by The Witness
Left with no choice, Lauren fell back on the good manners and proper behavior that had been ingrained into her since childhood and replied dully, "That would be nice. Thank you."
Four
"Wake up."
Lauren bolted from a fitful sleep and found herself staring into the chiseled face of a man who was bending over her. Crying out, she scrambled to her hands and knees and tried to scoot away.
"Easy. Take it easy," Agent Rawlins ordered. "It's just me. Nothing to be afraid of."
The sound of his voice brought recognition. With an effort, Lauren subdued the rush of terror, but her breathing remained as rapid as a marathon runner's and her heart felt as though it were trying to club its way out of her chest. She put her hand on her breast and stared at him. Nothing to be afraid of? After all she'd been through, how did he think she would react, sneaking up on her like that? Besides, the man unnerved her.
She would choke, however, before she let him know that.
Gathering her composure, Lauren swung her legs over the side of the leather sofa and raked her hand through her hair, pushing the tangled mass away from her face. "You startled me. I guess I'm still a bit edgy."
"Looks like it." He shoved two huge department store sacks at her. "Here's a change of clothes and some other stuff. Put them on. The rest of what you'll need I've already put in a duffle. So get a move on. We need to get going."
Lauren glanced around. Lieutenant Dumphries had kindly let her nap on the couch in his office, but two walls of the room were glass and overlooked the squad room where the detectives worked. "Where? I can't get undressed in here."
He looked around and scowled, then nodded toward the door. "C'mon." Lauren grabbed her purse and evening jacket and scrambled after him. Feeling ridiculous and self-conscious, she padded barefoot through the squad room in her torn evening dress.
She noticed that he had changed out of his jeans and cowboy boots. He now wore wool pants and knee-high moccasins that looked handmade. The lower portions of the footwear was constructed of leather and from the ankles up a heavy canvas. They made no sound on the linoleum floor of the squad room as he wound through the maze of desks, moving with the supple grace of an Indian warrior.
Lauren shook her head and grimaced. She must really be exhausted to be having fanciful thoughts about this unpleasant man.
Agent Rawlins lead her down a dingy hallway and stopped in front of a door marked Women.
Instantly her face brightened. "Oh, good. I need to freshen up."
"How you look isn't important. You're not going to breakfast at the Ritz, you know."
"Agent Rawlins, for your information, I wasn't referring to cosmetics," Lauren replied in the coolest tone she could summon. "I need to wash up. It was filthy beneath that sink, and when I jumped out of the window I landed in some kind of awful muck. Unless you have some objection, I would like to get clean before we start out."
"All right, but make it quick. We have to get out of here. And be sure to put on those long johns."
Well. At least that told her one thing: they weren't heading south.
He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms in that age-old male gesture that shouted, "I'm waiting." Without a word, Lauren stepped past him into the rest room and locked the door with a satisfying snap.
Expecting the usual ladies rest room, she was surprised to find herself in what was apparently the changing room for the female officers. It contained not only the usual rest room fixtures but lockers and benches and, to Lauren's delight, a shower.
Quickly reaching behind her, she lowered the zipper on her evening gown and stepped out of the ruined dress. Holding it up by two fingers she gazed at the garment with regret. The elegant gown was the last of her concert clothes. Most of the others she had sold to a resale shop shortly after leaving the hospital.
With a sigh, Lauren dropped the dress into the trash can, peeled off her shredded panty hose and tossed them in as well, then stripped off her undies and stepped into the shower. Helping herself to the shampoo and shower gel she found on the shower ledge, she lathered herself from head to toe. The scrapes on her palms and knee stung like fire, but it felt so good to be clean again she didn't care.
When she stepped out of the shower and dried off she pawed through the sack and located a pair of panties and a bra. In addition the sacks also contained two pair of thermal long johns, one made of soft silk and the other of thick, scratchy wool, a heavy parka, fleece-lined gloves and snow boots, a sweat suit, two pair of thick socks, toothpaste and a toothbrush, the moisturizer and hand lotion that she had requested and a lady's deodorant stick.
