Trust Me: The Lassiter Group, Book 1

by Sydney Somers

  What the hell was she doing? Either she thought he was still clinging to the truck, trying to stop the stars from circling his head, or she wanted to draw him closer.

  Having been blindsided once this evening, he sure as hell wasn’t going to make it easy for her to surprise him. Even unarmed and with the gas can abandoned by the truck, she was still dangerous. He wasn’t about to make underestimating her his second mistake of the evening. Third if he counted not getting that shop door locked the second he recognized her.

  Circling a massive pine tree, he approached from the opposite direction. Each time the scraping sound stopped, he did too, edging forward only when the noise masked his approach.

  A few minutes later, he reached a small clearing less than twenty feet across. A small blur zipped along the ground. A fat raccoon paused, eyes glittering like torches in the dark before the animal growled and darted under a bush.

  Great, he’d been stalking a raccoon. Definitely a detail he’d be leaving out in his update if he ever got his cell phone to work.

  The hair on the back of his neck rose to attention.

  Something changed, a shift in the air, and he glanced up to see a blur of pink bearing down on him.

  Chapter Three

  Max ignored her cramping legs, her grip on the tree branch so tight she was half convinced she’d never be able to peel her fingers off the bark.

  Ten feet down, maybe less, Lucas stepped from the cover of trees. He closed in on the same raccoon that had growled at her moments ago from the opposite end of the branch she presently occupied.

  Too bad the furry little bugger didn’t take his friend with him. The second raccoon was smaller, but that didn’t make his claws or teeth any less sharp. And when faced with going head-to-head with the nocturnal creature stalking toward her or the guy circling below, she’d take Lucas.

  She didn’t know what exactly he was after or how much she could possibly be worth that he’d covered her back at Sherri’s shop, but either way he was going home empty-handed.

  The raccoon snarled and lunged forward, and God help her, she jumped.

  Either the raccoon had impeccable timing or fate was on her side, because she hit Lucas dead-on.

  He grunted in surprise and his knees buckled, pitching him forward and taking her with him. She landed on her side, the impact knocking the breath from her lungs. Recovering quickly, she rolled to her feet and kicked the gun Lucas had dropped out of his reach.

  He glared up at her, already to his knees. She pivoted on instinct, snapping her leg around to deliver a kick to the jaw. Lucas blocked her with his forearms, then caught her ankle and shoved her backward.

  Off-balance, she stumbled and hit the ground, but drove the heel of her boot into his stomach before he could pin her. Doubled over, he still managed to snatch a handful of her sweater and jerked her toward him.

  Son of a bitch.

  “You keep this up and one of us is going to get hurt.”

  “Worried?” Snapping her elbow back, she caught his bad shoulder, but damn it he was fast and managed to wrench her arm behind her back.

  “Not really.”

  “Wait,” she breathed, the white-hot pain running from wrist to shoulder turning the last syllable into a wince.

  “Are you done playing games, Max?”

  “Absolutely.” She didn’t give him a chance to wonder if she meant it. She smashed her head back into his, then twisted free.

  Grabbing his shirt, she spun and shoved him at the tree only a couple feet away. He couldn’t get a hand up in time to prevent a full-on collision and skidded across the bark before hitting the ground.

  It should have been enough of a head start. Maybe if she’d managed to keep out of range of the kick that caught her across the thigh as he dropped. She stayed on her feet, but he rolled and tripped her before she got another foot of space between them.

  Her back had barely touched the ground and he was on her, using every inch of his solid frame to trap her beneath him.

  Breathing hard, she glared at up at him, cursing the fucking raccoon that had forced her to jump when she’d been prepared to stay up there all night if she had to. Or until Lucas gave up and moved on, whichever came first.

  “Okay. Now I’m done.”

  His body didn’t give an inch. “Somehow I doubt that.”

  She cracked a smile that probably fell miles short of sincere. “Maybe I’m ready to cooperate.”

