by Jane Graves
Renee watched as John built a fire, and by the way he thunked the logs into the fireplace, she could tell he was still angry. Well, maybe not angry, but at least annoyed, with a healthy dose of exasperation thrown in. He clearly wanted her out of his life as quickly as possible, and she didn’t blame him. In her desperation to elude Leandro and stay here tonight, she’d jerked him around every bit as much as he said she had. Fortunately, he had no idea he was still being jerked around, and she prayed he never found out.
“Are you hungry?” he asked her, his voice brusque and impersonal.
Hungry wasn’t the word for it. Starving was more like it.
“Uh…yeah. A little.”
He went to the kitchen, peered into the fridge, then rummaged through the cabinets. He came back with a sack of pretzels and a can of Coke.
“I’ve been eating at the diner the past couple of days. I don’t have much around here.”
“That’s okay,” she said, so hungry she'd have eaten the stuffing out of the sofa if he’d turned his back long enough. He handed her the pretzels and Coke, then mumbled something about taking a shower. He disappeared into the bathroom.
Renee munched on the pretzels, visions of pasta fuma and veal scaloppini dancing in her head. Italian food. That made her think of the restaurant where she worked. Or used to work. She sighed wistfully, thinking that if someone hadn’t tossed the loot and the weapon from an armed robbery into the backseat of her car, her biggest worry right now would be double-booked reservations, or a substandard bottle of Chianti.
Stop it. Stop thinking about the life you left behind. It'll only make you crazy.
She finished off most of the pretzels, then folded the top of the bag down and returned it to the kitchen along with the empty Coke can, promising herself a real meal the first chance she got. She collapsed on the sofa again, blinking slowly, mesmerized by the hypnotizing red-gold brightness of the fire and the muffled sound of shower spray coming from the bathroom.
In her sleepy state, the memory of how John had kissed her swam around in her mind, then oozed into other thoughts, more erotic thoughts, thoughts she’d have quelled in an instant if she hadn’t been so incredibly tired and if they hadn’t been so incredibly enticing.
She imagined him standing beneath the shower, his naked body surrounded by a surreal haze of steam, his muscles wet and glistening. She followed the bar of soap as he slid it down one arm and back up again, then across a broad chest, bubbles gathering in the smattering of hair there, only to get washed away by a pulsing spray of water. She saw him turning to let the spray massage his shoulders, rolling them once, twice, to ease the tension there. Then she closed her eyes and delved into truly uncharted territory.
She imagined slipping into the bathroom, easing the shower curtain aside, and meeting his startled gaze. She saw him pulling her into the shower in one smooth move, trapping her against the tile wall and kissing her, first ignoring the fact that she was still fully clothed, then remedying that situation in short order. In this particular daydream the hot water never ran out. They stood beneath the shower all night long making love in that glorious way people do when they only have eyes for each other.
Or so she’d heard.
She heard the squeak of the shower knobs, silencing the spray, then the soft clicking of the shower curtain rings as he pushed the curtain aside. A few minutes later the bathroom door opened and John emerged, steam clouding up behind him as it hit the cool air of the main room. She stared at him dumbly, finding it hard to catch a good, solid breath. Where this man’s body was concerned, her daydream had been more like a premonition.
He wore a pair of jeans. Only a pair of jeans. His feet and chest were bare. He was towel-drying his hair. And to her surprise, he’d shaved. He’d been handsome before, but something about his clean-shaven face and the fact that he was currently half-naked really got her attention. She compulsively inspected every square inch of his body, from his broad, muscled chest to those rock-solid arms that had been laced around her less than half an hour before, all the way down to his bare feet, which she found inexplicably appealing. His feet, for God’s sake. She couldn’t remember ever thinking a man’s feet were sexy, but she sure was thinking it now.
When her gaze traveled back up again, she saw that he’d stopped drying his hair and was staring at her. All at once she realized how long her visual tour of his body had taken, and how obvious it was that she’d been gaping at him. She looked away and ran a hand nervously through her hair. Her cheeks grew warm, and she hoped she wasn’t blushing.
