by Vella Day
Could he read her mind that she was interested? “I’m curious what’s above the barbed wire?” She rolled over to face him.
“A daisy.”
She nearly choked. “A daisy?”
“Too feminine for you?” He was teasing her again, and she kind of liked the banter.
“Not on you.” And that was the truth. “The flower looked lopsided though.”
They were face to face, less than a foot apart, almost close enough to lean over and kiss.
“That's because the flower only has four petals. One at eleven o'clock, one at ten, nine, and again at eight.”
She let out a chuckle. She loved playing, he loves me, he loves me not, with a flower.
“Why only four petals? Would more have cost too much?” She guessed from the way he admired their first townhouse that he didn't live in luxury.
“Yes, but that's not the reason. I was in four foster homes before I turned eighteen. Hence the four petals.”
Every muscle stilled, as sympathy swamped her. “You were in four foster homes?”
“That's what I said.”
Guess he didn't want to discuss that aspect of his life. He must understand about loneliness and lack of family then, but she refused to be put off. “What did the daisy stand for?” Odd choice for a flower.
Blood thrummed in her head awaiting his answer. Was it for the one woman who got away?
He sucked on his bottom lip for a moment, clearly trying to decide how much to tell.
“The first foster home I went to was run by nuns. Sister Mary Louise was kind to me, the first person in my life who treated me with respect. She loved daisies.”
Her heart nearly burst. “What happened?” To the nun, to the love between them, to the little boy?
“Nothing. When a family offered to take me a few months later, she let me go.” Bitterness tainted his words.
He rolled to the other side. Discussion over.
Had he expected a nun to adopt him? How young had he been when he lost his family? He probably wouldn't tell even if she asked. From the way his voice wavered, his past had caused him intense pain.
For a brief moment, she was tempted to ask if she could give him a hug to help fight his demons, but who was she to give comfort? She was barely hanging on herself. If she touched his skin and smelled his scent, would she want more?
Oh, crap. She'd never asked if he had a girlfriend or a wife at home. Given his job took him out of town for unknown periods of time, she doubted any woman who loved him would put up with that schedule. She had assumed he was a loner.
Armed with the new knowledge he'd grown up in foster care, he probably never developed attachments and never would or could. Receiving or even giving comfort would be foreign to him. He was a protector, the one to decide when to care and when to give of himself.
His breaths evened out, and he emitted soft puffs of air. Good. He'd fallen asleep.
She wanted to talk with him about what made him tick, but tonight's explanation of his tattoo might be more than he'd shared with anyone in a while. He would never know how much they did have in common. Her coworkers claimed she was a cold bitch. She'd overheard one attorney say it was no wonder Carlton strayed. She probably sucked in bed.
That wasn't true. She just hadn't found anyone she wanted to give her soul too. Her mom had loved her growing up, but over the years she’d turned to alcohol after her brother's accident. Their family never had been the same after that. Her daddy had doted on her, but again, only when he was home and not working at the office trying to protect the world from criminals. Yet her life was bliss compared to Jake's.
What she wouldn't give to get a hold of his good friend, T-Squared, to find out the lowdown on the enigmatic Jake Yarnell.
He shifted in the bed and a rush of hormones startled her. She was running for her life and had to pay attention to everyone around her—not just Jake. All she could think about lately was him, which was not good for a woman in hiding and now on the run.
She pushed aside the image of the little boy desperate for affection and tried to relax, but sleep didn't come. Her mind bounced between the fire, the dead jurors, and Jake.
She scooted closer. His weight held down the sheet, preventing her from closing in on him too much. His skin smelled of lemons. Without thinking, she reached out to touch his silky hair. Quicker than she could react, his hand grabbed her wrist.
Her heart stopped for a moment and her throat clogged.
“Need something?” he said in a teasing voice.
Had he been waiting for her to make the first move? She could have sworn he'd been asleep a moment ago.