  Surprisingly, he didn’t call her on the lie, and since he had blood dripping into his eye from the scrape on his forehead and running down his arm from his flesh wound, she knew there wasn’t a hope in hell he believed her.

  Between breaths, he shoved her onto her stomach, planting his knee in the center of her back.

  “Take it easy, damn it.” She sank her teeth into her bottom lip when he yanked both arms back and cold metal encircled her wrists with a deafening click.

  Wasn’t he a regular Boy Scout coming all prepared? Handcuffs would certainly slow her down.

  The pain in her arms had subsided by the time he flipped her back over. Lifting her head off the ground, she watched him move around the clearing. Probably looking for her gun. Maybe she’d get lucky and he wouldn’t find it, though he probably still had his own on him somewhere.

  The audible click of a magazine being checked and reinserted squashed that hope. Hell, something had to start going her way soon.

  Cursing the tender muscles she already knew wouldn’t be very cooperative come morning, she rolled to a sitting position just as Lucas stalked toward her.

  “What the hell were you thinking?”

  The narrowed eyes and thin line that barely passed for a mouth indicated he wasn’t actually looking for a response, but that seldom stopped her. She could have retired at the age of eighteen if she’d earned a dollar for every time her father or three older brothers had given her the same look.

  Strangely enough, reminding herself of that helped to slow the adrenaline that was still pumping through her veins.

  “Which time?”

  He gave her a blank look.

  “Are you referring to me hitting you over the head? Nice goose egg by the way. Or jumping you?”

  His whole body tensed, but Max didn’t think for a second she’d gone too far. He wouldn’t be that easy to crack, but she had a feeling that when Lucas lost his cool—he really lost it.

  All she had to do was hope she wasn’t wearing the cuffs when it happened.

  “You’re a real piece of work.” Lucas jerked her to her feet.

  Max bit the inside of her cheek against the rough grip. He obviously didn’t care he’d nearly pulled her arms out of their sockets getting the cuffs on.

  Standing so close, she had to raise her chin to meet his gaze. “Now don’t go getting all sweet on me, Lucas. We won’t be together that long.”

  The lethal glitter in his eyes did wonders to improve her mood. She was definitely getting to him and that knowledge made the lingering ache in her arms more tolerable as he shoved her in the direction of the truck and fell into step behind her.

  She supposed she should be thankful he hadn’t killed her yet, but not knowing what he had planned left a bitter taste in her mouth. If he wasn’t working for Blackwater—and if he was, why had Snake and Edward shown up too?—then why bother to track her to Canada?

  Even Blackwater knew she couldn’t risk returning to New York and have any hope of beating the murder charge. He’d made damn sure of that, him and the supposed eye-witnesses he’d paid off.

  Max started to turn around.

  “Not one word or I’ll shoot you.”

  She snorted, but kept walking. “You’re not going to kill me.”

  “Who said anything about killing you?” Though his granite-edged voice warned her he was thinking about it.

  They reached the truck, the dark stretch of road just as deserted as before.

  “Face down, Max.” He urged her to her knees, then down onto her stomach
, leaving her on the ground next to the truck while he filled the gas tank.

  When he finished, he settled her in the truck’s passenger side this time and slid behind the wheel.

  He reached across her—

  “What are you doing?”

  —and snagged her seatbelt. “Safety first.”

  Safety first? Jesus, who was this guy? A driving instructor moonlighting as a hit man?

  His brows drew together as he struggled to jam it into the slot, and his eyes met hers. Intensely aware of how close he was, she looked out the window, relieved when he finished buckling her up and slid back to his side of the truck.

  More than a little disturbed by how hot she suddenly was—and who wouldn’t be after what just went down in the woods, right?—she took a perverse amount of pleasure in watching him curse under his breath when it took three times to make the truck’s engine turn over, a task she sensed drained Lucas of any lingering patience.

