“You know who that was.” Zane’s voice was flat and it was definitely not a question.
Iris stared at the back of his head, mainly because that was easier to look at than the flash of brilliant sapphire she kept catching in the rearview mirror.
She really didn’t want to get into it. But he probably wasn’t going to let her sit there in silence, and most especially not after he’d been shot at.
“Yeah,” she said at last, slumping against the back of the seat. “Kind of.”
“Tell me.” It was an order, no mistake.
Iris leaned her head back. The adrenaline that had propelled her, first into the bathroom and almost through the window, then out into the parking lot, was receding, leaving her cold and shaky. She hadn’t been sleeping that well for the past month either—not with being constantly worried about Jamie and whether Shaw would find out where she was—and now it felt like she couldn’t move for exhaustion.
She should have been fighting. She should have been trying to unlock the door and throwing herself from the moving vehicle. Or something.
Except what was the point? Either the douchebag back at the bar would find her or the T-1000 in the front would, and then she’d be dead either way.
You’ve got nothing more to lose.
No, she had one thing. Jamie. But then she’d already lost her, hadn’t she?
Iris closed her eyes. “What do you want to know?”
“You can start by telling me why that bastard was trying to kill you.”
“Perhaps it wasn’t me he was trying to kill. Perhaps he was trying to kill you for being such an asshole.”
A chilly silence greeted her.
Okay, so he had no sense of humor as well as being a giant douchebag. Lucky her.
You’re not going to make any friends by being a dick, Callahan.
Well, geez, she knew that. But really, why make nice? Zane Redmond was either one of those protector guys or the kind who followed the rules to the letter, and whichever he was, one thing was certain. She was screwed.
When men were involved, she always was.
Keeping her eyes closed, she allowed herself to relax a bit. “If you’ve seen my record, then you’ll know who he is.”
There was another silence, this time less chilly.
“I’ve seen it.” The words were crisp and full of disapproval. “So let me guess, the cartel you were running drugs for doesn’t want you to testify against them?”
It was almost a relief to have someone else know. To not have to explain. Not that she generally told everyone her business. In fact, it was usually the opposite; she didn’t tell anyone about anything if she could help it.
She said nothing, letting him work it out for himself, and he must have because then he said, “That’s why you skipped bail.” Again, not a question.
“One hundred points to the douchebag in the front of the truck,” she murmured.
The hum of the engine was vaguely calming, the gentle movement as Zane drove lulling her. He had the air-con on, but it wasn’t too cold, and she could feel a beam of sunshine lying warmly over her face.
God, she was tired.
“What happened?” Another harsh order. “Why the hell were you running drugs for the cartels?”
But she didn’t want to answer him. Didn’t want to talk about Jamie or what she’d done to lose her. Didn’t want to talk about how the hell she was going to get her back. What she really wanted to do was sleep.
“I’ll tell you,” she muttered. “Just give me five minutes.”
Five minutes later she was asleep.
—
She was asleep. Jesus Christ. The damn woman had tried to escape through a bathroom window, attempted to kick him in the balls, been cuffed and shot at, and now she was fast asleep.
No wonder she was tired.
Zane took another glance at her in the rearview mirror.
Her head was turned to the side and she was half slumped down the back of the seat. It looked like a hideously uncomfortable position and yet she seemed to be sleeping like a baby. Her ponytail had come out, black hair tumbling all over her narrow, delicately pointed face. God, she looked young. What the hell was someone so young doing running drugs for the southern cartels?
Why the hell are you so interested?
Zane scowled and pulled his gaze back to the road.
There was a reason he was interested. A very good reason. He didn’t like being nearly killed on what was supposed to be a standard pickup, and he wanted to know what the fuck was going on. That she was being pursued by her former bosses wasn’t a big surprise, all things considered, but he would have appreciated a heads-up from Quinn at the very least.
Well, he could chew that bastard out later. Right now, he needed to get her back to Lone Star in one piece and preferably himself too.
He glanced in the mirror again, because apparently the fact that he needed to keep a massive truck from crashing into other cars wasn’t enough to keep his attention on the road. Not when he had a feral little bail-jumper in the back.
A feral little bail-jumper with the prettiest tits he’d ever seen.
Not that he should be looking at them, considering he’d come to take her back into custody and that she’d been running drugs, which made her scum of the lowest sort. Not to mention the fact that she had a smart mouth.
A gorgeous mouth.
Shit.
Jerking his eyes back to the road, Zane gripped tight to the wheel, trying to ignore the woman in the back. Except he couldn’t get out of his head the sight of her pale skin and lacy red bra.
And the scratch down the middle of her stomach.
This time when he flicked her another glance, he kept his gaze firmly on the red streak where the window latch had caught her, and, sure enough, it was oozing blood and looking painful. The blood had even started to stain the waistband of her jeans.
A pathetic sight. She was bleeding, her T-shirt torn open, her hands cuffed behind her back, her hair falling everywhere.
Vulnerable…
His breath hitched. He’d always had a weakness for vulnerable women, but that was how all the shit had gone down with Charlie, and he couldn’t let himself get involved in something like that again, he just couldn’t. Which meant he should be heading straight on down the highway until they got to Lone Star where he could then get rid of her and never think of her again.
