by Julie Miller
She raised her other hand to touch his jaw. Her touch was featherlight, her fingers tipped with blood as she pulled away. “You’re hurt.”
“Probably the other guy’s blood.”
“I don’t think so.”
He pulled her back when she tried to leave, probably to get a bandage or towel from the bathroom. They didn’t have time for doctoring like that. His head was throbbing like a son of a gun, but he hadn’t been shot. There were no broken bones. Couldn’t say the same for these two thugs. “I’ll live.”
“You’d better.”
Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes as he pulled her to the front door. Damn it. In addition to the black car he’d seen earlier, a county sheriff’s car had pulled in behind it. “Cobb’s here.”
There were no fire department vehicles or flashing lights anywhere on the block. Nobody had called in the fire, and yet a cop car was here? He had no more doubts about Cobb’s complicity with Chloe Wilson’s murder or the cover-up of the woman’s death recorded on that flash drive.
Conor immediately changed course and pulled Laura through the house to the back. But there was no escape that way, either. Originally, the flames had been localized along the back of the house. Back door. Kitchen. Bedroom window where they’d been sleeping. But those goons had poured more accelerant inside. He could already see the corners of his mother’s linoleum curling up and withering in the flames.
“Conor?” Laura was backing away from the intense heat. She put a fist to her mouth, trying to stem her coughing. “It’s getting hard to see, hard to catch my breath. Isn’t dying in here as good as being killed somewhere else?”
Hammer and Rico’s boss probably wanted to make sure the flash drive was recovered before eliminating the two people who could tell them its location. But killing them by any means was no doubt the alternate plan for these thugs who were desperate to cover up their crimes. And Laura dead under any circumstances wasn’t an option he’d allow.
Conor tugged on her hand, shifting directions once again. “Garage.”
They hurried out the side door through the breezeway connecting the house to the garage and piled into his SUV. “As soon as I turn over this engine, they’re going to know our location. If anyone’s out there, I’m running them over.” He set his Glock in the center console, keeping it within easy reach if he needed it. He’d already taken the quick escape precaution of backing into the garage.
Laura nodded. “I’m ready.”
“You always are.” He reached over to brush his fingertip across her cheek before handing her the garage door opener clipped to his visor. “When I say go. Three, two, one, go!” Laura pushed the button to raise the garage door and he turned the key in the ignition. He shifted into Drive and stomped on the accelerator. “Stay down!”
The big SUV flew out of the garage, taking out the bottom slat of the garage door and chunks of paint off the roof of his car. The top of the windshield splintered with a slow-moving crack as he spun in a hard right turn out of the driveway and sped away.
He eyed the cars parked in front of the house, fading in his rearview mirror. The headlights of the cop car flashed on, and Conor braced for the chase, calculating upcoming turns and praying there were no slick spots on the asphalt from the weekend’s fresh snow. But someone quickly got out of the second car and ran up to the house. The headlights went off.
The radios he’d stuffed in his pockets crackled to life. “Hammer! Rico! What the hell happened?”
He caught the first few words of an argument before the broadcast went dead. “You should have let me handle—”
Conor turned out of the subdivision, heading for heavier traffic where he could blend in, and roads where his excess speed wouldn’t be noticed, before turning on his own headlights. He glanced over at Laura’s white-knuckled grip on the dashboard.
But her bloodshot eyes were fixed solely on him. “Your mother’s house—all those memories. They’re burning to the ground. I’m so sorry.”
He reached across to take her hand. “I’ve got everything that matters right here.”
She smiled briefly before releasing him and turning her attention to the side-view mirror. “Why didn’t they shoot at us? I’m not asking for trouble but—”
“Residential neighborhood. Too many witnesses would wake up at the sound of gunfire outside.”
“Why aren’t they following? Are they letting us go?”
