by Pamela Clare
She buried her face in her hands. “They’re going to be really angry.”
AN HOUR LATER, Sophie walked into a drugstore in Aurora, a shopping list clutched in one cold hand, a knot of dread in her chest. She felt like Bonnie—as in Bonnie and Clyde. Which was ridiculous because she hadn’t come here to rob the place. No, she’d come here to do something worse. She’d come here to lie to a friend.
Hunt, certain the place was equipped with electronic surveillance both inside and out, had parked a good block down the street to wait for her. “If this Julian guy is any good, he’ll trace the pay phone number and view the surveillance tape to make certain you weren’t being coerced. He’ll move fast, so after you make that call, get out.”
Sophie had thought that sounded extreme, even for Julian. “Would he really go that far?”
“I would.” Hunt had grinned at her from beneath his sunglasses, his lips curving in a killer smile. Lips that had kissed her senseless. Lips that had been all over her. Lips that had driven her out of her mind.
She’d found herself staring at his mouth, something fluttering in her abdomen besides the swarm of butterflies that had made it impossible for her to eat breakfast.
“He looked right at me in the courtroom,” Hunt had explained. “I don’t think he recognized me, but if he sees me with you, or if he makes the license plate on the Jag…”
He hadn’t needed to say more.
Sophie picked up a red plastic shopping basket on the way through the door, glanced over the list, and set off in search of toothpaste.
It would be so much easier—not to mention cheaper—if she could just go to her apartment and pack an overnight bag. Everything she needed was there—her toothbrush, her makeup bag, her shampoo. She was still wearing the clothes she’d had on when they’d arrested her, and she desperately wanted to change. But Hunt wouldn’t let her go near the place, certain it was under surveillance.
She made her way through the aisles in search of the needed items, her gaze inadvertently drawn to the ruby globes of the not-so-hidden cameras. They bulged out of the ceiling like big, red eyeballs, watching her, recording every move she made. It was more than a little unnerving to think that Julian and the DPD might be watching this in the next couple of days. Is this what it felt like to be a criminal—the adrenaline, the edginess, the uneasy feeling of being naked?
Toothpaste. Toothbrush. Dental floss. Mouthwash. She reached for one of each and dropped them into her shopping basket, mentally crossing them off her list before moving down the aisle toward the antiperspirant.
It was strange to think that three weeks ago her biggest worry had been saving enough money to pay David’s spring tuition. Now she was on the brink of losing everything she’d worked for—her income, her seat on the I-Team, the respect of her peers. She was facing felony charges, spending tuition money on bail, hiding from both the good guys and the bad guys, having soul-shattering sex with a known fugitive, coming perilously close to falling in love with said fugitive, and lying to her friends—not to mention wigging out in a drugstore.
Her life was an out-of-control mess. What had happened?
Deodorant. Disposable razors. Shaving cream.
Of course, she knew what had happened, or rather who. He sat a block down the street in a borrowed black Jaguar looking criminally sexy in a pair of faded jeans, a denim jacket, and a black turtleneck, a loaded weapon in his pocket. Marc Hunter had forced his way into her life at gunpoint, bringing chaos and catastrophe with him, turning her world upside down, making her feel things for him she shouldn’t feel.
Damn you, Hunt! Damn you!
She didn’t mean it, not really. She couldn’t blame Hunt for her situation. Not entirely. He’d known someone was after his sister, had known no one would believe him, and he’d done what he had to do to protect Megan and her baby. It was desperation that had led him to put a gun to Sophie’s head and drag her into this nightmare, not a perverse desire to destroy her life. Now he seemed to think it was his job to protect her.
Of course, it wasn’t as if she herself were blameless. She could’ve gone back on her word and told Julian everything she knew about Hunt and Megan three weeks ago. She could’ve turned Hunt over to the police any number of times—when he’d broken into her apartment, when he’d followed her to the restaurant, when he’d showed up in the courtroom. He hadn’t been holding a gun to her head any of those times. No, she’d made her own decisions.
Hand lotion. Facial cleanser. Moisturizer.
