Thankfully it was early and no one else was there.
He wrapped her hair around his hand and stroked her back.
After a moment she got herself back together and wiped her mouth. He flushed and maneuvered her to the sinks. She shied away from the mirror. She looked like crap, but that wasn’t what bothered her. The expression in her eyes reminded her of a time she’d spent years trying to forget. Being lost. Defeated.
He let go of her hair, smoothing it down her back as she rinsed out her mouth with cold water. Then he leaned over the sink and washed his face, paying particular attention to the cut on his jaw. He dried off and turned to face her. The expression on his face suggested he didn’t want to talk about it, but she couldn’t help herself.
“Did I kill him?” Her voice was rough as a saw blade. “That man back there?”
He shook his head. “He had a pulse. Hopefully the cops got him.”
She gripped her stomach as the nausea threatened to return. She’d hit a man over the head with a bottle. Exactly the same thing Brent had done to his father. His father had died and he’d gone to prison—could go back again if the cops caught him now. Fleeing a crime scene was illegal, even she knew that. She grabbed his arm. “You have to get away from me. Head back across the border—”
He shook his head. “I’m not leaving you to deal with this alone, Anna.”
“But if they catch you now…”
His grip firmed. “Let’s make sure they don’t catch us.”
She blinked. He wasn’t leaving her. He’d put the thing he valued most highly—his freedom—on the line for her. Damn, he’d even put his life on the line as he’d wrestled that monster back there. “But—”
“No.” He smiled and he looked so tender, emotion welled up but she wasn’t about to start bawling like a baby. He wasn’t leaving her. The thought left her full of both relief and terror.
She remembered those pitiless black eyes. “We need to go to the cops.” Revulsion crept over every inch of her skin. She knew what he’d do if he caught her.
She was surprised when Brent nodded. “But not here. We need to meet Holly, and head north across the border.” She didn’t think they should wait that long, and a plan was starting to form in her mind.
Her teeth rattled. “I’m scared,” she admitted.
He pulled her to his chest. Rested his chin on her head. And damn, it felt so good, so right she just held on tight for a minute. When was the last time she’d relied on anyone? Before her dad had gone to prison, that’s when. And look how well that had turned out.
Voices outside the door made them jerk apart.
A woman came into the bathroom pushing a stroller. Her mouth dropped when she saw Brent. He wrapped his arm over Anna’s shoulders and smiled. “Morning sickness,” he lied easily. He got her moving out the door. “She can’t go more than an hour first thing without tossing her cookies.”
The woman’s expression turned sympathetic, but Anna’s heart thumped uneasily as she thought about the idea of being pregnant. Kids. She’d always thought she didn’t want kids. She had pupils she loved, but her own baby? Being responsible for an entire life? She’d thought she hadn’t wanted that, but now…the brush with death had her realizing that having a baby was something she actually thought she could handle one day. Being a parent was something she’d like to try. If they got out of this mess alive, she was going to readjust a few of her life goals. That was the one good thing about near-death experiences: they made you figure out what was really important. Friendship. Loyalty. Looking after the people you cared about.
So how was she going to get Brent out of this mess?
They found their cart where they’d left it in the aisle.
“I’m going to grab some clothes,” she told him, careful to keep her voice upbeat even though she felt miserable inside. “I’ll meet you in the men’s department in fifteen minutes. Then we’ll get some food and head out of the city.”
Dark eyebrows rose, but his gaze never wavered from hers. “OK—fifteen minutes. But don’t think about ditching me and turning yourself in. I’ll just follow you right to the nearest cop shop.”
Oh, heck. Was she that transparent?
Blue eyes pierced her. “I don’t need any sacrifices, Anna. I don’t deserve any. Going to the cops without that evidence just makes your father—and possibly you—look guilty.”
Gooseflesh crept over her. “Me?”
