by Lyn Stone
“Won’t someone call and tell his contacts here?” she asked.
“Not likely. They won’t want to admit it—not yet anyway—and besides, they’re probably still looking for him there. How much gas you got?”
She glanced down. “Half a tank.”
“How much money?”
“A few dollars. Fifteen, maybe. You?”
“Not enough. Get off at the next exit. Find an ATM,” he ordered. “If we both withdraw the max, it should be enough to get us there. We’d better not leave a paper trail.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. He couldn’t trace us that way…. Could he? Why don’t we just fly? We’d be there before he knew we were gone.”
“Maybe. Unless he has someone watching for us at the airport. We just don’t know how many people he has here. That’s the problem. I’ve been on this guy’s case for nearly a year now and his reach is incredible. You said yourself he’s got contacts up the wazoo. That probably won’t change unless he tries to arrange a deal involving the Colombians or until word filters through the grapevine. By that time, it would be too late for us.”
Her worried gaze flashed his way briefly, then back to the road where cars were zipping past despite the fact that she was speeding big-time. “You think he’s come specifically to find you?”
“To find both of us. Absolutely.”
They managed to find a bank within a block of the exit and drew out the daily limit allowed from the automatic teller machine. Joe felt a bit better. They had a good vehicle, a fair head start and enough money to get them to D.C.
She filled the gas tank and then took the access road to the northernmost route that would take them to Chattanooga, Tennessee. Joe had never been there and didn’t particularly want to go now, but he’d go to hell itself to keep Humberto from catching up with the woman who had shot him.
Martine checked her watch as they reached the outskirts’ of Chattanooga. While they had not been driving all that long, she needed to take a break. They also needed food since they had never gotten around to ordering that pizza. But they had drunk the wine. “I’m starving,” she told him.
He sighed impatiently. “Pull off at the next exit and hit a drive-through. We can eat on the way. I’ll take over if you’re tired of driving already.”
“I need to go inside,” she said pointedly.
“Oh, okay.”
He might sound amused, but unless he had a bladder the size of Texas, she knew he would welcome a pit stop, too. “There’s a place.” He pointed to the towering sign advertising a chain restaurant at the next exit.
Their meal took less than twenty minutes and when they returned to the Jeep, he asked for the keys. “You sleep a while. I’ll wake you when I get too tired. We should take turns and drive straight through if we can.”
“Why? There’s no way Humberto can find us on the road like this. He won’t know what kind of vehicle I have.”
“Want to bet your life on that? I don’t. He’s going to come after us with every resource he’s got, Martine. There’s nothing left for him to lose. After we blew his operation skyhigh, there’s no way he could have gone back. We made him a marked man.”
Martine shivered, rubbing her arms to restore warmth. “I guess he couldn’t even risk going to his wife and family, could he?”
“No. His missus will surely side with her old man and he’ll be out for Humberto’s blood. So our boy’s got nothing left now but a very temporary power here in the States and whatever funds he had access to before he left the country. That gives him a limited time in which to exact revenge on the people responsible for his downfall. Namely us.”
“It could be he was only getting out of Colombia, seeking safety. Maybe you’re just being paranoid,” she suggested as she fastened her seat belt.
“If that’s so, why would he come to Atlanta? And hey, paranoia’s my friend,” Joe said easily and pulled back onto the interstate. “Can’t live long without it in this business.”
“How long have you been doing it?”
“Too long. Way too long,” he answered, his tone weary. The dash lights cast a weak glow that angled upward, exposing the planes of his features and emphasizing lines hardly noticeable in the light of day. His strong fingers flexed a few times, fitting themselves to the steering wheel as he settled his large body for the long drive ahead. He rolled his shoulders slightly. He looked exhausted.
“Joe, is something else wrong?”
“Why? That’s not enough?” He smiled and tossed her a weary glance. “No, there’s nothing else. You know all I know. Go to sleep, Martine.”
“I meant with you. Is there something wrong with you, Joe?” she persisted.
“Nothing a few weeks on the beach wouldn’t cure. When this is over, that’s where I’m headed. Just me and a cooler full of Dos Equis.” He glanced over again. “Offer still holds. You come, too. That is, if you want to and promise not to talk shop.”
Martine laughed, leaned back and closed her eyes. “Nice dream, Joe,” she said, letting exhaustion claim her. She hadn’t lied. It was a nice dream.
As the purr of the motor and shimmy of slightly out-of-line tires morphed into waves rhythmically rolling onto a shore, the dream proved better than nice. It became real.
Joe, wearing only ragged remnants of the gray trousers, strolled down a sandy beach, beer in hand, grin revealing those straight white teeth as he approached. The glare of a tropical sun bounced enticingly off his heavily muscled shoulders, arms and chest. Strong, bare feet tracked through sugary white sand, bringing him ever closer.
She wore a sarong tied loosely allowing the warm ocean breeze to caress her skin as the soft garment billowed out from her body. A heady sense of anticipatory awareness created a tingle in places he had yet to touch. She quivered as she held out her arms in welcome.
He walked right into them, those amazing hands of his sliding beneath the silky fabric, creating havoc with her senses.
