by Paula Graves
“I need a room for a couple of nights.” Luke pulled his wallet from his jacket pocket.
The desk clerk handed him a register. “Sign here.”
Luke knew better than to sign his own name. The people following him would smell that kind of trap a mile away. But for his purposes, he needed to pick a name that could, with a little research, be connected to him. He settled on Cal Trimble, the name of his old drill sergeant at Parris Island. Obscure, but not so obscure that people with resources couldn’t connect it to him with a little effort.
It served his purposes for the people who were following them to think they’d finally found them.
Paying the fee for two nights, he pocketed the room key the clerk handed him and headed back outside to a pay phone attached to the office facade. He put coins into the slot to make a call he knew might end up being traced, as well. That was okay, too. It wasn’t as if he didn’t make calls to his family now and then.
His sister answered, her voice groggy. “Yeah?”
“Hey, Hannah, it’s Luke.”
“Hey, stranger.” A smile tinted her sleepy voice, and he heard a low-pitched murmur on the other end of the line. “It’s Luke,” he heard Hannah say in response.
“I need to speak to your husband,” Luke said.
“You need to speak to Riley?” Hannah sounded puzzled. Luke couldn’t blame her; he’d yet to meet her husband, despite the fact that she’d been married to the former Wyoming cop for over a year. A couple of months earlier, she’d given birth to her first child, a little boy they’d named Cody.
He missed her like hell. He’d stayed away from home far too long, let too many milestones go unwitnessed. Hannah’s wedding. Jake’s whirlwind romance with his pretty wife, Mariah. Sam’s return to Gossamer Ridge after years away, and his recent marriage. His niece Cissy’s graduation.
He’d missed all of it because going home had seemed too big a risk. But wasn’t what he was doing now even more dangerous? Cordero or the black-clad thugs—what was the difference?
Was he doing the wrong thing again?
“Is something wrong?” Hannah asked.
He shook off his doubts. He needed help. He knew he could count on his family for backup. End of story. “Let me talk to Riley and then he can explain.”
“Okay.” He heard the reluctance in his sister’s voice as she passed the phone to her husband.
“Hi, Luke.” Riley Patterson’s voice was a low rumble tinged with a Wyoming twang. “Something up?”
A lot was up, but he didn’t have time to do anything but get to the point. “Do your parents still live in Yuma?”
“HAVE YOU EVEN met them before?” Abby resisted the urge to look out the window of the motel. She was pretty sure that whoever had been following them on I-8 had found them by now. Luke had assured her more than once that letting the bad guys find them was all part of his plan.
She wished she could feel quite so confident.
“No, I haven’t met them. I haven’t even met Riley.”
She looked away from the closed curtains. “You haven’t met your brother-in-law? Not even at the wedding?”
A flicker of pain crossed Luke’s face before his features settled into a carefully neutral expression. “I told you, I haven’t been home in ten years.”
Abby shook her head and turned back toward the window. Luke had no idea how lucky he was to have a big family to go home to. “What makes you sure you can trust him?”
“Hannah trusts him. She’s always been a good judge of character. A lot better than any of her hardheaded brothers.”
She smiled a little at the confidence in his voice. For a guy who’d been avoiding home for so long, he clearly loved his family dearly. What in his secret past could have kept him away from them for ten years?
Outside the motel room, a new sound interrupted the faint drone of traffic on the interstate—the low-pitched purr of a car engine. The sound died too suddenly for a passing car. Someone had entered the motel parking lot and shut off the engine. Was it the people they were waiting for?
Abby looked at Luke, her pulse quickening. His expression didn’t change as he crossed calmly to the tiny dressing room vanity and picked up the scuffed plastic ice bucket.
“Showtime,” he said, nodding toward the door near the back of the room. He’d already made quick work of the simple locks separating their room from the empty one next door. He’d stashed their bags and Stevie’s car seat by the front door of the adjoining suite, ready for their quick getaway.
