by V. R. Marks
He listened, wondering if he could go pull a fingerprint from the car while she slept, but he heard the pew creak as she changed position again. Not worth the risk.
Rick slowed his own breath to a meditative rate and silently vowed that by this time tomorrow their accommodations would be much different.
* * *
The soft glow of the sconces over the altar made it hard to tell for sure, but as she came awake, Nicole thought dawn had to be close. The pew made for a hard bed, but there was something wonderfully soothing about safety.
She actually felt refreshed, more than a little shocking all things considered. Her contentment evaporated at the sound of a distressed moan.
"Rick?" Had she actually slept through an attack or was it a problem that had woken her? She whispered his name again, too afraid to shout, but the only reply was another moan.
The sound came from the direction of the front door, where Rick said he'd be keeping watch. Maybe he was ill.
Paranoid, she quietly rolled off the pew to her hands and knees. On sweaty palms, she crawled to Rick's position. Nothing seemed out of place, though in the poor light by the door, it was hard to tell.
"Rick?" She crept closer, halting when he twitched, twisted, and groaned. Had to be a nightmare. Poor guy. She'd bet the last of her stashed money it was related to why he knew this place so well.
If she'd told him the truth he might have opted for a solution that didn't torture him. Guilt heavy on her shoulders, she went back to the pew for the blanket and pillow.
Refusing to overanalyze her motives, she curled up beside him – the side without the gun – and covered them both with the blanket. Gently, cautiously, she laid one hand over his heart, praying it wouldn't make things worse.
He went still so quickly she thought he must be awake, but when she peeked up at his face, his eyes were closed.
Taking it as a good sign, she let herself sink into the warm, woodsy scent that was particular to this man. It was a detail she shouldn't know or even be interested in. She was supposed to be looking for the right moment to break away from him and return to her own agenda. Without the car keys she couldn't get far anyway, she rationalized, and she knew any attempt to go through his pockets would fail.
He remained calm, resting quietly until an alarm sounded. The soft chime would never be enough to rouse her from a solid sleep, but it brought Rick to an awake and alert state immediately. He sat up, scrubbed at the stubble shadowing his chin, and looked down at her. "What's wrong?"
She didn't have time to ease away to a respectable distance or come up with a plausible reason for being so close to him. "Sorry. I had a nightmare," she improvised.
"I had the gun right here."
"I saw it. I was careful."
Rick rolled to his feet, tucking the pistol at his back in one fluid motion. "Don't do that. Don't take that risk again, okay?"
She nodded, if only to move on to a different topic. He looked scared, his eyes wide and his face pale. "But nothing bad happened. We're all right."
He glanced around. "Yeah." He pushed a hand through his short hair, making it stand on end. She wanted to smooth his hair as well as his frayed nerves, but she felt like she was walking on cracking ice already. "Thank you for a decent night's sleep. What time is your appointment?" She busied herself with folding the blanket, giving him a moment to regain his composure.
"You're welcome. Here," he reached for the blanket and pillow, "I'll put them back."
She looked toward the altar and found a prayer whispering through her mind. A prayer for Rick. Whatever haunted him, a poor choice of words in a cemetery, she prayed he'd be free of it. She might have only known him for a few hours, but it was obvious to her he was one of the good guys no matter how bossy or interfering.
"Ready? There's a truck stop close by and the owner can help us out."
"Do you mind?" She lifted her camera. "Please? I'll understand if you say no."
His head tipped to the side, he studied her for a long moment. She had no idea what he saw, but he shrugged a shoulder. "Go ahead. I'll be in the car."
When she joined him a few minutes later, the car was warm and the windshield clear, but frost still coated the side windows.
"Better than a dark tint for as long as it holds."
She agreed, peering up at the heavy gray clouds. "Looks like snow."
"Does that mean you'd like to go south when I'm done at the bank?"
"This place is gorgeous," she said, pointedly ignoring him. The manicured lawns glowed with the heavy frost in the early morning light. It felt so peaceful, so tranquil here. Again she wondered why Rick visited frequently enough to rate his own blanket and pillow if the place only made him hurt and gave him nightmares. She wondered if he knew how restless he'd been.
"You'll have to give me directions at some point," he said, breaking the silence.
"I know." She squirmed in her seat, wondering how much further until they reached the truck stop he considered safe.
"Not much longer," he said, pointing to a massive sign advertising low fuel prices and excellent food. "I know the owner and called ahead so he's waiting. He'll help us out, no questions asked, and erase any video if it becomes an issue."
She trembled, a reaction that had nothing to do with the cold and they both knew it.
"After the bank, you need to tell me who you're running from."
She tugged her upper lip. It would be so easy to spill everything. And what a relief it would be to tell someone her side of the story. She got the feeling Rick wouldn't judge. He might even be on her side.
Until he realized knowing her whole story could ruin his life or even get him killed.
"Here we go," he said, driving around a gleaming service station and parking in a reserved spot near the back door. "Out of the car, straight up the stairs, make yourself at home."
"You're not coming in?"
