Trust Me: The Lassiter Group, Book 1

by Sydney Somers

  She tugged at his shirt, the drenched material sticking to his skin, and he moaned. His eyelids fluttered then stilled once more. Not dead apparently, but she wasn’t counting that as any kind of a bonus.

  Finding only sculpted abs and some blood beneath his shirt, she frowned and turned her attention to his shoulder. Tearing up through the bloodied fabric, she found only a flesh wound in need of a few stitches.

  Had she missed something? Had he caught a bullet in his back, one with no exit wound? She leaned in, and froze. Her gaze snapped to his face.

  As she expected, his eyes were open, assessing. Her attention drifted down to the gun clutched in his hand.

  Her gun.

  Shit.

  Rocking back on her heels, Max met his lethal stare with one of her own.

  “Climb out and move very slowly. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

  Max slowly lowered herself to the pavement, backing out of the way when he jumped effortlessly to the ground. Sneaky bastard.

  “Walk around to the passenger side and get in,” he ordered.

  Since he had her own weapon pointed at her, she complied and bit back the Or what? perched on her edge of her tongue. Barely.

  Something on her face must have betrayed her thoughts because he motioned impatiently for her to slide behind the wheel.

  “You’re driving and don’t get cute with me either.” He climbed in after her.

  “That’s a shame, I do cute pretty well.”

  He ignored her comment and waited for her to turn the ignition. The truck started up sweeter than a kitten’s purr. Naturally.

  Once she’d maneuvered the beast of a vehicle back onto the quiet highway, she watched him from the corner of her eye. The fleeting grimace of pain as he shifted on the seat next to her didn’t escape her notice. Nor the fact his being injured was a definite advantage. Maybe her only one.

  “So how much is he paying you?” she asked.

  He stared straight ahead, giving her the impression he wasn’t interested in talking. Not that she cared. If talking provoked him, it just meant their confrontation would come around sooner rather than later.

  “Whoever he is, it’s obviously not enough.”

  “Right.” Max packed as much skepticism into that one word as she could manage.

  “I only wanted to talk to you.”

  “Really? Because where I’m from people usually strike up conversation with, ‘Hi, how are you?’ Pointing a gun in my face is sort of counterproductive if you want to exchange astrological signs and scary ex stories over beers.”

  “I said talk to you, not hit on you. And spare me the sarcasm, Max. Do us both a favor and keep quiet so I can think.”

  “What? Things not go as planned? Bummer.” Given how smoothly he’d taken the picture from Edward and acted as if he really knew Sherri, it was probably too much to hope that he was new to the professional killer gig.

  Testing to see how jumpy he was, she deliberately stretched and adjusted the rearview mirror. “So what’s your name?”

  Instead of answering her, he set the gun on the dashboard, freeing up both hands to inspect his shoulder. “Even if you try, I’ll still get to it before you,” he stated without looking at her.

  Although not inclined to believe he was that good, it still wasn’t worth the risk. He had managed to lift her gun from beneath her nose. New or not, the guy was very slick.

  Lips compressed, he examined the wound, then murmured something she didn’t catch.

  “Lucas,” he repeated, awkwardly wrapping a ripped piece of his shirt around his arm.

  “Well, Lucas—” Was she actually supposed to believe that was his real name? “—I assume you already know who I am.” She reached for the radio, testing him as much as to check if they’d made the local news yet.

  His hand closed over hers, stopping her.

  She yanked her hand back, surprised at the warmth she felt beneath his touch. Professional killers should not have warm hands.

  Lucas went back to adjusting his makeshift bandage, giving her an opportunity to study him further.

  His dark brown hair tapered neatly to his collar, a few damp strands curling across his forehead. Beneath them, two dark brows were pulled together in concentration. Already she knew he had dark green eyes that betrayed little of what he was thinking. If eyes truly were mirrors to the soul, Lucas might not have one. Considering his profession, it wasn’t surprising.