Luke detoured to the bed and picked up Stevie. Abby held her breath, even though she knew Stevie was next to impossible to wake once he was dead asleep. He grumbled softly but didn’t awaken, and Abby exhaled.
Exchanging a quick look with her, Luke tucked Stevie close and joined her at the door to the adjoining room.
“What if they jump you outside?” Abby paused with her hand on the doorknob, fear freezing her insides.
“They won’t go after me when I have Stevie. These people may be ruthless, but they don’t really want to hurt a kid.”
She reached out to stroke her son’s silky hair. Fear crystallized in the pit of her belly. “You hope.”
“I think.” His expression softened, and he started to lift the hand holding the ice bucket. He let it drop again, a little wrinkle of frustration forming between his eyes.
Abby wondered what that aborted gesture meant. Had he been planning to touch her? She was alarmed by how much she craved his touch right now. How gladly she’d have walked into his arms had he spread them open to welcome her.
“I’ll protect him with my life, Abs. Nobody’s going to hurt him on my watch.”
Nobody was better prepared to follow through on the promise he’d just made. But she’d seen their pursuers in action. They were equally skilled, and unlike Luke, they had plenty of resources backing them up.
“I know you’re afraid,” Luke added. “But this is our best chance to go to ground awhile to get them off our trail.”
She met his steady gaze, struggling to draw strength from his confidence. “I’ll be waiting for your knock.”
He smiled briefly as she opened the door and entered the adjoining room. As she locked the door behind her, she heard Luke doing the same thing to the door on their side.
The people after them were as capable of picking locks as Luke—if they’d even bother with stealth. But two locked doors would at least give her a head start on escaping.
She resisted the urge to watch through the narrow gap in the curtains, not wanting to alert their pursuers to her presence in the second room. Instead, she sat on the edge of the bed in the dark, counting every frantic heartbeat to pass the time while she waited for Luke’s signal.
LUKE STAYED CLOSE to the motel facade, keeping to the shadows, not because he thought that such a maneuver would help him evade detection but because he knew it wouldn’t. He was dealing with pros who apparently knew a lot about his background. If he didn’t at least try to avoid being seen, they’d know he was setting a trap.
His plan, long shot that it was, depended on the enemy believing he didn’t have a plan.
Against his shoulder, Stevie stirred as the cold November air slid under the blanket tucked around him. “Mama?”
“Shh,” Luke murmured, tucking him closer. Knowing the little boy’s sleepy whimpers would carry in the crisp night breeze, Luke made a show of trying to quiet him, but he didn’t really mind if anyone heard. Trying to walk a restless child into falling back to sleep created a pretty good reason for him to be outside the room at this time of night. Fortunately, Stevie settled right back to sleep.
He took his time walking to the ice machine near the motel office, keeping his eyes peeled for any sign of movement. He caught the flicker of light coming from inside a dark sedan parked near the end of the parking lot, so faint that almost anyone else might assume he’d just imagined it. But in a glance, Luke assured himself that the parked vehicle was the one that ha
d been following them for miles.
Reaching the corner, he turned, heading down the narrow breezeway to where the ice machine and a couple of drink vending machines filled a small alcove hidden from view of the parking lot. But instead of turning into the alcove, he continued on past the ice machine to the rear of the motel.
A narrow dirt alley ran behind the building, an access point for trash retrieval from the large Dumpster located behind the front office. Luke headed quickly down the alley, rounded the office and edged his way along the side of the building until he had a decent view of the parking lot from the shadows.
He saw a dark figure glide silently across the parking lot and disappear into the gloom under the eaves of the brick building, heading in the direction of Luke’s motel room.
Bold bastards, he thought.
The black-clad man looked shorter and stockier than the two who’d invaded Luke’s house earlier that evening. He’d been right. The people who were after what Matt stole had resources and, apparently, plenty of willing operatives.
