Getaway Girl

by Michele Hauf

  “You’re good. But never get too cocky. Check all angles and even in front of you.”

  Kevin did so, and I had to smile at that. He’d lost all nervousness over being hijacked by a crazy lass with a gun. The man had definitely earned himself a mocha.

  “So do I get my car back after we stop?”

  “I am not a criminal.”

  “Then what are you? ’Cause it seems to me like you’ve just committed a kidnapping, endangered lives, ran half a dozen stoplights—”

  “We call them stop-and-goes here in Europe, Kevin.”

  “Whatever! And you threatened me with a gun.”

  “There were never any bullets!”

  “Doesn’t matter. I was feeling threatened.”

  “You want me to stop at that drugstore for Depends?”

  “Funny, but I’m the one holding the gun now.”

  “No bullets.”

  “Right.”

  Scanning the periphery in the rearview mirror—low threat level—I relaxed and automatically reached for the radio dial. I turned the sound on low. “Do you know you’ve got the sweetest dimples?”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  “By your girlfriend?”

  “Don’t even consider it. You are so not my type, lady.”

  “What is your type?”

  “Not—”

  “Criminal?”

  “—aggressive.”

  “I see.”

  I smiled at him in the rearview mirror, and he smiled back. Our eyes danced for a second. Blue like gemstones, I thought of his eyes. A cat burglar’s prize. Certainly a prize I would never transport. Not anymore. Very unlike the green-blue eyes I’d looked into earlier. I know they changed colors, I just…know it.

  Kevin released my gaze with a sexy smirk and a shake of his head. Oh, those dimples.

  The coffee shop I’d been thinking of was still there on the rue Villiot, and it was open. And, wonder upon wonder, there was even a parking slot. I pulled up to park and shut off the ignition, handing Kevin the keys.

  “Thanks for the ride, Kevin. You…live in Paris?”

  Hell, what was the trouble? He was just a guy. A very nice guy, who had let me drive his car. Brownie points for that, for men were so stingy with their vehicles.

  “For the season.”

  I didn’t know what that meant, but I wasn’t listening anyway. Feeling my body move to the right—away from the door—I stopped myself.

  Had I been close to leaning in to kiss the man? He was certainly kissable. But you’ve just survived kidnapping—twice. Not safe to lose focus.

  “Er, right. Thank you, Kevin. I’ll be fine.”

  Forcing myself to leave the car, I tucked the Glock into the back of my skirt and stood by the curb as Kevin slid over into the driver’s seat.

  For one moment, I allowed my body to sink, to drown in the pleasure of the ordinary. The simple kindness of a stranger. With dimples I wanted to fit myself into.

  “Look,” he said as the driver’s window rolled down. “I can obviously guess you’re in some kind of trouble. You don’t want to tell a stranger, that’s cool with me. But you seem nice enough. If a little stressed.” His dimples deepened. “How about that mocha?”

  Well, I did owe him one.

  Chapter 10

  When Kevin slid onto the chair opposite my table, I didn’t react. In fact, I slouched comfortably into the velvet wingback chair. Wearing soft blue jeans and a gray sweater, he fit right in with the esthetic of Parisian élan. He felt…safe.

  And my guard took a break along with me.

  He ordered a mocha and I nodded for the same. I didn’t do caffeine, but the occasional coffee wouldn’t push me over the edge. Yes, I needed the energy right now.

  Ninety percent of me had expected Kevin to call the cops and arrest my arse. The other ten percent was shaking its head miserably. What are you getting yourself into, lass? Shouldn’t you be on the run?

  And why did I have to be on the run?

  Seemed to me I could create my own destination, and running didn’t figure in that plan. The big bad blokes wanted to mess around with me? Bring it.

  Maybe.

  “Does someone want to kill you?” Kevin started in as he tapped his spoon on the rim of a large porcelain cup.

  I smirked and swallowed a sip of froth. “Nope. Just…talk to me.”

  “What’s wrong with talking?”

  “Nothing. We’re talking right now. How you doing, Kevin?”

