Time Bomb: On The Run Romance (Indecent Book 1)

by Madi Le

  Misty looked at him. She didn't look conflicted, or doubtful. But she was considering it, all the same, and he knew that it was just a matter of time before she came to a conclusion.

  "Alright," she said finally. "The whole thing."

  "The whole thing?"

  "What I know of it," Misty corrected, with a nod.

  "Let's hear it."

  "I was involved in some… stuff."

  "That's very illuminating," Grant said; he made no special effort to hide his frustration from her. Non-answers weren't something that he wanted desperately to hear.

  "I don't know how I got into it, or how I was trained. Something happened–nobody seemed interested in filling me in afterward–and I woke up in a hospital in Suffolk."

  "In England?"

  "The United Kingdom," she said. "Yeah."

  "Okay, so starting there. You wake up in a hospital. What DO you know?"

  She chewed her lip.

  "I know that I was approached by several men over the next several days. Men who were working for at least two governments. Two government agents came to me with badges, that is. One was Joe Green, the guy I told you about. The other was working with British intelligence. They both had questions. Neither got answers."

  "That sounds like an admirable result for someone who didn't even know what she was being asked about."

  "I suppose that's why they didn't kill me right then and there. I didn't hurt them. Something went wrong but no information got out. That's when they get real upset."

  "You're letting information get out now," Grant offered.

  "And I've been telling you for two days that I don't want to tell you about it," Misty countered.

  "Okay. Two intelligence guys. What happens after you get out of the hospital? How do you get here from there?"

  "Wait, I'm not done with the hospital yet. There were other men, too. At least one who I imagine thought we were romantically involved."

  Grant's teeth grit together. He was better than this. At least, that was what he told himself. He almost managed to believe it, and did an admirable job hiding his jealousy even from himself.

  "Were you?"

  "At the time, I supposed it was possible. It wasn't until later that Greene contacted me again, separately. Privately. I was working under him, and he could prove it. Jonathan was a mission."

  "Jonathan?"

  "The businessman. The one who thought I was his bride to be."

  "So you weren't?"

  "I'm not sure how well I come out of this story, Grant."

  "Then at least answer the question," he said. Misty's lips pursed together, but her gaze remained levelly on Grant's face. She looked like she was hoping for an excuse not to answer. If that was what she wanted, then she was lucky enough to get it.

  Grant's phone rang. He pulled it out, and automatically hit the button to hang up. The silence only lasted a moment before it rang again; he didn't even have time to return it to his pocket.

  The name across the screen was 'Unknown'. He pursed his lips and looked at it. It rang a second time. A third ring. A fourth. It would go to voicemail. If it was important, then he would listen to it afterward. But he wasn't in the mood to engage with some telemarketer right now.

  A fifth ring. A sixth. It shouldn't have gone on this far without going through to voicemail. After the ninth ring, he finally decided that he'd waited long enough. He swiped on the green circle, and the call connected.

  Doubtfully, Grant put the phone to his ear. There was a long moment of silence, neither of the people involved in the call daring to speak. He held his breath. Another long moment passed. He risked it.

  "Hello?"

  Before he even finished the word the noise began. It couldn't be called anything else. Just 'noise.' It was so ear-piercing that he pulled the phone immediately away from his ears. Still, his hands moved too slowly to save him from the pain. It was like a hundred nails scratching a hundred chalkboards, at a hundred different speeds.

  He didn't remember dropping the phone, but by the time he regained his senses, the phone's tiny speaker still chirped from the ground.

  "Jesus," he said.

  Misty watched him until he looked back at her, and then her eyes dropped to the phone.

  "Friend of yours?"

  "No," Grant said. "Not a friend."

  "Maybe you're in some trouble."

  "Maybe I am," Grant admitted. He knew where the trouble was coming from. What he didn't know was how they'd gotten his number, and how much it was going to bite him in the ass.

  He reached down and picked his phone up, swiped the button to hang up. The noise died, feet away from his head. His ear still hurt a little, but it had faded to something almost indistinguishable from the headache that he had, left-over from the night before and the lack of sleep.

  "I guess you're wanting to know what's going on with me, then? I guess it's only fair."

  "Are you offering?"

  "Can I fall back on saying that I can't comment on an ongoing investigation?"

  "Be real," Misty joked. "You pissed off some US Government intelligence guys. There's a good chance that you don't have any active investigations. Other than the search for yourself, of course. You know where you are?"

  "Funny."

  "So. What's the story?"

  "Pissed off some hackers. They think they're hot stuff, fighting the good fight. Standing up against Big Brother and all that. I'm Big Brother, I suppose. And since I'm investigating them, and looking to make them stop, I'm number one on their hit list."

  Misty's head bobbed from side-to-side as she considered it. Grant fell onto the couch. He should get rid of the phone, and he knew it. He let out a long breath, opened a window, and tossed it out into the street. Within a couple minutes, a car would drive by, and that would be the end of that.

  "Everything's going to be fine," Misty said. Grant knew it was a lie. But if it was a comforting lie, then at least he could accept it for what it was.