  Relaxing back into the seat as much as she could, she temporarily gave up on trying to read him. Until Lucas made his intentions clear, nothing could be gained by trying to guess what he had planned, except maybe a migraine. Considering the pressure thumping between her temples, one wasn’t far off.

  Determined to keep a cool head, she stared straight ahead and made no further attempts at conversation. Sooner or later he’d say or do something that would give her an opening, and she didn’t plan on missing it.

  Cursing under his breath, Lucas shoved his cell phone back in his pocket. He hadn’t been able to get a decent signal for the last fifteen minutes and he needed to talk to Tess. Needed to know what other players might be in the area looking for the woman next to him.

  As pissed as Joe Lassiter was going to be with him for going solo on this, he and the rest of the team needed to know he had the only person tied to Cara’s death. Keeping ahold of her until secure travel arrangements back to headquarters in Boston could be made would be the tricky part.

  Resourceful. Max’s commanding officers had used that word a lot in his file on her. Even without him there to cover her—and getting shot in the process—she likely would have ditched Blackwater’s men. She’d been one step ahead of them for the last three months. One step ahead of everyone.

  He eyed the dark hair and painted nails. Resourceful, determined and creative. The goth girl image might have made it harder to fully blend into the small tourist community, but on the surface it was a better disguise than many. If he’d passed her on the street, he might have missed recognizing her.

  He had meant what he said about wanting to talk. He just didn’t mention that he’d planned for that conversation to take place in his rental car. The one still parked a few blocks down from the shop. Once the tourists cleared out for the night and his car remained on the street, it was bound to draw attention.

  Just one more reason he needed to get ahold of Tess. Nothing in the car could be linked to him or the Lassiter Group, even the passport in his bag was under an alias in case Joe had decided to follow up on his whereabouts, but it didn’t hurt to see if Tess could make the rental information disappear.

  He planned on being long gone before the local law officials, in this case the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, went looking for the owner. The fact that he’d rented the car in Maine before he’d crossed the border would slow them down. Still, he’d feel better knowing they’d have little to go on when they got to that point.

  Not that any of that was going to happen unless he started getting some cell phone reception.

  “Turn here.” He motioned with his injured arm, and clenched his jaw at the flair of pain that burned through his shoulder.

  If he’d arrived five minutes earlier, not only might he have gotten the shop door locked before Snake and Edward Blackwater arrived and avoided being shot, he might have had an easier time of getting Max to talk to him.

  After the way she’d nearly left him in her dust back in Riverbend, he wasn’t holding his breath that she’d spill her guts about what went down the night Cara died. And no matter what story he came up with, the odds of her trusting him on even a superficial level fell somewhere between not in this lifetime and when hell freezes over.

  Running short on some of that earlier good luck he’d been enjoying, he indulged in a small victory when she made the turn without objection.

  He didn’t intimidate her at all unless he had a gun pointed at her, and even then he could see her mind working behind those stormy blue eyes. Eyes he kn
ew from the hours he’d spent going over her file, wanting to get a handle on her. Eyes that turned out to be far more striking in person.

  That wasn’t the part that worried him, though. He’d come across plenty of attractive women on assignment, some when he’d still been in the military and running an op, and although he’d entertained a thought or two about a handful of them, it took more than pretty eyes to pull his head out of the game.

  It was that jolt of awareness that slid through him when she’d turned around at the counter and he got his first up close look at her that made him wary. That and the subtle kiss-my-ass attitude of hers that had trouble written all over it. Especially when the attitude belonged to a woman wanted for his partner’s murder.

  Makeover aside, he doubted anyone in her department would have pegged her as a murderer, but some people were damn good at masking their nastier sides. He wasn’t convinced she had killed Cara or he wouldn’t have been so nice about it up until this point, but he wasn’t about to hand over her gun and give her the opportunity to prove him wrong.