  “Not sure.” He shrugged his fingers through his short crop of blond hair. Beach-bum hair—no, make that fashion-model coif, but without the posturing. Kevin seemed as comfortable in his skin as I did behind the wheel. “I’ve just been taken on a joyride by a crazed female toting a gun,” he said. “How should I be doing?”

  I shrugged and pushed my half-full cup to the center of the table. Play it cool. No need to get an innocent involved. But he already knew far too much.

  “So you’re going to take on the bad guys, kill ’em all, and win?” he prompted.

  “Kevin, my dear, you watch far too many movies.”

  “I don’t think you watch enough. You’re a woman!”

  A frown melted my teasing smile. “And what has that got to do with anything?”

  “Nothing, I just—Who’s after you?”

  “I don’t know. And even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you. I don’t want you involved.”

  “Now you’ve been watching too many movies.”

  Yes, but he was just a tiny bit of a chauvinist. I couldn’t overlook the you’re a woman comment. One mark against the man for that. But his dimples countered strongly. “You’re an innocent, Kevin.”

  “My car isn’t. It’s been driving getaway of late.”

  The man could not begin to grasp the enormity of that simple statement. I wasn’t going to explain it to him. Innocent, and keep it that way.

  Suddenly he touched the side of my face where I guessed I had a bruise, because the contact made me flinch. Sacha’s mark?

  “Any parts broken?” he asked, concerned as his gaze darted across my face and down my arms.

  I stared at him, unbelieving, but strangely relieved to look upon a friendly face after all I had been through. Fresh, fun-loving and…not eager to kill me.

  Smirking, I stroked my thumb along my cheek. “Is there a bruise?”

  “Not dark, but there’s some discoloration under your eye. Looks like you’ve had a rough day,” he said. “And it’s only ten in the morning.”

  “Only ten? I can’t believe I slept all night.”

  “So what’s up?”

  I sighed. “It’s one of those if-I-told-you-I’d-have-to-kill-you situations.”

  “I see. Well then, maybe I can tell you some things.”

  “Like what?”

  “Come on.” He stood and offered his hand. When I only stared at it, he flicked his fingers impatiently. “You can stay at my place,” he offered, dimples deepening, “so long as you guarantee there are no guns—fake or otherwise. And…you walk around nude.”

  I choked on a swallow of froth. “What?”

  He ignited those incredible dimples. “Had to try. Want another mocha for the road?”

  “No, now I need food to counteract the caffeine buzz. I need to—why do you think I need a place to stay? And what do you think you can tell me?”

  A cell phone rang. I knew it couldn’t be mine.

  “Wait here.” Kevin said, as he mined his back jean pocket for the ringing phone. He walked down the row of tables to stand by the entrance door beneath a constellation of colorful paper lanterns. But I could still hear him. And boy, did I hear him over the quiet murmur of nearby conversations. “Eight.”

  “Eight?” I mouthed, and turned my surprised gasp away from the man’s view. The sudden shock of hearing him use a simple number, but as if identifying himself—“No way. It can’t be.”

  Grabbing my duffel and shuffling about for a few euros, I scattered
the change on the table, then rushed over to the door. Just as Kevin was closing his phone, I gripped him by the front of his sweater. “Who the hell are you?”

  “I…”

  “Did I hear you right? Are you…Eight? I’m not going anywhere with you—” I crossed my arms “—until you tell me who you are.”

  “All right.” He linked arms with me and stepped outside, walking toward his parked car. I followed only because to punch him would never get me the answers I required. We stopped at the hatchback and he joggled his keys before turning to me and saying, “I’m Kevin Grant—also known as Eight—and I’m with the Faction.”

  Blinking and gaping at the same time, I felt my brain fry a circuit. Really. Just zap! A twinge in my brain made me flinch. I wobbled, but Kevin steadied me by the upper arm.

  “Eight. You’re…with the Faction?”

  He nodded. “And that’s all you’ll get until we’re back at my place. It’s a safe zone, I promise. Trust me?”

  “I…sure.” Truthfully, I was unsure of everything, but I knew the Faction meant trust. It had to. They were the good guys.