She breathed in his scent, a peculiar mix of cool fresh limes and hot ready man. The low timbre of his voice vibrated through her as they embraced, the landscape of his body melding perfectly with hers. She writhed in pleasure, the sun hot against her bare back, his hands even hotter against her bare flesh.
Something began tugging at her arm, calling to her, warning her to…
“Wake up!”
“No,” Martine groaned in protest, even as she opened her eyes. Reality hit her like a slap in the face. Headlights from oncoming traffic flashed, causing her to squint. She gulped in a deep breath and quickly pushed herself upright in the seat, embarrassed by the fact that a dream of Joe had aroused her. She risked a glance at him and saw him frowning.
“It was just a dream,” he assured her. “You groaned like you were in pain or something. Thought I’d better bring you out of it. You all right?”
Martine nodded, afraid to speak and maybe betray what she’d really been up to in that dream. What he had been up to. But he couldn’t know. How could he? There was no way he could even guess she’d been dreaming of him. Of them together.
She released the breath she was holding and smoothed her hands over her face, raking her fingers through her hair and shaking her head to clear away every vestige of the dream. But the erotic images of them together remained, teasing her mercilessly, even as he watched.
“That bad, huh?” he asked, sounding concerned.
Not taunting her, Martine decided. He was worried. She smiled to herself, her secret safe. “I’m fine. You want me to drive now?” Her voice trembled, sounding almost as shaky as she felt.
“Not on a dare in your condition,” he replied to her question about taking the wheel. “There’s an exit up ahead. I think we’d better stop for a few hours. I noticed you didn’t get much shut-eye on the planes. Apparently you have trouble sleeping while you ride.”
Fully alert now, Martine almost laughed. The fool had no clue he was what disrupted her sleep. She cleared her throat and switched on the radio. “Don’t
worry about it. What kind of music do you like?” Anything to get his mind off that dream of hers. To get her mind off of it. “Oh, I remember, oldies. Right?”
He reached over and switched it off. “No music. We’re finding a motel. You’re too dopey to drive and I’m getting there fast.”
“Let’s not do that,” she said, trying not to sound as if she were pleading. All she needed was to be shut up in a motel room with him, especially with that lingering vision of him half naked still clear in her head.
But Joe ignored her and slowed for the turnoff. He looked pretty determined. His jaw tight, his lips firmed, his eyes narrowed as he checked out the signs along the way advertising lodgings for the night. Vacancies everywhere. She lost the will to argue.
Surely after making it clear he wasn’t interested in a brief sexual encounter with her, he would keep his distance a lot more carefully than he had before. Martine knew she wouldn’t risk another rebuff like the one he’d given her after Matt left. It would be all right, she assured herself.
He bypassed the better-known chain hotels where they would need a credit card, and found a small place about two miles off the interstate. “This looks like a strictly cash establishment,” he said, more or less to himself.
He was right. It certainly did. She doubted if any customers who stopped here ever gave their correct identity. Or did much sleeping, either.
Even Martine had no idea exactly where they were, which was reassuring. Humberto would never locate them here, wherever here was. Even if he somehow figured out they were headed for D.C., there must be thousands of motels between there and Atlanta.
“One room,” Joe said pointedly, though there was no suggestiveness whatsoever in the declaration. “We need to save our cash for emergencies.”
“Okay,” she agreed. This wasn’t a hotel where she’d like to be left in a room by herself. She could handle whatever happened, of course, but she certainly wouldn’t be able to close her eyes for a minute. Then the rest of what he’d said registered. “What emergencies?”
He parked to one side of the office and unfastened his seat belt as he turned to look at her. “I saw a sign advertising a gun show at the civic center in Carnton. We might need another weapon.”
“Get real. You can’t buy a decent slingshot with what we have between us now and we’ll still need to eat. Plus, this,” she said, shooting a dubious glance at the rundown hotel, “will cost us.”
“We’ll see what we can do,” he said and went into the hotel office.
The room surprised her. Though the furnishings had probably been in place since the sixties, the linens actually looked clean. So did the bathroom. “Not so bad,” she quipped. “The bed’s king size anyway.”
“Yeah,” he said, eyeing the bed, then her, then the bed again.
“Don’t worry,” she told him, her voice a little bitter. “You’re entirely safe with me.”
He sighed and tossed his duffel onto the chair. “I came off a little high-handed at your apartment. Sorry.”
Martine ignored him, went into the bathroom and closed the door. She stayed there for some time, until she ran out of things to do in a five-by-six tile-surfaced box with nothing but towels, T.P. and paper-wrapped soap for company.
There was a mirror, too, but she didn’t really want to study her reflection for longer than it took to rake her hair back and check the circles under her eyes. The woman looking back would probably try to convince her she should go out there and make another pass at Joe and damn the consequences.
He knocked softly. “You asleep in there?”
She jumped up from the edge of the tub where she’d been sitting and unlocked the door. “Sorry,” she said, brushing past him into the bedroom.
Damn, but he made her nervous now. She would have to watch every word she said and think about every gesture she made, so he wouldn’t get the idea she was coming on to him again.