“Your father ‘stole’ their money—I’m guessing a lot of money—otherwise, these assholes would have cut their losses and moved on. He said he sent you the details. What if they went for some accessory angle? Without the evidence we can’t prove squat about Davis’s good intentions. And in jail you’re vulnerable to whoever they can buy off.”
Not to mention she’d be in jail. “I’m sorry I ever got you involved in this mess.”
He tipped her chin up and her heart took a tumble. “You didn’t. Davis did.”
She blinked away the stupid tears that wanted to fill her eyes. She was starting to fall for Brent, a guy who was as dangerous to her well-being as her father’s love had ever been. Love was an unstable, volatile emotion she could never trust.
She’d been alone her entire adult life. Sure, she had friends, colleagues, but she never really opened up. Never trusted. After the physical and emotional abuse she’d endured as a teen, the barriers she’d built had become an invisible fortress. But sometime during the last week, Brent had breached those walls and got closer to her than anyone else ever had.
Now those blue eyes darkened with something she recognized. Something that echoed deep inside her. Her heart gave a painful twist. Great. Just great.
They were in deep shit.
Parole violation? You bet your fucking ass. But he couldn’t throw Anna to the wolves and assume the system would save her. It didn’t save people. It locked them up and threw away the key. In the meantime, these assholes were getting away with murder. He and Anna were off the grid for now, camping in the boonies and hopefully falling off the face of the planet long enough to catch a break. But he was no closer to finding that evidence, or clearing Davis’s name than when he’d started this. Jack’s PI company was still investigating, but with Jack out of action…shit.
What the hell was going on? Who were these people? What had Davis stumbled on?
He was praying these guys hadn’t linked Brent Carver to B.C. Wilkinson. He’d buried his identity deep because people were nosy and he didn’t want a bunch of ex-cons turning up at his place hoping to rip off a few canvases or put a hole in his head. And although the reasons might not have been saintly, it was all working in his favor right now. But if his shithead parole officer heard about any of this, he was headed straight back to maximum security, and even the thought brought a low hot bolt of nausea slamming into his gut.
A week ago he’d been worried about turning up at a show. Now he was trying to avoid appearing on America’s Most Wanted.
Plan A and B had both fucked up and now they were trying something new. Flying completely under the radar. He wasn’t taking any chances.
He’d called Finn and told him what was going on and where and when he hoped to cross the border. Then he’d dumped everything electronic and paid cash for a couple of new prepaid cell phones. They’d ditched their bloody clothes in the trash, left their rental car at the mall—e-mailed his agent to get it delivered back to the company—and got a bus to a car lot. Using his alter ego’s credit card he’d bought a two-year-old jeep and they’d headed west into the Dakotas. Theoretically he still had to show up in NYC in a couple of days’ time. Chances of that happening were about as likely as the guy on Anna’s kitchen floor getting up and walking home.
Who the hell was Peter anyway?
They’d traveled for hours, zigzagging across three states. Now light was fading fast and Brent felt like a zombie. He took his frustration out pounding in a tent peg. Anna sat in a canvas chair watching him. She wore dark glasses that covere
d hollowed-out, exhausted eyes, and looked so close to breaking it was killing him.
They’d eaten junk food and grabbed a few basic camping supplies—coffee, instant pasta, bread—but neither of them had the energy to do more than swig from water bottles.
“I did exactly what you did.” Her voice was hoarse. “You got twenty years in prison.”
So this was what was bothering her. “I killed someone. You didn’t.” He looked up. “There were extenuating circumstances in your case.”
She lowered her glasses to reveal bloodshot eyes. “You had extenuating circumstances too.”
But no one had listened, which was exactly why he’d gotten her the hell out of her house this morning. The thought of sitting in a holding cell while the cops sorted this mess out was akin to having electrodes attached to his balls. No, thank you.
“The guy’s alive. Quit beating yourself up.” The fucker had had the edge on Brent. If she hadn’t hit him when she did, chances were he’d be dead and she’d be…
So far he wasn’t turning out to be such a great bodyguard.