"I'm going to top off the tank first. Go on." His expression was mild, but she knew there was no point in arguing and honestly, she needed a bathroom in the worst way.
Chapter 6
Rick watched until she was safely in the apartment before he sent a text to his buddy inside. In less than thirty seconds one of Bart's employees came outside and sat on the steps to keep watch.
He felt like he was making progress with Nicole, but he didn't feel like pushing his luck.
Once the gas tank was full, he parked again at the reserved spot and then went in the store to see his old buddy.
Karl Bartholomew was a bear of a man who'd been both mentor and friend on many an operation until a rough landing on a routine Airborne training exercise ended his military career. He'd packed it in and bought this place, turning it into one of the busiest hubs on Interstate 95.
"You look rough, man," Bart said with a one armed hug. "Got what you need?" He held out a mug of coffee, Bart's personal blend: hot and strong.
"Getting there. Thanks for the assist."
"Anytime." Bart rested his beefy forearms on the counter. "How's Eva?"
"The same."
Bart's notoriously big laughter boomed through the space. "Thanks for the warning. Stock up on anything and everything and I'll invoice the office."
Rick dared another sip of the coffee. It burned away the cobwebs of a restless night. "If your guy is good out there, I'll just send a quick report and grab a shower down here."
"My place is nicer."
"I know."
Bart held up his hands in surrender. "It's your business."
Rick refused to voice any of his concerns. He didn't even know what they were. Job first, feelings second. The theory had carried him safely through many dangerous missions.
"You get any federal types through here?"
Bart narrowed his gaze. "DEA mostly. I'm on a thoroughfare, y'know. That a problem for you?"
"No." Rick wanted to rub at the tension behind his eyes, but kept his hands quiet on the mug. "Marshals maybe."
"Shit," B
art hissed. "You sure?"
Rick gave a one shoulder shrug. It didn't matter what you thought of the people involved, if you stuck with the facts you got done with a job faster and with more accuracy. He wished like hell Nicole would give him the facts. "Any new reports on her?"
"Not yet."
Well that was something. He pulled out his iPad. "Need to send these details up the line."
"Paperwork will kill us all," Bart said, refilling the coffee mug. "Except Eva."
Rick sent an email to his boss about the case he'd been sent here to support. His investigation on that front was all but done since he expected to find just what they were looking for at the bank this morning. He got on a roll theorizing the current case and found himself postulating about Nicole's situation. Damn, but he was tired. He deleted it and simplified the message.
"You have a problem. Identification is assumed, based on location of the body. Extensive damage to face and hands means official ID is pending. Will have lobby security report by mid-morning.
Busy night. The friend is safe after fire in building. Interview pending."
He sent the message and checked the time. He wanted Nicole to have space enough to clean up and relax, but if he stayed away too long, she'd probably worry. Or, more likely, she'd try to escape with one of the many truckers out there getting an early start. Well, that was why he'd asked for the kid to sit on the steps and keep watch.
His only encouragement that she might plan to stick with him awhile longer was that she hadn't taken a picture of him yet. Her camera seemed to be her visual journal, a way to affirm her life experiences. It also gave her a pretty good shield as well as better access more than half the time.
And none of that mattered if they didn't keep moving away from whatever had her so scared.
Tipping back the last of his coffee, he left the mug on the counter. He headed for the showers, grabbing some clean clothes along the way. Two minutes later he was back in the store, pulling a few items for Nicole.
"Want me to send up some food?"
Rick accepted Bart's offer with a nod and a wave. Better to keep her out of sight. On that thought, he took a quick turn through the two racks of fishing gear. Gotta love Bart for keeping his income options open. The store was indeed on a thoroughfare.
* * *
Nicole peeked out the window again. The car was there, but so was that kid on the steps. How long was his break anyway?
She'd taken a shower, pleased to see nothing was bleeding, though the gauze had fallen off the bite on her collar bone. The butterfly strips were doing their job, so she managed to take care of herself without 'death by countertop' as Rick had put it the other day.
Not the other day. Just hours ago.
She felt weary enough to have been on the run for weeks already. It wasn't the rough night or even the clothes she was getting sick of putting back on. It was the emotional energy drain from the constant fear that her escape hatch would slam shut before she could squeeze through.
Surely even rumpled, she could convince one of the truckers to take her to her next emergency way-point. Just as she was readying her camera, determined to talk her way past the kid on the steps, she saw Rick. In her head, she heard the slam of a door even as he walked into the apartment. Her chance was gone.
"Looks like I'm right on time," he said, with a nod for the camera in her hand.
She tucked it away, feeling caught. Trapped. "You told that kid to sit there."
"I did." He dumped the things in his arms onto a chair. "North or south?"
"None of your business."
"Yet."
She rolled her eyes.
"If you go now, you'll miss the best breakfast of your life."
She fumed in silence, wondering when she'd get another chance to get away. "Whatever."
"Were you ever in theater as a kid?"
"Not really." Her life was one big acting job. Spending more of her time playing pretend didn't hold much appeal. "Why?"
"I thought maybe you'd like to go to the bank meeting as a male photographer."