  Little caution was taken in returning to Kevin’s apartment, I noticed. He wasn’t constantly eyeing the streets or the rearview mirror, nor did he check for followers as we made our way to his apartment from a street parking space. Yes, I let him drive. Though you must realize it absolutely kills me to ride shotgun. Unless of course, I’m the one with the gun.

  He lived in an old seventeenth-century jobbie; the house was narrow but four stories tall. The fourth floor was his apartment, he explained, as we walked through a courtyard no wider than my arms’ span and around back to climb a wobbly iron staircase hugging the brick wall. A hedge of eucalyptus dizzied my brain, and reminded me that I still wasn’t one hundred percent after my adventures with Monsieur Kidnaps-A-Lot.

  I wondered if that overdose of chloroform was what was making me so drowsy. The dose could have done some serious damage. I wondered if Sacha cared. And then I stopped myself with a pinch to my wrist. Why did I care if he cared?

  Oh, I needed to clear my head.

  Upon entering Kevin’s apartment and padding across the creaky hardwood floor, an incredible sense of arrival fell upon me. Safety here. All would be right.

  This was the second time I’d felt that way around the man.

  “Kick off your shoes and relax on the couch,” Kevin called as he disappeared into the kitchen. “You like hot chocolate?”

  Hot chocolate? Oh indeed, I had arrived. Even though it seemed my diet was to be liquid for the interim, I nodded. “Thanks.”

  The place was cozy and…yellow. So yellow, in fact, that I froze, arms stiff and mouth in a hideous frown, as I took in my surroundings. Everything, from walls to appliances, to the curtains and radiators.

  “Interesting color.”

  “It’s the previous owner’s choice. I’m not much for decorating. So long as there’s a bed and shower, I’m happy. I think I’m a little color-blind, as well.”

  “Good for you.” I tossed my duffel to the end of the sofa. “Bad for visitors.”

  Slipping off my boots, I collapsed onto the thick brown leather sofa without a thought. Closing my eyes, I pressed a forearm over them. Just for the moment, I felt the welling of tears as they soaked into the sleeve of my shirt. I didn’t sniffle or slobber. But the tension of the day was pushed out with a good cry. Pa had always told me girls were supposed to cry; it renewed their strength.

  Good ole Pa. I twisted the heavy hex nut I wore on my index finger—a gift from Pa. If he’d known how many tears I’d cried over my wanderlust mother, well, he’d have to swim to reach me.

  Dismissing the morbid thought of my father seeking me out through a flood of tears, I sat forward and caught my head in my hands.

  There really wasn’t time to sit. I’d lost an entire bloody night.

  What had Vital done with me? My mind briefly went to scenarios of date rape, women waking up the next morning to discover they’d been violated. I didn’t want to consider, but—I had to go there—I felt…untouched.

  All clothing still in place, blouse unbuttoned appropriately. I had to believe Sacha hadn’t gone quite that far. I wasn’t feeling any pain, beyond my sore cheek.

  Certainly I had enemies. From this day forward, every kidnapping or theft I participated in stopping gained me another enemy. None would learn the identity of the unknown driver. And certainly I never learned whom it was I was stealing a ransom away from. That was a practice that had to stop.

  There were only two people in this world who really knew me—Fitch and Max.

  Fitch had ratted me to Sacha? Had she alerted him that I was at the barge? Hmm, she had managed to press a button on the phone with her toe. Did the woman have a speed dial to Sacha Vital? To go to her now proved risky. I might call her from a phone booth, far from Kevin’s home, for Fitch could track a call like a bloodhound.

  My only other option was contacting the Faction. No details; no blame. I had never spoken directly to anyone in the Faction, save for the occasional shout for directions from those who had sat in the backseat. Fitch arranged everything right up until that final call. No names were exchanged. La lapine arrived to drive.

  Now here I sat in Eight’s home. I had made contact with the Faction. Rather, they had reached out to me. I think.

  “Did you know it was me when you flagged me down?”

  “Yes.” Kevin strode into the room.

