Most Wanted Woman

by Maggie Price

  Someone hollered Yost’s name and he glanced over his shoulder. He waved, then looked back at Regan. “Even though you wouldn’t give me an interview, I might make you famous. Have a good evening.”

  Regan sat motionless. She was outdoors, no walls around her, yet she felt everything closing in on her, getting tighter until there wasn’t any air to breathe. One long, sick crest of nausea rolled through her stomach. “I’ve…got to go.”

  Etta stopped rocking the baby. “Regan, what’s wrong?”

  “I don’t feel well.” With muscles that felt like glass, she turned the newspaper over so her picture was facedown, then rose, her legs trembling. “Can you get…A.C. to bring…you home?”

  “Of course. Regan—”

  “I’ve got…to go.”

  Josh had seen Burns Yost approach the table where Regan and Etta sat. Since he was like most cops and entertained an active distrust of the press, he was considering rethinking his decision to give Regan a wide berth when he felt a tug on his jeans.

  “Mr. Josh?”

  He glanced down and grinned at the towhead with a short, turned-up nose and big ears he would hopefully grow into. “Hey, Tommy, what’s up?”

  “Have you ever shot a bad guy?”

  Josh crouched. The kid had on dirt-streaked shorts and a T-shirt with a miniature badge pinned in its center. Wrapped around his skinny hips was a gun belt with a holster holding a toy pistol.

  “I’ve never shot a bad guy,” Josh said gravely. He skimmed a fingertip over the plastic badge. “How about you, Officer?”

  “My brother was robbin’ the bank yesterday, so I shot him dead.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yeah. Then my mom made me take a nap.”

  Josh stifled a laugh. “Catching robbers is tiring business.”

  Just then, another boy streaked by, knocking Tommy on the arm and yelling, “Tag, you’re it!”

  “Am not!” Tommy bellowed and took off in pursuit.

  Chuckling, Josh rose and glanced again at the table. His eyes narrowed. Both Yost and Regan were gone and Etta was waving madly in his direction. The closer he got, the more pronounced the lines of concern in her face.

  “Etta, what’s wrong?”

  “It’s Regan. She just up and walked off. I don’t know if she’s sick or upset, or both.”

  The cop in him zeroed in on one word. “Upset over what?”

  “This.” Etta flipped over the newspaper lying on the table. “Burns brought her a copy of tomorrow’s Sentinel. When Regan saw her picture on the front page she turned as pale as chalk. And she got even paler when Burns said her picture’s on the Internet. And he’s trying to get one of the wire services to pick it up.”

  Christ. Josh didn’t have to wonder what was wrong. The last thing someone in hiding needed was publicity.

  “Joshua, she shouldn’t drive while she’s in that state.”

  “She won’t.”

  He spotted Regan in the graveled parking lot, stumbling toward her Mustang. He caught up with her just as she wrenched open the driver’s door.

  He locked a hand on her arm, pulled her around to face him. “Regan—”

  She jerked back, tried to twist away. “Let go.”

  He grabbed her other arm, held her still. She was shaking, trembling; her skin felt clammy under his hands. Her face was colorless except for the deep pools of her eyes, which flashed with panic. He knew full well he was looking at a woman whose mind was racing to find a way out.

  “Regan, I know about the picture. I know you’re scared.”

  “Leave me alone.” She shoved at him, sick and desperate. Hands were squeezing her heart, making it pound in an irregular cadence. All she could see was Creath’s face, smell the scent of the peppermint candy that hung on his breath. He would see her picture. Find her. Heat closed around her like a fist. She felt ill from the terror burning inside her.

  “I…have to…leave.”

  “With me,” Josh said as he swept her into his arms.

  “No!”

  “Yes.” Using his thigh, he closed the Mustang’s door, then carried her to his ’Vette. With the top down, he leaned over the door and settled her into the passenger’s seat. He skirted the hood, climbed behind the wheel.

