She had no idea what Jackson was doing, only that he’d lowered himself back in the passenger seat but was still turned to face the back, where he could shoot out the busted window.
Her fingers were so tight around the steering wheel they cramped in pain, but she didn’t dare relax her hold. She didn’t even have time to wonder who was chasing them. All she could think of was getting to familiar territory where it would be more difficult for the man chasing them.
The rain came down harder, making visibility more difficult as the skies grew darker. She didn’t want to turn on her lights, didn’t want to make them a well-lit moving target.
Ten more miles and they’d reach the city limits. Ten more miles and she was certain they would find safety. If nothing else, she could drive right into the parking lot at the FBI field office, where she was certain a murderous motorcyclist wouldn’t follow.
Seven miles, she thought. Six miles. She was eating up the highway at a reckless speed, despite the rain and the darkness.
Almost there. Surely she could get them to safety. The front windshield exploded outward and instantly another bullet found one of the tires. With a scream she twisted the wheel, bumping them over the edge of the highway and down an embankment, where the car rolled to its side.
Stunned, she remained buckled in place as she heard the whine of the motorcycle coming closer...closer.
“You okay?” Jackson’s voice came from someplace next to her.
“I...I think so.”
“We’ve got to get out of here.”
The car lay on the driver’s side, and she unbuckled her seat belt as Jackson climbed out the window. She fumbled around and found her purse, grabbed it and then allowed him to pull her up and through the window, as well.
The motorcycle appeared on the lip of the highway and went silent. “Run,” Jackson whispered, and pointed in the distance to a stand of trees.
He grabbed her hand and together they ran like the wind, rain pelting them as danger got off the motorcycle. Apparently the lack of good visibility worked in their favor. They made it to the trees at the same time a tall, well-built figure started down the embankment toward their wrecked car.
Jackson squeezed her hand. “We can’t stay in the area. Which way is the city?”
Marjorie paused a moment to get her bearings and then pointed. They took off running, aware that within minutes the motorcycle man would realize they weren’t in the car and would come after them.
Chapter Nine
Jackson had no idea how long they ran. It felt like forever. At any moment he half anticipated a bullet to the back, but as they got farther and farther away from the car, some of the fear that had lodged in the back of his throat began to wane, the rich, comfortable and familiar emotion of anger taking its place.
He’d heard no sound of the motorcycle that might indicate they’d been followed. They finally landed in an alleyway between a pizza joint and a tattoo parlor, where they leaned against the brick wall of the restaurant and drew in deep, gulping breaths.
The rain had stopped for the moment, although both of them were soaking wet. Wet was better than dead, he told himself as he waited for the stitch in his side to go away.
“I can’t believe I wrecked the car,” she finally gasped.
“You didn’t wreck the car—a man with a gun wrecked the car. You drove like a professional race-car driver until he blew out that tire.”
She gave him a grateful smile. Her blouse was wet and torn at one shoulder; the bottom of her slacks were covered with muck. Her hair hung in a bedraggled fashion, slicked to her scalp, and yet she looked beautiful.
He’d admired her as a gorgeous woman, but a new admiration for her as an FBI agent filled him. “We need to get someplace dry and safe,” he said.
“I’ll call for a car to pick us up.” She started to open her purse.
“No, don’t do that,” he said quickly. She paused, and in the darkness of the alley, her eyes glittered like those of a jungle animal. “Right now I’m not in the mood to trust anyone but ourselves.”
“You think that guy might be able to track us?”
“I don’t know, but I’m not taking any chances. First the motel room and now this—things have definitely taken an unexpected turn. Do you have any idea where we are?”
“I know we’re someplace downtown, but I’m not sure exactly where.”
“You wait here. I’m going to go into the pizza place and get an address and use their phone to call for a cab.” Her eyes lit with a touch of fear. “Don’t worry,” he assured her. “I’ll only be gone a minute or two.” She drew her gun and nodded. “Just don’t shoot me when I come back,” he said dryly.
The pizza joint was empty except for a young man with bad acne behind the counter. “Help you?” he asked in a tone of voice that indicated he’d prefer not to have to help anyone.
“I need this address and a phone to call a cab.”
The kid rattled off the address and then picked up the receiver of a cordless phone on the counter and handed it to Jackson. “Cab numbers are taped to the wall by the front door. Our usual clientele like their beer more than their pizza.”
Jackson walked over to the door and dialed the first number that connected him with a cab company. Assured that a cab would be there within the next fifteen minutes, Jackson hung up. He handed the kid behind the counter the phone and a ten-dollar bill.
“Hey, thanks.”
Jackson didn’t reply. He left and returned to the alley, where Maggie was huddled against the back. “Cab will be here in fifteen minutes or so.”
“I can’t wait to get home and get out of these wet clothes,” she said as she put her gun back into its holster.
“We aren’t going home.”
She moved closer to where he stood at the mouth of the alley. “Then where are we going?”