  She opened her mouth, but a tiny voice warned her not to ask to see a valid driver’s license, considering he was still the one with the gun. Instead, she kept quiet as he popped the gearshift into drive and pulled onto the road.

  Her silence lasted a full five minutes before she tried again to get some information out of Lucas. He continued to ignore her, even when she’d insisted on needing to stop and use a bathroom somewhere, which wasn’t exactly a lie. His only response involved a muttered warning to hold it or end up sitting in it.

  Ten minutes later, Lucas surprised her by turning into a motel parking lot. Long past its prime, the motel’s yellow paint was faded and peeled away in places and the blinking vacancy sign was like something out of a low budget horror film.

  He parked the truck in front of a pair of vending machines, one of which was leaning to the right due to the large dent in its side where someone had probably backed their car into it.

  Lucas shut off the truck, pocketed the keys and faced her. He’d barely opened his mouth to say something and already she knew she wasn’t going to like it.

  “Take off your shirt.”

  Really, really not like it. Max scoffed. “You first.”

  Holding her gaze, he reached behind his neck and tugged his shirt over his head, then down his arms, careful of his shoulder. “Now are you going to take it off, or will I?”

  “As much as I’m sure you’d enjoy that—” she jiggled her wrists to remind him she was handcuffed, “—neither of us will be taking it off while I’m still wearing these.”

  When she didn’t immediately lean forward to give him access to the cuffs—which had absolutely nothing to do with wondering if he bench-pressed Volkswagens to get such sculpted abs—he made a move to help her out.

  “Paws off, bud. Exactly when did I give you the impression I got friendly with every perp who made a pass at me?”

  “Trust me, if I was making a pass, you’d know.”

  It would have been so much easier to blow off the remark if his voice didn’t have the same sexy edge he’d used before her evening had gone to hell.

  Lucas blew out a breath. “I just need to borrow your shirt. I can’t exactly go in and rent a room wearing this.” He fingered his torn and bloody shirt.

  “And how is that my problem?” She had no idea what dragging out the conversation would actually accomplish, but talking seemed to be about the only thing she had any control over at the moment.

  “Max,” he warned, coming remarkably close to the same bordering-on-exasperated tone her father and brothers used whenever she said something to piss them off. Nine times out of ten they deserved it, though.

  “You know, I don’t think pink is your color.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I’ll make do.” He reached for her once more. “If you try anything—”

  “Yeah, yeah, you’ll shoot me. I know.” At least that’s what he said earlier. Considering he’d taken the time to belt her in, he either had no intention of killing her, or he needed her alive.

  Reminding herself that a night at a run-down motel was better than getting any closer to the border, she leaned forward so Lucas could unlock the cuffs and free one hand. Assuming that he wouldn’t care if her wrists were sore, she didn’t waste time rubbing them before yanking her sweater over her head in one fluid motion.

  If she’d been banking on Lucas being distracted by the sight of a little skin, she would have been sorely disappointed. His eyes never left hers.

  At least there was no question about him being a professional. Only the mission-focused type wouldn’t sneak a peek, which made her feel less optimistic about her odds of ditching him in the very near future. She would have felt much better if he’d shown a little interest in her navy push-up bra.

  Sherri had insisted she splurge on something when they’d gone shopping last week. New lingerie was something every woman needed, even murder suspects, apparently.

  “Are you gay?”

  Lucas frowned. “What?”

  She cocked her head as though sizing him up. “Are you gay? Just wondering if that’s why you really want my sweater.”

  “I’m not gay.” He sounded both amused and a little confused.

  She shrugged and handed him the sweater. “Whatever.”

  “I’m not gay,” he insisted.

  Max hid her smile by turning her face to the window. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m completely comfortable around gay men. My cousin is gay. He and his partner got married last year. Cute couple. He did have a hard time coming out of the closet though.”