  Once he got ahold of Tess, he could plan his next move. He wasn’t looking forward to pointing a gun at Max indefinitely, though, and that was probably the only way to ensure her reluctant cooperation.

  Across the seat, she gave a good show of focusing on the road. Strong, slim fingers clenched the steering wheel, the only indication she was tense, and under his scrutiny, they too relaxed as though she suspected he was sizing her up.

  “How did you find me?” Her velvet-edged voice still carried the unmistakable tone of someone used to getting what she wanted.

  Lucas considered ignoring her then changed his mind, figuring he might as well push a button or two himself. “You made it rather easy.”

  She arched a brow. “If it was so easy, how come it took so long to catch up with me?”

  “I found you when I needed to,” he lied. “You should have done a better job of covering your tracks.” Lucas retrieved the gun and settled against the seat’s faded and worn upholstery.

  Max shook her head, her knuckles turning a little white. “I covered my tracks—”

  “Whatever you say.”

  Her shoulders stiffened, but she let it go. “Where are we going?”

  “Don’t worry about it. Just drive.”

  “Is it much farther?”

  He didn’t know if it was Max, his shoulder, or that he still couldn’t reach Tess—or any one else for that matter—that was testing his patience. “I’ll let you know.”

  “I think—”

  “You don’t need to think. You only need to drive.”

  Right near the top of his to-do list was ditching the truck and finding something a little less conspicuous. The lemon-colored rust bucket stuck out like an original Volkswagen Bug parked between two brand new BMWs.

  Finding something else might have to wait until morning, though. The secondary highway they were travelling on wasn’t exactly overflowing with potential vehicles. It wasn’t overflowing with much of anything except trees. At least the truck was getting them where they needed to go for the time being, which was far away from Riverbend.

  As soon as the thought took root in his mind, the truck shuddered and rolled to a dead stop.

  “Out of gas?” Lucas echoed a minute later, certain he couldn’t have understood Max’s faint murmur.

  The barest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

  “What do you mean by out of gas?” He crossed his arms, waiting. What kind of murder suspect on the run didn’t keep their vehicle filled up at all times?

  “Well,” she began. “You see methods of transportation such as my truck here are powered by a fuel that some of us like to call gasoline. And when this—” she tapped on the fuel gauge, “—little arrow gets down on E, which coincidently stands for empty, you need to stop at a place that sells gasoline and fill up the tank.”

  Lucas could only stare at her. “Are you finished?”

  She shrugged. “That depends.”

  He managed to stop himself from asking, On what? knowing the question would encourage her to keep talking. Seeing how quickly his good luck had gone to shit, he could do without inviting that kiss-my-ass attitude he heard in her voice.

  Ignoring the drumming ache in his shoulder, he checked his phone—surprise, no signal—then stared out into the night.

  No headlights cut through the darkness in either direction. Probably a good thing since flagging down a ride was a last resort. He was betting Max’s unpredictable streak ran at least a mile wide. Who knew what she’d pull if they managed to catch a ride.

  “Trying to figure out your next move, huh?” She glanced over at him.

  He wasn’t buying the innocent expression on her face for a second. If he was in her shoes, he’d be focused on using the unexpected development to his benefit. Which left him coming up with a plan and anticipating how she’d try to work it to her advantage.

  Too bad his car was stuck back in Riverbend, though he doubted Max would have found being locked in a trunk with a very big gag over her mouth a more promising situation, even though according to some, she deserved a lot worse.

  A crushing numbness squeezed his chest and grief over Cara’s death overwhelmed him. God, he missed her. When he caught up with the bastard who killed her…

  Half his team was convinced Max did it, but the deeper he dug, the less sense things made. Of course sharing that opinion had pissed off a number of people, including Cara’s brother Caleb.

  But Cara had been convinced her friend Max had a better handle on Blackwater and wanted to team up with her to bring the bastard down. That had been the last thing she’d said to him. A few hours later she was dead.