John went to a closet, pulled out a worn flannel shirt, and put it on. He tossed the towel back into the bathroom, then buttoned the length of his shirt as he walked over to her.
“That sofa is a Hide-A-Bed,” he told her. “The only bed.”
Renee had figured as much, since she didn’t see a bedroom, but still she’d hoped that maybe this was a remote Holiday Inn and any minute a bellboy would be bringing in a roll-away.
“And I don’t think you’re any more eager to sleep on the floor than I am.”
“You mean...you want us both to sleep here?”
“Look, if I’d wanted to take advantage of you, don’t you think I’d have done it by now? You stay on your side, I’ll stay on mine, and we’ll both be comfortable. Any problem with that?”
Yes. She had a big problem with it. She’d just been admiring him with the intensity of an astronomer who’d discovered a new celestial body, and now she was supposed to sleep with him? She could deal with her erotic thoughts as long as they were vertical, but horizontally she wasn’t so sure.
“No. No problem.”
She got up from the sofa. He tossed the cushions aside and pulled out the bed, then got two pillows out of the closet. For its being such a big sofa, she was amazed at how small the bed version of it appeared to be.
John lifted the covers on his side, lay down, and slid beneath them. Renee approached the bed tentatively, then kicked off her shoes and lay down on the other side, thinking that if he was beneath the covers maybe she’d better stay on top.
“The fire will die before morning,” he told her. “You’ll get cold like that.”
She paused a moment, then decided that after everything that had happened it would seem pretty ungrateful to imply that she didn’t trust him. She slipped beneath the blankets. He turned out the lamp on the table beside the sofa and lay back on his pillow. Left with nothing but firelight, the room took on a lazy, golden glow. And even though they lay a foot apart, it wasn’t long before the heat from John’s body mingled with hers.
“Alice?”
John’s voice, deep and melodious, broke the silence. It took Renee a moment to realize he was calling her by the phony name she’d given him.
“Yes?”
“Why didn’t you tell me about your boyfriend sooner?”
Because I hadn’t made him up yet.
“I don’t know. I guess I was afraid to.”
“Afraid? Why?”
Renee paused. “After all that stuff I said to you in that diner, I was afraid of what you’d do if I told you I didn’t want to...to go through with it.”
“What did you think I’d do?”
Renee was silent.
“Did you think I’d hurt you? Is that what you thought?”
She shrugged. “Well, you did yell a lot—”
“That’s right. I yelled. Because you were driving me nuts. Because you wouldn’t tell me the truth. But yelling’s all I did.” He paused. “It’s all I’d ever do.”
Renee heard the note of insult in his voice, and all at once she realized he was telling her that no matter how angry he’d gotten, he was nothing like her imaginary abusive boyfriend. And when she remembered how he’d kissed her, like a man who enjoyed giving pleasure as much as taking it, she knew it was true.
“And no matter what you promised me in that diner,” he added, “I never would have made you do anything you didn’t want to.”
<
br /> What if I want to now?
The thought came so clearly into Renee’s mind that she was afraid for a moment that she’d spoken it out loud. It was the weirdest thing. Now that she knew he wasn’t a sex-crazed maniac, sex with him was all she seemed to be able to think about. She didn’t actually want to do it. Well, not all of it, anyway. But she wondered what would happen if she inched closer to him, laid her hand against his cheek, and kissed him. Just one kiss to bring back the memory of how wonderful it had felt. What would he do?
After all the protesting she’d done earlier, he’d probably skip right past the police station tomorrow morning and take her straight to the loony bin.
“Don’t let men hurt you,” John told her. “You don’t have to put up with that.”
The concern she heard behind the brusque tone of his voice sent her guilt level soaring. “I know,” she said softly. “I won’t. Not anymore.”
A frustrated sigh escaped his lips, as if he didn’t believe a word of it, as if he had volumes to say on the subject but realized it was pointless.