  Without warning, Lucas jerked her toward him, his palms warming her skin as though he were branding her with his touch. Hot, green eyes burned into hers, daring her to pull away, daring her not to. Seconds ticked by until her lungs ached to drag in the breath trapped between her throat and her chest.

  Thirty seconds ago this was the exact response she would have taken advantage of, but with his hands on her, his thumb sweeping across her skin, she couldn’t stop thinking about how long it had been since any man had touched her, caressed her.

  And the lazy brush of his thumb—god, she never had to work so hard to suppress a shiver in her life—was definitely a caress.

  Except it was all wrong. The time, the place, the guy. That still didn’t stop the heat that simmered in her stomach when Lucas’s gaze dropped to her mouth and then lower, to her breasts. Like the half-starved traitors they were, her nipples hardened at the hunger that flashed across his face.

  Slowly, he raised his head. “I am not gay.” Deep and loaded with enough delicious intent to worry her, his voice managed to drag her attention from his lips to his eyes.

  “Should I put together a press release?”

  His expression darkened and her heart kicked against her ribs—in preparation of going head-to-head with him or kissing him?

  So caught up in her growing awareness of Lucas and the fact that she’d succeeded in rattling him, she failed to notice the handcuff until he’d shackled her to the steering wheel.

  Sneaky son of a bitch.

  With a sound of disgust, she tested the give of the cuffs, more than a little annoyed with herself, then inched over as much as she could.

  Lips pressed in a pained line, Lucas tugged on her sweater. The fuzzy pink fabric stretched taut across his chest and fell just past his elbows.

  “I was wrong,” Max corrected. “Pink is so your color, girlfriend.”

  Lucas scowled at her, then grabbed a napkin from the console under the radio. Next he grabbed the half empty bottle of water on the floor by her feet and cleaned the dried blood off his face.

  “I’ll be right back, and seeing as how I’ll be able to see every move you make through that window, I suggest you be a good girl."

  Max resisted the urge to kick him in the ass when he climbed out. Better that than the thoughts she’d been entertaining when he’d put his hands on her. He checked the safety on her gun and tucked it into the side pocket of his cargo pants, leaving his own weapon at the small of his b
ack.

  After one last look over his shoulder, he walked toward the motel’s office.

  Max waited until he was halfway to the door then used her foot to feel around on the floor for her bag. Not there. Damn.

  Under the seat maybe? Not wanting to bend down, she used to foot to tug it out, then pulled it into her lap. She glanced up, relieved to see Lucas still preoccupied with the desk clerk.

  Digging through the bag with one hand slowed her down, and when she couldn’t find anything to pick the cuff with, she settled on something else, forced to take her eyes off Lucas long enough to look in her bag. God, how did she end up with so much crap anyway? Like she had time to dig through old receipts, makeup and wet nap packages from drive thru’s.

  She jiggled the oversized bag farther up on her knees so she could use her cuffed hand to hold it open. Her fingertips just grazed the can of pepper spray when the door swung open.

  What the hell was she up to now?

  Lucas had just turned from the desk, key in hand, when he noticed Max duck her head.

  Behind him, the desk clerk went back to watching the football game he’d been engrossed in when Lucas walked in, cursing under his breath when he noticed the score.

  Wearing the pink sweater went against his preference for avoiding attention, but thankfully the clerk was so distracted by the Patriots’ third down while getting Lucas registered, he’d barely glanced away from the television.

  Considering just how ridiculous he must look in the sweater, not to mention the scrape on his face, it said a lot more about the clerk than it did about how many wrong turns the last hour had taken.

  Outside the air had grown cooler and countless stars glittered in the black sky above. If not for the five-foot-six-inch package of trouble looking at something in her lap, he might have enjoyed the star-lit view.

  There was a lot of scary shit that went down in the world and the only way to keep your head on straight when wading hip deep in it was to find an anchor. A lot of the guys he knew used family, friends or a favorite place they couldn’t wait to get back to. For those who couldn’t envision a life outside of the military, it was getting to the next assignment.