Nowhere to Run

by Suzanne Brockmann

  Why James Keegan? Why now? What had she done to deserve this?

  Emily gave in to the flood of tears. She rested her arms against the hot plastic of the steering wheel, put down her head and let herself cry.

  JIM KEEGAN broke into a run as he headed down the corridor, Emily’s purse in his hand. He pushed open the door that led out into the municipal parking lot and braced himself for the almost solid impact of the humid outside air.

  Damn, Emily was nowhere in sight. He hadn’t been that far behind her, had he?

  As he scanned the rows of cars parked in the lot, he was well aware that he didn’t have a clue what kind of car she drove. Something expensive, no doubt, he thought sourly, a gift from her millionaire boyfriend.

  But then he saw her. She was sitting in the front seat of an unassuming little Honda, slumped forward, her arms and head resting on the steering wheel.

  As Jim walked toward her, he realized almost immediately that she was crying, and his heart lurched. Calm, collected Emily, who never lost her temper, who never was rattled, who never allowed any of her anxieties to show, was crying as if the world were coming to an end.

  He’d only seen her cry one other time before. It had been in the hospital, about a week after he was shot. She’d stayed with him for days, first waiting outside ICU while he was in critical condition, then sitting beside his bed after he was out of immediate danger.

  He’d been unconscious most of the time, but the few times he came to, she’d been there, smiling at him. He’d felt reassured by her serenity. He hadn’t noticed the lines of strain and worry on her beautiful face. He hadn’t noticed—until the night he woke up to find her crying inconsolably.

  She’d thought he was asleep, and she was weeping as if her heart were breaking.

  That had been the beginning of the end. Jim had known that he was the cause of Emily’s unhappiness. Of course, he’d already known that he was poison, that he didn’t deserve her. Seeing her cry like that had just hammered it home.

  Yet here it was, seven years later, and he’d made her cry again. He had to assume he had something to do with her tears. Damn, seeing her again made him feel like crying.

  She didn’t hear him as he walked up to the open window of her car. She didn’t hear him when he stopped, either. So he crouched down, making his face level with the window, and cleared his throat.

  “Emily?”

  Emily jumped. She lifted her head and found herself staring directly into Jim Keegan’s dark blue eyes.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  Emily tried to dry her face, but she was perspiring from the heat inside the car, and she succeeded only in smearing her wet face with her damp arm. Thankfully, the air coming from the air-conditioning vents began blowing cold.

  “I’ll live,” she said shortly.

  His mouth twisted in what might well have been an apologetic smile. “You left your purse in the interview room,” he said in his rich, husky voice as he handed it to her through the window. “Some things never change, huh? You should get one of those belt packs, and just never take it off. That way, you can’t leave without taking your purse with you, you know?”

  “These days I don’t usually leave my purse behind,” Emily said stiffly. Then she remembered that forgetting to take her purse out of the bathroom on the Home Free was what had made her overhear Alex’s conversation with Marino. “At least not all the time.”

  She glanced over to find Jim studying her. He was close enough that she could see the soft, dark fans of his thick eyelashes, and the specks of green and gold mixed in with the blue of his eyes. He was close enough for her to see the roughness of his two-day-old five-o’clock shadow, and the supple smoothness of his full lips. He looked tired. The lines of laughter that creased his face and wrinkled the edges of his eyes seemed more like worry lines in the harsh afternoon light. She could read his tension clearly by the way he clenched and unclenched his teeth, making the muscles move in his jaw.

  “You look good, Em,” he said softly.

  Oh, sure. If he was standing close enough for her to count the stubble of his five-o’clock shadow, then he couldn’t help but see that her eyes were red and swollen from tears, and that her face was puffy and pale from crying and lack of sleep. Frankly, she looked like hell. And she knew it.

  “Don’t cry anymore, okay?” he said. “I know that working with me isn’t going to be a lot of fun for you—it’s not going to be easy for me, either—but we’ll do this quickly and get Delmore in jail, where he belongs. Then everything will be back to normal.”

  Emily actually laughed. “Normal?” she said. “I’m going to help send my boyfriend away for twenty years to life. Do you think he’s still going to want to go steady with me after that?”

  Jim was silent. God, what an egotistical bastard he was. Here he’d gone and assumed that she was crying because she was upset about seeing him again. But she wasn’t. She was crying over Delmore.

  “I’m such an amazingly lousy judge of character,” Emily continued. And it wasn’t as if this were the first time she’d misjudged a man. Seven years ago, she’d totally misjudged Jim Keegan, too. “I thought Alex was nice—I thought he was basically a good man. A little stuffy, maybe. A little pompous. But basically good.”

