by Susan Stoker
He stiffened. Cain didn’t like where this discussion was leading.
“I’ll need you to take her back to the station to get her statement and see what she knows. Be sure to run the plates on that car—”
Cain cussed silently but didn’t bother arguing. “And I’ll see if she has any outstanding warrants…”
Josh gave him a quick grin and clapped his shoulder. “Figured you’d be the last man to be tempted by a pretty face.”
Cain narrowed his gaze, but otherwise didn’t rise to the jibe. A town like Caldera had no secrets, at least none that stayed buried long. His next door neighbor had made sure all his buddies at the diner knew exactly what had transpired when Susan left, down to the make and model of the pickup truck that pulled away with all his furniture and appliances, even his own clothing. Cain guessed it had made for a rip-roaring story since the smiles and pats of commiseration hadn’t stopped.
Yeah, he’d be the last man to let down his guard with a pretty brunette. But man, he did have a type. The woman who refused to meet his stare was everything he liked in one curvy little package—including that lost, lonely look. Shit.
He hitched up his belt, drew a deep breath, and headed toward her, noting the frantic way her gaze hit everything around him before, at last, widening and rising to meet his. She wore the same baggy, oversized blouse and slacks she had when she’d stood inside the motel office—an outfit his grandma might have worn. And she was barefoot. For some reason, that last fact made his stomach ache.
Damn, this close she had the face of an angel—if angels had dark, doe-like eyes, skin the color of fresh cream, and lips as plump and dark as ripe cherries. Firelight lent an illusion of intimacy…
Shit.
He reached for the brim of his hat and tipped it. “Ma’am.”
Her gaze went to the badge pinned to the pocket of his denim shirt. “Deputy.”
“I need you to accompany me to the station so I can take your statement.”
Her eyebrows drew closer. “We can’t do it here?”
“No, ma’am. That wouldn’t follow protocol.”
“And you always follow the rules?”
Her question came quick and with a touch of vinegar, which still didn’t lesson the sweetness of her honeyed voice. He liked a bit of tart with his sweet. Dammit. “Rules keep us all safe, ma’am.” He tilted his chin toward his squad car. “You can ride with me.”
She straightened. “I can drive myself.”
“Someone will bring your car along later,” he said, crossing his arms.
Her gaze whipped between the house and the car. “My things.”
What things? He glanced into the back, but it was empty. He raised an eyebrow.
The breath she blew out billowed her cheeks. “My purse is in the cabin.”
“Then it’s lost.”
“They didn’t even try to put out the fire.”
He glanced around the clearing. “You see a hydrant? A pond? They only carry about two thousand gallons of water. Not enough to put out that blaze. All they can do is let it burn and use their water to make sure they keep the grass around it from going up. Sorry about your things.”
Tears began to fill her eyes.
He mentally cussed himself for upsetting her, but there wasn’t a thing he could do. He waved a hand toward his car.
She stiffened her back, shoved her hands deep into her pants pockets and swept past him, walking swiftly toward his vehicle despite the fact she was walking over small stones.
Another twinge tightened his chest this time. Maybe his guard was up for all the wrong reasons. She might just be down on her luck. And now, she didn’t even have a pair of shoes.
She walked to the back passenger door of his car.
“You can ride up front,” he said, before he could stop himself.
Her head swung his way, and her gaze narrowed. “You breaking protocol now?”
“Should I consider you a suspect?”
She swallowed and shook her head.
“Then get up front.”
Maybe he’d spoken a little too harshly, and maybe his expression was tightening into a grim mask, but inside a minute she’d managed to get under his skin. Already, he was making excuses, painting scenarios where she was an innocent and needed his help, rather than being like the angel-faced vixen his ex-wife had turned out to be.
As he opened his door, preparing to climb inside, he caught the sheriff’s stare. Humor crimped his lips into a tight smile. Josh knew damn well how the mystery woman affected him.