Yes, she’d made her own decisions. Last night, she’d impulsively gotten in the car with him instead of going to Tessa and Julian’s house. Hunt hadn’t forced her to come. He hadn’t forced her to kiss him, and he certainly hadn’t forced her to make love with him. In fact, she had initiated that part of it on her own. She’d been so upset, so afraid, and he’d been there for her, listening to her, doing his best to comfort her, holding her, his body so hard and strong and warm, his embrace a refuge. And suddenly she’d wanted him so badly, needed him so badly, that nothing else had mattered.
It had been a mistake, a terrible mistake, but she couldn’t bring herself to regret it, probably because it hadn’t felt like a mistake. It had felt…so right. Astonishing. Perfect. Just as he’d done twelve years ago, Hunt had given her everything she’d needed and more, taking her to a place no other man had taken her.
You’re in love with him, Alton!
No! Oh, no! No, no, she wasn’t! Falling in love with him would be the stupidest thing she could possibly do. It didn’t matter that he had a body like a Greek statue and made love like a god. It didn’t matter that he was a strong and decent man who’d served his country, protected his sister, and turned himself in when he’d killed the man who’d raped her. It didn’t matter that the drugs had been a setup and that his sentence exceeded his crime. In the eyes of the law, he was a cold-blooded murderer, drug dealer, and an escaped fugitive.
And unless he was very lucky, the law would catch up with him.
Fighting back a wave of queasiness, Sophie glanced down at her list, suddenly unable to remember what she’d been looking for. Shampoo. Hair stuff.
She couldn’t stand the thought of Hunt being locked away in prison for the rest of his life. Other than answering her questions this morning, he hadn’t told her a thing about it, and yet she knew he carried more with him than just physical scars. He’d come unglued when she’d suggested that he’d had sex with men, all but admitting that he’d been assaulted. And this morning there’d been an edge to his voice, his pain so palpable that Sophie had hurt, too.
There are good days, and there are bad days, and then there are days where you think you might go fucking insane because you think of all the things you’ll never see and do again.
He’d done a terrible thing, yes, but what Cross had done had been even more terrible. And although Cross’s crimes didn’t justify Hunt’s violent response, what brother wouldn’t lose control or be tempted to pull the trigger under those circumstances?
Either he would get away to Mexico with Megan and Emily, or Sophie would do everything in her power to see that he got a new trial. It wouldn’t be easy for Megan to sit on the stand and tell the world what Cross and his accomplice had done to her, but it couldn’t be any worse than the life sentence her brother would endure otherwise. Surely Megan cared about what happened to Marc. That’s how brothers and sisters were.
When Sophie had called David from the courthouse, he’d told her to do whatever she needed to do with the money she’d saved and not to worry about him. Then he’d offered to get on the next flight. But he’d already given up a week of his semester taking care of her, and she didn’t want her problems to impact him. She had insisted he stay in California and focus on horses. Each of them had been thinking of the other.
Certainly Marc had done all he could for Megan and then some. It was time for Megan to step up to do her part.
Shampoo. Conditioner. A brush and comb. Elastic bands. A barrette.
She glanced down at the list, then threaded her way back to the pharmacy counter, only one thing left on her list. “A packet of Plan B, please.”
She took the box from the pharmacist, grabbed a box of condoms, then carried the heavy basket to a checkout lane up front, the knot of dread in her chest growing tighter.
She didn’t want to do this. She didn’t want to lie to Tessa. She’d tried to make herself feel better reminding herself that Tessa had once lied to her, denying flat-out her plans to head into Aurora to question gang members despite the price on her head. If not for Julian, Tessa would have died that day, shot down in the streets. Sophie had shouted at her for a full five minutes when Tessa had finally checked in, shaken but unhurt.
But still the memory did nothing to assuage Sophie’s sense of guilt.
She watched the cashier ring up her order, then handed over her credit card.
“That’ll be one-ten-twenty-eight on your Visa.” The cashier ran the card, then handed Sophie the slip to sign.
Sophie scrawled her signature. And then it was time.
