He waved toward her hand. “That.”
Looking down, she remembered the pitiful weapon still clenched in her fist.
“What were you going to do, hold a nail file to my throat and force me to give up the keys?”
“Now who’s being paranoid?”
“Tell me that’s not what you were thinking a little while ago. You were going to take off with the Jeep and leave me stranded in the middle of nowhere.”
Damn him. He had known. And yet he’d said nothing. How did he do it? Stay so blasted calm, so indifferent? Years of practice, she decided. That, and not having any feelings to begin with.
She recognized that as a lie before she’d fully formed the coherent thought. He’d felt something last night, when he’d kissed her. And he’d made her feel it, too.
Double damn him.
He pried the metal file out of her hand. “How far did you think you’d get? If that guy in the Mercedes didn’t chase you down, I would.”
“You make it sound like I’m the criminal here.”
“I’m still not sure you aren’t.”
“I told you I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“And I’m trying real hard to believe it—so hard that I just helped you cross state lines. Do you know how much trouble that could get me in if you really are a fugitive?” He dragged the hair off his forehead with his fingers and sighed. “I really want to believe you’re an innocent victim in all this. But you aren’t making it easy.”
His argument threw her. He was risking his life and his career to help her without even knowing who she really was, with only her word as proof that she hadn’t done anything to deserve the trouble following her, and all she could think of was getting away from him.
Well, maybe that wasn’t quite all she could think of. She lowered her gaze to the file in her hand. He thought she carried it for him. In a way, she did.
To protect him.
The notion was foolish, she recognized. The only way to truly protect Shane was to get away from him.
But even that probably wouldn’t work. She couldn’t see him giving up that easily. If she escaped, no doubt he’d feel compelled to come after her. And that would put him in the path of a killer.
Gigi was cornered. Her only choice was to let him turn her over to his friend in the Justice Department. It was the only way he would leave her alone. The only way he would be safe.
And the one thing most likely to get her killed.
She hung her head. “I said I’d go to Phoenix,” she said, watching numbly as he pulled the file from her stiff fingers and ignoring the tingle of sensation that erupted where he touched her. “I’ll go to Phoenix.”
“Damn right you will,” he grumbled.
She glared at him. “I’ll listen to what your friend has to say. After that, all bets are off.”
“Fine by me.”
“Until then, though, no more questions. I’m not telling you anything until we’ve met your friend and I’ve made up my mind what to do.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Still don’t trust me, huh?”
She gathered her strength, meeting his gaze directly. The harder she could be on him, the better. She didn’t want him feeling anything for her. The less he liked her, the more likely he was to leave her. “Don’t take it personally,” she said coldly. “I don’t trust anyone. Especially cops.”
“Great. You don’t trust me, I won’t trust you. We ought to get along just peachy.”
They settled into the Jeep. “For what it’s worth,” Shane said, his expression unreadable as he pulled onto the highway. “I wasn’t calling ahead to Phoenix. I called back to Utah to see if Bailey had caught the guy in the Mercedes.”
“Did he?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so.” She dug her body into the unpadded seat of the Jeep. She hadn’t thought about needing to stay in touch with the deputy, in case he found anything. She guessed it made sense to stay in touch. “Next time you’re going to phone home, how about letting me know first.”
He nodded. “Fair enough.”
Two hours later, it hardly seemed fair. Standing in front of a large, expensive-looking brick home with high, arching windows and columns supporting the front veranda, Shane visibly relaxed, as if relieved to see the end of a torturous journey, while her nerves sparked more violently with every second that passed.
His nightmare was ending; hers was about to start. Or restart. She was about to relive the worst days of her life. Protective custody.
His hand reached out and pressed the bell. He smiled reassuringly, his irritation from the gas station forgotten somewhere in the final hundred silent miles they’d driven.
Footsteps sounded from behind the door, closer and closer.
Gigi’s heart thundered with each step. Promises or no promises, all she could think was run.
Run now, before it’s too late.
