Sin on the Run

by Lucy Farago

  Chapter Eighteen

  One minute Rhonda was getting ready to bean him, the next she was a human shield, the lamp dropped and useless by her feet. She tried to kick him, but decided it wasn’t a good idea with a gun barrel pressed to her temple.

  The asshole called out to Albert, but got no reply. He tried again, inching closer to the broken window. Still no answer. On the pavement, in front of the smoking car, a pair of legs lay motionless. Something other than his usual malevolent sneer darkened Orlov’s ugly eyes. Rage. The arm around her waist clamped so tightly she could barely breathe.

  He manhandled her until they were against the wall, next to the blown window, as he tried to see what he was up against. For someone with an alligator bite, half-cooked on drugs, he was disappointingly strong. Acrid smoke began to fill the small room but he didn’t seem to notice or care. Then the bathroom door shattered and what air was left in her lungs vacated as Orlov crushed her to him. What the hell? They were being shot at. Who else had this asshole pissed off? And why was she stuck in the crossfire? Shitty dumbass luck. And her damn wig slipped, covering her right eye.

  “Let me go,” she croaked. If he didn’t loosen his hold, she’d pass out.

  He barked something at her. Growing lightheaded, she repeated it in her fuzzy mind. Zat-kneess? He told her to shut up? She blinked, trying to focus, her breath a loud rasp as the corners of her vision blackened, her muscles growing slack. Then he must have realized what he’d been doing, because suddenly she gasped with much-needed air.

  Trying to focus, she saw his glassy stare glued to Albert’s legs. The wig slipped further down her head, giving her an idea. With him distracted, this was her chance. Testing her fingers to make certain she’d regained control of her muscles, she lifted her tied hands. Pretending to wipe her forehead, she reached for the corner of her Orphan Annie wig. She freed it from the remaining clips and pins, and flung the damn thing at his face. He cursed. It was the distraction she needed and she used the opportunity to free herself of his grasp. Shielding her own face, she threw herself through the broken window and landed hard on her ass. She hoped like hell whoever was shooting wouldn’t shoot her. Without thinking too much about the consequence, she rolled as fast and as far away as she could.

  In the distance, she heard sirens, but more important were the gunshots blasting all around her. Scrunched up in a tiny ball, she tensed, waited to feel the burn of being shot. Then nothing. The shooting stopped. Slowly, she lowered her hands. And saw Blake running toward her.

  Was it the aftereffect of whatever drug they’d given her? Blake was alive?

  Tears clouded her vision and streamed down her cheeks. Had she hit her head?

  He knelt in front of her and helped her sit up. “Did they hurt you? Rhonda, damn, are you hurt?”

  All she could do was stare. He was alive.

  “Walt,” he shouted. “Do you have a knife to cut these ropes?”

  “I got eight in the truck, son. I’ll get one.”

  “Can you stand? Rhonda talk to me.”

  “You’re alive.” She laughed, giddy with the news. The man she loved was alive.

  “We’ll have to add observant to that list.” He smiled. And it was wonderful.

  “How? I saw the alligator. You didn’t come up.” Blake’s right arm was bandaged … and bloodstained. “How big is that bite mark?” Orlov’s had been nasty and he hadn’t been the alligator’s Sunday dinner. “And where’s Orlov?” Had he been shot?

  “Here.” From behind Blake, a man passed a knife.

  “We don’t have to worry about him.” Blake cut through the ropes then tossed them aside. “And I’m not going to lie. You’d see right through that. I’m going to need stitches. But for once, can we focus on you first?”

  “I’m not bleeding.” She argued, not giving a shit what happened to the Russian. Blake was injured.

  “For now, I’m fine. Turn it off, Rhonda. I want to take care of you.”

  The sweet sentiment touched her heart, but it didn’t change anything. He was hurt, she was not. Sirens bellowed and the blaring honk of a fire truck startled her. It was starting to be a recurring theme with them.

  “Are we running?” she asked, her heartbeat already going into overdrive. How were they going to escape?

