Running Wilde

by Tonya Burrows

  It should scare her.

  It did.

  And it didn’t.

  God, she was so conflicted when it came to this man.

  She rolled over and looked at him. His jaw was shadowed with a heavy layer of stubble, and his dark hair was mussed from her running her hands through it all day. Even now, she wanted to tangle her fingers in it again. He had a bit of curl in his hair, which she liked, and it was so soft, which always made her smile. Vaughn Wilde was not a soft man in any way, and it struck her as funny that his hair was as silky as a puppy’s coat.

  He stirred, cracked one blue eye open, then squinched it closed again and groaned.

  She laughed. “Good morning.”

  “No. It’s not morning yet. It can’t be.”

  “Yes, it is.” She kissed his chin. She remembered he wasn’t a morning person, and even though he’d always wakened before her, he’d never been happy about it. “It’s almost nine. How are you feeling?”

  He opened both eyes and stared up at the ceiling for a second, as if taking an internal inventory. Then he winced. “Moving’s going to be a bitch.”

  “Maybe you should take another hot shower.”

  He slid his hand down her waist to her thigh. Squeezed her ass. “I could be persuaded.”

  “Alone,” she added. “You don’t need sex right now.”

  He stared at her, wide-eyed, like she was crazy. “I always need sex.”

  In his mind, that was probably true, but she could tell he was hurting. Always the tough guy, pretending he was okay when he wasn’t. She sat up and dragged her fingers over the deep purple bruises on his ribs.

  He hissed out a breath.

  She arched a brow and didn’t quite manage to keep the smugness out of her expression. “You either take a hot shower or I take you to a hospital.”

  “All right,” he grumbled. “I’m going.”

  He got up out of bed, slowly, which gave her time to admire his backside. He was thinner than the last time they’d been together. He’d lost some weight but still had a gorgeous body underneath all of the bruises. All long, lean, well-used muscle with an ass that was made for grabbing. A tribal tattoo covered one whole shoulder, and she remembered tracing all of those intricate swirls with her tongue their first time together in Key West. It had driven him wild, and he’d scooped her up off the bed and fucked her hard and fast against the wall until their neighbors in the next room over pounded in annoyance…

  At the bathroom door, Vaughn hesitated and glanced back. “Sage. Will you, uh, be here when I get out?”

  The note of vulnerability in his tone jolted her out of her daydream, and she flinched. Oh God. He might as well have taken a chisel to her heart with that question. It would have hurt less. She swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. She wasn’t planning on going anywhere—for now. But she would. Eventually, she’d have no choice but to run again. Except this time, she’d be leaving her heart behind with him.

  He hesitated for another beat, then walked into the bathroom. He came back a second later with her leggings, now mostly dry, and handed them to her. “There’s a Navy T-shirt in my bag. It’ll be big, but it’s all I have.”

  “Thank you.” She accepted the leggings, but he didn’t let go right away. Their gazes clashed, and he leaned down, pressed his lips to her forehead.

  For some reason, she got the feeling he was saying good-bye. Did he not trust that she’d still be here when he finished showering?

  Ouch, that hurt. Then again, she hadn’t given him a whole lot of reason to trust her, but he’d see when he came back that she was keeping her word this time. She wasn’t going anywhere until she absolutely had no other choice.

  The bathroom door shut behind him, and she climbed out of bed to find the T-shirt he’d mentioned. It was right on top in his bag, and underneath was his cell phone charger. They’d been too busy to bother plugging it in. She pulled out the shirt, then grabbed the charger and found his phone on the dresser. The screen was black. Battery dead. She plugged it into the outlet at the base of the nightstand lamp and watched the screen go through its power-up.

  Of course, now they had a signal.

  “Where were you yesterday?” she demanded of it and set the phone down on top of the motel’s information binder. She dragged on her leggings and then Vaughn’s T-shirt. It was huge on her, like a dress, but since he outweighed her by at least a hundred pounds, that was to be expected. She gathered the hem and tied it in a knot around her waist. Much better.

