by Vella Day
He spotted an old truck behind a barn. “Wait here.”
She straightened. “What are you going to do?”
“Pretend you don't see me.”
He took off, leaving Susan by the side of a dirt road. She didn't need to be an accomplice in what he was about to do. He'd grown up on the streets. Hot-wiring a car was standard fare. He'd stolen a few vehicles in his time to go joy riding when he wasn't old enough to legally drive, but he always returned what he took—unharmed. He hoped he could do the same with this truck.
His lucky day the passenger side door was unlocked. He climbed in, withdrew his knife from his pack and went to work. In less than sixty seconds, the engine roared to life.
He tossed his pack in the back, slid back into the driver's seat and picked up Susan.
“This is illegal,” she said. Her brows furrowed.
Her disapproval bit into him. “My other choice was to turn us in—or rather turn myself in.”
She reached over, clasped his arm and squeezed. “You did what you had to do.”
Wow. Her understanding meant the world to him. “We aren't out of the woods yet. No pun intended.”
“Once we get do to Virginia, where do you plan to hole up?”
“We can't go to my place or yours. The department will have both of our homes watched.”
“Then where?”
“The last place on earth they'll think of looking.”
24
Jake stopped the truck on the side of the street. Every house would qualify for HGTV's beautiful homes series. Mansions—every one of them.
“Who lives here?” Susan asked.
“Wait here.”
Jake crawled out of the driver's seat. Damn him. Every time he didn't answer her questions directly, the shit hit the fan.
She must have looked really pissed off for he reopened her door and leaned in. “You're safe. I promise. I won't be long.”
He'd promised her she'd be safe when they reached the Florida townhouse and again when they left the woods. Each time someone found them. Maybe someone had implanted a chip under his skin to act as a homing device—or else she had one.
She rubbed her wound where the glass had impaled her. No way a whole team of doctors could have been bribed to put one of those invasive devices in her body. When this was over, she'd get a full body scan.
Susan pushed aside the horrible thought and slid down in the seat to avoid detection. This beat up farm truck would surely draw attention in this fancy neighborhood. The security guards were probably out patrolling the streets right now, trying to prevent people like them from casing the place.
She lifted her head and peeked out her side, and her breath fogged the window. The wet snow fell in light delicate flakes, creating magic on the trees. The driver's side door eased open, and she shot her hand to her pounding chest.
“Jake, you scared me.”
“Sorry. Come on.”
“Who lives here?”
He raced to her side and helped her out. He led her down the street and up a front walkway.
She looked back over her shoulder. “What about our gear?”
“No one would steal those packs.”
That was probably true.
While she couldn't smell herself, she could feel the dirt and grime rub against her skin when she moved. Maybe whoever lived here would be willing to let her shower. But could she really put on these stinky clothes afterwards? Maybe not.
Jake rang the front doorbell that was in the shape of a snake. What did that tell her about the occupant?
An old Asian woman, dressed in a black and white maid's outfit that seemed miles too big, answered the door. Her hand flew to her mouth. “Mr. Jake? That really you?” She sent him a toothless grin.
“Yes, Mai, it's me. I'd give you a hug, but I don't think you'd want to get near me.”
“Come. Come. Mr. Nicki will be so happy to see you. He don't get many visitors these days.”
Nicki? Susan tugged on Jake's arm. “There is no way I'm going to stay in a Caravello house.”
“We don't have a choice.” He leaned in closer and whispered, “I thought about seeing if Peter could put us up, but I'm sure the cops have his place covered too.”
“What about T-Squared?”
His jaw tightened. “His house is probably being watched also. Besides, I'm hoping Uncle Nicki will let us stay in his vacation home on the bay.”
A tall, thin black man, who looked no more than twenty-five, pushed a very old Nicki Caravello down the hall. He'd aged badly in the six years since the trial.
Nicki smiled. “Jake. It's so good to see you.” He slid his glance over to her and his cheer evaporated. “What's she doing here?”