“Good night, Alice,” he whispered. Then he closed his eyes and was still. Minutes later she heard his soft, rhythmic breathing and realized he’d fallen asleep.
Renee turned to look at him, taking advantage of the first chance she’d had to stare at him all she wanted to without his looking back with anger or pity, or her worrying that he was going to catch her in a lie. The serenity of his face in slumber highlighted by the glow of the fire made him fiercely handsome, and she inhaled the sight of him. As afraid of his touch as she’d been before, that was how consumed she was with the thought of him touching her now.
Every memory of sexual intimacy she had was with a few teenage boys who knew nothing about sex. If the way John kissed was any indication, he clearly did. For a long, seductive moment she let her mind wander again, wondering what it felt like to have a man make love to her. Not a boy, who got it up and got it over with before she even realized it had started.
A man.
She felt a rush of longing so powerful it hurt. She’d had plenty of boyfriends over the years, but when they found out that her no really meant no, they hadn’t stayed around long.
It wasn’t as if she didn’t want sex. What she didn’t want was the consequences of sex. Not just the pregnancy/AIDS/social disease thing. She remembered the few times she’d given herself to boys who’d given her nothing in return, the shame and loneliness she’d felt, and she was determined never to feel that way again. After her wake-up call eight years ago, she had promised herself that until Mr. Right wandered along, she’d use her body only to hang clothes on and to transport her brain from one location to another. And it was a promise she’d kept. During that fateful summer of her eighteenth year when she’d begun her journey toward self-respect, she vowed that the next man she gave herself to would be a man she trusted. A man she loved.
A man who loved her.
Then she breathed a soft, regretful sigh. Even if she did find a man she could trust, a man who wanted more from her than sex on demand, how could she let him love her when she’d be a fugitive for the rest of her life?
She rolled to her side and lay still, trying to put thoughts of tomorrow out of her mind, hoping to get at least one restful night’s sleep before she was forced to start deceiving John all over again. Then the glint of something silver on the kitchen counter caught her eye.
John’s car keys.
Renee froze. It took her a full five seconds to comprehend the opportunity she saw before her, and when she did, she kicked herself for not thinking of it at a more opportune time. When he was in the shower, for instance. Car theft was a little easier when the owner was preoccupied. Or naked. Or both.
No. She couldn’t steal his car.
Well, maybe it wasn’t exactly stealing. Not if she just used it for a little while, then left it somewhere and called him to tell him where to find it. Car theft involved tearing up steering columns and hot-wiring and generally trashing a car, then taking it to a chop shop, where it would be dissected into an unrecognizable pile of auto parts. That was car theft. This was more like, well...borrowing.
She figured she’d have to ditch the car pretty fast, though, because if he woke up and found her missing, then found his car missing, he’d call the local authorities and report it stolen. She’d get picked up before she knew what hit her.
Wait a minute. He couldn’t call anyone. From what she’d seen, the cabin didn’t have a phone. The only phone she’d seen was a cell phone in his car. Which she would be driving.
That meant she’d be leaving him out here alone in the middle of nowhere, with no communication and no transportation. For a moment her conscience shouted at her, telling her she couldn’t do that. Then she weighed their respective situations. If she took his car, he’d be faced with a ten or fifteen-mile walk back to civilization. If she didn’t take his car, she’d probably end up spending ten or fifteen years in prison.
She told her conscience to shut up.
She lay deathly still for a long time, blinking to stay awake. When fifteen or twenty minutes passed and John still hadn’t moved, she lifted the covers carefully and sat up, swinging her legs around. The sofa bed creaked, and her heart turned a somersault. John stirred a little, then was still again.
She grabbed her shoes and carried them with her to the kitchen counter. Watching John with every step she took, she picked up his keys as deftly as she could to avoid clinking them together. His wallet sat beside the keys. Wallets generally contained money, and she needed some. Badly.
She sighed inwardly. That stealing thing.
Then again, if she sent him the money back later with interest, it wouldn’t exactly be stealing, would it? It would be more like...well, like she’d invested it for him. If she gave him, say, a fifteen or twenty-percent return, how could he possibly complain about that?
