by V. R. Marks
"You'll take the deal?" he prompted when she didn't say anything more.
"I'm thinking."
Rick knew when he was being played. Why couldn't he sort this woman out? "You're thinking about how to ditch me." He surged to his feet, irritated beyond all reason.
"I really can't stay in town. With or without you."
"Why?"
She swiped at the single tear rolling down her cheek. "It's private. I have to leave. As soon as possible. Just give me my purse and tell Allie I'll call her."
"No."
"You don't understand. It's better this way."
Rick's phone let loose a riff from 'Bad to the Bone' and he swore under his breath. Eva had the worst gift for interrupting, but his gut told him he couldn't take the chance of ignoring the call.
Answering, he prowled a path back and forth in front of Nicole as he listened to Eva's rushed report. He wanted to be clear he'd give her no chance to escape.
Nothing Eva said made him feel any better about the current situation. According to Eva's digging, Nicole's background was too clean and orderly. In his experience, that only happened in rare cases of excellent identity theft or official government protection. Which camp did Nicole fall into?
He wanted to ask more questions, but that would definitely scare her off. As much as he wanted to study the full report, without a computer, it wasn't going to happen.
"We'll have a rental car by morning."
Eva didn't argue, just asked his destination. "After the errand I came for, I want to snoop around the fire scene, see if I can get my hands on a preliminary report."
He ignored the doubting signals from both the woman on the phone and the woman in the room. "Keep me posted," he said to Eva, knowing she would interpret that to mean he wanted a warning about further developments.
He disconnected, tapping the phone against his open palm. "Well, what's your decision?"
"Can we call a truce for tonight?"
He rolled his eyes and muttered a prayer for patience. To his surprise, she laughed.
"My mother used to do the same," she admitted.
Used to. He grinned trying to put her at ease. "So you've been challenging the limits of patience from an early age?"
"We all have our skills."
And he had the distinct feeling she needed his, whether she'd admit it or not. He dipped his chin at the camera. "Speaking of your skills, can we see if there's anything on there that would make you a target?"
"It's doubtful. I didn't even use it when I went in to see Oscar."
"Meaning?"
"If the guy you say cut the ladder thought I'd caught something incriminating, he'd be wrong."
"But he wouldn't know that, would he?"
She conceded the point, handing him the camera. "There's more on an SD card in my purse."
"Let's save that one for tomorrow."
She shot him a fake pout that made him laugh again. "Even if I promise not to run?"
"Especially if you promise not to run." He said it with a smile, as he started reviewing the pictures saved on her camera. "How old are these?"
"Just the last week or so. You can turn on the date feature."
Rick found the setting and made the change. "You take pictures every day?"
"It relaxes me."
He could understand that. Everyone needed a way to let off steam. There were worse habits. "Why don't you order a pizza," he suggested handing her his phone. "There's a list of places who deliver in the other room."
She sighed. "Veggie okay?"
"You're a vegetarian?"
"No just too queasy for anything heavier."
Rick agreed absently, absorbed with the images she'd captured as he trailed her into the other room. "What do you do with your photos?"
"Not much." She held up a finger, making him wait while she placed the order. When she was done, she continued. "Usually they're just for me, so I edit them sometimes, play with effects. If it's something for work, then I clean them up and send them up the line."
"Who?"
"Public relations usually. My department doesn't often need candids, but I go with Allie to different community events and document for the various publications and articles she puts together."
"Where is this?" He turned the camera for her to look.
"It's a fountain in the park. Two days ago."
"Where's the park? And who is that in the background?"
"The park is between several office buildings. Sort of behind our building."
He leaned over her shoulder while she adjusted something and magnified the part of the image with the people. "Cool."
"This thing is all kinds of fun."
"Seems more serious than a hobby for you."
They were both looking at the camera, but he heard her breath hitch. It was rude to push, but this wasn't a blind date, it was a crisis and he needed a better understanding. Particularly of her.
"I'm in media packaging," she said, her voice rock steady. "Visuals go with the territory."
"I just meant –"
"I'm not stupid, Rick. I know you don't trust me, but the less you know about me specifically the better off you'll be." She gave a small gasp. "That's Mr. Roberts. I was focused on the light and water. I didn't even realize… is he…"
Her voice trailed off and Rick took the camera back, moving the little magnifying glass over the next picture in the series. Sure enough, Roberts appeared to be chatting with a man from a far lower income bracket. As in the unemployed and homeless no-income bracket.
"I'll be damned."
"What?"
"It's just a hunch for now. I'll be able to confirm it and fill you in tomorrow most likely." This might be the development they needed in Allie's case. "That's Roberts. If he realized you caught him doing something he didn't want documented, it might explain a few things."
"He's not an arsonist."
Rick cocked a brow, wondering how she could be so sure. "They don't usually go around wearing name tags." Roberts struck him as a man who hired other people to do anything that might possibly turn messy.
Her lips parted as if she wanted to argue, but the pizza arrived, interrupting them.