Susan didn't have the energy to absorb his insults. “I'll wait for you in the car.”
Before she took a step, Jake swept an arm around her waist and pulled her to his side. “She's not the enemy, Uncle Nicki. The Francisco's have ordered a hit on her head. I've been hired to protect her.”
His brow arched. “Is that so?” He looked over at her. “And what did you do to piss off that family, my dear?”
Suddenly, she was the favored child. “I have no idea. To be honest, I thought your family was responsible for the deaths of the jurors, but from my up close and personal meeting of Dominick Francisco, I know I was mistaken.” She shot a glance at Jake to gauge his reaction, but he was closely watching Mr. Caravello.
The old man relaxed his grip on the wheelchair. “I'm glad to see we aren't the bad guys anymore. And Dominick? How did he fare in the exchange?”
“He won't be bothering anyone anymore. Ever,” Jake said.
“He's dead?”
“Yes.”
The old man slapped the arm of his wheelchair. “Excellent.”
Jake dropped his arm from around her waist and stepped forward. The loss of his protection sharpened her nerves.
“Uncle Nicki. We need a place to hide. The FBI thinks I'm responsible for the deaths of some of the jurors. They came after me, forcing me to put one of them out of commission for a few hours. I'm not safe at work, home, or much of anywhere else.”
“For you, anything.” He turned around. “Henry?” A second later, the young black man appeared. “Would you please get me my keys?”
“Yes, sir.”
A moment later he returned and handed the keys to his boss. The old man handed the chain to Jake. “Take off these two keys. This one is for the front door of my house in Maryland. You remember the place, don't you?”
“Fondly.”
“I'm betting you'll need different transportation too.”
“I had to steal an old farm truck. It kind of sticks out in this neighborhood.”
He smiled. “I'm glad my lessons helped. Here.” He handed him a car key. “Henry can show you to the Navigator. Wait here.”
Nicki wheeled himself down the hall and through the second door on the left. He returned with a metal box. Using the smallest key on the chain, he unlocked the box and withdrew a stack of bills. You'll need cash to stay out of trouble.”
“I can't take your money.”
“Nonsense. I insist. Buy yourselves some new clothes. You two look a mess. No, wait.” He craned his neck to the side. “Henry, could you get me Mai.”
She had no idea what he was up to, but the way Mr. Caravello embraced Jake impressed her.
“Yes, Mr. Nicki?”
“Would you run to the store and...” He crooked a finger for her to bend near. The rest was lost in a whisper.
“Now?”
“Yes, now. And hurry.”
Mai edged over to them. “Mr. Nicki thinks you need a makeover. Both of you. Nobody will recognize you when I finish. What size you wear?”
Oh, boy. She hadn't thought of a disguise, but she liked the idea. The facial scars would be hard to cover up, but from the excited tone, Mai would come up with something clever.
The maid handed them a pad and pencil and they each wrote down every size f
rom underwear to shoes.
“I get color for hair too.”
Instinctively, Susan touched her limp strands. “I've always wanted to be a redhead with blond highlights.”
She nodded in apparent approval and moved away.
Nicki wheeled toward them. “How about a drink?”
Jake pulled her close. “That I could use.”
**
Henry was the one who suggested Jake shave his head but leave the two-day old beard. The clothes weren't what Jake normally wore, but that was the point. Pressed slacks and a buttoned down shirt were not his style either, but the new look might make him blend in.
Mai had performed a miracle on Susan. While Jake liked her elegant blond hair when it was up in a twist, the short spiky red hairdo gave her a wild look. And sexy as hell.
Susan spun around for him and posed. “You like?”
He whistled.
Mai handed Susan a black see-through scarf. “Wear on head. If you tie under chin, you can hide cheek.”
The clever woman had managed the impossible. He bet Susan's own mother would take a moment before recognizing her.