They bounced over the curb as he cut the next corner short. Conor swung his gaze from side to side, analyzing parked cars and moving vehicles, making sure his assessment of any lack of pursuit matched hers. “For now. I’m guessing there’s a plan B for capturing you, but I’m not waiting around to find out what it is. My goal is to drive as far and fast as I can to get out of the metro area, and on the road to Kansas City. Trust me?”
Instead of her familiar nod, she frowned at him. As he raced up an entrance ramp onto the highway, she climbed up on her knees and leaned between the front seats to reach into the back. She unzipped his bag. “Where’s that first aid kit?”
Doing his best to ignore the heart-shaped bottom in the rearview mirror, he merged into the smattering of pre-dawn traffic. “Honey, I need you to buckle up.”
She plopped back down in her seat before opening the kit, taking out some gauze. “You’re still bleeding.” She was on her knees again, this time reaching across the console to press a wad of gauze against his chin. He winced at the pressure she used to stem the blood flow. The numbness of shocked nerves had faded. Hammer had definitely earned his nickname. He was lucky the big man’s fist just split the skin, and hadn’t broken his jaw or knocked out a tooth. “That’s a pretty wide gash.”
He waved aside her tender ministrations and held the gauze in place himself. “I got it. You sit.” She reached over his lap and buckled him in first before she settled back and fastened her seat belt. He got the idea to turn on his siren and flashing lights to warn cars to pull to the right lane, so he could drive faster without endangering any other drivers. The city lights raced by in a blur for a couple of miles before he thought to ask, “Are you hurt?”
She looked back at him, reassuring him with a smile. “My throat’s a little sore. Probably from the smoke and coughing. But I’m okay.”
“That guy had his hands on you. You’re sure?”
“After I kicked Rico in the family jewels, he wasn’t too steady. He grabbed the straps on the bag, not me. I’ll have a couple of bruises later, but I’m fine. It pays to be small and squirmy. He never got a good hold on me.” She unbuckled again to check his wound before replacing the soiled gauze and adding strips of adhesive tape. “I think you need a couple of stitches. But I’m fine,” she repeated. “Don’t worry about me.”
“That’s never gonna happen.” They hit a pothole and the vehicle lurched. When Laura bounced into the air, he pushed her back into her seat. “Enough. We’re safe for now.”
“How long will it take us to get to Kansas City?”
“At least twenty hours. I won’t be able to keep up this speed forever.”
Thinking several steps ahead of their current situation, Conor flipped on the KCPD radio on his dashboard, and adjusted the frequency to listen to local traffic reports so he could avoid congested roads and interchanges. Hopefully, he could find out if anyone was making an effort to save his mother’s beloved home.
The local chatter was less than reassuring. Conor’s hands tightened on the steering wheel as the dispatcher repeated the BOLO alert.
“Please be advised that the suspects are armed and dangerous.” The dispatcher rattled off Conor’s license plate number and a description of his SUV. “Suspected arsonists. Missouri plates.”
Conor swore. “Every cop in the DC metro area is going to be looking for us with that BOLO. Be on the lookout for,” he explained. “I guess that proves that Cobb is involved in t
his mess. He’s at least on the take, covering up Vinnie’s crimes.”
“Where do we go if the police and the bad guys are after us?”
Conor rebooted his escape plan. The only thing he’d ever believed he was good at was his job. But he was really good at it. He’d always had a talent for keeping the people entrusted to him safe. And they’d been grateful. They’d all been grateful that he’d kept them alive.
His out-of-state plates and bashed up SUV would stick out like a sore thumb around here. Maybe there weren’t any local cops he could trust. But that didn’t mean he didn’t have friends in the area who owed him a favor or two.
He took a fast turn onto Lee Highway. “I’ve got an idea.”
Chapter Eleven
“This guy is one of the people you put into the witness protection program? Is Stephen Naso his real name?”