  "So we'll have to deal with them at some point, same as everything else. Just keep head-down, make sure not to piss anyone off, right?"

  "Right," Misty said. "Now. Let's talk about plans."

  The idea of staying around suddenly didn't seem as appealing. Grant held his head in his hands and settled into the couch. "Yeah. Plans. So let's start with questions. How far will they go?"

  "I don't know," Misty said. "I haven't made it across the border yet. I don't have a passport, that I know of. Never saw one."

  "You don't always need one," Grant said, vaguely. There were plenty of people getting across the borders, in every direction, without a passport. It was only an issue when someone asked to see one. As long as you avoid looking suspicious, you don't run into too much trouble. "But it's hard to get across, and hard to get back. So if you're not sure they won't follow you, then you might as well not go anywhere."

  "What, then? We wait for them to show up?"

  "I'm not saying that," Grant sighed. He wasn't really sure what it was that he was supposedly saying. There was an idea in his head, one that seemed far away. If only he could brush the cobwebs out of his head, he could just get down to figuring out what it was. But as it stood he just knew that they had to keep looking until they figured something out.

  What else could they do, though?

  "We can't outrun them."

  "I've been managing it for almost a year now."

  "But don't you want to relax?"

  "I don't think about it," Misty answered. She sounded like it was the truth. Like she had long-since given up thinking about the possibility. It almost sad enough that it hurt to think about.

  "Then what? We keep moving. Is there an end game in mind?"

  She looked at the ground and shrugged.

  "Fine. I can think of something."

  Misty looked up, curious. He pursed his lips. "I know a guy, out west. If we can get on a boat, then we've got a good chance of disappearing. Pretty much permanently, if we can live
on the boat."

  "What, forever?"

  "He owes me a favor from back in the day. We get out to sea, and it's a hard time finding people even for the government."

  "How are we going to eat?"

  "You stop in to port every few weeks. But by then, we could be stopping into a port in Mexico, or in Peru."

  "And you need passports."

  "And I need a passport, sure."

  "You're serious about this."

  Grant let out a breath and shrugged. "It's the best call."

  "What about your life here?"

  Grant looked at the house. He'd been there a dozen times, maybe, in the four years that he owned it. There was a computer that he had used once to look at pictures of girls. It was something he might need if he came here again, but it wasn't something he cared about.

  And back at his apartment? What was he leaving behind there? He already knew the answer: a whole lot of nothing much.

  "What life?"

  "Your job. You're the Sheriff for Christ's sake."

  "Apparently not any more."

  "So then… when do we leave?"

  Grant slid up next to her and pressed his lips against hers. "I could think of a couple things I'd like to do before I get back on the road. I'm not looking to go on the road for six hours just yet."

  His hand found her waist. She turned into him, kissing him back. Shifting her weight to press herself up against him. He liked it. He felt himself stiffening in his jeans. And then they froze.

  There was a knock at the door. Nobody was supposed to know that he was here. Nobody was supposed to know whether or not he was ever here, and nobody was ever supposed to come looking. That was all a given.

  Her voice was a low whisper. "Are we expecting guests?"

  "Get ready to go," he answered. "We're going on the road."

  She didn't answer, except to check her satchel. If she'd taken anything out of it, he didn't see it. But she checked, quick but thorough, nonetheless. Grant moved, low enough to avoid someone trying to peer through the upper viewing glass of the window. He pressed himself silently up against the door, and then stood up until he could see out the peephole. And he saw exactly what he didn't want to see.

  Outside was a man in uniform. He had two badges, one on his shirt, and a logo emblazoned on his hat. Either one was enough to tell Grant who was standing outside the door. State police.

  Twelve ♥

  *

  Misty forced her feet into her boots. Putting pressure onto her hip hurt, but she was hurrying, and that meant that she didn't have time to dwell on the discomfort.

  Grant turned away from the door. His expression was grim. A voice outside the door shouted in: "We've got a warrant to search the premises."

  Misty's eyes locked with Grant's. She looked at the door purposefully, hoping that he would get the message. He did.

  She took a deep breath. She'd been running for months now, and she was used to it. But there was a difference between knowing what she was doing, and everything working out perfectly. That difference could make the difference between life and death.

  "Get rid of them," she said, her voice low and hoarse. "I'll find a way out the back."

  "I'll find you," Grant told her.

  "You had better hope that you do."

  "Here," he said. He reached into his pocket and pulled something out. Light caught on the keys as they flew through the air. Misty's hand came up and caught them automatically.

  If she knew what she was doing, then she'd leave and she'd do it now. The issue was, of course, that she was going to have to deal with the cops at that point. They were right outside, they'd have a good look at her license, and they would be able to call for backup any time.

  She let out a breath and slipped out of view of the front door as Grant turned the locks open. He straightened, and just as she finished moving entirely out of sight she heard him turn the knob.

  "Can I help you?"

  "Mr. Harper?"

  "Is there something I can do for you boys? I was just making some breakfast."

  "Sorry to bother you while you're eating, sir."