Lauren hoped Agent Rawlins had sent one of the secretaries or a female agent to do the shopping. The thought of that harsh man purchasing panties and bras for her, even if they were the plain, serviceable kind, brought a blush to her cheeks.
Lauren held up a shapeless gray wool sweat suit and made a face. Charming.
At once she realized how foolish she was being. What was the matter with her? She was letting her dislike of Agent Rawlins addle her senses. There were men out there trying to murder her. She was so terrified she was sick to her stomach. What did it matter what the clothes he had chosen looked like? The sweat suit was clean and warm.
And she was still alive to wear it.
She dressed in the clothing, as instructed, but she was not quick about it. She felt safe in the police station, and wasn't in any hurry to leave. In the shower she had washed away the last of her makeup, but she didn't bother to apply more. Instead she rubbed her face with moisturizer and applied lotion to her hands.
She combed her damp hair away from her face and had started winding it into a French braid when a loud thump on the door made her jump and give a little shriek.
"Hurry it up in there," Agent Rawlins ordered. "You've got one minute. If you're not out by then I'm coming in after you."
"All right, I'm coming! I'm coming!" Lauren glared at the door. She knew the man was just doing his job, but did he have to be so abrupt? As quickly as possible, she finished braiding her hair, then snatched up her purse and the parka and gloves and headed for the door.
Outside, Sam checked his watch. With a curse, he straightened away from the wall and reached for the doorknob just as Lauren Brownley jerked the door open from the inside. The sight of her, scrubbed and shiny, her damp auburn hair pulled away from that perfect face in a simple braid, hit him like a fist to the gut, and he sucked in his breath. Instantly the sweet, erotic scent of a clean woman invaded his senses.
Desire slammed through him. Hot on its heels came anger.
Dammit, he had no business lusting after this particular female. She was a witness in a high-profile federal case, for God's sake. Worse, she was Carlo Giovessi's plaything.
"It's about time." He glared at her. "You showered and washed your hair? I thought you were just going to clean up a little? Dammit, woman, I told you to hurry."
"A shower seemed like the quickest way to get clean," she replied with the cool dignity of a princess, which irritated him all the more. Why the hell couldn't Carlo have stuck to his usual brassy women?
"Fine," he snapped. "If you're ready, could we go now?" Without waiting for a reply, he grasped her elbow and hustled her down the hallway toward a rear stair exit.
Practically trotting to keep up with his long strides, Lauren looked back over her shoulder in the direction of the squad room. "Where are you taking me? Aren't you going to tell Lieutenant Dumphries we're leaving? He said he would provide a police escort."
"We're going out the back way. Through the parking garage where the staff keep their personal vehicles. The fewer people who see us leave, the better."
Out of the corner of his eye Sam saw her shoot him a startled look, and he realized that he had just added a new dimension to her fear. Good, he thought. He didn't get a charge out of scaring women, but if that's what it took to cut through that surprising naivete of hers, then so be it. Maybe now she'd realize jus
t how much danger she was facing.
"What does that mean? Surely you don't think someone with the Denver police poses a threat to me?"
He opened the door and shoved her into the stairwell without answering, but he felt her gaze on him and the increasing tension in the arm he was holding.
"Well do you?"
"Let's just say I don't believe in taking chances."
She whimpered, but he ignored the terrified sound and hustled her down the stairs.
He wanted to tell her to get used to it. Over the next few weeks, maybe even months, killing her was going to be the prime objective for a lot of nasty characters. If she was going to survive she had to learn to be suspicious of everyone and everything. If she was smart, even him.
Lauren stared at Sam Rawlins's hard profile. He frightened her almost as much as this hideous situation. The man didn't seem to possess normal human emotions. Certainly not fear. Or gentleness.
The nap and the warm shower had eased her nerves a bit, but now the tight knot began to coil in her belly again, and when an icy sensation trickled down her spine she shuddered. If Sam Rawlins noticed he gave no sign.