She opened his wallet to pull out whatever paper money was in it. But money wasn’t the first thing she saw. And when it dawned on her what she was looking at, she had to slap a hand over her mouth to keep from gasping.
A badge.
She tilted it slightly so the badge glinted in the firelight, then read the ID beside it. John DeMarco. Tolosa Police Department.
God almighty, John was a cop.
A sick, sinking sensation swooped through her stomach, and her knees went weak. For several seconds she just stood there as if her feet were fused to the floor. She’d propositioned a cop. She’d walked right into that diner, and with all the intuition of a dodo bird, she’d managed to zero in on the one man who had both the power and the authority to make sure she never saw the light of day again.
She had to get out of here. Now.
She pulled all the paper money out of his wallet and stuffed it into her jeans pocket. She walked silently to the door, her heart hammering in her chest. She turned the dead bolt until it clicked softly. When she opened the door, it squeaked a little on its hinges. John stirred. She spun around and held her breath as he turned over, his back to the door, then became still again.
She slipped out the door, pulling it closed behind her. She tiptoed along the tree-lined dirt path toward the Explorer, her warm breath fogging in the cold night air. She clasped her shoes to her chest, trying to avoid big patches of fallen pine needles she knew would crunch beneath her feet. She glanced back over her shoulder. The cabin was silent.
Would he hear her start the car?
It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she got inside the car and locked the doors before he made it outside. Then he’d have no way of stopping her.
She reached the Explorer and slipped the key into the lock, her teeth chattering from the cold. Bits and pieces of prayers ran through her head, promises to God for all the wonderful things she was going to do with her life if only he’d get her out of this one little pickle. If only he’d make John sleep until about ten o’clock tomorrow morning. If only the person who really committed that robbery woul
d step forward, confess, and get her off the hook. If only...
As she turned the key, she heard a faint crunch on the path behind her. She whipped around, and all at once she realized the cop sleeping less than thirty yards away was the least of her worries. Her biggest problem had just become the ugly, sneering, tattooed mountain of muscle standing behind her, his single gold earring glinting in the moonlight.
“Hey, there, sweet thing. Going somewhere?”
Chapter 5
Renee yanked the key out of the lock and flung the car door open. She leaped into the Explorer and jerked the door shut, but before she could lock it, Leandro yanked it back open. She lunged over the console, heading for the passenger door. But Leandro clamped his meat hook of a hand onto her leg, his fingers digging in like claws. She kicked wildly, her foot smacking him in the chest. He made one of those Batman-like oof noises, and she knew she’d knocked the wind out of him. But not enough wind, she realized, when he grabbed her by the waistband of her jeans and hauled her backward.
Renee clung ferociously to the steering wheel. “Let me go!”
“Not this time,” Leandro said. He peeled her fingers away from the wheel and dragged her out of the car. “You and me got a score to settle.”
Renee twisted left and right, kicking and screaming. She knocked an elbow into his ribs and stomped on his toes. Nothing. It was like whacking an elephant with a flyswatter. He dragged her backward, his arm clamped around her chest. She twisted and fought, clawing at his arm and screaming, knowing the instant he got her into his car she wouldn’t stand a chance of getting out.
And then he let her go.
Suddenly and unexpectedly free, Renee spun around to discover that Leandro hadn’t released her out of the goodness of his heart. An arm was wrapped around his neck. An arm that belonged to a certain police officer who was no longer sleeping like a baby.
The look of shock on Leandro’s face quickly gave way to one of those ugly snarls generally reserved for championship wrestlers. He slammed an elbow into John’s ribs. John sucked in a sharp, painful breath and fell away, leaving Leandro free to wheel around and land a solid blow to his face with his doubled-up fist. John recoiled, then countered with a right hook that smashed Leandro’s nose, spun him around, and sent him face-first into the dirt. When he hit the ground with a howl of pain and a string of four-letter words, Renee decided she’d seen enough of round one. It was time she headed out.