Then again, Quinn would be extremely pissed if she got blood in his truck.
Tell yourself it’s about Quinn, sure.
Bullshit. He wasn’t telling himself anything. He didn’t want her getting blood on him either, which made the decision simple.
A strip mall was coming up on his right and he turned off the highway without a second thought, easily finding a spot in the massive lot. Then, after a moment’s debate, he got out of the truck, went to the back door, and pulled it open, climbing in beside her.
She didn’t move, her breathing heavy, deep and regular.
For a second he indulged his curiosity, staring down at her. Pretty little thing, but he could see the lines of hardship around her eyes and mouth. Life hadn’t been easy on this girl, that was for sure. Then again, if she’d been caught running drugs, then that was a given.
He frowned, reaching out to push a lock of silky black hair off her face. Yeah, so young. And there was nothing like sleep to make someone look even younger. Jesus, what the hell had she gotten herself into? And why?
When that guy had burst out of the bar and started shooting, she’d looked terrified, which was understandable since the guy had clearly been sent to stop her from testifying. She’d looked terrified the moment she’d realized why Zane had come for her too.
She’s not safe in jail either.
The thought was an uncomfortable one. A complication he sure as hell didn’t need. Because if she wasn’t safe in jail, then what the hell was he supposed to do with her? Could he really turn her over to whoever held her bail bond? If it wasn’t Lone Star, tha
t was, because sometimes they did bail bonds, sometimes they took on bounty hunting jobs from other bail bondsmen. Whatever, if he did turn her over, she’d have to go to court and maybe testify against some of the worst criminals in the state. And if she didn’t do that, then she’d go straight to jail.
Ah, Jesus, why was he thinking about it like this? Situations like these never turned out well, and he of all people should know that. Besides, she was a skip. A criminal. A drug courier. He really shouldn’t give a shit what the hell happened to her.
Annoyed with himself, he matter-of-factly grabbed the two halves of her torn T-shirt and tied them together so her bra was covered, all the while trying to avoid brushing her skin with his fingertips. She shifted as he did, murmuring something in her sleep as she turned her head and slowly tipped all the way over onto her side. The movement made the light, flowery scent of her wrap itself around him, tinged with the metallic smell of blood.
Something cold shifted in his chest.
He’d smelled that combination before. Charlie in his arms, her pretty blue dress soaking up all the blood, those luminous gray eyes dimming slowly, and he couldn’t stop the blood, couldn’t fix what had happened, powerless…
Cursing under his breath, Zane shoved himself out of the truck, closing the door behind him and locking it the same way he locked all his bad memories away. Then, ignoring the cold feeling that had settled down inside him, he turned toward the mall stores.
The shopping didn’t take him very long and he was back within twenty minutes. Iris was still fast asleep, and, unfortunately, he hadn’t come to any decisions about what to do with her, which was a problem. He was a guy who liked to plan and strategize, and he didn’t take too kindly to surprises who turned all his precious plans upside down.
And she was one hell of a surprise.
Irritated, he decided that in the short term the most pressing thing was getting that scratch seen to, though he didn’t particularly want to do it in the middle of a strip mall parking lot. His alternative was taking her to Lone Star and doing it there, but something in his gut was urging him to avoid going back there with her until he’d figured out what to do. His brothers would no doubt want her returned to Dallas pronto, and given his need to get back to Fort Bragg with the minimum of fuss, that would be the most logical action to take. She wasn’t his problem after all. Except the cartel didn’t take kindly to snitches, in jail or out. In fact, snitches tended to die.
Cursing under his breath, Zane got back into the truck and stared out the windshield for a couple of moments. Then he reached over and grabbed the file Quinn had given him from the glove compartment. In it was all the information Lone Star had managed to find about Iris Callahan, which wasn’t much. Only her place of work and the address of a motel near the airport that appeared to be where she was living. Wouldn’t take long to get there from here and at least he could see to that scratch properly.
He didn’t ask himself why he felt the need to take care of the woman in the backseat, because that was something he really didn’t want to revisit. So he busied himself with figuring out the quickest way to get to her motel and checking the rearview mirror to make sure no one was tailing them. There was a reasonable chance that the guy back at the bar who’d been shooting at them would also know where Iris was staying, so Zane was going to have to be careful. Not because he didn’t think he could handle an idiot like that, but because dealing with the prick would be an added complication, and he really didn’t need any complications.
Too late.
Yeah, okay, Iris was a complication, but only a minimal one so far—if you didn’t count the guy who was chasing her, that was. And he could keep her minimal, if he got her cleaned up and then delivered her back to Lone Star. Quinn and Rush could handle anyone trying to hit her before she was delivered safely back into custody, and once she was, that was the end of the complications. Easy.
Yet for some reason the whole idea of doing that sat uneasily in Zane’s gut, and it was still there some fifteen minutes later when he finally pulled into the motel parking lot, a cheap, shitty place, probably built sometime in the fifties and hadn’t had anything done to it since.