Time to end the mystery. Once he was seated, he gave her a pointed stare. “Seatbelt?”
“Yes, of course.” She fumbled with the seatbelt, but with her left hand, held the lap band above her lap as she secured it.
The yard surrounding the cabin was now a parking lot filled with vehicles. Once he’d found a path through, he turned onto the main road and pointed his vehicle toward town. “What’s your name?”
“Carina.”
“Just Carina?” he asked, working to keep his tone polite when what he wanted was to shoot his questions like bullets.
“Carina Black.”
She said it a little too quickly, but he let it slide. “So, you rented from Mutt Owens?”
“From Bryan Owens, yes.”
Mutt must have been taken with the girl to have given her his birth name. “For how long?”
The light from his dash was bright enough he saw her head jerk his way. “Does that matter?”
“Don’t know.” He flashed her a quick, too polite smile. “Should it?”
“O-of course not. A week.”
“I’m surprised he was willing to rent it for so short a time. He’s been looking for a tenant for a long time.”
“He seemed happy enough to rent for one week.”
Mutt happy? Which meant she must have paid him enough to make him happy. “Tell me about the fire.”
She rubbed her hands together, and then placed them between her thighs. “I can’t tell you much. I woke up with smoke filling the bedroom in the back. I crawled to the door, keeping under the smoke and closed it, and then looked for something I could use to wrap around my arm.” She gave a small nervous laugh. “I had to break the window to climb out. I found a towel to do it, then laid a pillow over the window frame before I crawled out.”
Smart. And level-headed. “No cuts? Or scratches?”
“None.”
“You didn’t hear anything before you smelled smoke?”
“No. Sorry. I’m not much help, am I?”
He shot her a glance, noted the mutinous thin line of her mouth, then returned his gaze to the road in front of them. “You were lucky. Looks like someone set that fire,” he said it slowly and watched her from the corner of his eye.
Her chest rose and fell more rapidly. “Lucky. That’s me,” she whispered.
“What are you doing in Caldera? You have family here?”
“No. Just passing through.”
People didn’t just pass through Caldera. The town wasn’t on any major thoroughfare. “And you decided to rent a cabin for a week?”
She shrugged. “Thought I might explore the canyon. Saw the signs from the highway.”
The stranger didn’t look like a hiker. Or a camper. Didn’t seem the type to climb the hoodoos in the park. “You’ll need gear.”
“Thought I might buy some in town.”
An answer for everything. His bullshit meter was wagging toward the redline. But he didn’t push back. Now wasn’t the time. Once he had her in the interrogation room under a hot lamp, he’d be able to take better measure, press her for the truth of why she was in Caldera.
Bright lights reflected on his rearview mirror, and he reached over to flip the mirror downward. Beside him, Carina Black, if that was even her name, turned to glance over her shoulder. But it wasn’t a casual glance.
Her head stayed turned, and her eyes narrowed. “They’re coming up fast.”
&nb
sp; “Maybe they don’t know they’re tailing a cop,” he said under his breath as he noticed the speed at which the vehicle approached.
“And maybe they do.”
She said it quietly, but with enough gravity he stiffened in his seat. “There something I should know?”
“Not now. But you better step on it.”
He didn’t wait to ask her why. Someone had already set fire to her cabin. Maybe the same someone behind them who had her so concerned. He pushed on the gas and shot forward, keeping one eye on the road ahead and the other on the bright lights behind him. They still had several miles to travel before reaching town. And no houses next to the road. Large uninhabited stretches of flat land lay on both sides of the road. He pushed the pedal to the floor and cussed again.
She drew a ragged breath. “He’s not giving up.”
“Who, dammit?” he asked, not looking sideways now because he needed all his attention on the road and his driving.
“Joey Guiducci.”
“A friend of yours?” he gritted out as his hands tightened on the wheel. At this speed, if a deer loped across the road, they’d all be toast.
“Not a friend. I used to date him.”
“This how he usually says hi, Carina?”