  From the corner of his eye, he watched Max pick at the driver’s seat. If she was concerned at all over her present situation, she kept it under wraps. If she wasn’t worried about him, she should damn well be concerned that Blackwater’s men had tracked her here.

  They needed to get the truck going or leave it.

  “Why didn’t you say anything about needing gas?”

  Max nibbled on her thumbnail. “I just did as I was told and drove. Besides, the gauge is broken.”

  Lucas leaned over and confirmed the arrow still indicated the tank was full.

  “Out,” he ordered.

  She cocked her head to the side. “What?”

  “Get out of the truck, Max.” He pointed the gun at her chest. “Now.”

  Her answering sigh was quintessential drama queen, but she obeyed and hopped out.

  “Hands on your head.”

  “I suppose you want to frisk me too,” she quipped.

  Lucas ignored her, clamping down on the frustration lodged in his chest. She wasn’t the first person to shoot her mouth off at him, and in his six years in Special Forces and three as part of the Lassiter group, most of those people had been more dangerous than Max. Heads of drug cartels, terrorists, arms dealers, even a who’s who on Interpol’s most wanted list.

  But few who purposely goaded him had a fraction of the success she was having. Which meant he needed to get back in control and focus.

  “Get the gas can out of the back of the truck.”

  “What gas can?” she drawled.

  “The one I saw back there a while ago.”

  “It’s empty.”

  “Get the can,” he growled.

  “Whatever you say. You’re the one with the gun.” She flung a leg over the side and hauled herself up.

  Lucas ignored the way her jeans molded snuggly to her ass. He might have helped her out with a soft push if she were anyone else.

  Max picked up the can. “I told you, it’s empty.” She carried the orange jug to the edge and straddled the side of the truck, glaring at him. “Is that scratch on your arm leaving you a little slow on the uptake or are you always so thick headed?”

  He checked the urge to drag her out of the truck. Barely. “Get. Down.”

  Her eyes narro
wed. “You could say please, you know.”

  “Don’t push it.”

  “Or what?” Max lifted her other leg over the side and jumped down. “No, wait, don’t tell me. It might be so terrifying I’ll pee my pants.”

  “Listen, smart ass—” Lucas stopped at the widening of her eyes as she glanced past his shoulder.

  “They found us,” she whispered.

  Lucas followed her gaze but saw only darkness.

  Too late, he realized the amateurish mistake. Pain ricocheted through his head. Stunned by the unexpected blow, Lucas staggered a few steps, tripping over the very full gas can she’d blindsided him with.

  He fell against the truck, his injured arm taking the brunt of the impact. Pain sliced across his shoulder.

  Fuck.

  He was seriously going to enjoy restraining her.

  It took him a few seconds to see past the blinking colored lights popping behind his eyes, and he raised his head. He caught a glimpse of Max’s pink sweater disappearing into the woods. Shit.

  Lucas stumbled after her, ignoring the way the world still dipped and wobbled. Judging by the pressure pounding at the back of his skull, like someone had slammed his head in a door a few times, he had a concussion to go along with his scratch.

  Stepping into the woods, he paused to listen. Crickets, an owl hooting, something scampering over branches in a nearby tree.

  Silently he slid between the trees, his eyes slower to adjust to the dark than he liked. Probably had something to do with getting nailed by a gas can.

  Resourceful was turning out to be pretty damn accurate.

  Every few steps he stopped and listened before continuing. She couldn’t have gone far and she wasn’t tearing through the underbrush, meaning she had to be close, hiding somewhere in the surrounding shadows. Sooner or later she’d give herself away. She’d want to be on the move.

  Another branch snapped, heightening his senses. Grateful for the clear night and full moon, he scanned the darkness, breath held as he waited…waited…

  A muted crunch came from his left, then another. Watching his steps, he moved toward the sounds inch by inch. Dull scraping, like someone rubbing two sticks together to get a spark, echoed through the trees.