by Angi Morgan
“Maybe. Realistically, how long can we avoid the FBI or some other San Antonio cop?”
“We can do what we need probably by late tomorrow. Prove that Rory exists, get proof we can deliver to the Bureau, and force them to continue the search. We might even get lucky and discover who wants you out of the picture.”
“What happens after that?”
He shrugged as an answer, but knew that he’d turn himself in and play on the media for sympathy. He had to. He’d prove Rory was alive by bringing this Hayden fellow to Texas, especially if he had pictures of Rory. But he’d hide Jane first. Someplace no one would think of.
Jane knew what that shrug suggested. She’d never surrender herself while Rory was still missing. No matter what Steve did, she couldn’t give up hope. She didn’t care who she had to ask or what she had to do.
“Let’s get going then. Where do we meet your friend?” she asked.
“Food court.”
When had he become so jaded? The Steve she’d known was funny and optimistic, never letting anything get him down. Until she’d gotten that letter from Johns Hopkins. Even then, he wouldn’t stand in the way of her potential career. A career that had been empty without his smile.
Determined not to go down self-pity lane, she tried to squeeze past him to get to the door. But in the little space between the bed and the dresser his hands stopped her with a touch to her shoulders.
Conflicting emotions surged through her body. Steve’s touch, whether strong or gentle, always evoked a deep response. She wanted him to get angry, so it would be easier to be in the same room with him. But his face was filled with concern and confusion.
“Don’t do that, Steve.”
His deep brown eyes bored their way through the barrier she tried to keep erected between them. A barrier that crumbled with every look in his direction.
“Don’t do what?” he asked a bit too huskily, a bit too close to her personal space. A bit like he knew exactly what he was doing.
“That.”
“Be specific.” He pulled her a fraction of an inch closer to his body. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“I…ah…nothing. We need to leave, that’s all.” She tried to step out of his way, but he mirrored her actions. The corners of his mouth tilted upward.
“Liar.”
The word was a soft whisper across the side of her neck, and caused gooseflesh to rise on her arms. Gathering the energy to look into his concerned eyes, she fell forward a step when he suddenly released her.
It was better this way.
Better to keep her distance. Better to keep secret what his deep searching eyes did to her heart, what his touch did to her soul. Better not to allow herself to love him again.
Chapter Nine
“So was that a good deal for a BlackBerry knockoff?” Jane asked, trying to ease the device from Steve’s hands without success.
“This is the first time I’ve loved prepaid phone plans. No credit check. No real name.” Steve sat at an empty table in the middle of the mall food court, seemingly unconcerned that their pictures were a part of every news station’s rolling headline.
“Don’t you think we should go somewhere else?” She saw another security guard and ducked her head. “Somewhere less conspicuous?”
“Don’t worry about it, Jane.” He smiled, looking totally relaxed. “Your driver’s license pic doesn’t look a thing like you now. It actually looks like a college ID.”
“Just because your hair is six inches longer than in your picture doesn’t mean someone won’t recognize you.” Even with the sleep she’d grabbed that afternoon, the tension was making her edgy.
“That’s why I got the hat.” He adjusted the black Stetson low on his brow. “I’ll get us some food.”
Steve’s boots clicked across the floor behind her as she scooped the phone into her hands and sat at the metal table. The sound of someone running made her swivel her seat to look.
“We’re leaving.” Steve grabbed the phone, turned it off before placing it in his shirt pocket, and helped her stand.
“You said not to worry—” She pulled at the straps on the over-the-shoulder bags they’d picked up for a couple of dollars but was thrown off guard when Steve pulled her into a store and covered her mouth.
His hand was warm, but the cold chill in his eyes told her all she needed to know. The FBI or police were looking for them inside the mall.
“Jane,” he whispered, “that’s George and he’s headed this way.”
“What do we do now?”