A knock on the door halted her reply. She jumped, startled, while he simply answered it and thanked the person on the other side.
When he turned, she nearly drooled at the divine scents coming from the covered plates on the tray. "Oh, my. If it's half as good as it smells…"
"It's better." He grinned, making her want to drool for a completely different reason.
She watched him serve, clearly as familiar with the kitchen they were borrowing as if he lived here. But the food, and her rumbling stomach, eclipsed her need for information.
From the first bite of fluffy pancake to the perfectly fried eggs to the crisp bacon, she thought she might prefer to freeze-frame life right here. If only every day could start like this.
"Can you cook like this?"
He shook his head.
"Too bad. I would've stayed with you forever."
"Maybe I'll have Bart teach me."
She paused in the process of savoring another bite of egg. He couldn't be flirting, could he? And if he was he couldn't be serious. The happy little kick in her pulse voted yes, but she didn't trust it. When she'd managed to swallow she glanced around the apartment. "Bart's single?"
Rick's expression sobered. "Don't go there." He pushed his plate away and sipped at his coffee. "On second thought." He stared into the cup as if it held all of life's secrets. "If you can get him to open up, you might be able to uncover the mystery of his superb coffee."
"The man is gifted," she agreed. "But assuming I could get in his kitchen – so to speak – I'm sure I'd feel too loyal to just hand over the secrets."
Rick's hearty laughter shocked her. The sound was richer than chocolate and far more satisfying. She wished for her camera to catch his mood and the pure happiness on his face.
"I can't wait to introduce you."
"How did you meet him?"
The laughter faded, but the warm, open expression remained. "We served together in the Army."
"Mmm-hmm." Expecting more, she waited, and was disappointed when he changed the subject.
"I need to get to the bank to visit with security for Allie's case."
"You're looking for something that will help her, right?"
He nodded. "My only other obligation to her case is you. Making sure you're safe."
"Uh-huh." They'd been over this. As much as she wanted to explore this attraction she felt for him, she didn't want to wreck his world.
"I meant it when I said I'd like to help you. Just give me enough information."
She waved off his offer. "I'll be fine on my own."
"I'd like to believe that."
"But you don't trust me."
"No. I don't trust you –"
The front door burst open and a massive man stormed in. Nicole found herself shielded by Rick, who was suddenly pointing a weapon at the intruder.
"Stand down."
"Bart. What the hell?"
She peeked at the giant over Rick's shoulder. "That's Bart?"
"Yes. Bart, Nicole Livingston."
Bart swore and immediately apologized. "You are always mixed up in the worst sh- crap."
"What's going on?"
"The police scanners just announced a BOLO on your girl there and the morning news anchor says she's now suspected of starting two fires last night."
"That's impossible. We were dodging the feds last night."
"I'm on your side, man. There's more. The second fire took down a known gang house and cocaine is missing. DEA will be crawling into everything around here within the hour."
"He knows I'm out here." Nicole slumped into the chair. "He knows."
Both men turned to her. "Who?"
"I have to get out of here. You have to let me go and stay away. Please." She hated begging. It never helped. Not when her mom and sister were dying. Not when she met with attorneys who refused to bring the case to trial.
Escape was her only option.
"You have to let me do this my way."
Rick dropped into a crouch, his hands resting lightly on her knees. "Tell me."
"I can't." She shook her head, her mouth pulled into one tense, despondent line. "They'll hurt you too."
Bart stepped up behind Rick. "They can try, but I've bet my life – more than once – on this man's skills."
She looked from Bart to Rick; saw the same determination on both stern faces. "Why will the DEA be here within the hour?"
"I'm a thoroughfare," Bart said.
"You deal drugs?"
"No," Bart said with a snarl. "But I have a good eye for who's probably transporting. It's the coffee. Keeps everyone coming back. Being a busy stop twenty-four-seven gives bad guys a sense of anonymity."
"They'd be wrong," Rick said.
"Very wrong." Bart nodded emphatically. "Which is why the DEA hangs out frequently. That and the coffee."
"It's good coffee," she said, relaxing a fraction. "The transporters don't get scared off by the DEA?"
"There's a certain cocky pride in running something right underneath the noses of the law," Bart explained. "They don't usually bust anyone here anyway."
Nicole knew one particular DEA agent wouldn't hesitate to bust her no matter when or where he found her. The gang house had burned and the drugs went missing because his team could pin a convincing motive on her. They'd probably even offer up a believable reason as to why she burned down her apartment building. He was closing in and he wanted her to know it.
"He knows." She dropped her head into her hands.
"Who?"
"You wouldn't believe me even if I could tell you."
"Nicole."
"You just said you didn't trust me."
Rick floundered. "What?"
"Just as he burst in." She flicked a hand at Bart.
Rick sighed. "I was about to say I didn't trust you to stay put."
"Oh."
He really should look somewhere other than her lips if he didn't want to embarrass them both in front of Bart. Her eyes, wide and dark and miserable, weren't any less of a temptation. He wanted to erase the misery, to fix this for her. He wanted to see her dazed with passion, like she'd been in that brief moment at the airport.