  “No,” he said, glancing back at the destruction. “This has to be explained. Can you get up?” he asked again.

  “I think so.” She allowed him to help, never more grateful for his hands on her body. “I don’t understand, Blake. I saw what that alligator did to Orlov.” She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly, getting her first look at the chaos behind them.

  The charred remains of Orlov’s car continued to blow black smoke as glass littered the walkway in front of the open door of the room where she’d been held hostage. The hotel manager stood by his office, a baseball bat in his hand as he waited for the police.

  “How did you get away?” she asked, ignoring the mayhem filling the parking lot.

  “With a little help from the Discovery Channel.”

  It took a few seconds for her to figure what he meant. “The death roll? You outmaneuvered an alligator?”

  The older man whistled. “I’ve heard tell of someone doing that once. But never seen it myself. You are one lucky bastard.”

  “Yes, I am,” he said, kissing her cheek. “I am one very lucky bastard.”

  *

  After being overruled by Rhonda, Blake agreed to have the paramedic look at his arm before tending to the cuts she’d sustained falling out of the window. He’d need stitches and a trip to the hospital. Temporarily bandaged, Blake now stood to the side and watched as Rhonda’s arm was treated. Her wrists were chafed from being tied, but thankfully none of her injuries were serious. The other ambulance carrying the unconscious bodies of Orlov and Albert had already left. Walt’s sharpshooting talents had proved handy.

  Albert had been tranquilized. Orlov hadn’t gotten off that easy. It had taken a few seconds for the drug to work and Albert to hit the pavement. Not wanting those precious seconds to endanger Rhonda’s life, Blake had opted to take the Russian out himself. When she’d surprised him by smacking him with her wig, she’d given Blake the perfect opportunity to shoot. He, like Walt, knew how to handle a rifle, even with one good arm.

  “All clear.” The paramedic handed Rhonda a bottle of water. “Drink this. You look dehydrated. And please,” he nodded in Blake’s direction. “Get him to the hospital. He’s going to need antibiotics.”

  “Thanks.” She took the bottle, gulping down a healthy swallow. When they were alone, she gave him the most pathetic, sad, beautiful smile he’d ever seen. “I need a shower. I really stink.”

  He laughed, taking the seat in the back of the ambulance next to her. “You just escaped the clutches of a hired assassin and that’s what you’re worried about?”

  “Hey, a girl has her pride. I look, and smell, like I’ve been in a swamp.”

  “You have been in a swamp.”

  She sniffed in his direction. “You don’t exactly smell like apple blossoms.”

  He put his good arm around her, pressed his mouth to her ear and whispered, “I smell like a man. You …”

  “Okay, now who’s the mean one?”

  “That title is yours, beautiful.” He kissed her, not giving a shit what she smelled like. To him, she was perfect, perfect and alive.

  “That’s enough, love birds.”

  Blake glanced up to see Agent Harris walking toward them. “How the hell did you make it here so quick?”

  “I was checking out the boat that went boom. Glad to see you two are all right.”

  “Rhonda, this is Joe Harris, Interpol. How’s Orlov?” Blake asked.

  “Last I heard, in surgery. You nailed him in the chest, collapsed a lung.”

  “Are you going to get in trouble for that?” Rhonda asked, then eyed Harris like she was going to tear him a new one if the answer was yes.

  “T
here’ll be an inquiry,” Harris said. “And the sheriff wasn’t happy about you endangering the life of a local. It seems Walt is a hero around these parts. He has a Medal of Honor and not one,” he held up two fingers, “but two, Navy Crosses. Your new friend, however, is insisting he volunteered his services, so you’re off the hook. As for shooting Orlov, considering one of the FBI’s most wanted had a hostage, I don’t think anything will come of this.”

  “Better not,” she threatened.

  God love her, she had more guts than Blake had given her credit for. “Can we go? I need stitches and a shower. I stink.”

  Rhonda snickered and jumped off the ambulance. “Come on. Let’s go before you get gangrene.”