“Run.” He took the bags from her shoulder. He interlocked their fingers on one hand and leveled his face with hers. “Don’t let go, Jane. Not unless I tell you to leave me.”
Hands together, they took off at a fast walk back into the flow of mall customers. Keeping pace with Steve’s stride was quite a workout for her shorter legs. She tried not to be obvious when she sneaked a peak behind them. The suits were still there, but seemed to be headed down another hallway.
Steve pulled her behind him and looked over his shoulder every sixth or seventh step until they reached a candy shop with two front exits. He ducked behind a lollipop display and looked at her through the heart-shaped suckers.
“I don’t think he saw us.” He pulled his hat off and handed it to her to hold, then began rolling up the sleeves on his Western snap shirt. “Don’t drop that.”
Her parents had told her that a calm head would prevail in any situation. And she had to agree. In an emergency, it was the composed person who became the leader or hero. But right now, right this minute, all Jane wanted to do was burst out with hysterical laughter.
Their son had been kidnapped, the FBI was chasing them, someone wanted to frame her for murder and Steve had just asked her not to drop his hat. How absurd was that?
“Hey, that’s a great hat.” He must have caught sight of her near hysteria because he beamed. That was the only word for it. She knew thousands of words and beamed was the only one that completely described the look on Steve’s face.
Every part of his slender face lit up. She imagined that “frightened to death” had been the look to describe her, until he’d handed her his hat.
Looking around the corner of the shop, then back at her, he beckoned her closer.
“Yes?”
“That sign over there says we’re headed toward the southeast exit. Can you search that wonderful brain of yours and find out where we’ll be if we walk fast for about ten minutes?”
She took a deep calming breath and pulled up the map of San Antonio in her mind. “Due east, about two blocks?”
“Zig to the right a block.”
“Nock and Sharmain.”
“Great. I’ll call and tell Rhodes to meet us there. Stay here while I check on where George is.”
The pressure from his hand subsided, but she didn’t release him. “No, we go together.”
His head nodded once, then the warmth of his hand reassured her again.
“Okay, let’s head toward the restrooms and the emergency exit through the hall.” He pointed, looked, then cautiously entered the crowd. She followed, holding tight to his hand.
And his hat.
Had he really said “wonderful brain”? No one, other than her parents and Hayden, had ever called her freakish memory wonderful. Those who had known weren’t friends. She had been a study to marvel at how much her brain could absorb. It would be different for Rory.
She watched the hall entrance twenty feet away while Steve checked the door. She expected the men in suits to follow and yell, “Freeze!” But two women entered the hall after them and she relaxed just a bit. Even if they did eye Steve’s backside several times before they pushed the ladies’ room door open.
“We’ll have to go back,” Steve said, turning her by the shoulders. “The door sounds an alarm. I didn’t think we’d get this lucky. Mind getting another shirt out for me?” He dialed the cell. “I’m not sure if George saw me or not, but changing our
appearance can’t hurt.”
She searched through a sack for a shirt they’d picked up at the Goodwill store.
“Here you go—” She froze. At the entrance of the hallway stood two Hispanic men pointing guns straight at her.
“Put your hands in the air,” the taller man on the left said with a heavy Spanish accent. They weren’t in suits and ties like most FBI agents.
Jane watched in horror as the shorter one tipped his gun toward her.
“Please do not obey,” the taller guy begged with an evil grin. His presence shouted that he wanted to hurt her. “We were told we could play with you a bit.”
Oh, my God! She stumbled back. “Who sent you?” Steve quickly stepped between her and the men. His arms were in the air and she put her hands at his waist to push him out of the way. She didn’t want him to die for her.
She didn’t want either of them to die.
Steve had a knife. He’d bought that silly Western vest so he could hide it in the waistband of his jeans. He firmly held his ground, but turned just close enough to her that she felt the handle.
If she were reading him correctly, he wanted her to pull the knife from its sheath. Her knuckles brushed the small of his back but her fingers hesitated.