“A hotel, and I don’t want anyone on earth to know where we are for the night—not your boss, not mine and none of the law enforcement in Mystic Lake or here. Just you and me, darlin’, for tonight we disappear off the face of the earth until we can fully process what just happened.”
“I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to process what just happened.”
He heard the faint tremble in her voice. The adrenaline that had kept her functioning was apparently beginning to wear off. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close against him, their clothes slapping together wetly.
“I guess we should be grateful it was just rain and not hail or a tornado,” she said, leaning into him.
“We should also be grateful that the shooter managed not to wound either of us.”
He hugged her closer while they silently awaited the arrival of the cab. Although the night air was warm, she shivered against him and he mentally cursed the fact that they’d once again been caught off guard.
Whoever had been on that motorcycle had to have been watching them, waiting to follow them onto the highway, where he could hopefully kill them by either shooting them or causing a wreck that would render them helpless.
This was the second murder attempt they’d survived. He had to admit that he was a bit superstitious. How many lives did they have? Would the third time be a charm for the assailant?
There was no question in his mind now that the threat came from somebody in Mystic Lake. But who? They had spoken to dozens of people that day as they’d meandered the streets and stopped into stores.
It had begun to rain again, a soft patter that, at this point, couldn’t make them any wetter. Nor did the rain distract from Jackson’s thoughts.
Two things he knew for sure—the person who had chased them had been on a street-legal motorcycle, and he was left-handed. Jackson pulled out his cell phone and called the sheriff’s office in Mystic Lake.
“Deputy Black,” he said to whoever answered the phone. “Tell him it’s Agent Revannaugh.”
A moment later Roger Black’s deep voice filled the line. “What’s up?” he asked.
“First thing in the morning I want you to have ready for me a list of everyone in Mystic Lake who owns a motorcycle,” Jackson said.
“Okay, want to tell me what this is all about?” Roger asked.
“We’ll talk in the morning when we come in to get that list.” Jackson disconnected and slipped his cell phone back into his pocket.
At that moment a cab pulled to the curb, and he and Maggie slid into the backseat. The driver was a bear of a man, with a full head of fuzzy red hair and a nose that looked as if it had been broken more than once. “Where to?”
“What’s the best hotel in the city?” Jackson asked, and felt Maggie’s surprised gaze on him.
“Best as in most expensive?” the cabbie asked. “Definitely the Woodbridge Hotel on the Plaza.”
“Then that’s where we want to go,” Jackson said, and then leaned back in the seat.
Maggie leaned toward him, her eyes worried. “Jackson, that place is really expensive, and I’m not sure the agency will cover that kind of accommodations.”
“Don’t you worry,” he assured her. “I’ve got this.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. Just sit back and enjoy the ride. It won’t take long and we’ll be someplace safe and dry.”
She leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes, and Jackson studied her in the light of street lamps they passed.
Once again her face was unnaturally pale, and even though her hands were clasped in her lap, he couldn’t help but notice their slight tremble.
Adrenaline still pumped through him, wild and intense. He knew it would go away eventually, but not until he and Maggie were safely ensconced in a place where nobody would find them for the night.
He checked his watch, surprised that it was only just after eight. The chase had seemed to last forever, their run for safety even longer, but the entire thing from start to finish had lasted only about forty minutes.
He plucked at his wet shirt, looking forward to a shower and then a big towel to dry himself off. His mind clicked and whirred with his plans for the night.
By the time the cabbie pulled around the circular drive in front of the high-rise, high-dollar hotel, he’d made his plans and felt good about their safety for the night.
They got out of the cab, and Jackson paid the driver, who then zoomed off to head toward a staging place to await the next call.
The hotel lobby was tastefully opulent, gold and black being the main color scheme. Jackson led Maggie to an area near the concierge’s desk. “Wait here,” he instructed. “It should just take me a short time to arrange things for the night.”
He strode toward the front desk, aware that both of them looked like something the cat had dragged in.
“Good evening, sir.” The man behind the reservation counter didn’t blink an eye. “How can I be of service to you tonight?”
Jackson told him exactly what he wanted, and within minutes the room had been paid for and he held two keys in his hands. “There are also several other things we’ll need.” As Jackson explained, the man behind the counter pulled out a pad and took notes.
“We’ll be glad to accommodate you with everything you need,” he said.
Jackson thanked the man and then went back to Maggie. “We’re all set.”
“I still can’t believe you came here,” she said as they walked toward the elevator bank. “A no-tell motel would have been just as safe as long as nobody knew where we were.”
“My taste for motels has changed since somebody tried to kill us in one,” he replied.
They stepped into the awaiting elevator, where Jackson used a key in a slot. “Trust me, nobody will think to look for us where we’re going.”
The doors whooshed closed and he watched Maggie’s eyes as the elevator reached the top level of buttons and continued upward.
When the door finally opened it was on the quiet top floor. There were only three rooms here, and he led her to the door on the far left and used a card to open it.