She carried her three plastic shopping bags toward the exit to the pay phones, then fished three quarters out of her coat pocket. She picked up the receiver, dropped the quarters in the slot, and dialed Tessa’s number, feeling almost sick.
The phone rang twice before Tessa answered.
“Hi, Tess. It’s Sophie.”
“Sophie? Oh, thank God! Where are you? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. I’m so sorry I never showed up yesterday. I decided to check into a hotel, and I fell asleep the moment I got into the room.” Why did it sound so convincing when Hunt said it, but so ridiculous when she said it?
“My God, Sophie! Do you know how worried we’ve been?” Tessa’s voice broke, and Sophie knew she must be close to tears. “After everything that’s happened I was afraid you were facedown in a ditch somewhere! Julian has the whole force looking for you!”
Sophie cringed at the anger in Tessa’s voice, knowing it was the result of hours of unnecessary worry. “I’m so sorry! The moment I woke up I realized what I’d done. I was just so upset when I left the paper. The new publisher suspended me, and I hadn’t slept at all in jail…I don’t even know what to say. I’m really sorry.”
Some of the anger left Tessa’s voice. “As long as you’re safe, that’s the important thing. God, I’m so relieved! Where are you? I’ll come pick you up so I can yell at you some more.”
“N-no, Tessa. I can’t stay with you. I don’t want you or the baby or Julian to get hurt.”
“Don’t be silly! Julian wouldn’t let anything happen to any of us. You know that.” Tessa paused. “If you’re at a hotel, why does my caller ID say ‘pay phone’? Where’s your cell? Sophie, what’s going on?”
It sucked trying to lie and keep secrets when your friends were investigative reporters.
“My cell battery ran out, and I just popped into the drugstore to buy a few things. I’m afraid to go home and just need to be someplace where no one can find me. It’s the only way any of us will be safe. I’ll check in when I can. I’m so sorry, Tessa. Tell Julian how sorry I am. I didn’t mean to cause you any trouble. I have to go now.”
“Sophie, wait! What—”
Tears pricking her eyes, Sophie hung up the phone, guilt making her empty stomach churn. It was for the best, she told herself. This way, Tessa and her baby wouldn’t be in danger, and she and Hunt would be able to work together to find Megan and Emily. Yes, it was best for everyone this way.
Then why do you feel like the world’s worst traitor, Alton?
Her vision blurred by tears, Sophie turned away from the phone, picked up her shopping bags, and hurried out into the cold wind.
MARC COULD SEE she was crying even before she reached the car. He didn’t have to ask why. Twelve years ago, she’d been unwilling to lie to her grandmother about where she’d spent the night. Today, she’d had to lie to her best friend about the same thing—but for much different reasons. It wasn’t lost on Marc that both times revolved around him.
Bringing happiness to the people he cared most about—that’s what he did.
Yeah, you’re a ray of goddamned sunshine, Hunter.
He got out of the car, opened her door, and took the bags from her hands, dropping a kiss on her forehead. “It’s cold. Get in.”
He stuck the bags in the back, then got behind the wheel, started the engine, and pulled an illegal U-turn to keep the Jag off the drugstore’s outdoor surveillance cameras. Beside him, Sophie sat in silence, huddled in her coat, tears glistening on her cheeks.
He cranked the heater. “How’d it go?”
She shook her head, sniffed, wiped the tears from her face. “Tessa was really upset. I don’t think she believed me. She started asking questions, and…I hung up on her.”
Her voice dropped to a distressed whisper at the end, her unhappiness an indictment.
He let go of the gearshift, took her cold hand in his, gave it a squeeze. “You’ve got good friends. At least you know that she and her baby are safe.”
“Yeah.”
“That Julian is one determined cop.” Determined was only half of it. The man obviously had the instincts of a wolf and didn’t hesitate to follow them. “Look.”
From around the corner came two squad cars, running silent, lights flashing. They were headed straight for the drugstore.
Sophie’s eyes went wide with surprise as the cars tore past them. Then she looked over at Marc, a stunned look on her sweet face. She was having trouble keeping up with the situation, he knew. She wasn’t used to this, wasn’t used to living on the other side of the law. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to make a mistake that would cost both of them.