Chapter 4
Shane rested his hand on the small of Gigi’s back, feeling her tension mount as the doorknob twisted. She jerked as if she might bolt when the heavy oak door swung open. He stepped close behind her, blocking her path and, he hoped, reassuring her at the same time.
The broad face of his old friend, Bill Maitland appeared in the open doorway. Bill’s thin brown hair, salted with gray, flowed over his shoulders just far enough to brush the top of the Bar-B-Q This! apron he wore over a button-down shirt and khaki trousers. Even on his days off, Bill looked like the nutty professor that he was.
He and his wife, Margo, had practically adopted Shane twelve years ago when he’d been a student at Arizona State. Since the first time he’d been invited over for dinner, he’d felt at home here. Almost like a member of the family.
Almost.
Bill’s wide cheeks, rounded by years of perpetual laughter, puffed up in hearty recognition. “Shane, my boy. Good to see you,” he said, waving the spatula in his hand. “I thought we were going to have to send a tactical team up to get you out of Utah.” He laughed even more heartily and his gaze fell on Gigi. He quirked up one eyebrow. “Then again, maybe Utah is exactly what you needed.”
Looking over her shoulder, Shane saw the blush creep onto Gigi’s cheek.
“Uh, Bill this is—” he struggled for a name to introduce her.
She took the matter into her own hands. “Gigi Mc-Cowan,” she said as if it were God’s truth and glancing sideways as if daring him to deny it.
“Gigi McCowan,” he repeated. Best to save the truth for later, anyway. “Gigi, meet my old friend Bill Maitland.”
She nodded brusquely, notably skipping the usual “Pleased to meet you,” part of the conversation. Shane nudged her inside as Bill opened the door to let them pass.
“Come in, come in,” he said. “I’ll throw another couple of burgers on the grill.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Gigi told him hastily.
Shane squeezed her elbow. “Burgers would be great. We haven’t eaten anything but peanut butter cookies all day.”
“Well then, I’m sorry it’s not steaks.” Bill opened the refrigerator and took out a couple of raw patties. He nodded toward a window looking out over the backyard, where two children shrieked in laughter as they chased a golden retriever. “The grandkids prefer burgers, you know. Turn up their noses at T-bone.” He shrugged. “The fast-food generation.”
“Burgers sound great,” Shane said, his mouth watering.
In minutes, two more places had been set at the kitchen table. When Bill turned his back, Gigi gave him a bug-eyed, get-on-with-it look. Coolly, he picked at the label on the beer bottle Bill had set before him. He watched the older boy outside, Bill’s grandson Ben, throw a tennis ball and the dog charge after it. Gracie, the little girl, squealed after them both.
“So how are Ronnie and Michelle?” Shane asked, referring to the kids’ parents, Bill’s son and daughter-in-law.
“They’re good. Off to Galveston for a weekend of parental nonresponsibility.”
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Bill turned to stir a pot of beans on the stove and Gigi waved her hand in a speed-it-up motion.
Shane ignored her. “And Margo?”
“Can you believe, our one weekend to spoil the grandkids without their parents watching us like hawks, and she gets called to D.C.?” Bill said over his shoulder.
Shane’s stomach sank. Bill turned back to his pot. Gigi squirmed in her seat, her impatience palpable.
“What’s going on in D.C.?” Shane asked. Gigi rolled her eyes.
Bill shook his head. “I know better than to ask.”
Spreading her palm flat on the table, Gigi interrupted. “Mr. Maitland, I can appreciate that you and Shane haven’t seen each other in a while and have some catching up to do, but our visit is somewhat urgent.”
Shane crossed his arms over his chest and let her roll, holding his tongue when she paused and looked at him for support. He wondered how long it would take her to figure out she had the wrong Maitland.
“Oh?” Bill frowned at Shane, holding his ladle in the air until bean sauce dripped to the floor.
Shane sucked a long draft from the bottle, then looked to Bill. “When is Margo due back?”
“Thursday maybe.”