  She was just turning away to see if she could find anything remotely brush-like in his bag when his phone rang.

  Sage shot a glance toward the bathroom door, her heart surging into her throat. What if it was Marcus calling to tell him about her?

  She snatched up the phone and started to hit the “ignore” button, but then she hit answer instead. If it was Marcus, maybe she could talk him out of spilling her secrets. At least for a little while. “Hello?”

  “Who is this?” a male voice demanded.

  A voice she recognized.

  A voice that had haunted her for years.

  Every cell in her being froze in fear, and she raised a hand to her mouth to cover her cry of surprise. She ended the call and dropped the phone from her numb fingers, backed away from it like it was a ravenous animal crouched to attack.

  Vaughn had lied to her.

  He hadn’t tracked her down to take her back to DC. He’d tracked her down to hand her over to Giuseppe Bellisario.

  He’d lied.

  In the bathroom, the shower shut off.

  Oh God. She’d made a huge mistake trusting him.

  She had to leave. Now.

  …

  She was gone.

  Vaughn stood in the bathroom doorway, a towel wrapped around his hips, and stared at the empty room, the rumpled bed. For a hopeful second, he wondered if she’d gone to the vending machines for something to eat—but, fuck, he knew her better than that. She’d run again. There was no doubt in his mind.

  He’d had a feeling she would, and although he hadn’t wanted to be right, he’d mentally prepared himself for this.

  Because, this time, he was done chasing her.

  She wouldn’t tell him who she was, wouldn’t let him help solve her problems. He didn’t even know her real name. It was like chasing a ghost, and he couldn’t keep doing it or he’d drive himself insane.

  Over on the nightstand, his phone let out a chime indicating an incoming message. Numb, he walked over and picked it up, saw the text from his twin. Instead of returning the text, he decided to call.

  Cam answered halfway through the first ring. “Where the hell are you?”

  Vaughn sank to the bed and stretched out. The scent of Sage and sex folded around him. Like he needed the reminder of how fucking good she’d felt. He sat up again and winced as pain stabbed through his side. “Uh, it’s a small town about two hours from Atlanta.”

  “With Lark?”

  “Sage,” he corrected. “She goes by Sage now. And no. She took off again.”

  Cam exhaled slowly. “Don’t tell me you’re gonna keep chasing her.”

  “No, I’m not. I’m done. You were right. This…obsession I’ve had with finding her is ridiculous. I’m coming home.”

  The declaration got a whole lot of radio silence from his twin. It stretched too long, edged into uncomfortable territory. Just as he was about to open his mouth and say something—anything—to break the silence, Cam finally spoke again.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  Not even close. Every muscle in Vaughn’s body ached, and he was pretty sure a cracked rib accounted for the shooting pain in his side every time he moved. On top of that, there was now a hollow ache in the center of his chest that hadn’t been there before. “Yeah. Uh, I’m good.”

  “You’re lying,” Cam said without a shred of doubt in his voice. “I’ve been uneasy, restless all night. You’re injured, aren’t you?”

  Damn. “Y
ou know, sometimes being a twin sucks.”

  “Tell me about it. Especially when your twin is a suicidal maniac, but you wouldn’t know anything about that because I’m the sane one. What did you do now?”

  Vaughn winced. “I’m not suicidal. I was just…in a car accident last night.”

  The reaction was about like he expected. Cam exploded with a heartfelt, “Jesus Christ, Vaughn!”

  “What’s wrong?” Eva said in the background. “Is he okay?”

  Cam’s voice faded away from the receiver. “He was in an accident. Here, talk to him. I need to check flights to Atlanta.”

  Eva came on the line. “Dammit, Vaughn.” Those two words were her constant refrain when dealing with him, and despite everything, they made him grin.

  “Hey, Eva. Tell your husband I’m okay. Just banged up. He doesn’t need to—”

  “You know he does,” she interrupted. “You’re hurting.”

  “What? You married Cam so you suddenly have his twin radar?”