  “Is it true?” Harris asked. “Did you really outsmart an alligator?”

  “Don’t give me too much credit. They’re not the brightest of animals.”

  “No, but they don’t exactly like to let go of their dinner once they have it.”

  He heard a soft moan coming from Rhonda. She’d gone deathly pale. “Thanks,” he said to Harris. “Now make yourself useful and take us to the hospital. We can talk in the car.”

  On the drive, Blake repeated everything Rhonda had overheard. Nothing she’d heard necessarily meant they were out of the woods. It could very well have been Sorrentino who’d taken out the hit, but that wasn’t a guarantee. Krupin still thought Blake had killed his nephew.

  “Is it possible,” Blake asked Harris, “that Krupin knows Sorrentino double-crossed him?”

  “That’s the million-dollar question. And if he does, shooting you no longer serves Sorrentino a purpose.”

  Blake squeezed Rhonda’s hand. If Orlov was working for Sorrentino, and they hadn’t killed Rhonda, it meant they’d planned to sell her. Diamonds hadn’t made Sorrentino rich. Drugs and human trafficking had. He wanted to shoot Orlov all over again. Some way, somehow, he’d make Sorrentino pay.

  At the hospital, he learned his arm would need four stitches to the largest of the puncture wounds. The rest would be left open to drain if needed. Lucky for him, the gator’s teeth had missed the major artery and the numbness he felt was a normal aftereffect. He’d be given more antibiotics, but to ensure no infection set in, he sat soaking his arm in Betadine until the doctors gave him the go-ahead to leave. Rhonda had disappeared briefly to shower, but now she sat with him, glaring at his arm. He didn’t dare tell her his shoulder hurt too.

  “Hey,” he said, lifting her chin with his free hand. “It’s going to be fine. Stop thinking about what could have happened.”

  “Like you becoming a gator’s lollipop.”

  “Mmm, I don’t think licking was on his mind.”

  “Don’t joke. You could’ve been lunch.” She shivered.

  “Fair enough. And you could’ve ended up some slimeball’s toy.” The very idea made him want to punch something, or worse.

  “That isn’t fair. I don’t have puncture wounds on my arm. If you keep this shit up, you won’t be so pretty anymore.” She crossed her arms, sticking out her hip.

  She thought she’d gotten the better of him. And he considered letting her win, but it wasn’t their style. That, and she looked very cute when she got all sanctimonious on him. “And give the angels nothing to cry over? Never happen.”

  “Howdy, folks.” Cowboy peeked his head around the green examination curtain. He let out a low whistle when he saw Blake’s arm. “I know y’all like eating animal innards, but it’s best when you don’t become them.”

  Blake rolled his eyes. “Why is it people think every Scot eats haggis? Does every Yank eat hotdogs?”

  “Only at baseball games. Covered in Texas chili, of course.”

  “No beer?”

  “Goes without saying.” Cowboy smiled. “I brought y’all a couple of phones. Same number for you, Blake.” He handed one to each of them. “And I have a car waiting.”

  Blake took his new cell and scrolled through the messages. One caught his attention. His mother had called and by the time log, she’d done it very early in the morning. His bones told him she didn’t just want to chat.

  “I have news,” Cowboy went on. “Good, for a change.”

  Great, he could use some good news. He suspected his mother’s wasn’t of the same variety.

  “Guess who called Ryan?” Cowboy announced. “Never mind, you’ll never get it right. Krupin. I don’t think you have to run anymore.”

  Blake’s phone interrupted them. Torn between what Cowboy had to say and the caller, he chose the caller. It was his mother again. What the bloody hell had gone wrong now? “Mother.”

  “Blake, it’s your brother,” she said. How he hated hearing those words. “Please don’t argue. I want you to come home.”