“Thursday. Maybe.” Shane let the words soak in with another hit of beer. “Damn.”
“Excuse me!” Gigi said, standing now, her hands on her hips.
Shane gave Bill a long-suffering look. “Gigi is in a little bit of trouble.”
“Shane seemed to think you could help us—me,” Gigi blurted out. “Frankly, I doubt it, but he insisted on dragging me here to talk to you.”
Holding his spoon in the air, Bill raised his eyebrows. “Just what sort of trouble are you in, young lady?”
“Someone is trying to kill her,” Shane said, then took another swig of beer.
“Ah!” Bill gave Gigi his sage look, setting his spoon in the ceramic spoon rest beside the stove and hooking his thumbs around the sides of his apron. “That right?”
She nodded. How could this nice, strange old man possibly help her?
Bill rocked back from toe to heel. “I’m afraid I can’t help you,” he said as if he’d read her mind.
“I didn’t think so.” She stood to leave. “I’m sorry for wasting your time, but Shane said—”
He threw Shane a reproving look.
“All I said was that I had a friend in the DOJ,” Shane said in self-defense.
Bill settled himself quietly in the chair next to Gigi and lifted one hand from her hip. Unfurling her fingers in his and giving the back of her hand a grandfatherly pat, he smiled up at her. “Ms. McCowan, should you need help with your operating system, a new computer chip, or a hard drive crash, I’d be glad to assist. But as for your other, ah, situation, I’m afraid I can’t help you.”
“You don’t work for the Justice Department?” Gigi asked.
Bill’s smile grew broader. “Me? No. I teach computer science at Arizona State University.”
She turned a confused frown toward Shane. “But you introduced him as your old friend.”
Shane shifted uncomfortably.
“So I am,” Bill said. “I’ve known Shane since his first semester at the university. He was my star pupil—” Bill Maitland winked “—until my wife seduced him.”
Gigi nearly choked. Her eyebrows flew up like birds taking wing.
Bill chuckled. “Seduced him to the dark side of academia, that is—the criminal justice program.”
“Your wife is with the DOJ?”
“As well as a frequent guest lecturer in the CJ program at ASU.” He made a clucking sound and shook his head. “I should never have introduced them. But young Shane here had nowhere else to go for Thanksgiving and I felt sorry for him and brought him home for dinner. The rest is history.”
Shane took no offense, even if Bill’s description made him sound more like a stray pup than a nineteen-year-old college student experiencing real life—life outside of a group home, that is—for the first time.
The Maitlands were as close as he’d ever have to blood relatives. Sometimes when he shared their home, their food, he could almost believe they were related—his aunt and uncle, maybe. Sometimes he wished they were.
Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, he locked those wishes away with all the others from years ago and asked quietly, “Can you get in touch with Margo, Bill?”
“I’m afraid not,” he answered, “except by going through the DOJ and telling them it’s a family emergency. I’m not even sure she’s in D.C. any longer. You know the cases she works are classified.”
Shane nodded. The family emergency drill was not an option. Not only would it be unfair to Margo, scaring her with the possibility that something was terribly wrong at home, but it would alert too many others in the DOJ. Require too many explanations.
Gigi sank back into her seat. “Thursday,” she mumbled.
“I’m sure someone else in her office—” Bill started.
“No.” Gigi’s head snapped up, her body came forward.
Bill’s eyes slanted in question. Gigi looked imploringly at Shane.
“It’d be best if we dealt directly with Margo on this.” Shane said, relieved when Gigi eased back into her seat.
Bill nodded. “She calls home every other day or so. I’ll let her know you need her.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
Just then the two children and the dog burst through the door, and Shane was distracted for a few minutes with bear hugs and cries of “Unca Shane, Unca Shane,” while Bill served up plates of hamburgers and beans.
Once the children were settled again outside, Bill brought the other burgers in on a plate. “In the meantime,” he said as if their conversation had never been interrupted, closing the door behind him. “I hope you like your burgers welldone, Ms. McCowan.”