“Thank you.” Susan gave Mai a hug and stepped over to Jake. She ran a hand over his bald head. “You better get a hat. You'll catch cold.”
He scrubbed a hand over his chin, fishing for a compliment. “But what do you think? Is it me or what?”
“Definitely not you.”
“Perfect.”
He laughed, believing for a moment that they could move around unnoticed for a while.
Nicki's wheels squeaked on the tile floor as he came toward them. “Let me take a look at you two.”
He and Susan stood side by side. “I wouldn't recognize either of you without further study. Now you better get a move on it before someone figures out you might have stopped here.”
She stepped next to his chair, leaned over, and kissed him on his paper-thin cheek. “Thank you for all your help.”
He grabbed her hand. “Just make sure you take care of Jake.”
“No problem.” That brought a smile to her lips.
Nicki turned back to Jake. “Go before the neighbors spot that truck or yours and call the cops.”
Jake leaned over and gave Nicki a hug. “Thanks old man.”
“Don't you old man me.”
Jake squeezed the key chain in his fingers. “Any way Henry can do me a favor?”
“Name it.”
He told them where he'd grabbed the truck. “I'd like to see it returned.” He faced Henry. “You think you can hotwire that puppy?”
Henry stole a glance at his employer. “Not a problem, sir.”
“Dump the backpacks somewhere too.”
Henry nodded.
After a few more goodbyes, they grabbed the suitcases Mai had purchased, stuffed with at least a week's worth of clothes and toiletries, and left the Caravello sanctuary.
With the scarf securely tied under her chin, she braved the weather with a smile. The light snow tickled her nose, and the air seemed sweeter and fresher. Even the thin layer of snow on the lawns lay undisturbed, signaling a fresh start. Like them.
With more pep in her step than she remembered having in a while, she waited for Jake to unlock the door of their very nice ride.
Using the GPS as a guide, they took back roads to the Maryland shore. As they drove through St. Michaels, she admired the majestic homes.
“When was the last time you visited Uncle Nicki's place?” she asked.
“Oh, gosh. Maybe ten years ago? He used to bring Peter, James, and me here during the summer. As a kid, I couldn't get enough of the place. Especially the fishing.”
Her family had had a boat, but Dad was often too busy to take them out on the water. “I remember we'd fish for flounder for hours on end.”
“You had a nice childhood, I take it?” he asked.
“When my father was home.” Her tone came out too wistful. She hadn't planned to bring up her issues. If she were honest, her life had been quite good before Carlton entered it and before Craig was in his car accident—and before Mom became depressed. Susan had tried to hold the family together after Dad died, but all she'd held dear was gone when he passed.
Jake must have sensed she didn't want to talk about those times and kept quiet. They made a quick stop at a fast food restaurant before picking up some food supplies at a local market. They didn't talk about anything they didn't want the world to hear.
Less than twenty minutes later they pulled into the drive of a two story, Craftsman style home. Not as big as she expected, but quaint and cozy nonetheless.
He cut the engine and slipped out. This was déjà vu all over again, only this time, the weather wasn't balmy and her wounds weren't making her body scream.
He slipped the suitcases out of the trunk while she shuffled up the walkway with her head down, careful not to slip on the snow. She shielded her face with one hand to avoid anyone identifying her.
Once on the porch, she stomped her boots on the straw mat to rid them of the slush and waited for Jake to unlock the front door. No one had driven by on the brick street since their arrival. Maybe they had escaped unnoticed.
They entered without a problem. She expected the furniture to be covered in white sheets and the inside air temperature to be cold and damp, but someone must have come in recently and freshened up the place.
“Nice.” While not as down-to-earth as the Traynor's cabin, this house oozed an elegant comfort, decorated in polished cotton prints and antique furniture. Uncle Nicki must have had a decorator. She didn't see him the kind to pick out the feminine style.