“Is the line that thin?” Her voice was as soft as the mist that hung over the nearby lake.
“Between good and evil?” Brent paused. He didn’t try to make light of his crime but…“No. But the line between being branded a criminal versus upstanding citizen? You bet your sweet ass.”
Even if the sonofabitch was dead, Anna Silver did not deserve to go to jail. She was running for her life through no fault of her own and that bastard deserved it.
The longer the day went on, the more she looked like she was about to snap. They needed sleep and this campground off Route 94 was the last place anyone would expect them to stay. Place was packed with families, but there was just enough space to squeeze in a two-man tent into a secluded bay near the water. It was quiet down here. No RVs. A couple of large family tents were barely visible through a thick stand of trees.
“Who was Peter?” he asked, tightening guylines.
“Oh, jeez. I’d almost forgotten about Peter.” She lost the little color she had left. Her hands dug into her scalp. “We dated for about six months, but I broke up with him Friday night after he kissed me.” There was something in her voice and his stomach clenched.
“He tried to force you?”
“No.” She shook her head. “I just didn’t like it.” Her breathing hitched. “He must have come to my house to try and make up. I barely gave him a thought since I last saw him.”
“You’ve had other things on your mind,” Brent reminded her gently.
“Shit!”
The profanity shocked him. He hadn’t heard her swear before. She was about to lose it, and they really didn’t want to attract any unwanted attention. He spoke fast. “A kiss tells you a lot about someone. You know that, right?” He took her by the shoulders. Christ, she felt so tiny and small and goddamn perfect. “I read whole books on kissing when I was inside.” Just to torture himself. “And it’s not just about touching lips—it’s a connection, maybe some sort of genetic litmus test. Peter”—poor bastard—“failed the test. It was him, not you.” He shook her slightly.
“But he’s dead because of me—”
“Hush now.” He pulled her against him, rocking her for comfort and hoping to keep the volume down. “He’s dead because some bastard likes hurting people.” She flinched, but he held tight. “No one does that for money. They do that because they enjoy it.” Gina’s smile flashed through his mind. Finn had sworn to him she hadn’t suffered, but sometimes his imagination conjured up the worst images.
He let go of her and stood back. She needed to rest. He grabbed two thin air mattresses and the sleeping bags and tossed them inside. Tidied up while Anna went off and used the restroom. He was just getting antsy about her when she came back. He held the tent flap wide.
“Bed,” he said firmly. They climbed inside, not even bothering to get undressed. The air mattresses were shoved next to one another and there was barely enough space for him to maneuver without climbing all over Anna. Christ. Given that he was attracted to her, this was not going to be easy, but he wasn’t an animal. He took off his belt and shoes. Put the single flashlight near the door. Lay down on his back and stared at the canvas stretched overhead.
It was a warm night. They both lay on top of their makeshift beds. Their arms brushed one another in the tight space. She didn’t balk or freak, which told him how exhausted she was.
He hadn’t forgotten the incident in the hotel room—half a millennium ago—when she’d gone white as a sheet and backed away from him like he was going to smack her. There had been raw panic in her eyes as she’d flashed back to something terrifying.
Brent had a short list of possibilities. None of them were good.
He could hear her breathing in the darkness. Quiet. Awake. Aware.
As a young guy in prison, he’d spent a lot of time protecting his ass. Literally. After the first shower incident, where he’d half blinded a guy who thought Brent would be easy pickings, he’d gained a reputation for not being worth the trouble. He’d been lucky. His first cellmate, Ian, had been a lifer who’d taken him under his wing and helped him learn the rules. Ian hadn’t wanted anything from Brent except a tidy roomie who didn’t yap. Not a problem for Brent. The guy had been fatally knifed four years later, in some altercation over fried chicken of all things, but by then Brent had learned how to take care of himself. Not everyone was so fortunate and he’d witnessed plenty of abuse.
