by Jamie Denton
“Give it to me,” Ghetto Smurf demanded.
Idiot, she thought. Obviously he was stupid enough not to realize that the minute his attention was focused elsewhere, Jared would take him down without even breaking a sweat. She felt sorry for the kid. Almost.
She took a step toward the boy, keeping the receipt between her thumb and index finger. Another cold breeze blew around them and she let the receipt fly away in the wind just as the boy reached for it.
The kid foolishly tried to grab for it.
Before she could blink, Jared nailed him with his body, sending them both sprawling across the pavement. The gun clattered to the ground, and Peyton snagged it. Using both hands, she aimed it at the boy’s head. “I’ve had a really bad day,” she said, “and you’re starting to piss me off.”
The kid swore at her. Jared clocked the punk a good one in the jaw. The boy’s head thumped against the pavement.
Sweet dreams, you little creep.
Jared checked the boy’s pulse, then stood, convinced their junior assailant would be fine, other than waking up with one monster of a headache for his trouble. “Okay, Rambo,” he said in a calm, even tone so as not to startle Peyton. “You can give me the weapon now.” He never took chances with someone holding a gun, especially when that someone was as emotionally wrung out as Peyton. If the way her index finger lightly clenched the trigger of the weapon was any indication, he was smart to be more cautious than usual.
She glanced up at him, then down at the unconscious kid before shaking her head. Denial? Or something as simple as her refusal to part with something that gave her a false sense of security?
With her feet braced apart and both hands on the gun, she looked like a pro. Except he knew better. He’d tried numerous times to get her to the shooting range so she’d know how to at least handle a weapon, but had had no luck.
“Come on, Peyton,” he urged, and put out his hand.
She shook her head again. “I think I’d rather keep it, thank you.”
He stepped over the kid and slowly closed the distance between them. “You don’t want to hurt anyone.”
She took a step backward and gave him a look that stated loud and clear she didn’t agree with him for a second. “How do you know that? You don’t know me. Not anymore.”
She had a point. He didn’t know her any longer. Maybe he never really had. Had they merely coexisted? No, he couldn’t buy that. There had been that special connection between them. Once.
“I know you’d never intentionally harm anyone,” he told her, moving closer still. “This guy’s no longer a threat to you, Peyton. You’re safe now.”
She laughed, but the sound held no humor. “Safe? I don’t think I can ever feel safe again.”
“Yes, Peyton. You can. You will. I’m going to make sure of it.” Not exactly a lie, but definitely a promise he had no right to make, especially since those out to silence him, and now her, held the balance of power in their greedy hands. Everyone knew desperate people took desperate measures. And the people after them certainly qualified.
“Can you really promise me that?”
“Yes.” He did lie this time. If he was going to keep them alive, and clear both of their names, he needed not only her trust, but her complete and total reliance on him. Without it, they were as good as dead. “Now give me the gun, sweetheart. Or are you planning to shoot me?”
She let out a sigh, then spun the small weapon in one hand to grip it by the barrel before extending the handle toward him. “Here. Take it. The last thing I need is an assault with a deadly weapon charge added to my growing list of manufactured crimes.”
“Or murder,” he said, pocketing the weapon. He took hold of her hand. “We’ve wasted enough time. Let’s get out of here.”
“Wait,” she said. “What if we added to the confusion?”
“Peyton, we don’t have time.” The paper trail had already been started. This place could be crawling with feds and other law enforcement in a matter of seconds.
“No. Listen.” She stopped and slipped one of her credit cards from her pocket and waved it in front of him. “Why can’t we have them chasing their tails for a while?”
“Meaning?” he asked.
“Leave this one here. With him,” she added, with an inclination of her head to where the kid was lying, still unconscious. “He won’t be able to access the ATMs without my PIN number, but he could use it for purchases.”
She was really starting to amaze him. “Peyton, honey,” Jared said, taking the card from her, “now you really are scaring me.” He dropped the credit card beside the kid, where he’d be sure to see it when he came to. “I never realized what devious deliberations existed within that legal-eagle mind of yours.”
JUST BECAUSE MOST of the nation worked a nine-to-five, Monday-through-Friday routine didn’t mean that the government followed the same regime. In times of national crises or games of political maneuvering, the lights inside the Capitol often burned long after midnight, seven days a week.
Steve arrived at his office precisely at 8:00 a.m. Saturday morning following his daily workout at the health club. He set his double-shot café latte on the coaster at the side of his desk, hung his jacket on the hook behind the door, then reached for the newspapers stacked in his In box just as his cell phone rang.
He answered on the second ring. “Radcliffe.” He sat in his soft leather chair, leaned back and propped his feet on the polished edge of his desk.
“Her car’s been found.”
Steve was instantly alert despite his relaxed pose. A call this early from his contact within the bureau could only mean one thing—the chance of putting a quick, quiet end to a situation about to spiral out of control was at hand. The fact that they’d located Peyton Douglas’s vehicle was a good start in that direction. “Where?” he asked.
“The Horton,” the contact told him. “A low-rent motel near the expressway.”