“Welcome to your home for the night.”
She stepped into the lush two-bedroom suite with a living room that boasted a white stone fireplace, a red plush sofa, two chairs and, to the side, a dining room table that would seat twelve.
She turned back to face him, her eyes gleaming and a smile of disbelief curving her lips. “Are you serious?”
He laughed. “As serious as a heartbeat. Tonight we live in luxury. I’d say we’ve earned it after barely escaping with our lives.”
Her smile fell and her body began to tremble. He wasn’t sure if it was because she was wet and the air-conditioning was cool or if it was the aftermath of trauma. He suspected the latter.
He pulled her into his arms and she pressed against him, as if seeking any heat that might remain in his body. He held her for several long moments and then released her.
“Go on, go check out your suite. There should be a jetted tub in there, complete with complimentary bubble bath. While you’re indulging in that, I’m going to shower and order up some food. I’m suddenly starving.”
She laughed, the first carefree burst of laughter he’d ever heard from her. “Why am I not surprised? I’ll meet you back here after I’m clean and dry.”
She practically skipped to her suite and he heard her excited gasps. She returned to the doorway, her eyes opened wide. “There’s even a television in the bathroom,” she exclaimed.
“Turn it on and watch something,” he replied, delighted by her excitement.
“I’m going to get spoiled and then I’m probably going to have to order cable television when I get home.” She flashed him a quick smile and then disappeared back into the suite once again.
Jackson turned and headed for his own room, a sinking feeling in his heart. Not only did he have to figure out who had tried to kill them not once, but twice, he also had to admit to himself that he was more than a little bit in love with Maggie Clinton.
* * *
MARJORIE LOWERED HERSELF deeper into the hot pear-scented bubble bath and released a deep, cleansing sigh. Awaiting her was not just a big fluffy towel, but also a pristine white robe that would serve as her clothing until bedtime.
She’d hung her blouse and slacks over the top of the shower stall, hoping they would be dry enough by morning to put on again.
She frowned and sank lower in the oversize tub. The last thing she’d want to do in the morning was pull on the torn blouse and nasty, dirty slacks, but at least for tonight she’d be clean and comfortable in the provisions offered by the hotel.
The television was turned on to an all-news channel, the volume just loud enough to be heard above the bubbling jets that gently pummeled her body in pleasurable waves.
Never had she been in a place like this, and she wondered how on earth Jackson had managed to afford it. She used her toe to turn the knobs that would add more water, and then grabbed one of the complimentary bottles of shampoo and lathered up her hair.
She turned so that she could use the faucet water to rinse the shampoo and then reluctantly turned off the water, shut off the jets and pulled the plug. If she stayed in any longer she feared she might grow a tail.
The big towel was heavenly, soft and fluffy and enfolding her entire body. She moved from the tub to the enormous marble vanity complete with two sinks and a mirror that showed her tangle of hair and the paleness that still clung to her skin, making the handful of freckles on her face stand out more than usual.
As she finger combed her hair, she tried to keep her thoughts off the events of the night. At the moment she was warm and comfortable, but she knew if she allo
wed her mind to drift back in time, a new chill would not only sweep through her, but take complete possession of her.
One minute at a time, she told her reflection in the mirror. Soon enough she knew that she and Jackson would be discussing what had happened. But for right now, she just wanted to indulge herself.
She found a small bottle of complimentary lotion that smelled of the fresh, slightly spicy pear bubble bath, and she rubbed it liberally over her shoulders and down her arms and legs.
She thought about using the hair dryer, but heard a knock on the front door and froze. Her purse with her gun was on the king-size bed in the bedroom.
She relaxed as she heard Jackson answer, the murmur of voices and the sound of a tray being delivered. She’d been so long in the bath apparently Jackson had already showered and ordered them a meal, which had just arrived.
It took her only minutes to discard the towel and reach for the robe that easily wrapped around her. She belted it and then eyed her reflection in the mirror one last time.
Twice they’d eluded death, but at least for tonight they would be safe. She left her suite and returned to the living room, where the table had been set for two. The plates were covered with metal containers hiding the visual sight of the food but unable to hold in the amazing scent that emanated from the plates.
Jackson wore a robe like hers and he looked hot as hell with his dark hair still damp and slightly messy and the material stretching across his broad shoulders.
“Just in time,” he said as he caught sight of her. He smiled and pulled out one of the chairs at the table for her.
“Something smells delicious.” She slid into the chair and he removed the metal cover to reveal a beautiful steak, mashed potatoes and perfectly grilled asparagus.
“I wasn’t sure what you’d want,” he said as he took the seat next to her. “I figured this meal hits most of the food groups—meat for protein, potato for starch and veggies just because I figured you’d want some.”
A basket of hot rolls and slabs of butter were also on the table, along with tall glasses of water. He’d poured her a glass of red wine, assumingly from the bar, and he had a glass of what she knew was bourbon in front of him.
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