  *

  Rhonda brushed her teeth, amazed at the sheer size of the airplane bathroom. Ryan Sheppard didn’t do anything on the cheap. This plane was larger and even more opulent than the first one they’d been on. They’d left the hospital immediately after Blake had been given the okay and come directly to the airport. She’d hoped to get the results of the pregnancy test before leaving but when that hadn’t happened she was glad she’d left her number with the nurse. Once again, she’d found luggage filled with everything she might need, including evening wear. Although why would she need a cocktail dress? Blake had insisted she come, instead of leaving her behind with Cowboy. There’d been an odd desperate tone to his requests, but she assumed whatever his mother had said had been the culprit of his mood.

  “You know things about my family no one else does,” he’d explained. “Please, I have no one else to trust with any of this.”

  It’d been hard to say no. She dried her hands and took one last look at herself in the mirror. She’d decided to forgo her usual makeup, keeping it simple. It was funny actually. She’d been using makeup for years to hide behind and in the last few weeks had been going without—to hide behind. Sort of. But she liked the way she looked. This was who she was really, and Blake seemed to like who she was. So Rhonda decided the stripper should stay in Vegas, and she was going to Scotland.

  She brushed her hair, and satisfied with her appearance, stepped out of the bathroom. Blake sat in one of the lounge seats, eyes closed. She took the seat beside him and glanced out the window watching the sun as it set under the clouds. They’d fly overnight and be in Edinburgh early morning. From there, a car would take them to Oakley Manor, to his family. His aristocratic family. While he wasn’t a prince and she certainly wasn’t Marilyn Monroe, what would they think of their prodigal son returning home with a stripper? Not that they were going to find out.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  Rhonda flinched. “I thought you were sleeping.”

  “You think one double whisky will put me to sleep?” He lifted a questioning brow, referring to the stiff drink Cowboy had suggested she give him when Blake had refused pain meds.

  “Oh, yeah, forgot. You’re a Scottish rogue.”

  He grinned. Snatching her hand, he tugged her toward him and planted a hard kiss on her mouth. “And proud of it.”

  Would he be like this when they reached his home, this bold and nonchalant about what was sure to piss his grandmother off? He seemed to enjoy being the black sheep of the family. She could say she brushed off people’s opinions of her, but it wasn’t the truth. She made all those sacrifices, and to be thought of as a bimbo who took her clothes off for money was degrading and untrue. His family would be no different.

  “Blake? Could we not tell your family we’re sleeping together?”

  “We could,” he said, closing his eyes and drawing her hand across his lap. “However, my family is many things. Stupid they are not. Especially my mother.” He opened his eyes. “She’ll take one look at you and know I was lying. I’m not just a rogue. I come from a long line of Scottish rogues. My great, great grandfather is said to have sired twenty-four sons with six different women.”

  “That’s horrible,” she said.

&nb
sp; “Different times, lass. And had they been legitimate, he’d not have buggered up the title.”

  “Stop trying to charm me with that brogue.”

  “I thought you liked my accent. Especially,” he said, coming closer, his lecherous smile a sign he was about to do or say something that would make her blush.

  “Don’t,” she warned.

  “What?” he asked, all innocent.

  Doing her best not to laugh, she frowned. “I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you and you turn it into dirty talk.”

  “Aye, that’s another thing you like.” He kissed her knuckles. “Fine.” He settled back into the chair. “Have at it then.”

  “As long as we act like friends, we could pull it off.”

  “Rhonda, my mother will see how I look at you, and figure it out in an instant.”

  “How is it you look at me?” It wasn’t like he had puppy dog eyes for her.

  “Like,” he turned his head toward her, “I want to eat you. I don’t need a mirror or someone pointing it out. When you’re with me, all I can think about is that day on the boat.”

  “You’re lying.” She didn’t believe him.

  He closed his eyes again and sighed. “I remember watching you steer. Your hands on the wheel. Those sexy shorts. The way you’d spread your legs for balance. I kept thinking how much I wanted you naked.” He groaned. “Your breasts in my hands, my cock inside you. Then you got all snotty on me, and I wanted you even more. I can still see the sun against your bare ass and remember thinking how much I was going to enjoy tasting you. Mmm, Christ. Sooo good.”

  Rhonda’s face heated and she wasn’t sure she wanted him to stop.