"We should eat and get some rest," he said when they were at the table, a cold bottle of soda and thick slice of veggie pizza in front of each of them. "I have an appointment first thing."
"You seriously just expect me to tag along with you? I have my own schedule."
"Your schedule wouldn't happen to include going into work like a normal person?"
"No. When the news reports this, I'm sure my boss will understand if I'm not there."
Rick ate in silence for a few minutes. "You set the fire didn't you?" He regretted his timing when she choked and sputtered soda all over her plate.
"What is wrong with you?" She glared at him with an intensity he admired.
Ah, finally, one question answered. When she was lying or evading, the eye contact was sketchy and she rubbed her left thigh. He'd wanted to catch her off guard, with something he definitely knew the answer to. "It's a logical train of thought," he said, as if they were chatting about nothing more important than the weather. "You set the fire, so you knew it was safe to go in for the neighbor's iguana. And it seems like you've been trying to leave a trail for someone – arson investigators maybe – to follow."
"It was hardly safe in Mrs. Beaumont's apartment."
"Or out of it. The ladder," he added when she gave him a look.
"Fire and gangs are unpredictable things."
He let that go as sorrow clouded her eyes. He knew that look of regret, that lingering sadness over wrongs that couldn't be righted. He'd seen it in the mirror many a morning.
Inexplicably, Rick wanted to reassure her, but without knowing the problem, any words that came to mind felt trite. Climbing into a burning building to rescue a neighbor's pet wasn't the act of a selfish criminal. But honest, innocent people didn't just up and run when bad things happened.<
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He'd done enough surveillance in various capacities around the world to recognize that decent people were mostly the same. The cultures, clothing, and phrases changed, but the inherent patterns were there underneath.
Nicole was a good person with seriously troubling baggage.
"Whatever it is, I want to help." He hoped he hadn't said it aloud, but her startled expression proved otherwise. The words hovered over the pizza box and he couldn't take them back if he wanted to. He didn't want to. "Whatever it is."
"What if it's avoiding an arson rap? Might be my third strike."
He laughed until he couldn't breathe. Damn if he didn't like this woman. "Even then. But I know better."
She pulled another slice of pizza from the box, sliding it onto his plate. "I appreciate the offer, but this is something I need to do alone."
"That's a hard road, Nicole."
She slid him a long look. "Says a man who's been down it?"
He nodded, hoping she wouldn't push for details he wasn't ready to share. "Even the ugly days are better with a friend riding shotgun. Take that deal."
"If I don't?"
"You'll regret it." As would he, because he'd only follow her anyway.
"A threat isn't the best way to win me over."
"It was a promise." He winked to soften the statement. "What would win you over? I saved your life or at least a bad ankle sprain at the fire, covered your exit from the airport. Saved you from death by countertop during the whole 'red stuff' issue." He leaned back in his chair and spread his hands wide. "What else can I do?"
She shook her head, but he saw the twitch of her lips as she fought a smile. "Are you always like this?"
"Never." At least he hadn't been this way with anyone since his wife died. Around the office, people probably thought he was mute since he usually only spoke with Rick or Eva directly.
"Stick with me through tomorrow and I'll help you go wherever you need to go." He could tell she was tempted. "I can't tell Allie you're okay if I don't know you're okay."
"That's a low blow," she grumbled, blotting her lips with the napkin. "Fine. We'll do it your way, as long as we're clear I am totally against this."
"Consider it clear." He reached to clean up, but she stopped him, her long fingers light and soft as rain on his arm.
"I'll clean up while you make the bed." She tipped her head to the sofa.
"Sure." He flipped on the television while they worked on separate tasks. When Nicole's name carried out into the room, he swore.
"How did they latch onto you so fast?"
"Turn it up."
She joined him and they stood there gawking at the report. Her hand flew to her mouth as the image from her work ID badge popped up on the screen.
"They didn't waste any time," Rick groused.
"Shh."
The reporter didn't accuse her outright, but the implication was there. "While none of the residents were seriously injured, a Ms. Nicole Livingston is missing. Firefighters and arson investigators will do a walk through as soon as the fire is out and the site is safe to determine a cause of the blaze."
Nicole's image stayed on the corner of the screen as terrible pictures from the scene played out in an incriminating visual testimony.
"Is there anything viewers can do?" the anchor asked.
"At this time, authorities are asking people to call the hotline. I believe the number is on your screen now, with any information about Livingston's whereabouts."
Rick turned off the television. "That changes things."
Chapter 4
Nicole couldn't breathe. Worse, she wasn't sure she wanted to. They knew she was making a run for it and they intended to stop her. How soon until the cabbie or the desk clerk called that hotline and turned her in? She might only have minutes left before the suits pounded on the door, irritated with having to move her into yet another life.
What if the man who'd killed her mother and sister had set this fire too? What if he'd done it to flush her out?
"It's over," she moaned, utterly defeated.
Heavy hands landed on her shoulders, gave her a little shake. "Not yet. Stay with me, Nicole."