  She would have shoved open the door but her vision was dimming and there were bands around her head, around her chest. “I can’t…breathe.”

  “Yes, you can.” Setting his jaw, he put a hand on the back of her head and shoved it between her knees. “Take a slow breath.” Although his gut was knotted tight, he forced a calmness into his voice. “Then let it out. Take another one.” He skimmed his palm up and down her spine. “In and out. That’s it.”

  The knots in his belly stayed clenched until her breathing evened out.

  She raised her head. She felt far from steady, but at least the boulder was no longer sitting on her chest. “I’m okay now.”

  “You’re better, but you’re not okay,” Josh bit out. He yanked her seat belt around her and fastened it, then fired up the engine, turned out of the lot and steered for home.

  Still weak and half-nauseated, Regan put her head back against the seat. She felt incapable of doing anything but closing her eyes while the evening air cooled her heated flesh.

  When Josh pulled into his driveway, she opened her eyes, took one long breath. “Thanks for the ride. I’m fine now.”

  With her system starting to settle she’d be able to think. Plan. Oh, God, Burns Yost had posted her picture on the Internet. Had Creath already seen it?

  She started trembling all over again.

  “Fine, my ass,” Josh grated. He was out of the car and had her door open before she could react.

  She started to stand, felt her legs go wobbly. She lowered back to the seat. “I just need another minute. Maybe two.”

  “Take all the time you want,” he said, then lifted her into his arms.

  She had enough strength to press a fist against his rock-solid chest. “What are you doing?”

  “Taking care of you,” he said as he headed toward his house.

  She could have resisted, she knew. Could have demanded he put her down. But her lungs ached and her head felt clogged with too many thoughts. Too many fears. And his arms were strong, his scent compelling. Just until she felt a little stronger, she told herself. She would stay with him until her mind cleared.

  Josh carried her through the wood-planked hallway into the living room where walls of books flanked the leather couch and matching chairs. An oval area rug spread a bright pattern across the wood floor.

  “I really do feel better,” she said as he settled her into one corner of the couch.

  He cupped her face in his hands and leaned in. For the first time she saw the turbulence in his dark eyes. “Tell that to the guy who can’t see how pale you are. Or feel you shaking.”

  She curled her fingers around his wrists and felt something inside her stir that was far removed from the cold fear that held her in its grip. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

  He gazed into her eyes for a long moment. He couldn’t stand to see her sitting there, trembling, her face white. From the moment he’d known she was on the run, he’d felt useless to help her. Totally useless. Now, Burns Yost had unknowingly upped the stakes and Josh wasn’t going to let her push him away again. He just needed to figure out the best way to deal with her.

  “You’re welcome.” He straightened, then headed across the room to the small wet bar tucked into one corner. He retrieved a snifter, splashed in a liberal amount of brandy, then strode back across the room.

  “This should help the shakes,” he said, offering Regan the snifter.

  “Thank you.”

  She took the first drink as medicine. He could see that in the way she tossed it back then shuddered hard. Still, it didn’t bring the color back to her face.

  The frustration he’d held leashed for days surfaced. “I don’t want your thanks,” he ground out. “I want yo
u to trust me. I want you to tell me who the hell it is you’re hiding from. I’ll deal with him so he can’t ever hurt you again.”

  You’re so wrong, Regan thought as she stared down into the brandy. If she told him about Creath, Josh would find out she was wanted for murder and lock her in a cell. And Creath would have his revenge. He would never stop hurting her.

  She raised the snifter to her lips, took another long swallow. The brandy slid down her throat like hot, liquid silk.

  Eyes grim, Josh stood beside one of the leather chairs, his gaze locked on her face. “Regan, tell me his name.”

  “I can’t.”

  His mouth set in a grim line. “You won’t.”

  She cupped the snifter in her palm, swirled the brandy. “Won’t.”

  “Why?”

  “Who he is doesn’t matter.”