Before she could think, he let go of her wrist, and she cleared her throat. “Just checking you were still there.” Very lame.
This time he laughed. “If you want me to get under the covers so we can cuddle, just say the word.”
Exactly what she wanted. “No!”
“Thought so. Get some sleep. We'll need it.”
Like that would ever happen now. She'd crossed the boundary of propriety this time and wasn't sure if she wanted to step over the line again.
9
Jake rose at dawn and went through his bathroom routine before Susan awoke, all the while trying to erase the image of her sweet face holding on to his every word as he let her glimpse what his life had been like after his mom died. Susan didn't judge, didn't criticize, or show signs of pity. She just listened. To him, she acted as if he were the most important person in the room.
He scratched his brain for the last time he'd told anyone about his tattoo. Tom had seen the image but never asked what the flower meant.
He stepped over to the bed and studied her. Susan looked more at peace than he'd ever seen her—prettier, younger, more vulnerable. Something inside him nearly cracked at the connection they'd made last night, but he pushed down his emotions. Even though he'd had several girlfriends, there was something special about her. He liked Susan's assertiveness, her bravery, and her can-do outlook on life. And how she listened.
Even before he shared his story, he'd been interested in her, despite the fact she constantly challenged him, and then rejected him. Add in the fact she didn't completely trust him, and he wondered why he wanted to hold and comfort her.
Then when she'd reached out to touch him last night, his self-control had nearly broken. He was teasing her about getting under the covers and snuggling, but if she'd wanted to, that meant she trusted him. Her willingness to trust might save her life someday.
Her lids fluttered and he stepped back. What if she had agreed to the touching, the cuddling, and maybe even kissing? Would he have followed through? Hell, if he knew. He probably would have jumped out of bed and slept in the chair. Getting involved would cloud his vision, his focus, and his ability to keep her alive.
Not wanting to further address his reaction to the adorable woman, he stepped outside, telling himself he needed to check the parking lot for mysterious men with submachine guns pointed at the door. The air was chillier than he'd expected for a Florida morning.
Only one couple was up and about. He stayed outside for several minutes until he thought he heard Susan call his name.
She wasn't in the bed when he stepped back inside, but the running water told him she'd taken his place in the bathroom. Just as well. He needed to touch base with T-Squared, and it might be better if she didn't hear the conversation. He swiped his cell, the phone becoming like a third arm. He longed for the day when he could talk to his colleagues in person.
“Hiya, Jake.”
Tom sounded way too chipper. He must have just gotten home. “How did Stanton, Richard, and the rest of gang react to Marcadis' death?”
“Like you'd expect. The shit hit the fan. Richard looked like he was having a heart attack. I think he was tempted to fly down to North Carolina and protect one of the last two jurors himself. Stanton stayed calm for a while, and then started ordering us to do things. I left, so I don't know what trans
pired after that.”
“What's the Bureau's plan of attack?”
“Thomason insisted we post bodyguards at each of the remaining jurors' places. They're on their way to Atlanta and Brevard right now.”
“That's great.”
“I almost forgot. Both Stanton and Richard have been trying to get a hold of you, claiming you're not answering. They're worried.”
Someone arguing in the parking lot drew his attention. It was nothing to worry about—just a man yelling at his kids.
“I know. I don't want to talk to anyone. Tell them when the house caught on fire, my cell phone burned up. I've called you on a pay phone and don't know when I'll find a replacement.”
“Will do.” Tom's voice lowered to almost a whisper. “Where are you headed?”
“To Atlanta. Bodyguard or not, I want to warn the next juror.”
“Good for you. I'll be in touch if anything comes up.”
“Thanks.”
They both disconnected, acutely aware long calls were traceable. Jake needed to get a pre-paid phone, one where the FBI couldn't find him.
Just as he returned to the room, Susan popped out of the bathroom, hair washed, cleanly bandaged and sexy as hell in her tight jeans and equally tight top. Quite the change from the baggy sweats.