  “No,” she said gently, which made him realize how snappish he’d gotten, and he mentally kicked himself. She added, “I can hear it in your voice.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Uh-huh.” There was a pause. She lowered her voice: “He barely slept last night, Vaughn. He’s going to make himself sick worrying about you.”

  Guilt tightened his throat. “He doesn’t need to worry about me.”

  “You know he can’t help it. It’s in his nature.”

  “Yeah, he’s always been the better of the two of us. I’m the evil twin, right?”

  Eva laughed. “Hey, I was drunk and mad at you for being a cock-block when I called you that. Besides, it’s not true. You’re the…moody twin.”

  He snorted. “I think I’d rather be evil.”

  “You would.” Another short pause. “Can you go to an ER and get yourself checked out? Please. If not for yourself, then at least do it to make Cam feel better.”

  Direct hit. She knew right where to aim. And hell, he could do with something to take the edge off the pain. “All right. I’ll find the nearest hospital.”

  “Good. Let us know where it is, and Cam will meet you there.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  According to the motel’s night manager, there was a hospital in a small city about a half hour away, and the guy was kind enough to offer Vaughn a lift. He checked himself in at the ER registration and told the surprised lady behind the desk he might have a cracked rib.

  “Aren’t you in pain?” she asked.

  “Yeah, a bit.”

  She looked like she didn’t believe him, but he wasn’t going to waste time explaining his legendary pain tolerance. He’d always had a high threshold—which his parents found out the hard way when he was four and broke his arm falling out of a tree. He’d been afraid of getting in trouble for climbing and didn’t tell them about it until his mother was getting him and Cam ready for their baths that night. The SEALs had only hardened him more. He’d completed grueling missions with everything from concussions to broken bones.

  The lady behind the desk eyed him suspiciously as she handed him a ream of paperwork to fill out. She probably thought he was a drug seeker with phantom complaints, but whatever. He settled into a chair in the waiting area with the clipboard and took his time filling it all out. Since he was up, moving around, and didn’t seem to be in as much pain as he should be, they weren’t going to give him top priority, and he figured he was in for a long wait. Cam would probably even arrive before he saw a doctor.

  Outside, an ambulance screeched to halt in front of the ER, and he glanced out the window. Paramedics hustled to unload a stretcher and—

  Sage.

  A cold hand clamped around Vaughn’s chest. He only caught a glimpse, but he saw a flash of blonde hair and recognized the shirt she was wearing.

  Blood stained everything.

  He bolted to his feet, met the stretcher at the door, and followed it into the emergency room. There were too many people surrounding her, and he couldn’t get close enough. “What happened to her?”

  “Sir.” A police officer stepped in front of him, blocking his path. “Do you know this woman?”

  The monitor hooked to Sage flatlined, and for a moment, Vaughn thought his heart stopped beating, too. He lunged past the cop and was caught by two paramedics as a doctor and several nurses took over in an attempt to save her life right there in the hallway. He watched with a growing sense of horror as the seconds ticked by into long minutes and the monitor continued its flat tone.

  C’mon, Sage. Fight. I know you can fight. You’re a survivor.

  They shocked her three times, continued CPR for nearly twenty minutes. Still no response.

  Eventually the doctor working on her shook his head and stepped back. “She’s gone. I’m calling it. Time of death—”

  “No!” The word ripped from Vaughn’s throat, a wail that was more animal than human, and the doctor looked in his direction, then nodded at the paramedics.

  “Let him go.”

  The hands holding him back eased up, and he staggered forward, his legs suddenly numb. All he saw were two bullet wounds that had ripped holes into her chest and his Navy T-shirt underneath her, shredded by a paramedic’s scissors and soaked with her blood.

  You’re signing my death certificate.

  “Sage.” He gripped her lifeless hand, and his vision blurred as he pushed hair back from her face…

  It wasn’t her.

  The shock of relief left him lightheaded. For several moments, he forgot how to breathe, and he only remembered to do so because he realized he was about to faint. Finally, he got his lungs cooperating again and exhaled hard, stepped back. “It’s not her.” He scrubbed his hands over his face, looked at the doctor, then the cop. “Thank Christ. It’s not her.”