  “Let me make sure I’m understanding this,” he said, his voice a cold snap. “You’re terrified of the man who abused you. You won’t have anything to do with me because you’re afraid if he finds you, he’ll come after me. But you won’t tell me his name because it doesn’t matter.”

  Her thoughts slapped back to that terrible day in New Orleans when she’d walked into Steven’s house and nearly stumbled over his dead body. Creath had killed the man she loved. And weeks later he’d shot her partner. All because of Creath’s sick obsession to own her.

  She closed her eyes. It was too easy to imagine Josh lying dead on the brightly colored rug. Dead because of her.

  She drank more brandy. Thankful it had taken the edge off her shivering, she set the snifter on the table beside the couch, then rose. “I don’t want you hurt.”

  “What hurts is that you won’t trust me.”

  She walked to where he stood. “I do trust you,” she said quietly. “To always do the right thing.” In her case, that would be to arrest her and put her in jail. “I care about you, Josh. Too much.” Because she couldn’t help herself, she reached up, cupped her palm against his cheek. And felt the muscle knotted in his jaw. “I’m doing what I have to do. It’s the only thing I can do. I’m asking you to accept that.”

  His response was to snake an arm around her waist and jerk her against him. The breath clogged in her throat as his other hand fisted in her hair, drawing her head back so that his eyes blazed down into hers.

  “You think you’re the only one whose feelings are involved here?” he asked, his voice dangerously soft. “Think again. I care about you, Regan. Too much for my own damn good.”

  His words, his touch sent need surging through her. Then his mouth was on hers and she spun from arousal to passion at the instant of contact.

  Flames erupted inside her, fierce and intense. A liquid heat welled somewhere in the region below her stomach. Her heart was hammering again. Not from fear this time, but from need.

  Her arms slid around him. She heard herself make a whimpering sound in the back of her throat. Not a sound of protest. Or pain. But of desire.

  Keeping his mouth on hers he turned her, braced her back against the wall and covered her breasts with his palms. Against his hands, her body began to vibrate. He slid his knee between her legs, forcing them apart so that he could move closer. There was no mistaking the hardness pressing against her, aggressive and demanding. Wanting her, as a man wants a woman.

  His mouth continued to plunder, his hands to explore. It wasn’t until she began to feel herself go weak that she remembered to fear. He was taking her deep, where she’d have no control over the moment, or the outcome of it. The need she felt sped beyond the hot, frantic sex she knew they could share. She knew, too, if she let herself, she could be in love. And then she’d have nowhere to run.

  Panic surged again inside her. She had to stop him…and herself. If he held her much longer, she would succumb, and succumbing, lose.

  Gripping his shoulders, she dragged her mouth from his. “Let me go,” she panted. “Josh…let go.”

  His mouth moved to her throat, tracing a path of fire to her shoulder while his hands slid down to cup her bottom. “Tell me, Regan,” he murmured against her flesh. “You can trust me. Please just trust me.”

  Regret washed over her for what she could never give him. For what they could never have. “I’ve got to go. You have to let me go.”

  Slowly he lifted his head. She could see it on his face—the struggle for control. And in his eyes the flare of desire yet to be fully banked. “How the hell am I supposed to step back with all that’s between us?”

  “There can’t be anything between us.” She fisted her hands against his chest. She needed space, but was trapped between the unmovable force of wall and man. She shook her head. “This is too much. It’s all too much.”

  His hand came up to circle her throat. “It’s everything.”

  “It can’t be.” She pushed sideways, shoved from his hold. “I have to step back. So do you.” Her lips were burning from his and her entire body was shaking again. “This can’t happen. It can’t.”

  With her heart ripping apart, she turned and walked out.

  Hands fisted, Josh stood motionless until he heard the front door close behind her. He thought about going after her, but he didn’t have a full grip on control, and didn’t totally trust what he would do when he caught up with her.

  Toss her to the ground? Rip off her clothes and bury himself in her? That’d put a cap on things.