This almost had to be about Voices for Villages and Janis Meeks. Had Matt found evidence tying Barton Reid to the arms-for-drugs deals? It was an open secret in foreign policy circles that Reid had a philosophical affinity with El Cambio and their political aims. Had Matt found some sort of evidence to prove that one of the State Department’s top men put his personal leanings over the stated foreign policy of his own government to the point of arming narco-terrorists?
If these men really were acting as Barton Reid’s personal army, there were probably few lines they wouldn’t cross to get rid of that kind of damning evidence.
Luke glanced at the car parked at the end of the lot. It appeared to be empty. But was it? He knew there had to be at least two operatives tailing them; anything less was bad procedure. Could there be three or more? Possibly, but Luke doubted it. On an operation like this, stealth was key, so you went with as few operatives as possible. Two well-trained men would be enough to handle Luke, a female civilian and a toddler, especially if they had the element of surprise.
He slid deeper into the shadows, back toward the alley. Keeping close to the sheltering bulk of the Dumpster, he looked down the narrow lane, praying Riley had come through for him.
There. The faint gleam of a streetlamp bounced off the fender of a car parked at the street end of the alley. Light blue sedan, just as Riley had promised.
Everything was set. Now he just had to locate the two operatives who’d been following him so he’d know which of their plans to set into motion.
Luke crept toward the breezeway, pausing at the corner when he heard soft footsteps, close enough so that his heart skipped a beat. He waited as the steps paused. Checking the alcove to see where Luke had disappeared to?
If he could take this operative out of commission, he might have an upper hand with the one he’d seen heading for the motel room. But he couldn’t exactly fight with a two-year-old on his shoulder. And while the seconds ticked away, Abby was waiting in a hotel room for his signal, in escalating danger.
The footsteps resumed, moving toward him. He padded silently back toward the edge of the building, where shadows from the bare branches of a large cottonwood tree gave him extra cover. He ducked behind the cottonwood and peered toward the breezeway exit, where a man dressed in black crept into the alley, his movements deliberate and controlled.
This was a fourth operative, Luke realized—neither the stocky man from the parking lot nor one of the two men who’d trashed his house. This man was tall and whipcord-lean.
And he was looking straight at Luke.
Chapter Five
Stevie stirred against Luke’s neck, and for a second, all the air froze in Luke’s lungs. Please, Little Bit, please don’t wake up. Hang on just a little longer.
He stayed perfectly still, hoping the shadows hid them from view. The longer the man in black stood there, staring, the more certain Luke was that he and Stevie had been spotted.
The man scanned the alley for movement. Luke’s chest began to burn from holding his breath. Finally, the operative ducked back into the breezeway, disappearing from sight.
Luke darted down the alley toward the back of the motel building, looking for the X he’d painted with toothpaste on the bathroom window of the adjoining room. Though small, the window was big enough for Abby to crawl through. Their bags would also go through the window; he’d checked beforehand, in case a back-door exit became necessary.
Spotting flashes of light coming from within the motel room he’d rented earlier, Luke made up his mind. A rear exit was necessary. He rapped softly on the bathroom window, hoping the sound was loud enough for Abby to hear him without the men next door being alerted.
Time crept while he waited for Abby to respond. He was on the verge of knocking again when the window creaked open and Abby’s heart-shaped face appeared in the window.
“I can hear them moving around next door,” she whispered.
“I know. Time for plan B. Go get the bags.”
“Already did.” She dropped from sight briefly and popped back into view with his soft-sided duffel, passing it through the window to him. As quietly as possible, she handed the other two bags through the window, her expression growing more and more strained each time.
“They’re picking the locks to the adjoining room,” she said as she bent to grab something else.
“Leave it. Crawl through now!” he ordered urgently.
“I can’t—it’s Stevie’s car seat.” She hauled the folded seat over the windowsill and let it drop into Luke’s free arm. He grabbed it and lowered it to the ground, rising to help Abby out of the room. But she was already through the window, tumbling down awkwardly and hitting with a bone-jarring thud.