  The cop’s eyes narrowed. The doctor murmured to the nurses, who covered the woman’s body with a sheet. As the stretcher was wheeled away, Vaughn had a moment of panic.

  What if he was wrong? What if that was Sage and he—

  He needed to see her again. Just to make sure.

  He ran after the nurses and tugged the sheet down, stared hard at the dead woman’s face, forcing himself to take note of every detail. This woman was thinner, more angular, with sharp cheekbones and a pointed chin. She had heavy bags under her eyes, and her complexion was mottled with acne scars. Needle tracks bruised the insides of both arms.

  It absolutely wasn’t Sage.

  The doctor set a hand on his shoulder. “Do you know her?”

  “No.” He replaced the sheet over the woman and let a nurse wheel the stretcher into a waiting elevator. “I thought she was…” He hesitated, unsure what to call Sage, then settled on the easiest explanation. “Uh, I thought she was my girlfriend.”

  “Why?” the cop asked.

  “She’s, uh, wearing the clothes I last saw Sage in. That Navy shirt is mine.”

  “But that woman is not your girlfriend? Sage?”

  “No.”

  “When was the last time you saw Sage?”

  “This morning at the motel we’re staying at.”

  “What motel?”

  “I don’t actually know. Something like…Old Pines Inn? It’s a good thirty-minute drive from here.”

  “Uh-huh. And does Sage have a last name?”

  The shock and horror finally faded, and it dawned on Vaughn that he was talking to a cop, the absolute last person Sage would want him speaking with about her. “I was mistaken. I’m rattled.”

  “You don’t look like the type to get rattled,” the cop said.

  He scowled. “I’ve had a hell of a night, Officer…” He glanced at the guy’s nameplate. “Kelly. And I just watched a woman I thought was my girlfriend die in front of me. I’m allowed to be rattled.”

  Kelly was unfazed by the dryness in his tone. “Yes, I suppose so. How about your name?”

  “Vaughn Wilde.” He didn’t see the harm in giving hi
s real name. In fact, it might even help him since the cop was most definitely now eyeing him and Sage for this murder. He certainly had nothing to do with it, and he had an alibi. Sage…well, she may have done a lot of illegal things, but she didn’t have cold-blooded murder in her. He reached for his wallet, found his PI license. “I’m a private investigator from DC.”

  “Uh-huh,” Kelly said again and studied the license without much interest. “What are you doing down here?”

  “Just a vacation. We’re driving back to DC from New Orleans.”

  “How’d you end up in the ER waiting room? You look like you’ve been in a fight.”

  “We were in a car accident yesterday. I swerved to miss a deer, and our car went into a ditch. I came in this morning to get checked out because I think I cracked a rib.” He directed that toward the doctor, who nodded.

  “We’ll get you in for an x-ray,” the doctor said.

  Kelly handed his PI license back. “How did you get here from the motel if your car’s in a ditch?”

  “The night manager drove me. His name is Jeff. Didn’t catch a last name.”

  “So you left your girlfriend behind at this Old Pines Inn?”

  Shit. This wasn’t going well. He needed to get out of here and fast. “I need to go check on her. Seeing that woman, thinking it was her…I need to go.”

  Kelly didn’t try to stop him, but he felt the guy’s eyes burning into his back as he walked away.

  Outside, he stopped and drew a breath of the cool winter air, ignoring the pain in his ribs. Damn. Could this situation get any worse? No, on second thought, he didn’t want to know the answer to that question. He fumbled for his phone to call Reece.

  “Hey,” Reece said after a handful of rings. “What’s going on? Cam said you were in some kind of accident, and he’s on his way to Atlanta—”

  “I need your help,” Vaughn interrupted.

  “Uh, sure. Anything.”

  “I need to find Sage.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me? She got away from you again?”

  “Yeah, and you were right. She’s running from something. She’s in danger, and she’s scared. Hell, I’m scared for her. I just watched a woman who looked like her die of two GSWs to the chest. And this woman? She was wearing Sage’s clothes. I think Sage gave them away to create a decoy.”