With that in mind, she curled up on the far side of the bed fully clothed and closed her eyes. When he came out of that bathroom, she meant to be sound asleep.
Of course, the very intent kept her wide-awake. That, plus the fact that she had napped in the car. Dream-sleep must count because she was in no way sleepy now. She’d have to pretend, because she certainly didn’t want to have a can-we-sleepin-the-same-bed-and-be-nice conversation.
Her senses went on full alert the minute he returned to the bedroom. There was a long silence, filled only with the overly long breaths she drew in and released.
When he did move, he wasn’t particularly quiet about it. He checked the gun. She heard it click. He sat down heavily on the far side of the bed and toed off his shoes. Then he stretched out full-length beside her, not touching. “Those are some slow-moving sheep you’re counting,” he said finally.
Martine didn’t respond. She crunched the pillow impatiently and snuggled deeper into the too-soft mattress. In less than five minutes, she could tell by his breathing— almost a soft snore—that he really had fallen asleep. Moving slowly, she carefully turned over so she could see him.
He was facing her with his eyes wide-open. And he was smiling. “That’s how you fake it.”
Infuriated, she snapped, “This is the first time I’ve ever had to fake it.”
He laughed. “I promise you you’ll never have to fake it with me again.”
Martine turned over so fast, she almost fell off the bed. It was going to be a very long night.
Joe awoke with his hand cupped around a very shapely butt. His chest rested comfortably against Martine’s back. It was her restlessness that had wakened him, a sinuous backward snuggling he hated like hell to resist. But he had to. They should have been out of the motel and on the road hours ago.
He removed his hand, backed away a little, flicked on the lamp and gave her fanny a firm pat. “Up and at ‘em, slugger.” Before she could react, he had rolled off the bed, pulled on his shirt and stepped into his shoes. The pants looked as if he’d slept in them because he had. He tucked the pistol beneath his belt and fished the toothpaste and brush out of his duffel.
She bypassed him without so much as a good morning and disappeared into the bathroom with the small bag she’d brought with her. “Ah, not a morning person,” he muttered. “But I knew that.”
He recalled their trail to Bogotá and how silent she had been for a while after they’d awakened. Though she’d moved quickly and surely then, he had realized that it took her a while to gear up for the day.
Joe always came awake at full throttle. He could hardly help wondering then what it would be like to coax her awake slowly with touches and kisses. And now that he had the opportunity, the wondering almost became compulsion.
“No,” he said to himself. “Not just yet.” If he ever had Martine Duquesne—and it was looking more and more like that if was a when—he wanted all the time in the world and no distractions. He also wanted more tomorrows with her than she would promise him now. Shared danger was not enough of a connection to sustain anything more than a quick fling. Joe knew this woman was worth more than that. He’d do something about it, too, if he thought she would give up her current job.
The water turned off. “Hey, babe, get a move on, would you?” he called to her. She’d hate being called babe, but Joe needed the distance that little insult would throw up between them right now, or else he’d be tempted to stay right here in this dump of a motel making love to her until Humberto died of old age.
She stormed out of the bathroom looking like a sixteen year-old who’d been stood up for her favorite concert. “If you call me that word again…!”
“Yeah, yeah, I hear you,” he said and left her standing there fuming while he went in to shave. “Just what I love, sharing a bathroom with a girl. My sister spent days primping while I had to stand outside, waiting to pee.” He quickly closed the door, grinning when something thunked against the outside of it. He felt to make sure the gun was still where he’d put it.
“You’re crude, rude an
d…”
“Delightful to know!” he added, laughing as he heard a muffled curse through the door.
He had just lathered his face when the door flew open.
“Joe, come look! There’s a dark car out there by the office. Three men just got out and went inside.”
He rushed to the window and pulled the drape aside. It was impossible to see into the motel office. Though the whole front was glass, it was covered with blinds.
“Get in the Jeep,” he ordered. “You drive. Pull up right behind that car and be ready to fly.”
He had never seen her move so fast. She grabbed her bag, jumped into the vehicle and in seconds, she braked where he’d told her to. Joe climbed out, slashed the back tires on the black Camry and dived back in. She was peeling out of the parking lot before he had the door shut.
Shots erupted, several thunking into the back of the Jeep. Tires screeched as Martine careened onto the access road and gunned the motor.
“Turn right!” he ordered. “We’ll take back roads. I hope you’ve got a map.”
“Compass,” she assured him, lifting her left wrist to remind him of the one in her watch.
“Right now any direction away from here is fine. They have us outgunned.” He studied her carefully as she drove. “And you have a transmitter of some kind somewhere on you or they would never have found us.”
She gasped, almost veering off the road.
“On me?”
He shrugged. “Well, I’ve been checking me daily while I was there and never found anything. Besides, you were money in his pocket, remember.
“There’s no chance they put it anywhere on the car because we were gone with it before they got there,” he said, thinking out loud. “We’ve got to find and ditch it,” he told her. “And we have to do it before they get those tires fixed.”
♥ Scanned by Coral ♥