“We are happy to let you watch us with her, amigo. First we must leave. Vamanos,” one of the men said.
“Do it.”
Steve’s words must have been a command for her because he wasn’t moving like the men ordered. She was glad she couldn’t see the guns any longer or she might have chickened out. She concentrated on small, quick movements that would be hidden behind Steve and managed to remove the knife.
“I’m getting kind of tired here, fellas.” He began lowering his arms.
“Quiero lastimarte!” the talkative one said. “Move forward. Slowly.”
“Okay, okay. Just don’t let your fingers get itchy. We’re comin’.” He took a few steps in slow motion, but then suddenly Steve had the knife in hand and moved like lightning. He kicked one man in the stomach and swept the other’s feet into the air without losing the blade. “Run.”
She clutched the bags to her chest and didn’t wait. Neither did Steve. They ran through the shoppers to the nearest exit, passed through the doors with women screaming at the sight of Steve’s knife. It registered that he told those screamers to get down and out of the way. But she kept running into the dark parking lot, between cars, toward the main road.
A bullet shattered glass somewhere behind them and she dove for cover behind a Ford Explorer. The men had obviously recovered, followed and wanted to finish them. Steve stopped beside her, looked around for several seconds, then pulled the cell from his pocket, thumbing a text message.
Breathing hard and clutching the stitch in her side, she asked, “Now what do we do?”
“As much as I hate it, we wait on the cavalry.” He looked toward the mall entrance. “Or wait on George. He should have word about gunfire.”
“But Agent Lanning will—” More glass shattered above their heads.
“Yeah, arrest us.”
“Isn’t there anything else we can do?”
A rumbling and revving of an engine pulled up next to them. “Hey, man, are those dudes shooting real bullets?” A twentysomething man with two-toned spiked hair craned his head from a truck window.
“It’s about time, Rhodes!” Steve shouted over the truck’s booming woofers.
“Need a lift?” Rhodes nodded his head like a bobble doll in time with the music, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.
The old red truck was more Bondo than paint. It looked older than dirt and Jane’s first thought was that they could probably run faster than the truck could roll. A bumper sticker reading You Can’t Kill a Man Born to Hang was slapped haphazardly over a dent in the door. More sayings were stuck to the bottom of the rear window.
Bullets peppered the asphalt between her and the truck, drawing her back to their problem. Steve’s friend seemed in no hurry to escape the imminent danger. He slowly ducked his head behind the steering wheel. Then he came back up and said, “I was just wondering if you, like, were actually going to take me up on my offer of a getaway car or something. Or if I had to stay here for a while.”
Steve laughed.
“Are you crazy?” she shouted first at Rhodes, then at Steve. “This is your rescue?”
Their assailants steadily advanced down the row of cars. Jane’s grip on the bags tightened convulsively as the rear window of the Explorer shattered. She ducked her head and averted her eyes. Beads of glass flew into her hair and across the skin of her arms.
A bullet zinged and hit the truck, causing their rescuer to curse and disappear behind the door.
“How do I get over there?” Jane asked.
“Catch,” Rhodes yelled.
Steve caught the gun and shot at the gunmen. “Go!”
She ran and jumped onto the tailgate of the truck, landing hard on her stomach and receiving a face full of dirt. The sounds of weapons firing, metal pings of bullets hitting cars, and a strange slow song on the radio surrounded her. Within moments Steve followed, pushing her toward the cab of the truck.
“Don’t worry, lady—” Rhodes patted the dashboard “—she’s got a Hemi.”
Their knight in rusted armor slammed the ancient truck into gear and burned rubber from the parking lot. Tires squealed. Steve leaned over the tire well and aimed the gun but the kid kept his foot on the gas and left the Hispanic men behind.
She slid from side to side, her hair almost blinding her as it blew into her mouth and eyes. Straw and dirt blew into the air, choking her. She put her hand on the side of the pickup to pull herself to a sitting position.