“What's our plan?” Susan unzipped her suitcase with a slow easy pull, but the strong grip on the zipper told him she was anything but calm.
“We drive to Atlanta.”
She glanced up at him. “Who's there?”
“Ashley Wood.”
Susan's hands, full of clothes, froze in mid air. “She was the young one. I think she was a senior at American when she served on the jury. Her lips turned into a frown. “Sweet girl. She must be so afraid.”
“I don't think she knows about the other jurors. We've kept that information as quiet as possible.”
Susan shook her head, stuffed her clothes and her toiletries kit into her suitcase, and closed the lid. She swiped a hand over her hair. Gray circles under her eyes appeared more pronounced today. The traveling was wearing on her, but they couldn't afford to sit still. They had to warn the others.
He picked up both her case and his. “Let's boogie.”
He kept an eye out for anyone suspicious as he headed to the car. If Phillip Marcadis' place was discovered within a day or two of the witness' arrival, someone had excellent intel—too good in fact. No telling who knew where they were.
Susan climbed in the front seat. Her movements were more fluid today, implying her wounds were on the mend. Eventually, they'd need a doctor to take out her stitches, but for now her injuries wouldn't prevent them from the five-hour drive ahead.
He placed the luggage in the trunk and climbed in the driver's seat. As they exited the lot, a black SUV pulled behind them. Given they were at a motel, it wasn't surprising other guests would leave at this early hour.
He drove slightly under the speed limit thinking anyone willing to drive that slowly would be an obvious tail. Staying in the right lane for about a mile, he drove underneath the interstate in the hopes the black car would hop onto I-75. No such luck.
The number of restaurants thinned, making him question where this guy was going. Jake had debated eating breakfast once they were on the road, but this guy was bugging him. He turned into a car dealership, did a U-turn, and headed back the other way.
“Where are you going?” The tension in Susan's voice cut him deep.
“I won't lie to you. I thought someone was following us, but when I turned around, we lost him.” He glanced over at her. “Do you mind if we catch a bite to eat here? I want to make sure this guy doesn't get any ideas.”
“Sounds good.”
He wanted a place that was fast and with good visibility. Waffle House provided the perfect venue. Unfortunately, the parking lot wrapped around the building, and while he could see all the patrons inside, he wouldn't be able to tell if a black SUV pulled in.
Once inside, the aroma of waffles, grease and bacon permeated the restaurant. Half the booths were full. Jake pointed to a spot near the entrance for a fast getaway.
Susan and he were half way into their meal, when a man in his late thirties, early forties walked in. He glanced around, his gaze lingering on Jake and Susan. The stranger proceeded to take a booth two away from them when three other booths on the far end were vacant. The hairs on Jake's neck rippled.
Something about the short, stocky man looked familiar. He didn't want to frighten Susan, but he thought she might know him.
“Don't look now, but there's a man two booths behind you.” He kept his voice to a near whisper. “He's dressed in a nice polo and an expensive jacket. His watch must have set him back five hundred bucks. Would you mind going into the bathroom and waiting a minute before coming out? When you walk back to the booth, take a quick peek at the guy, but be as unobtrusive as possible. Can you do that?”
Her face paled. She drained the rest of her orange juice, acting as if she needed some fortification. She slid out of the booth, her shoulders way too stiff.
The waitress ambled over. “Can I get you anything else, sugar?”
“Just the check,” Jake replied.
The drab brunette, who was missing several front teeth, slipped a hand in her pocket and produced the ticket. “Here ya go, hon.”
Jake pretended to study the bill. When the bathroom door in front of him opened, he stood and chanced a glance. Susan was returning just as a different waitress was placing a waffle in front of the newcomer.
Jake faced Susan and kept his voice low. “Let me pay and we can go.”
Susan's teeth clenched. She followed behind him, her back brushing against his every few steps. He stiffened then forced his body to relax. Since all the waitresses were busy, he placed a twenty on the counter and waved to catch her eye. She held up a finger. Not needing the change, they left.