Steve knew the place. Rooms rented by the hour and a desk clerk who looked the other way, for a price. Whenever the senator had a taste for something low-class and raunchy, the kind of sex even his mistress wouldn’t provide, the Horton offered the kind of anonymity necessary in a town where whispered liaisons and scandals were considered appropriate dinner party conversation.
“Any sign of her?” he asked calmly, effectively keeping the alarm rippling along his spine out of his voice. There was no reason for Douglas to frequent such a seedy establishment…unless she’d been informed of her status as a target to draw Romine out into the open.
“Nothing,” his informant told him. “The place came up clean on a search of the premises by local law enforcement.”
Shit. That was not what Steve wanted to hear. “Do you have reason to believe she’s with him?” If Romine had gotten to Douglas before they could, then Steve had all the confirmation he needed that the security breach of a few weeks ago meant Romine was indeed getting closer to the truth.
A long, drawn-out sigh filtered through the phone lines. “There’s no way for us to know, Steve. Not without finding solid evidence that will physically place them together. We’ve had her home in Arlington staked out since midnight, like you asked. There hasn’t been a sign of her there, either.”
Steve bit back a string of vile curses. “We should fear the worst and assume they’re together.” How had this happened? He’d wanted Romine exposed, but he’d had a bad feeling since things had gotten out of control in Kansas. Romine had been careless then. He wouldn’t be so foolish this time around.
“Start looking for a paper trail on the off chance she’s not with Romine.”
“Right away. We’ll start checking out all of her acquaintances. Could help.”
“How long will it take to start tracing her?” Steve asked. His patience was wearing thin. Damn, he shouldn’t have to tell people this high up in the bureau how to do their bloody job.
“These things take time, Steve.” The thinly veiled patience of his contact slipped, a
s well.
No wonder, Steve thought. They all had a lot to lose.
“There are proper channels and certain procedures—”
Steve swung his feet to the floor. “What the hell kind of dog and pony show are you running up there?” he barked into the phone. “Screw channels and to hell with procedure. You have the authority. Use it. We’ve gone to a lot of trouble to set up Douglas because we know she’ll lead us to Romine, but we can’t very well track her if you can’t even scratch your ass without asking for directions.”
“Give me six hours. I’ll have more to report by then.”
“You do it in three. And I want Douglas’s picture on every network newscast and in every newspaper from here to California.”
He disconnected the call and tossed the cell phone on the desk. He’d come too far for one rogue agent with a score to settle to ruin all their plans. There were millions of dollars at risk, not to mention the careers of some very powerful people.
He needed to exercise patience, a skill he’d cultivated and polished. Patience and care, especially when he was so very close to having everything he’d ever wanted. Romine would be found and silenced. Steve knew his opponent’s weaknesses, and taking advantage shouldn’t be the headache it’d been for the last three years.
Still, he occasionally had his doubts. Romine had been running for a long time. They were never able to get anything out of his sister, and now she was engaged to one of the bureau’s former agents, which made her even more untouchable. Kansas had been a disaster. They couldn’t afford any further mistakes. He couldn’t afford any further mistakes. Romine was a loose end that needed to be tied up. Now, before it was too late.
They were in the middle of a deadly game of chess. All of the pieces were in place, and if he wasn’t careful, they’d all find themselves facing checkmate.
Not all of his confidence fled, however. Steve had grown up a fighter, and if there was one thing he’d learned over the years, it was how to win. No matter what it took.
THE RED DIGITS of the clock on the bedside table registered half past one. Peyton lifted her arms above her head and stretched, trying to shake off the last vestiges of sleep. She’d feel more refreshed after a shower and pumping a good gallon of caffeine into her system.
In about five more minutes.
She snuggled back down under the covers and turned onto her side toward the middle of the bed. Running water from the bathroom shower gave her the slight reassurance that she wasn’t alone.
She reached out and smoothed her hand over Jared’s pillow. The only indication he’d even shared the queen-size bed with her was the indentation his head had made for the last four or five hours. She hadn’t so much as quibbled about sleeping in the same bed with him. Strangely enough, once she’d showered and crawled between the cool sheets beside him, she’d fallen sound asleep. Something she hadn’t done in years.
Three years, to be exact.
She frowned and tugged his pillow closer, wrapping her arms around it and burying her face in the still-warm softness. Had he been so firmly imprinted on her that even now, after all these months, she’d found an odd sense of comfort in just being near him? Could something as simple as breathing in his rich, masculine scent be enough to offer her a sense of security, just by knowing he was close? Or did the unusual stirring of emotions stem from something else much more basic, such as a need to survive and the knowledge that on some level, Jared would move heaven and earth to make sure she lived through this ugly mess?
She didn’t know the answer. Worse, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
Perhaps she was still in shock, she mused. Under the circumstances, it’d be understandable, and would explain why she’d fallen so easily into finding comfort where she had no business seeking any.
With a sigh of self-disgust she shoved the pillow away and sat up, propping the pillows against the headboard behind her. Such ridiculous notions, she scoffed silently, and reached for the remote control. They were making the best of a bad situation until they could find a way out of the horror. And that was about as ridiculous as she’d allow herself to feel.