“Stay down!” Steve shouted as he covered her head with his arm.
As they squealed through the next curve, she slid close to his side and he kept her there. But his eyes weren’t concerned for her comfort. He slowly raised his head and searched the street behind them.
If anyone followed, they were left in the truck’s dust. A “Hemi” must mean a fast, big engine. She’d have to read about them someday since she was grateful for their existence.
“So did you guys rob a store or something?” Rhodes asked through the back window while he directed the truck to the Interstate 35 on ramp and sped south.
“Always the clown. Get us out of here, Rhodes.”
Steve sat with his back to the cab and helped her situate herself next to him. Thankfully, it was windy and noisy. She didn’t need to discuss what had almost happened.
Death or capture. Rescue by a sexy dark-haired pirate with a dagger earring. It was too surreal for words.
STEVE BRACED HIS FOOT against the wheel hub as Rhodes darted in and out of traffic. He kept Jane’s small body tucked into his side to keep her from sliding around the rusty truck bed. He stuck his new .45 in his waistband.
It was time to start thinking about their next step. He pulled a small pebble of glass from her hair just thankful Jane hadn’t been shot.
“You can slow down, Rhodes. No reason to draw attention to ourselves since no one’s following.”
Rhodes eased off the gas and exited. A few minutes later they sat in front of a broken-down apartment building in a very poor neighborhood. It looked as if it should be condemned.
Rhodes slammed the truck door and grabbed the two bags from Jane’s side. “Man, what did you guys do to piss off the enojadizo brothers?”
“You know who those punks are?” Steve asked.
“They tried to kill us,” Jane said. “Enojadizo is Spanish for angry.”
“I know, Jane.” Steve tried to gently reminder her that they both spoke Spanish. No one grew up on a Texas ranch and worked undercover without knowing a bit of the language that was just beyond the border.
“Those guys are local guns for hire,” Rhodes said. “You’re lucky I got there in time.”
“Just in the nick of time. Trying to be a hero?”
Rhodes coc
ked a smile. “Never been one before.”
Local guns for hire. Whoever had framed Jane for murder knew he was helping her. The kidnappers were tired of playing games.
Steve kept Jane close to him. He knew what kind of work Rhodes did for the DEA. Deep undercover drug trafficking. So he didn’t trust the neighborhood and barely trusted Rhodes. They walked up four flights of stairs and into a room with a simple doorknob lock.
“Sorry about the temporary accommodations, but I don’t receive a huge housing allowance.”
Jane took the bags and sat in the lone chair next to the folding TV tray.
“This is a hellhole, man.” Steve shook Rhodes’s hand and squeezed his shoulder, trying to convey how much he appreciated the rescue without saying it out loud. Not now. Not in front of Jane. She really seemed shaken up.
“Yeah. When you called this afternoon, I scrambled to find someplace for you. I’m still waiting to hear back. It’s been a while, Woods. How ya been?”
“There’s no computer here,” Jane said without looking directly at either of them.
“Nope. A PC in this dump would mean I was an intellectual.” He turned away from Jane and mouthed, “Is she all right?”
Steve shook his head. “Hey, man, could you bring a laptop to that place we’re staying tonight? Did you manage the cash?”
“Cash is not a problem.” Rhodes had his hand on the doorknob to leave.
“How about transportation?”
“Being taken care of,” Rhodes said. “Did you eat?”
“Food would be great.”
“Be right back.”
The door shut quietly and he heard the thud of the bags slipping from Jane’s lap to the floor.
“I don’t believe this.” Jane stood and went to the small, grimy window. “He doesn’t have a computer?”
She had to understand he was doing the best he could. They were on the run, not undercover. This was totally different. He had no reference points, no experience, no place to start.
Bull, his starting point was Jane. She’d asked her Baltimore friend to confirm Rory was still alive. Steve needed to call and see if that had happened. Then he’d—they’d—get Rory back.