“We really should be going.” Gigi fidgeted with the bright-yellow place mat in front of her.
“You have to eat,” Bill admonished. “And if you stay here, you’ll be close when Margo calls in.”
Gigi looked out the window, toward the two kids swinging their short legs under the picnic table as they struggled to control hamburgers too big for their little hands to manage. A moment of panic slashed across her face, and Shane could practically hear her recalling his earlier warning, What if next time he shoots at you, you’re crossing a street or standing in front of a school bus? How many innocent people are going to get killed?
He swore as he imagined where her thoughts would lead her. The graphic images he knew would play out in her mind. He knew what she was thinking, and he knew she was right. That didn’t mean he had to like it. “That’s not a good idea, Bill.”
Bill’s expression darkened as he looked from his grandchildren to Shane. “I’m not going to turn you out if you’re in trouble. I can put the kids on a plane to Galveston. Ronnie and Michelle won’t mind.”
Shane reached across the table and clasped Gigi’s fingers in his, squeezing gently. He pushed down his awareness of her soft skin and the strength of her hand beneath it, grateful that for now at least, she didn’t pull away. “You’re not turning us out. We’re insisting on leaving.”
His scowl deepened. “Doesn’t mean it feels right,” he grumbled. “There’s gotta be something I can do.”
Shane mustered up a grin. “You can put those burgers in a bag to go,” he said hopefully.
Two minutes later, Bill was handing him not one, but three bags, stuffed with what looked like half the supplies in his kitchen.
“Anything else I can do?” Bill asked.
“You wouldn’t happen to have any nine-millimeter ammunition around, would you?”
“Now I really don’t like this.” His brows drew together as he stalked away, but he was back in seconds with a box of shells. “What else?”
“I could use a clean shirt.”
“Right.” Bill eyed Shane’s bare chest beneath the bomber jacket. Shane didn’t offer any explanat
ion for what had happened to his shirt. He knew Bill very well, and he could tell his friend was getting close to the point of insisting they call someone for help. Showing him his bullet wound would undoubtedly push him right over that edge. His best bet was to keep Bill distracted, and helping.
“I’ll get you a cell phone, too, so Margo can reach you.”
“Thanks,” Shane answered. “And are you still driving that gray Honda?”
“It’s silver. And yes.”
“Can I borrow it?”
“I suppose I can drive Margo’s Jag for a few days.” He dug a set of keys on a gold key chain formed like an old doubloon from his pocket, but hesitated before handing them over.
Shane smiled reassuringly. The Honda might not be as expensive as Margo’s car, but Bill babied it just the same. “I promise to bring it back in one piece.”
He dropped the keys in Shane’s palm. “The hell with the car. Bring yourself back in one piece.” He jutted his chin toward Gigi. “And your pretty friend, too.”
Heat crept into Shane’s cheeks. “I’ll do my best.” He piloted Gigi toward the door.
When Bill was out of earshot, Gigi said, “We can’t leave the Jeep here.”
He knew she was right. Only, getting the Jeep away from here meant splitting up until they could dump it. Asking Bill to help wasn’t an option. He’d already involved his friend more than he should. If anything happened to Bill…
He wouldn’t let himself think that way. No one would track him here. Not without having access to a lot of personal information on Shane Hightower. And access to personal information on DEA agents was hard to come by, even in law enforcement circles.
“We’re going to have to leave it somewhere with an awful lot of cars if we don’t want it to be found. It kind of stands out,” he said.
“Kind of.” She grinned. She was right, he thought. It looked like tomato soup. “The airport?” she asked.
“No. Too many security cameras. I’d rather not have anyone taking pictures of us coming and going. We’ll leave it at the shopping mall.”
Bill’s returning footsteps echoed in the hall behind them.
“You’re going to have to drive the Honda,” Shane told her, holding the keys out to her. “Take the cell phone. I’ll follow you. If the Jeep draws trouble, take off. Dial one on the speed dial and it’ll ring here. Bill will get help to you.”
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