Jake set the suitcases down and marched around the house, checking the window locks before closing all the blinds. “We don't want anyone snooping.” He waved a hand. “Look around, pick a bedroom, and then relax.”
Pick a bedroom? They'd spent the last few nights next to each other, and she liked the security. She debated telling him she wanted to sleep by his side, but he was back into the I-am-the-protector-role now. “Sure, as soon as I put away the groceries.”
Once she emptied the food into the fridge, she carried her suitcase upstairs. After checking out each of the three bedrooms, she picked the one with the attached shower. Not knowing how long they'd be here, she decided it was best not to unpack.
Voices from television floated upstairs. With all chores completed, she went downstairs to see what Jake was up to.
She stepped into the living room and found him sleep on the sofa. His face looked relaxed for the first time in many days, and she itched to touch him but held back. They had to stay alert, even if they were hidden away in a small town on the ocean.
Susan debated waking him to suggest he climb into bed, but given he hadn't slept in who knows how long, she let him be. So much for them having a meaningful conversation before she went to bed. She mentally shrugged. It was close to bedtime anyway, so she tiptoed upstairs. Susan sat on top of the comforter, leaned against the padded headboard and clicked on the TV, her mind not ready to rest.
She watched the weather channel for a few minutes where more snow was predicted for tomorrow. Wonderful. Just what they didn't need. Of course, if they became snowed in, no one would be out looking for them.
Next, she flipped to the local Maryland news. Instantly, her body shot to alert. “There has to be a mistake,” she mumbled.
The screen showed a photo of her brother in his wheelchair, bound and tied. Every muscle tensed. She upped the volume.
“Craig?” Her throat clogged and her pulse raced.
25
Palms sweating, Susan flipped through the channels, trying to find more information about her brother's kidnapping. How was this possible? Dominick Francisco was dead. Wasn't he the one behind all the murders?
All of the channels showed the same image but with little information. Shit.
Susan jumped off the bed and paced. She stabbed a hand through her spiked hair, forgetting for a moment there was little to
play with.
Mom. My God, she'd be beside herself. First her mother was told her daughter was dead and now her son had been kidnapped. With no one to calm her, there was not telling what kinds of pills her mother would ingest.
Susan pulled back the curtains to check the weather outside—snowy, dark, and windy. Think. It was a little after nine, and Arlington was only ninety miles away. If the storm took a turn for the worse, it might take her two to three hours to reach her mother, but she would arrive before her mom went to bed. Susan had to see her and tell her everything would be okay.
Jake. Dammit. He'd never let her waltz out of the house and drive by herself, and he sure as hell wouldn't come with her. It didn't matter the person who was after her no longer was alive. He'd argue someone was trying to get her attention.
Her gaze shot around the room. Climbing out of the window wouldn't work. She was on the second floor, and Jake had the keys to the car.
A phone sat next to the bed. Dare she hoped it work? Walking softly across the plush carpet so as not to disturb Jake below, she picked up the phone and listened for a dial tone.
She pumped a fist at the sound. Wait a minute. Given the age of the house, the walls were probably not insulated.
In order to lessen the chance he'd overhear her conversation, she turned on the shower full blast and dragged the phone into the bathroom. The cord to the landline barely reached so she sat on the cold floor and dialed her mom's number.
The phone rang and rang. “Pick up, Mom.”
The answering machine came on and she dropped her head against the tiled wall. Her fingers trembled and her throat nearly closed. Susan cleared her throat when the beep sounded.
“Mom. Don't freak. It's Susan. I'm alive. Are you there? Please pick up.”
Seconds went by—and then her mother answered. “Susan?” Her voice cracked. “Is that really you?”
She sounded drunk, tired, and depressed.
“Mom, I'm okay. The FBI lied to you and Craig. I wasn't in the car when it blew up.” She didn't have time for a long discussion. “I can only talk for a minute. What happened to Craig?”
“You heard?”
Isn't that what she just said? “Yes.”