"No." She shoved at him, desperate to do something right in this god forsaken situation. "You have to go now. Get as far away from me as you can."
"Nicole." He pulled her close, his strong arms banding around her, chasing away the chill of dread. "Whatever it is, remember?"
His words whispered into her ear, seeped into her soul. She wanted to believe, but it wasn't fair. "Not this. I –"
He eased back, holding her at arm's length. "Tell me later. Dress now. We're out of here in two minutes."
She found her jeans and coat on the side of the Jacuzzi tub, a bottle of fabric freshener nearby. The smell was a bracing sort of intense clean, and as she dressed she let out a small, hysterical laugh at the idea that it might be enough to distract scent dogs.
"Ready?"
"Almost." She started to pull her hair back.
"Leave it down. As different as possible from your ID," he explained.
She tucked the elastic band into her pocket, staring as he strapped a revolver into an ankle holster.
"Do you know anything about guns?"
Nothing good, she thought, shaking her head.
"I have two, but I'll keep them both if you aren't prepared."
"Keep them." How had she missed that he was armed? They'd been joined at the hip during that jaunt through the store and she hadn't had a clue.
He motioned her forward, interrupting her reverie. Her purse, camera and a plastic shopping bag were on the bed. "You keep track of that," he said, pointing. I'll handle the rest."
"Right." She couldn't seem to find the words to create full sentences. At this point, silence might be the best option anyway.
He hefted his backpack into place, she tucked her camera into her purse and followed suit.
He paused at the door, his eye to the peephole. "Stay close and stay quiet."
She nodded. It was clear he was committed to this plan of action. Maybe he was just an adrenaline junkie riding from one high to the next.
He took her hand in his. His grip gentle, steadying. Or maybe he was as real as heroes get. The unwelcome thought emphasized the panic undermining all her senses – particularly her common sense.
He opened the door, with the chain on. She'd thought it was a nervous mistake until he popped open her compact and used the mirror to check the hallway.
She wondered what else he'd managed to do when she wasn't looking. If he'd done a thorough search of her purse and found the credit card with another woman's name on it, she didn't think he'd still be helping her.
Whatever it is. The words were as clear as if he'd spoken them again.
He wasn't the first man to make her a threatening sort of promise, just the only one who made it without any obvious strings attached. Like her death, or the death of another identity.
Pushing the door closed, he returned her compact, and then slid back the chain.
After a quick, reassuring squeeze of her hand, he opened the door once more. It was a relief to be on the move, with no time to think of any details other than coaching herself to keep up with his ground-eating stride.
He led her down the hall, away from the elevators, and into the stairwell. Her boots rang out against the cement stairs and she cringed as she immediately adjusted to her tiptoes. How did he move so quietly?
They made it to ground level without any attention and he ushered her out into the cold night.
Pulling her close, into the shelter of his arm, he murmured, "They expect you to be traveling alone. Put your arm around me."
She did, noticing the bump of the pistol grip at the small of his back this time. The only thing standing between her and an all-out panic attack was this man.
"That's our cab." His chin jerked at the bright yellow car waiting at the next motel.
"But the camera inside..."
&nb
sp; "A necessary risk. Just follow my lead."
He slid into the back seat, leaning forward to block as much of the camera angle as possible as he told the cabbie to take them to the airport.
She tried to shrink into the corner, turning her face to the window and hoping she didn't give enough of a view for the facial recognition programs. Her breath stalled in her chest as dark sedans with blue lights flashing on the dash sped toward the motel they'd just left.
It was impossible not to worry about being followed as the cabbie slid in and out of traffic, taking them closer to what felt like a trap. She'd been at the airport once today and had made a point of being seen by cameras there. With the controlled traffic pattern, if the marshals – or worse – found her, would Rick be able to get away?
Beside her, he took her hand once more, lifting it to his lips for a kiss that captured her full attention. "We'll make the flight, I promise."
She nodded, doing what she could to play along. For a woman who'd been someone other than herself for most of her life, she was having a hard time rising to the challenge of this particular acting job.
He kept up a running conversation, smiling encouragement when she managed a reply. If asked, she knew she could never explain what they talked about. His voice rumbled just under the sound of her heart pounding in her ears, blotting out individual words, and she only murmured into the short pauses.
Doubts swamped her. They would never outrun her troubles, not with enemies on both sides of the law.
"Hang in there," Rick said.
Her hand was pleasantly trapped between his hand and hard thigh. She soaked up the warmth of his touch and focused on the security he offered. It would be nice to know why he was blindly helping her, but the cab wasn't the time or place for those questions. By her count, he'd surpassed his job description of 'checking on her' long ago.
As they pulled into the airport, Rick directed the driver toward the airline with the most activity. He paid the fare as she stepped out, pretending to search her purse in order to keep her head down. It was going to be impossible to avoid all the security cameras, but she realized she trusted Rick to have a plan.
He gave her a huge smile as the cab pulled away and laced their fingers together. "Almost there," he said, with a reassuring smile.