“It’s how he pays back those who cross him.”
“You do that? You cross this guy?”
Giving a dismissive wave, she faced forward. “I left him. That’s enough.”
Despite the fact they appeared to be in imminent danger, he couldn’t avoid the irony of the situation. “Anyone tell you that you have shit taste in men?”
“My mother,” she muttered. “Should have listened.”
The car behind them drew closer, and then darted into the left lane. The sound of a powerful engine, something expensive and Daytona-worthy, rumbled loudly. “Should we be worried he wants to do more than drag race, sweetheart?”
“Deputy, I’m so sorry.” Her voice trembled, and then she reached out to brace her hands against the dash and the door beside her. “He wants me dead.”
Chapter Two
‡
Carina Black really was sorry. The lawman didn’t deserve the danger she’d put him in. However, now wasn’t the time for regrets.
With her heart pounding against her chest, she reached up for the handle above her window and held on for dear life. The deputy had his hands full, watching the road in front of them while his gaze flicked again and again to his side mirror as Joey tried to edge his car forward in the left lane.
Not that the deputy appeared handicapped in any way by his outclassed Impala. Joey might like to think he was an expert behind the wheel, but so far the deputy was winning this game of chicken, sliding over the center line to crowd the other vehicle, forcing it toward the road’s slender shoulder. If the quiet, tense man sitting beside her could manage to keep Joey thwarted until the vehicles hit the city limit sign, they might just make it.
What happened after that was anyone’s guess, but she’d be alive for a few minutes longer.
The Impala’s engine roared. The Viper’s beside them screamed. If either driver caught a tire on the edge of the pavement, he’d flip the vehicle through the air. At nearly a hundred miles an hour now, no one would survive the impact. Joey was fucking crazy. A fucking bastard. Jesus-God, all she’d wanted was to escape his world. To start fresh. That she’d helped herself to a fat roll of cash she’d found secreted at the back of his closet had only seemed fair for the torment she’d endured as Joey Guiducci’s girlfriend.
She should have listened to her mama. Never once stepped into Joey’s world where lines weren’t just gray, they were outlined in blood. But she’d been tempted by his excesses—the clothes he’d insisted she wear, the jewels he draped her in, the heady company of local politicians, and up and coming stars. She’d been arm candy, understanding from the start that all he required was that she look good, always look at him, and never once question his authority.
She’d been so young. So stupid. In love with the glitz, the exciting whirl—seduced by the dangerous world she’d eagerly embraced.
Until she’d seen Joey in action. And then known, without a doubt, the depth of his depravity.
They’d been on their way to yet another private club to mingle with the rich and famous, when he’d told her they had to make a short detour. She’d been instructed to wait in the car while he’d entered a little flower shop on a dingy street in Chicago she’d never known existed. She’d gotten worried they’d be late when he’d taken too long. So, she’d let herself out of the car, and teetering on her Christian Louboutin python pumps, had peeked through the window.
What she’d seen sucked the air from her lungs. Inside, Joey stood, his jacket and shirt draped on a counter, while he’d pistol-whipped a middle-aged man who hadn’t the strength left to raise his arms to protect his face. She’d frozen in place, her stomach bubbling then revolting. She straightened from throwing up on the concrete walkway to find Joey, his face screwed into a ferocious scowl, standing over her while he straightened the cuffs of his shirt.
Looking down, she’d noted the droplets of water on his hands, and almost warned him not to touch the silk cuffs—before she realized he’d washed away blood. And now, he looked angry enough to come after her.
Instead of beating her, he’d gripped her upper arms and backed her against the side of his car, lifting her, pushing a knee between her thighs to spread her legs, and then reaching between to tear away her underwear.
When he’d been done with her, he’d shoved her into the passenger seat and warned her never to disobey him again. “Or else.”
She hadn’t needed for him to spell out what her punishment would be. In one stunning moment, the fact she’d never met or heard a word about his previous girlfriends made sense.