  The scent of chocolate drew me upright on the sofa. He pressed a warm cup into my palm and sat next to me. Close. He brushed my hair back from my face and, remarkably, I let him do it.

  Sipping the warm brew, I kept my head down for a moment, sliding the hex nut up and down the cup, and trying to figure what it was he’d put in the drink that made it taste so good. Something sweet, but different.

  “Mexican hot chocolate,” he said as he sat back and crossed one ankle over his other knee.

  “It’s very good. What is that taste?”

  “Cinnamon. You…okay?”

  “Keen.” I managed a smile—and who wouldn’t smile at the sight of the man’s dimples? “So—when you flagged me into your car…? You know I am—”

  “La lapine. I’ve been keeping an eye on you.”

  “Why? How? I mean, I don’t understand.”

  “The Faction heard Sacha Vital was upset over the foiled kidnapping. We look after our own.”

  “But I’m not your own. I’m an independent. And the kidnapping, it just happened this—er, yesterday morning.”

  “I received a report immediately after the drop-off. Everyone who comes in contact with the Faction is watched until we’re confident they’re out from suspicion.”

  “Really.” I tucked my feet under my legs and settled into the deep leather cushions. “Sounds like you go above and beyond. I don’t know if I like that, being followed.”

  “We’re on your side, Jamie.”

  “Yeah? So why not rescue me before two thugs shoved me into the boot? And where were you when someone knocked me out and took me to Vital’s hideout?”

  “You spoke to Vital?”

  I quirked a brow. Didn’t he know that? If he had been watching me…“What did you think I was doing when you picked me up? Going for a morning jog?”

  “We saw the thugs take you last night, and my men followed, but—”

  “But.” Obviously someone wasn’t paying close enough attention. “Where is the princess?”

  “Not so fast, Jamie.”

  “Yes, fast. Quick, that’s the way I like things. I need details. I need to know you’re the good guys. Why didn’t you reveal your alliance right away when I jumped into your car?”

  “I wanted to ensure you were safe. We don’t reveal ourselves unless it’s necessary. We’re like those Watchers on Highlander.”

  “Ah. There can be only one.”

  “Right.”

  I shrugged. “I prefer Bewitched and I Dream of Jeannie reruns. I
grew up on those.” Heck, I’d spent a summer pretending I was a genie, blinking my pa insane every time he asked me something. “But how do I know you’re an ally?”

  He shrugged and stretched an arm across the back of the sofa. “I could ask the same of you.”

  “What? But you’ve just—”

  “Are you working for Vital?”

  I choked on hot chocolate. “You saw the thugs after me. Why didn’t you ask them? Sacha actually had the nerve to ask me to drive for him!”

  “A job offer?”

  I made a dismissive sound.

  “What did he ask, exactly, Jamie? I need to know.”

  “He needs a driver. I don’t know what for, I don’t care what for. I don’t work for the bad guys anymore.”

  I felt an arm slip around my shoulders as I leaned forward to set the mug on the glass coffee table. “I need to know this is all over. Is the princess safe?”

  “How’d you know she’s a princess?”

  “Sacha told me. Was he lying?”

  Kevin shrugged. “No. Of course, she’s safe.”

  “Did the Faction take her from Sacha’s thugs?”

  “We did during yesterday’s snatch and pickup. Aren’t you glad we rescued her from the hands of that bastard?”

  I don’t do white slavery.

  I nodded. I was in no condition to think too hard. But if Sacha claimed not to practice slavery, then who—ah, his father. But Fitch had told me he was in jail. Had the son taken up his father’s profession? Stupid question. Of course he had. Why else kidnap a woman? And I had been in his custody, unconscious, for so long.

  Why hadn’t he sold me to whomever it was he sold his women to? I was no princess, but I wasn’t chopped liver, either.

  Now I felt the warmth of Kevin’s body against my face. He’d pulled me back to sit close to him, without my even realizing it. I should have pulled away, stood up and stormed out of the room. But it felt too right to sit here, wrapped in comfort. So rarely did I feel safe.

  “So the princess is safe.”

  “Of course,” he answered.

  “With…her family?”

  “Let me do a check. Will that reassure you?”