"Wh-where is Agent Owens? I thought he was going with us." At least, she fervently hoped he was. The prospect of being alone with this man for weeks on end was almost unbearable.
"He's waiting in the car."
They clattered down the last flight of metal stairs to the basement parking garage, but when Lauren stepped toward the door Sam jerked her back and shoved her up against the adjacent wall.
"Stay there until I tell you to move. And don't make a sound." He looked her over critically. "Put on the parka and pull up the hood so it covers as much of your face as possible. When I say ready, keep your head down and go. And I mean move. You got that?"
Lauren nodded mutely, too terrified to make a sound. She could barely breathe.
Sam waited until she fumbled into the parka, then flattened himself against the wall on the other side of the door. Her eyes widened and her heart almost jumped right into her throat when he pulled a gun from beneath his coat and held it pointed toward the ceiling beside his right shoulder. With his left hand, he eased the heavy metal door open a crack.
Apparently satisfied with what he saw, he eased the door a little wider and peered around the edge in all directions. "All clear?"
"Yeah. The place is empty," she heard Agent Owens reply.
Sam looked at Lauren. "Okay, let's go."
In a lightning fast move, he grabbed her wrist, hauled her from behind the door and out into the garage. Lauren had a brief impression of an unmarked gray car sitting a few feet away with the engine running and the rear passenger door standing open. Then she was being stuffed inside and shoved, facedown, onto the back seat.
"Cover up with this," Sam ordered, and tossed a heavy wool blanket over her. "And for God's sake, stay down." He slammed the rear door, jerked open the front one and jumped inside. "Go! Go! Go!" he yelled, and Agent Owens burned rubber peeling out of the parking garage.
Beneath the blanket, Lauren huddled in a ball and closed her eyes, shivering and praying. At any moment she expected some of Carlo's thugs to ambush them, to feel bullets punching through the car's metal exterior and ripping into her flesh, or that they would be overtaken and run off the road and they would all die in a fiery crash.
Instead there was nothing—just the sounds of normal traffic all around them and occasional terse comments between the two agents in the front seat. After twenty uneventful minutes, Lauren finally mustered enough courage to lift the edge of the blanket and peer out. All she could see was the backs of the men's heads. Sam Rawlins sat in the passenger seat, his head moving constantly as he kept a sharp lookout for trouble.
The sounds of traffic grew less and less until they all but disappeared. After what seemed like forever, the car turned off the highway onto what was apparently a country road and Agent Owens slowed their speed as they bounced over bumps and potholes. Gravel popped beneath the tires and banged against the car's undercarriage, and with every thud Lauren jumped as though she'd been shot.
Finally they came to a stop.
"Leave the engine running while I go check things out. Any sign of trouble and you haul ass outta here."
"Sure, Sam. Whatever you say."
"And you stay down back there, Ms. Brownley," he ordered. "Don't move until I say so."
"How're you doing, miss?" Agent Owens asked when Sam had gone.
"I'm...I'm okay." Out of habit she had started to say fine, but she wasn't fine. She was so scared she was afraid she was going to be sick.
"Don't pay any attention to Sam's gruffness, miss," Dave Owens went on. "That's just his way. He's a bit of a lone wolf, but there's no better agent within the Bureau. 'Course, I haven't been with the Bureau all that long, but that's what all the other guys say. So don't you worry, if anyone can keep you safe, it's Sam."
Too nervous to carry on a conversation, all Lauren could manage was a soft, "Mmm." Taking the hint, Agent Owens fell silent.
After a nerve-racking wait, Sam returned and climbed back into the car. "Everything is go. Drive over to that green-and-white plane and park beside it with the passenger side next to the steps. Get as close as you can. Then you grab the bags while I get Miss Brownley inside."
"You got it."
As the car bumped over the uneven ground the sound of engine noise grew steadily louder, until it was almost deafening. Lauren realized that the plane they were about to board was waiting for them with the engines running.
The instant the car stopped Sam bailed out and jerked open the rear door.
"C'mon, move it."