Instead of crying or cringing in fear, she’d forced her face into a calm mask. “I hope we won’t be late,” she’d said, smoothing down the hem of her short skirt. They’d continued on to the club, her without any underwear, him with fine droplets of blood drying on his dark trouser legs, as they’d danced and mingled and pretended Joey wasn’t a monster or that his friends weren’t equally as monstrous.
That had been five days ago. The moment they’d returned to their place, she’d begun planning her escape, texting her mom to tell her to visit her sister in Florida—now. Next, she’d raided the laundry room for the housekeeper’s clothing. She hadn’t wanted anything Joey had ever given her—not the clothes, the jewels—but she had taken the Mercedes, trading it to a sketchy body shop for the clunker she’d left at the cabin. She’d slipped away as he was still sleeping off the liquor he’d consumed at the party while acting as though he hadn’t left a man beaten to a pulp.
The deputy jerked the wheel to the right, just avoiding a collision with Joey’s car. “Thank Jesus,” he muttered.
Up ahead, the glow of civilization showed on the horizon. They were almost home free.
And as soon as that thought crossed her mind, she noticed the car beside them fading back. Carina let go of the handle and gripped her hands together while she tried to slow her jagged breaths.
The man beside her didn’t relax. Barely slowed. Not until they passed a filling station at the outskirts of town. By the time they pulled into the parking lot in front of the small limestone sheriff’s office, he’d radioed for backup.
When he opened his door, he gave her a sharp glare. “Stay put until I say you move.”
She didn’t mind his sharp delivery. Nodding, she waited as he circled the car and popped the trunk. When he came to her door, he carried a shot gun.
He flipped the door handle and held it open while he scanned the quiet street. “Get out.” Then he waited as she exited and moved quickly to the front door of the building.
A woman with short, blue-gray hair held it open. “Well, don’t dawdle, girl. Get your butt inside.”
Carina almost smiled, but her face still felt frozen by tension. She slip
ped past the woman and into the building, and then turned slowly to watch as the deputy followed.
He entered, quickly bolted the door, and then turned down the blinds over both large windows in the front of the building.
Seeing him face her again, she noted his expression—still set in grim lines. For the first time, she noted he was a good-looking man, if one didn’t mind a little blond scruff on the cheeks and chin. His body was lean, no excess muscle, but he moved with an animal grace as he began to pace.
He glanced at the older woman. “Owens and Perez are on their way here. The sheriff’s got his hands full at the fire. Has to wait for state investigators to arrive.”
She nodded. “I’ll make a pot of coffee.” Then she ambled down a well-lit corridor out of sight.
Only then did he square his shoulders and turn his glare on her again. “Guess we better finish that talk.”
Because her teeth had started to chatter, she ground her jaws together and gave him another nod. When he waved a hand toward the corridor, she preceded him, hating the way the clothes she wore chafed where excess fabric gathered between her thighs. Still, she didn’t miss the clothes that likely cost more than this deputy made in six months. She wanted nothing of Joey’s, but she needed to figure out how to escape his reach. The roll of hundreds held together by rubber bands sat like a rock in the pocket of her slacks.
“Next door to your left,” he said from behind.
Carina entered a small room, barely larger than her old walk-in closet, noted the table and the chairs, and knew this was where he interviewed criminals. Was that what she was? Did living with a mafia enforcer make her one?
“I need to pat you down.”
Her eyes widened. “You arresting me?”
“No, but I don’t want to endanger anyone here. How about you turn and face that table? You can lean your hands against it if you like.”
He was going to touch her? She shivered. The last man who’d touched her had taken her against the side of his car, in full view of anyone who might have passed them on the street. For some reason, she felt just as vulnerable, and her pulse beat just as fast. Maybe because this man was probably a decent guy, but he was looking at her like she’d crawled out from under a rock—his blue eyes hooded and unblinking, staring as he waited for her do as he’d asked.