It was time to get down to business.
Marc downshifted and pulled to a stop at a red light. “I know your head must be spinning, Sophie, but we need to talk.”
CHAPTER 20
SOPHIE COMBED THE tangles from her towel-dried hair. It felt weird to use some stranger’s bathroom like this—what was with all the blue plastic fish on the wall?—but she was grateful finally to have had a hot shower, even a stolen one. She’d still been able to smell jail on her skin, even after a night of sleeping in Hunt’s arms. It was heaven to be clean again—and to have time to think things through.
Hunt had taken time on the drive back from the drugstore to bring her up to date on reality, dragging the shadows she’d held at the periphery of her thoughts to center stage. She couldn’t leave the house alone for any reason. She couldn’t open the curtains or play loud music. She couldn’t use her cell phone or the landline. All communication with her attorney, her friends, and the newspaper would have to take place via the Internet relay Hunt had set up. She couldn’t use her credit card. In short, she couldn’t do anything that would lead anyone to her—or to this address.
“I’ve looked for Megan everywhere, and I haven’t found her. Somewhere in this house, there must be information about Megan’s childhood, something that might tell us where she’s hiding. You can help me find it. We’ll search room by room, tear this place apart if we have to.”
“What if we find nothing?”
He’d ignored her question. “In the meantime, we stay out of sight except to follow solid leads or bring home supplies. This is the real thing, Sophie. If the good guys find us, I go back to prison and Megan ends up dead. If the bad guys find us, we’re all dead. Think of this as protective custody.”
Protective custody.
She knew Hunt wanted her with him so he could keep her safe. She knew, too, that she needed protection. If the heroin in her car hadn’t driven that point home, then the midnight visit in jail certainly had. But staying with Hunt meant she was breaking the law—several laws, actually. Of course, Hunt’s solution for that problem was as irritating as it was simple. If the cops caught up with them, she’d become his hostage again. Sophie didn’t like that plan one bit, despite Hunt’s insistence that the cops co
uldn’t do anything to him they hadn’t already done.
“They can shoot you,” she’d pointed out. “They can kill you.”
Julian already suspected Hunt was at the heart of this. He probably believed that Hunt was coercing her in some way. And that meant he believed Hunt was in Denver and that he would have men on the streets looking for him. Not a good thing. If the two of them ever faced each other…
God, she couldn’t even think about that.
She couldn’t stop thinking about that.
Hunt wouldn’t pull the trigger unless he felt he had no choice, but that wasn’t going to matter. Julian had a hard-earned grudge against criminals who hurt women. Knowing Hunt was armed, Julian wouldn’t hesitate to shoot if given cause—like the sight of Hunt holding a gun to her head—and that meant things were likely to get deadly fast.
She couldn’t let that happen.
It was time she got focused again. The only way she could help Hunt or Megan or herself was to find the man who’d helped Cross brutalize Megan—and expose him. She couldn’t do that if she was feeling sorry for herself or obsessing about things that might never happen. She was an investigative journalist, and it was time she went back to treating this like she would any other investigation.
She would sit down this afternoon, go through her notes, and talk through them with Hunt, getting his impressions and ideas. Then she’d e-mail Tom and find out whether DOC had responded to her request for the report. She was willing to bet they hadn’t. The moment they’d heard of her arrest, they’d probably tossed her CORA request in the trash. If so, that was their mistake.
Making a to-do list in her head, she finished combing her hair, put on her makeup, and slipped into the blue cotton T-shirt and gray boxer briefs Hunt had given her to wear until her clothes made it through the washer and dryer. Then she took the packet of Plan B out of the bag and opened it, reading quickly through the directions.
She’d never had to use it before because she’d always been ultracareful—no mistakes, no lapses, no slipups. But last night had taken her completely by surprise in so many ways—how badly she’d needed him, how intense the sex had been, how connected she’d felt to him from the first kiss until she’d fallen asleep with his arms wrapped around her. She hadn’t thought about protection until this morning.