Wrapping an arm around Susan's waist to make it appear as if they were a couple, instead of a bodyguard and potential witness, he led her outside. Once they were out of sight of the front plate glass walls, he asked if she recognized him.
She bit her bottom lip. “I think I've seen him somewhere, but I can't be certain.”
“In that case, I think I'll take some back roads and get on the interstate north of here. It will be harder to tail us on a road not well traveled.”
She shivered. “Sounds good.”
The pep in her step increased. As they drove out of the lot, Jake glanced inside at the booth where the man had been sitting. It was empty.
Jake's gut clenched. Something wasn't right.
After traveling north for twenty minutes, Jake became lulled into believing no one had followed them. A few fast moving vehicles piled up behind them on the two-lane road. Jake let them pass, but he saw no sign of the black SUV. While he enjoyed the drive on the narrow winding road, the Interstate would be faster, and time was critical. He refused to let what happened to Phillip Marcadis happen to Ashley Wood.
He'd just rounded a curve when someone slammed into the back of his car, jarring him out of his trance. “Jesus Christ.”
Susan screamed as her body propelled forward.
He thrust a hand to stop her from smashing into the dash, but her seatbelt luckily held her in place. She gasped.
“Are you okay?” he said.
“Kind of.” Her breaths came out fast, and her brows pinched.
He glanced in the rear view mirror. A red pickup truck was about fifty feet behind him but gaining speed quickly. Jake wasn't sure who'd hit him, but he figured it had to have been the truck directly behind him.
Adrenaline pumped through his veins, and he tightened his grip on the wheel. With one eye on the rear view mirror, he sped up, not daring to pull over. If it had been an accidental hit, the person who banged into him would be glad not to get involved in an insurance claim. If the driver had meant to harm them, Jake needed to get the hell away from there.
He pressed his foo
t to the floor, fishtailing on the road. A cloud blocked the morning sun, casting the ground in shadows. The wind whipped the trees all of a sudden as if a front had descended on them.
Jake took his gaze off the road for a second and one wheel slipped onto the dirt berm, but he managed to bring the car onto the pavement.
“What's going on?” Susan gripped the dashboard. Her voice came out an octave too high.
“I'm not sure.” He saw no need to create more fear, especially when he didn't have all the facts.
If he'd been able to do a U-turn without flipping over, he would have.
The red truck was gaining on them. They were the only two cars on the road now. A long bend was up ahead with a large ditch sat to the right. As he held tight around the curve, the truck pulled along side in the on-coming lane. How had he sped up so fast? Damn his four cylinders.
The truck's tinted windows prevented Jake from seeing who was behind the wheel. He debated slamming on his brakes but decided his best option was to try to keep ahead of this maniac.
Pressing his foot to the floor, his car shimmied as he approached eighty. The bend steepened and his wheels began to slide off the pavement again. The truck's driver kept up with him and bumped into the driver's side, sending the car sideways. Jake held on tight, but the small vehicle wouldn't keep purchase.
Without warning, the truck pulled ahead and turned in front of him, forcing Jake to jerk the wheel to the right to avoid a head on collision. His rental flew off the road. The dirt bit the tires, slowing the car, and rocks pummeled the undercarriage. The vibration shook them hard. His arms wobbled as he tried to keep control of the vehicle.
“Jake?”
Susan's whimper increased his resolve to keep them safe. A large tree stood fifty feet in front of them coming at them fast. He slammed on the brakes and pulled the wheels to the left. As he hit the tree, his head propelled forward, and the airbag deployed. Pain seared his brain. The car bucked and bumped.
Then everything blanked out.
10
As Susan's body shot toward the dash, she tried to brace herself. Her left knee hit the dashboard, sending lightning like bolts of pain up her thigh. The seatbelt tore into her body as the airbag stopped her cold.