It sucked being in prison, but some people didn’t know how to live on the outside. He did. He’d been doing just fine until a week ago. He clenched his fists in the darkness. Now he was risking everything because of a promise to a dead man. Trouble was it was more than that, and no matter how much Brent wanted to pretend he was doing this for Davis, he was actually doing it for Anna—or maybe, if he were really honest, for himself.
He closed his eyes against the memories that were still sharp across his brain.
Ever since Gina had been found murdered last year, he’d been trying to redeem himself in some small measure. He’d spent his whole life pushing people away to keep them safe, but it hadn’t worked. Now he was keeping Anna close and hoped it would be enough to protect her.
The night air cooled.
He turned on his side and moved as close to Anna as he dared. He rested his hand on her waist, and her muscles froze beneath his touch.
“You ever going to tell me about it?” he asked, finally.
Her breath caught. The silence got heavier, and for a moment Brent thought she wasn’t going to answer—maybe even pretend she was asleep, though it was obvious she wasn’t.
“I was raped,” she admitted quietly. “But I think you’d already guessed that, hadn’t you?”
Regret clawed at him with angry talons, regret for things he couldn’t change. His chest tightened painfully. He wanted to shout and pound his fists against something, but that wouldn’t help Anna so he calmed it down. Shoved it into a corner where he could deal with it later.
“Do you want to tell me what happened?” he asked gruffly.
She twisted onto her side and he withdrew his hand, but she groped for it in the darkness and squeezed. “I never told anyone. Ever.”
All those years of bottled-up emotions, the degradation, the humiliation. For the first time, he felt anger at Davis, for putting her in danger. For not taking better care of his daughter. He ran his palm over her jaw, anchored his fingers in her hair. “You need to talk to someone, doesn’t have to be me—”
“I want to tell you.” Her palm rested against his heart. “It might help explain why I’m so screwed up. Or some of it, anyway.”
Anna rolled onto her side, facing away from Brent. She’d spent years in denial, as if by never talking about the rape she could pretend it never happened. But without realizing it, that decision had tainted all her subsequent relationships because, subconsciously, she was always waiting for the rules to change and to get raped aga
in. By denying the reality of what happened to her, she’d denied the extent of the trauma and impact it had had on her life. She was through with denial.
Who moved first she didn’t know, but suddenly Brent’s arms were wrapped around her and his chin rested in her hair. Anna leaned back against the solid wall of his chest and absorbed some of that strength. They were spooning, his chest pressed tight to her back and, despite the shimmer of sexual awareness between them, it felt safe and reassuring.
How was it possible to feel safe after everything that happened? People were trying to kill her, but they hadn’t succeeded yet because this man was by her side. But how was it possible to feel protected by a man like Brent?
Her fear of him was gone—if it had ever existed. He’d blown her nice staid little life to smithereens, and despite the terrible situation she now found herself in, she was enjoying letting go of some of the rules that had guided her. Being on the run made it easier to remember what was important, and living topped that list. Strange that it hadn’t before. Now she was ready to blow this particular demon from her past and move on to a better, freer life. Assuming she got the chance.
Her heart thrummed uneasily, but she clenched her fists. She could do this.
“Do you remember any details from my letters about my high school prom?” she asked.
“I know your asshole boyfriend dumped you two days before it.” His rough voice ruffled her hair. “And you tried to commit suicide not long after.” His warm arms tightened around her, perhaps already making the connection.
“I dated Sam for a couple of years and he claimed to love me. Then Dad got arrested.” She could hardly blame Sam, because she’d have done anything to escape the situation too. He’d been a sweet kid. She’d given him her virginity but it hadn’t been enough to get them through the scandal. “He put up with the teasing and taunts for a while and then he couldn’t take it anymore. I was a social pariah. Maybe his parents forced him, but when he dumped me, I wasn’t surprised. I was more surprised we lasted as long as we did.”
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