Seeing no point in waking Iris just yet, he went to the reception desk and managed to talk his way into getting another key to her room, telling the fat, balding, and distinctly uninterested guy behind the desk that he was her boyfriend. The guy didn’t ask any questions, barely even looking at Zane as he pushed a key over to him.
Zane scowled at that too. What kind of setup was this when a complete stranger could talk a staff member into giving out the key to a woman’s room? Without even a request for ID?
Unimpressed, he went back out to the truck and opened the door. Then he pulled the still soundly sleeping Iris into his arms and carried her up some stairs to the motel’s upper story where her room was located.
The inside was as cheap and crappy as the outside. Two queen beds, worn orange carpet on the floor, a TV with a cracked plastic case, and a mural on one wall featuring a desert scene with lots of cacti. The whole place smelled too, of mold, old cigarettes, and desperation.
Zane glanced down at the woman in his arms. She was so light, so insubstantial she barely weighed anything at all, and yet her sleep was the heavy, deep sleep of the exhausted. Her black lashes, lying on her pale cheeks in lush, silky fans, couldn’t quite hide the dark shadows beneath them, and there were lines around the full softness of her mouth.
Disturbed for reasons he couldn’t name, Zane laid her on the bed and then stood back, gazing at her. Her arms were caught behind her back because of the cuffs. He bent, shifting her slightly so he could unlock them. She didn’t move, not even when he chafed her wrists to make sure her blood flow was okay.
Dammit. He wanted to leave her hands free, but he suspected that the moment she woke up, she’d probably try to get away from him again. Which wasn’t happening, not with that other guy still out there. So after a moment of internal debate, he raised one hand above her head and cuffed her wrist to the headboard. She gave a little snort at that and turned onto her side, pillowing her free hand beneath her cheek in a curiously childlike posture.
A feeling shifted in his chest. A familiar feeling. The same feeling that had hit him the first day he’d gone along with his father and brothers on a pickup and set eyes on eighteen-year-old Charlie Jones. They’d been there to get her older brother, and her father tried to stop them, shouting and screaming and throwing punches. Rush and Quinn and his father had handled the older Jones, while Zane had comforted Charlie, telling her it was okay and that her brother would be okay too.
Charlie had looked at him like he was her hero, her savior. As if he wasn’t just a boy, standing on the sidelines watching helplessly as his father got drunk every night and his brothers went off the rails. Unable to do anything to prevent it.
That look in her eyes had gone straight to his head like a slug of his father’s best bourbon, and he’d decided then and there to be that hero for her. Fix the situation she was in. Make a difference.
He’d fallen in love with her and she with him.
Until her brother had screwed up a second time and they’d had to come back for him. And Charlie had died.
Zane shoved the feeling away, got up, and left the motel room.
Never again. Never the fuck again.
Chapter 4
Iris woke up with the most incredible feeling of well-being. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d opened her eyes after a night’s sleep and felt refreshed. Especially the past couple of months. Usually she woke up at some insanely early hour of the morning, all her senses on high alert, convinced she’d heard someone trying to get into her motel room.
Not this time apparently.
She lay on the bed and stared at the dingy ceiling, her head pleasantly empty of thought.
After a moment, she stretched her arms above her head, only to be brought up short by the cold bite of metal against the skin of
her left wrist. Confused, she twisted around, spotting the handcuffs that were holding her tethered to the bed.
Handcuffs? What the hell?
“You’re awake. Finally.” The voice was masculine and horribly familiar.
Iris turned her head.
On the other bed, a man sat with his elbows on his knees, long fingers loosely linked between them, searingly blue eyes cold and sharp.
Zane Redmond. The bounty hunter.
Oh shit.
He’d caught her at the bar and she’d tried to escape. Then that freak from Dallas had followed her and shot at her, and they’d managed to escape. And then she’d fallen asleep in his damn truck.
She blinked, her mouth feeling dry and cottony. “How long have I been asleep?”
Zane glanced down at the chunky, expensive-looking watch on his left wrist. “About four hours. I thought you were never going to wake up.”
Four hours? She’d been asleep for four hours while a complete stranger watched over her? And not just any stranger, a bounty hunter intent on taking her back to the police. Jesus, she must be insane. It was only that she’d felt so tired and as he’d driven her away, she’d known there was nothing she could do. That she couldn’t fight anymore. She was caught and some part of her had even felt a little relieved, as if the ax had fallen.
Sure, that guy had been after her, but she’d had the peculiar feeling that it was okay because Zane wouldn’t let anything happen to her. He would protect her.
She was safe.
Safe? Are you nuts?
Iris turned away from him abruptly, a weird shiver going all the way through her. Yeah, she was nuts. Nothing about her life had ever been safe, especially where men were concerned. In fact, men tended to be the problem, and if she thought this one was any different, she was deluding herself.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“In your motel room.”
“How did you—”
“I have a file on you, which included the address of this motel.”
A file. Of course he had a file. “What about that guy back at the bar?”
“The one that was going to kill you?” He paused and she turned back to look at him before she could stop herself, getting trapped in the aching intensity of his eyes. “I’ve been keeping a lookout for him, but so far he hasn’t turned up. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t know you’re here though.”
Take Me Deeper Page 4