Period. End of story.
When Jared had started to feel the effects of being behind the wheel for over eight hours without a wink of sleep in the past twenty-four, she’d suggested they find a place to stop and rest for a few hours. She could’ve taken over the driving, but she’d felt as exhausted as he’d looked. Jared rarely complained about anything, but when he’d said his eyes had started to feel grainy, that he was hungry and in need of sleep, she’d insisted. They’d both been completely wiped out, and finding a comforting bed in another low-priced motel made the most sense. Survival, plain and simple.
Period. End of story.
By four in the morning, they’d finally left the city, after pulling into the drive-through of an all-night fast-food restaurant. A double cheeseburger, fries and a cold drink later, they used her credit cards to create what they hoped would become a paper-trail decoy to buy them time. After stopping in Richmond for gas, then heading another thirty minutes south to Petersburg so she could register for a motel room they didn’t use, they’d turned west, taking the state highways to Roanoke, Virginia. Considering she had no idea how long they’d be on the run, Peyton had convinced Jared that an unscheduled stop at one of those open-all-night discount chain stores was a necessity. Using cash, she’d purchased a few clothing essentials, along with some personal care items and a bag to carry everything. They were back on the road for another three hours before finding a place not too far off the interstate where they could catch some sleep before continuing to the seaside cottage on the Maine coast.
She pressed the button on the remote now and the television came to life. After cruising the channels and finding nothing more interesting than college football, she settled on a cable news station and half listened to a report of a typhoon encroaching upon a country on the other side of the world.
The bathroom door opened and steam billowed into the room. She stared as Jared emerged, wearing nothing but a towel tied around his hips and another draped over his shoulder as he dried his hair. He reminded her of a Roman warrior who’d just visited a bathhouse after a long, dusty battle.
Her mouth went dry as if she’d just swallowed all that dust.
He glanced in her direction and managed a quick grin as he made his way across the room to his duffel bag, propped on the dresser next to the television. “You’re awake,” he said.
She cleared her throat. “You’re naked,” she managed to answer, without sounding too strained.
“Technically, not naked.” He dug through the bag, obviously not the least bit concerned that looking at him was causing her pulse rate to pick up speed.
She continued to stare in utter feminine fascination as the sculpted terrain of his back rippled and shifted beneath the smooth surface of his skin. He had indeed lost weight, making him more lean than she’d originally thought. His shoulders looked twice as broad as she remembered, and a dozen times more tempting. The thought of smoothing her hands over his back, down to his tapered waist, made her breathing more than a little irregular.
“Towels don’t count.”
He chuckled lightly, but otherwise ignored her as he pulled fresh clothes from his bag.
The tiniest tug of that loosely tied knot and his towel would be history.
Yeah? And then what?
The possibilities were endless.
She shook her head. Something was definitely wrong with her.
Stress. That was the answer. Stress due to her current situation had her mind barreling down a forbidden path. She was an engaged woman, for crying out loud. Lusting after her…what? Former lover? Kidnapper? Savior? Well, it didn’t matter what Jared was to her, besides off-limits. No way was she going to repeat history. Once was more than enough for her lifetime. Not to mention that, when they got their lives back, that would be the end to their…relationship?
Maybe that was her pr
oblem. They’d never had closure. Perhaps she was merely feeling the effects of emotional remnants of their former connections. Lord knew they had plenty of baggage. Seeing Jared again, sleeping beside him, watching him move around the room wearing nothing but that towel, which she wished like the devil would loosen and fall, had brought all those old feelings careering to the surface.
As far as excuses or rationalizations went, she liked the sound of that. Put the past to rest and get on with their separate lives. Whatever was once between them—the glue that had once held them together—had weakened and been chipped away.
Of course, to properly lay the past to rest, she’d have to venture back and uncover all those buried emotions, something she was not looking forward to by any stretch of the imagination. Her only consolation was that now was definitely not the time, not when they were running from an unknown enemy.
Some consolation.
She pushed back the covers and scooted off the bed. “I’m going to shower while you dress,” she said, carefully keeping her eyes averted from all that glorious, nearly naked male flesh. Needing distance, she snagged her bag off the chair and carried it into the bathroom with her.
Fifteen minutes later she emerged freshly showered and dressed in a pair of supposed prewashed jeans that felt stiffer than heavily starched taffeta, and a soft cream-colored sweater with two wide, dusty-blue stripes on one sleeve. Jared had packed up their meager belongings and was sitting on the edge of the bed with the remote control in his hand, watching a newscaster interview someone about the possibility of a dock-workers strike.
She sat in the chair facing him and pulled on a pair of thick socks, then slipped her feet into her new pair of sneakers. She stood and tested the footwear. Not bad, she thought, for less than twenty bucks.
She double-checked the bathroom to make sure she had everything, then zipped up her bag and set it next to his. “I hope you’re hungry,” she said, “because I’m starved.”
He grabbed her hand and urged her to sit beside him. He didn’t bother to look at her or explain, just issued another one of his orders he expected her to follow without question. “Watch the ticker on the bottom of the screen.”