Exhausted from the harrowing stress of the fire and their escape from Deputy Cobb and his compatriots, Laura was running on fumes. She’d been deliciously tired after making love with Conor, and she’d slept deeply in his arms afterward. But constantly looking over her shoulder for the next threat and fearing for their lives was taking a serious toll on her energy. Still, the cup of strong coffee and fruit Danish from the used car salesman’s office gave her enough strength to stay on her feet and keep moving.
Conor stood beside her in the tiny glassed-in cubicle, sipping his second cup of coffee, his tired blue eyes barely blinking as he studied the mechanics, office workers and other sales staff reporting for work as the dealership opened. She didn’t think there was a single person he hadn’t taken notice of on their trip here to Used Auto Bonanza, from the other drivers on the road to a group of school children waiting at their bus stop. Along with his bruised knuckles and split chin, plus whatever injuries he’d sustained that she couldn’t see, that constant state of alertness must be wearing him down faster than her own fatigue.
Still, he’d never once snapped at her or dismissed her or made her feel as though she was an inconvenience or that he resented risking his life for her. He’d never complained about answering her questions about why they were here and how he knew the weasel-faced man who was helping them get a different car to drive. Of course, Conor had never said how he felt about her confession of love, either. After the way he’d made love to her and after all he’d said and done for her since the wedding, she had a feeling in her gut that he loved her, too. But was it the same kind of forever love she felt for him? Were his feelings a mix of physical chemistry and the circumstances that had thrown them together after Chloe’s murder? She knew Conor had no desire to stay in Virginia any longer than he had to—there were too many bad memories here. If he associated her with any of those memories—growing up without his dad, losing Lisa, losing his mother, losing the home where he’d grown up—would he come to associate her with all the things he wanted to leave behind?
A part of her thought her sister was an idiot for letting this man go. A bigger part of her knew that Lisa never would have gotten through the chaos of these past few days, even with Conor at her side. The biggest part of Laura was glad that, at least for now, Conor was hers.
Apparently convinced that none of the men and women in the other offices or on the showroom floor were enemies, Conor crossed to the coffeepot in the corner and poured himself another cup. “It is now. If certain people knew Naso was still alive, there’d be a hitman after him,” he explained casually, as if he was discussing the plot of a television show instead of a real man’s erased past life. “We gave him a completely new identity almost seven years ago. Naso was my first assignment. He cooked the books for a drug kingpin down in Houston.”
She shook her head when he offered to share the last of the dreadful brew. “Cooked the books? As in shady accounting? Do you trust him?”
“He understands staying off the radar better than anyone I know. He agreed to testify against his boss in exchange for not going to prison himself. Got a dangerous man off the streets, shut down one little corner of the drug trade.” He set the pot down and faced her with a grin. “Not every witness I helped at WITSEC was an innocent do-or-die bridesmaid who just wanted to help a friend.”
That he could find any reason at all to smile—that she was the one who’d made him smile—warmed Laura all the way down to her toes and reminded her why she’d fallen in love with him in the first place. Even if he ended up breaking her heart, she would never regret loving this good man.
After calling Thomas Watson to update him on their status and get some information on Don Urbanski and Rico Martinelli, who had indeed spent time in prison, he’d called his former boss at the US Marshals office to report the two men they’d taken down at his mother’s home—if there was even a house left standing. She’d sat beside him in the car, listening to him coolly lie about the motive of those two men setting the fire and breaking in. Leaving her name out of the conversation entirely, Conor had said some fugitives from his old life at WITSEC had found out he was back in town and had paid him a visit. Although his former boss wasn’t especially pleased to be awakened before dawn, he’d agreed to follow up with the fire department, to make sure they’d been called, and that no other structures in the neighborhood were in danger. He’d also agreed to send some men to the house to retrieve Hammer and Rico if they were still there, and to contain the situation.
Then they’d gone to an ATM to pull out as much cash as they could spare from their mutual accounts and buried their credit cards in the bottom of their go bag. They were living strictly off cash and the goodwill of others for now, avoiding leaving any kind of trail that Deputy Cobb could follow until they got out of Arlington County and the DC metro area, beyond his jurisdiction and the reach of favors he could call in from the surrounding region.
