you could have waited until he’d killed me and then easily gotten away from him,” he said.
“I just figured if anyone was going to kill you, it should be me.”
The mischievous glint in her eye made his lips twitch. Damn. Hearing a woman casually discuss killing him really shouldn’t be a turn-on. Something about that was very wrong, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.
His gaze was drawn inexorably to her mouth. The hug that had begun as platonic was rapidly turning into something else. Erik was loath to let her go, even as he knew he should; his conscience screamed at him inside his head that O’Connell was a fugitive and thief. Her trust in him was precarious at best.
O’Connell seemed to sense the rising tension. Her tongue darted out nervously to wet her lips, and Erik’s gut clenched in response. She moved to step away, but Erik�
��s hold unconsciously tightened, preventing her escape. Her gaze darted up to his, questioning. The saline in her tears had turned her eyes a brilliant emerald.
The shrill ring of Erik’s cell phone shattered the moment. O’Connell jumped, startled. Erik reluctantly released her before digging the phone out of his pocket.
“Langston,” he barked, watching as O’Connell disappeared around the car and climbed back into the front seat.
“Hey, it’s Kaminski.”
Erik’s attention was jerked away from where it never should have been in the first place.
“I’m glad you answered,” Kaminski said, lowering his voice. “I wanted to warn you.”
“Warn me about what?”
“About Clarke. It’s weird. He’s saying some strange shit…”
“Like what?”
“About you, man.”
Erik paused in stowing the rifle back inside the car. “What do you mean?”
Kaminski’s voice lowered even further. “He’s saying you’ve gone off the reservation. That you’re involved with this chick, Clarissa O’Connell. He says you killed two guys in some cabin in Colorado and killed the marshal I sent to pick her up. What the fuck, Langston? I mean, I know we’re not buddies, but I just can’t see you doing this shit no matter how hot the babe.”
Erik listened, confused. What was this? Did Kaminski suspect that Erik might be on to him since the abduction had gone bad, hence the attempt to divert suspicion away from himself? But was Kaminski that clever? Erik’s immediate thought was no, he wasn’t, but perhaps his judgment was clouded by his own dislike of the man. He decided to play along and see where it led.
“I killed some men, but since they were trying to kill me and abduct my prisoner, I deemed it necessary,” he replied evenly.
“That’s not the story Clarke’s spinning,” Kaminski said. “Just…don’t trust him. I have a bad feeling.”
“He’s sending a helicopter for O’Connell. I’m to have her on it this evening.”
“Listen, let me look into it, see if it’s legit. I’ll call you back.”
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