  "I understand," Grant said. He was doing a respectable job of sounding convincing. If he was lucky, then Misty might not have to run at all. She knew better than to hope for it.

  "We received reports that a known fugitive was seen entering the house last night? A woman, standing a little over five-foot tall. Medium build, dark hair."

  "I'm sorry, I don't know any fugitives. There's no women here at all. God, I wish!"

  Grant let out a chuckle. The state guys didn't share it. Misty silently moved to the rear window, checked that the latch was open, and pushed. It was stuck, but it moved when she put a little muscle behind it. She hoped that their talking masked the sound.

  "May we come inside?"

  "I'm sorry, the place is really a mess."

  "We have a warrant, sir. We can come in whether you'd like us to or not, but we're being polite, you see."

  "Oh," Grant said. "Well, I mean, if that's the case, then I suppose I can't stop you, can I?"

  Misty kept pushing. The window kept opening, though it was going agonizingly slow, and making a good deal more noise than she'd like. The sound of footsteps coming inside was unmistakable. She pushed her weight up, hard, and the window opened the rest of the way. She rolled out the window, pulled down hard on the frame, and the window closed up behind her.

  Somewhere inside, they were searching, and they were searching for her. This was too close, the second time in as many days that she'd been too lazy in keeping on moving. She needed to get out of here.

  There was Grant's talk of a plan, of course, but it was hard to believe that he was serious about it. After all, he was a cop himself. How long was he going to keep working to help a fugitive from the law? She shook her head and took a breath. She couldn't rely on him, not any more.

  Misty kept low, turning the keys in her hand and moving across the back yard. Fifteen paces to the northwestern corner of the house. Nearly sixty seconds. She leaned past it, just enough to see. There was no one looking for her over here. That was progress, at least. She let out a breath. Keep moving.

  She looked down at the keys. A car was a big advantage, she had to admit. It could make all the difference in her ability to keep moving, and her ability to keep herself ahead of anyone looking for her.

  On the other hand, a car brought problems with it, too. They were easy to identify, for one thing. For another, you had to keep refueling them. Every time you stopped, it meant that someone might see you.

  She let out a long, low breath and tried to decide what to do. The idea that occurred to her was one that had occurred before, but she'd never been this tight before. Never needed it so bad to get clear. She was in the open, and it only took a moment for someone to notice her.

  The sound of a car driving up was unmistakable, and the answer was equally obvious: she darted over and sidled up behind a shrub. She lowered herself to the ground and pressed her chest into the dirt to watch. The car wasn't marked; it was a black sedan. She'd seen it the night before.

  The men who stepped out were even more familiar, and pushed her hard in the direction of getting away as hard as possible.

  She let out a breath. Leaned over the fence. There was no car in the driveway. The plan was going so well, she thought glumly. Now she was pretty much fucked, and there was no way around it.

  Misty let out a breath. The sound of voices in the back of the house was the first indication that she had that things were going badly. Now she was caught between a rock and a hard place, and she needed to get free. She wasn't going to get caught here. Not after she'd run this far.

  Grant came around the corner first. Misty tried to hide. The spot, however, hid from the street a lot better than it did from the backyard. He noticed her immediately, and she could see it in the way that his lips drew a tight line across his face.

  "You should have left," he whispered.

>   Misty shrugged. He was right, she should have. But that wasn't what happened. Things had moved faster than either of them wanted. So she did the only thing she could do. She vaulted over the wooden fence at its lowest point, where it was only waist-high, and hoped that nobody would see her. It was going to involve a lot of luck, and if she was caught, then she'd be caught.

  There wasn't any other option, though, and she needed to have some hope that she might escape their notice. The hope, however, was short-lived. She knew they'd see her if they looked over the fence, and the only thing that she had to rely on was the fact that it was a security fence that stood taller than she did.

  The dog laying in the back yard, though, noticed her right away. And though it was taking him a minute to decide what he was going to do about the new visitor in his territory, it was quickly becoming clear that he had some specific ideas about what he planned on, and it wasn't likely to be sitting quietly and leaving her to her own devices.

  Holding her breath didn't count for much. The second stretched out into what felt like hours. In Misty's mind, it could have been all day. In reality, though, only a moment passed. The dog took a step towards her. Sniffed the air. And then it started to bark.

  There was a chance, however slim, that she might be able to get away with it. Maybe the cops would ignore the dog barking. The realistic chances of that were so low that she didn't even bother considering it.

  She wasn't going to take that risk. She couldn't afford to be caught right now. So she got her feet under her and bolted. Her shoes thudded on the pavement. Somewhere far behind her, voices shouted.

  The sound of footsteps, just behind her, was enough to give Misty a heart attack. She didn't have the luxury of being able to turn and look, though. It was a happy revelation when Grant pulled up beside her, his arms pumping to keep up with her.

  Misty kept running. Car doors slammed, a few hundred yards behind. She cut to the left, jagged behind a house, over a fence, and around the house behind. A car sat in the front drive. She wasted no time in pulling a shoe off and putting it through the window.