The glass door opened and the balding man with beady dark eyes behind his round glasses walked in. He crinkled up his nose before heading around to the far side of his desk. “Smells like an ash tray in here. And the doctor told me I had to give up my cigars.”
Laura picked up the end of her knit scarf and sniffed it. “It’s our clothes. We smell like the fire. I guess we’ve grown immune to it. But other people will notice it, too.”
“Noticing is a bad thing.” Conor polished off his coffee and tossed the paper cup into the trash. He’d already put on a clean button-down and tossed his blood-stained sweater and T-shirt. But his jeans and long wool coat carried the same scent as her clothing. “I don’t suppose you’ve got anything we can fit into?”
Stephen Naso, who’d agreed to meet them here before the dealership had opened, was a slight man no taller than Laura. He peered up at Conor over the rims of his glasses and shook his head. “I’m closer to fitting her than I am you. And she’s got more curves than either of us.” The older man winked at her.
“Naso,” Conor warned him against the harmless flirting.
The older man put his hands up in surrender. “Hey, I’m not makin’ a play for your girl. I’m just stating facts.”
Conor pointed toward the sheaf of papers Mr. Naso held in his upraised hand. “Explain a few facts about the car I asked for. Can you help us out?”
“Your SUV is being torn down for parts as we speak.” Naso set the stack of papers on the desk and pulled a key ring from his pocket. “Here are the keys for your new car. Gray and generic like you asked for, but with an extra kick under the hood. It’ll get you where you need to go.”
“Thanks.” After pocketing the keys, Conor extended his hand across the desk. “You doing okay here?”
The older man shook his hand and laughed. “Who knew I had such a knack for selling anything to anybody? I’m making money hand over fist in this job. More than I ever made working in Guzman’s organization.”
Conor held onto his hand a moment longer to ask, “You’re paying your taxes on that money, right?”
Naso pressed his hand over his heart. “Thi
s is too sweet a gig for me to mess it up by breaking the law.”
With a nod, Conor picked up the go bag and Kevlar vest he’d taken from his SUV. “Keep our names off any of your paperwork. The guys who are after us have access to legal documents. I’ll pay you for it when I can safely get into my accounts again.”
The former witness shook off the offer as he circled the desk to get the door for them. “It’s my gift to you. We’re square now, right, Wildman?”
“You don’t owe me a car.”
“I owe you my life.”
Conor nodded his reluctant acceptance of the deal and checked the main room before gesturing for Laura to follow him. “We’ll talk later.”
Laura shouldered her bag, but paused to kiss the older man’s cheek, “Thank you, Mr. Naso. You’ve been very kind to us.”
His skin turned a subtle shade of pink and he waved aside her gratitude. “All right. I guess I still owe you. If you ever need another favor—or a new car—call me.”
“We will,” she promised. “Stay safe.”
“You, too, ma’am.” He thumbed over his shoulder at Conor, waiting for her in the showroom. “And keep an eye on him. He’s looked better.”
“I will.”
Naso’s full tank of gas got them all the way to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, before Conor risked stopping to get them a proper meal. He’d made another call on one of those disposable cell phones in his bag, calling in another favor. Alice Carroll, another witness whom Conor had relocated in the WITSEC program when he’d worked for the Marshals, served them roast beef sandwiches, a delicious potato salad and gooey, thick brownies while she washed all their clothes and spritzed their coats with some scent-erasing spray, getting rid of the worst of the smoky stench. The sixtyish woman ran a catering company, but she’d called her assistant to handle the luncheon they’d been hired for so that Alice could spend the time with them. Laura lost count of how many times she thanked Conor for saving her life. And though he seemed uncomfortable with the praise, he seemed equally pleased to learn that Alice was happy, pursuing her life’s passion in the culinary world instead of spinning her wheels in the business career she’d left after blowing the whistle on her former company’s illegal practices.