Lauren felt exposed when he snatched the blanket off of her, but before she could protest he grasped her arm, hauled her out of the car and bundled her up the steps and into the plane.
The pilot sitting at the controls looked to be in his fifties. He turned around and flashed her a reassuring grin and a wave.
"That's Bob Halloran!" Sam yelled over the roar of the engines. "He's retired FBI and an old friend of mine, so you're in good hands! Take a seat and buckle up. We're already cleared for takeoff. Soon as we load our gear we're outta here."
He moved back to the open door, and caught the duffle bags that Agent Owens tossed to him. Then the younger man hurried up the steps, pulled them up and slammed the door closed behind him.
"Let's get this crate off the ground!" Sam yelled as he and Dave Owens made their way to the front of the plane.
Minutes later, Lauren stared out the window and watched the airstrip drop away. The plane banked and began a sharp climb, heading over the mountains to the west. Behind them, Denver's sprawl grew steadily smaller, fading into nothing more than a smudge on the pristine snow, then disappearing altogether.
Only then did Lauren's heartbeat slow to normal. She leaned her forehead against the cold window glass and closed her eyes. They had made it. She had gotten away.
Sighing, she settled back in her seat and willed her tense muscles to relax.
The plane was a six-seater—a noisy, bumpy little craft, so small that neither Agents Rawlins nor Owens could stand up straight inside it. Normally Lauren was frightened of planes, especially small ones, but at the moment all she could feel was relief.
She stared at the back of Sam Rawlins's head and marveled at the man's calm.
He sat up front beside the pilot. The two men were carrying on a conversation of sorts, though they had to shout to make themselves heard over the engine noise—something about a hunting trip they had taken together the previous year, but Lauren wasn't paying much attention. At least he was talking with his friend. That was more than he had done with her. After whisking her out of the police station, he hadn't said a word to her the entire drive.
Not that she minded. Sam Rawlins made her uneasy. Just the thought of spending the next few weeks with him sent a shiver down her spine. What on earth would they talk about? Or perhaps they wouldn't talk at all. Maybe he wo
uld simply go about his business and give her the silent treatment, as he'd been doing all morning. She didn't know which would be worse.
The way her luck was running, she supposed she shouldn't be surprised that she'd gotten stuck with this taciturn man. If she had to hide out for months with a bodyguard, God alone knew where, why couldn't it have been someone pleasant...someone like that nice Agent Berringer?
At least Bob Owens would be with them. She glanced at the man sitting behind the pilot, hanging on every word of the conversation between the two older men. He was young, clearly a rookie, and he seemed eager to please Agent Rawlins. Still...he had been polite and pleasant to her.
Lauren leaned her head against the back of the seat and sighed. She felt as though she were trapped in a nightmare and couldn't wake up. Only two years ago she had been a rising concert star with a bright future ahead of her. She'd had a huge talent, a handsome fiancé whom she had thought loved her, who also managed her career, and plenty of money. Life had been wonderful. Then almost overnight her money, her future, and her fiancé were gone.
These days, during the week she worked for a pitiable wage as a college music instructor and played piano in a lounge on weekends. Or she had—until last night. Now she was on the run from murdering gangsters with a hard man who looked at her as though she were something he'd found under a rock.
If this was a nightmare, she prayed she would wake up soon.
Now that her situation wasn't quite so urgent, stress and exhaustion were taking their toll. Her scraped palms and knee still stung. Her eyes felt gritty and she was stiff and sore and achy all over.
In addition, her body felt heavy with fatigue, as though each cell were weighted with lead. Hardly surprising, she thought, yawning. Except for that restless doze she'd had at the police station, she hadn't slept in over twenty-four hours.
Snuggling down in the seat, Lauren gave in to her body's demand and closed her eyes. The drone of the engine lulled her, and one by one her muscles relaxed.
"What? What is it?" Lauren sat up with a start, her heart pounding. Disoriented and groggy, she didn't know where she was or how she'd gotten there. Her gaze darted around the interior of the small plane as panic gushed up inside her.