  Swearing viciously, he stalked to the bar, grabbed the closest bottle, splashed a shot into a glass and tossed it back like water. After repeating the process two more times, the slick, sharp flavor of bourbon had taken the edge off the need that had spewed through his system like molten lava.

  He poured a fourth shot, but didn’t drink it. He leaned against the bar, and stared down at the glass in his hand. There’d been a time when he would have said the desire he felt for one woman was much the same for another. When he thought needs could be sated by whatever warm body he currently shared a bed with.

  But with Regan’s scent on his skin, with her taste now a part of him and the feel of her flesh branded in his brain, he knew everything was different.

  Knew that if he wasn’t in love with her yet, he would be.

  This time there was no strength behind the curse he vented. How the hell did a man deal with loving a woman who didn’t trust him? Who wouldn’t confide in him? A woman who needed his help in the worst kind of way, but blocked every effort he made to protect her?

  He scowled into the bourbon. Maybe it had been the brush with losing his job that had made him realize he needed something more than just the badge to focus his life, to center it. Maybe that was why it had been so important that Regan tell him her secrets instead of him finding out on his own. But she’d refused time and again. He knew for certain now that she wouldn’t.

  So, he was going to do what a cop did best: uncover secrets.

  He held his drink up toward the window. Even with the waning daylight, he could see his fingerprints on the glass. His gaze flicked to the snifter Regan had left on the table. If her prints were anywhere in the various nationwide databases available to law enforcement, he would know a hell of a lot more about her by this time tomorrow.

  Chapter 10

  “You’ve done a good job,” Orson Zink said the following evening as he followed Regan out the back door of Etta’s house.

  “Thanks, Doc.” She slid her right hand into her shorts pocket and curled her fingers around the bills she’d secreted there that morning. The rest of her running money was in her suitcase, which she had packed for an early-morning departure. “I’m relieved Etta’s on the mend.”

  “Mostly thanks to you.” Switching his medical bag from one hand to the other, Zink studied her through the waning daylight. The brisk wind ruffled his brown hair. “If you weren’t trained to administer IVs, I would have had to hospitalize her. As feisty as Etta is, that sure wouldn’t have set well.”

  “True,” Regan agreed. Her telling Etta she was quitting her job and l
eaving Sundown wasn’t going to go over well, either. But with Burns Yost running her photo on the Sentinel’s front page and posting it on the Web site, leaving was the only sensible thing to do. The only thing that would protect the people she’d come to care about in this small town. Especially if Yost got one of the wire services to run her photo.

  The possibility of that happening—and Creath spotting her picture—sent a shiver through Regan. Tomorrow, she thought. Tomorrow she would start adjusting to a new identity, a new life. She had no choice but to adjust.

  As if pulled by an invisible force, her gaze slid to the neighboring house. Josh’s red Corvette was parked in the driveway. Light glowed in several upstairs windows. Thinking about never seeing him again—just thinking about it—was the equivalent of having her heart ripped out.

  How the hell was she supposed to adjust to that? To never being with him again? Touching him? Kissing him?

  “Let’s talk about you, Regan.”

  She sliced her gaze back to Zink. “What about me?”

  “I’m concerned about how pale you look. Not to mention exhausted. And if I’m not mistaken, you’re even thinner now than you were a couple of days ago. I’d like you to come by the clinic tomorrow for some tests.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll pass.” She forced a smile. “The heat’s put a damper on my appetite. And I’m tired because I didn’t get any sleep last night.” Every time she’d closed her eyes, she saw her picture on the Sentinel’s front page. Which had been quickly followed by a replay of her encounter with Josh. His touch. His kiss that had turned her weak. The mix of hurt and anger in his eyes when she refused to confide in him.

  “Well, if you change your mind, come see me,” Zink said. “Make sure Etta starts taking those new antibiotics in the morning. The samples I left will get her through three days before she has to get her prescription filled.”

  “I’ll see to it,” Regan said, making a mental note to reprogram Etta’s recorder.