She grunted with pain, and Luke’s stomach gave a sickening lurch. “Are you hurt?” he whispered, bending to check on her.
She shook off his hand. “I’m fine. I heard the adjoining door opening and figured I’d get out while I could. Let’s go!”
He handed Stevie to her. “There’s a car parked at the end of the alley. Go! Riley’s dad is waiting. I’ll get the bags.”
She looked reluctant but started running, holding Stevie pressed close to her chest. Luke grabbed their bags, along with Stevie’s car seat, hooking them together with the longer handle of his duffel bag. It was an awkward, heavy load, but he’d carried heavier in worse conditions.
Trying to ignore the sounds coming through the open window behind him, he set off after Abby, catching up as they neared the parked sedan. The back door of the car opened, but no light emerged from the interior.
Luke skidded to a stop, grabbing Abby’s arm. Why hadn’t the dome light come on? Was it a trap?
A moment later, the front driver’s window lowered, and the lean, craggy face of a man in his sixties appeared through the opening. “You folks gettin’ in or not?” he asked, his blue eyes sharp with urgency.
Luke nudged Abby into the backseat and handed her Stevie’s car seat. As she started buckling Stevie in, Luke raced around to enter the passenger side, quickly turning to look down the alley toward the motel. He spotted a black-masked head sticking out of the open window Abby had just come through.
He turned to the gray-haired man at the wheel. “Go. Now.”
The man cranked the engine, slammed the car into gear and shot out of the alley, taking a quick turn down the next street. He drove with silent intensity for the next ten minutes, darting the car down side streets and through narrow alleys until they finally cut through a large intersection as the light was turning yellow and headed up the on-ramp to I-8.
Luke turned around to look at Abby, who stared back at him with wide, scared eyes. Strapped snugly into the car seat next to her, Stevie was sound asleep. He’d never really awakened through the entire ordeal.
He reached over the seat and grabbed Abby’s hand, giving it a quick squeeze. She squeezed back, and for a second, he felt as if all the years between them disappear
ed, and they were back in San Diego, with no secrets or betrayals between them.
They’d been the best of friends, once. Soul mates, even. If things had been different…
He let go, a ripping sensation clawing at his heart, and faced forward, gazing ahead at the lights of the interstate.
Things weren’t different. Things were exactly the same as the night he’d walked out of her bedroom and her life.
He couldn’t afford to lose sight of that fact.
Up on the interstate, the sedan dropped to a reasonable rate of speed. The gray-haired man in the driver’s seat visibly relaxed and shot Luke a look of pure satisfaction. He spoke with an accent as dry and sprawling as the plains of Wyoming. “Nice to meet you finally, Luke Cooper. I’m Jim Patterson. I’d say we just had ourselves one hell of a welcome to the family.”
THE PATTERSONS LIVED in a pretty, three-bedroom adobe-style house in the middle of a small neighborhood east of downtown Yuma. Jim Patterson parked the sedan next to a large Ford Bronco and cut the engine. “Patterson Ranch Southwest,” he said with a wry smile. “You folks hungry? If I know Rita, she’s got something warmin’ up in the oven.” He patted his flat belly. “She swears she’s gonna fatten me up in my old age. I’m a little afraid to ask her what for.”
Abby chuckled, the sound alien to her ears after the past few tense hours. She caught Luke’s eye as they exited the car.
He smiled encouragingly. “Need me to get Little Bit?”
She shook her head and bent to retrieve Stevie from his car seat. He whined a little at being disturbed but settled down quickly, cuddling into her shoulder.
“When Riley was that size, he could sleep through a blizzard,” Jim Patterson said. “What’s his name?”
“Stevie. Stephen Chandler.” She almost stumbled over the last name, guilt slicing into her gut like a knife. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your taking us in like this.”