  God, maybe she’d loved Delmore, Jim thought, feeling an odd twist in his gut. Maybe she still was in love with him. Yet she believed so strongly in right and wrong that she felt compelled to turn him in. That couldn’t be easy. In fact, it had to be torture.

  “I’m sorry, Em,” he said.

  “Don’t call me Em, Detective,” she said sharply, putting her car into gear. “You don’t know me well enough anymore.”

  She pulled out of the parking lot and was gone.

  THERE WAS A MESSAGE from Alex on the answering machine when Emily got home that afternoon.

  “My twelve-o’clock appointment cancelled,” he said without ceremony, and without introduction. It was clear he expected Emily to recognize his voice. Of course, she did. “If you get back from wherever you are before noon, give my secretary a call. She’ll page me, and we can meet up for lunch. If not, I’ll see you on Tuesday.”

  See you on Tuesday.

  Emily didn’t want to see Alex on Tuesday—or any other day, for that matter. She didn’t want to see him ever again.

  She didn’t want to see Jim Keegan ever again, either, but he was going to show up at her apartment in a few hours and she was going to have to spend the next week or two seeing him every single day. He was going to be the first person she saw every morning, and the last person she saw every night.

  Emily opened the sliding glass door that led out to a tiny deck overlooking the courtyard of her apartment complex. The courtyard held a modest-size swimming pool filled with sparkling-clean blue water, but it was the lush plants and trees that grew on the tiny grounds that Emily loved.

  She sat down on one of the two lounge chairs that just barely fit on the minuscule deck. Emily put her head back, listening to the relentless buzzing and sawing of disgruntled insects protesting the day’s heat. It had to be a hundred degrees in the shade, with humidity that hung almost visibly in the air, creating a haze that seemed to magnify the power of the sun.

  It was summer in Florida, and Emily loved it. The droves of winter residents had migrated north, and the streets seemed empty, the pace so much slower. Of course, as a teacher, she had most of her summers free, which added to the sense of laziness. She had the time to kick back, to walk instead of run, even to stroll instead of walk.

  Emily had loved Florida from the start—from the first time her parents took her family here on vacation. When Emily was twelve, Dr. and Mrs. Marshall had bought a beach house on Sanibel Island. From then on, school vacations and a hefty part of the summer had been spent on Florida’s Gulf Coast. It had seemed only natural that Emily would attend college at the University of Tampa.

  The university. She had only been there about a month when it became clear th
at a serial rapist was stalking the campus. Emily had joined a student organization formed to promote student safety. She’d helped get the word out that there was a serious danger to young women walking alone on campus—at any time of the day, and particularly at night. She’d helped set up an escort service so that no one would have to walk anywhere alone. And she’d worked closely with the Tampa police force as they’d tried to catch the rapist.

  Many of the kids on the committee had been in awe of the police detectives. Although they were barely in their mid-twenties, the detectives were so obviously men compared to the college boys. And Detective Keegan—he looked like a cross between Mel Gibson and Kevin Costner, with his charmingly crooked grin and smoldering blue eyes—was the number one topic of conversation on the girls’ floor of the dorm. Emily had been determined not to be one of the many who developed a school-girl crush on the man.

  Still, she often looked up during meetings to find him watching her. He’d smile at her, then look away, but moments later, he would be watching her again. Staunchly she tried to ignore him. She always left the meetings quickly, careful not to dawdle, wary of the strange attraction that seemed to spark between them—afraid it was all due to wishful thinking on her part.

  Wishful thinking, because Detective Keegan was more than just an incredibly handsome man. He was sharp and funny and smart and so electrifyingly alive. But deep in his eyes, and hidden behind his boyish grin, Emily could see real sadness and pain. No one else seemed to notice it, but she knew it was there. She imagined he’d seen awful things on the street, even in the few short years that he’d been a police detective. Rumor had it that he’d recently moved to Florida from New York City. No one seemed to know why.

  Despite her resolve to steer clear of James Keegan, the truth was, Emily would have given just about anything to spend more time with him.

  She could still remember the first real conversation she’d had with Jim. The rapist had been evading the police for weeks, managing to attack four more women, despite the added security measures. Emily had been sitting in on a task force meeting between the police and campus security, and it had suddenly occurred to her that the rapist could very well know their every plan and every move if—and this was an awful thought—he was one of the campus security guards.

  After the meeting was over, Keegan’s partner left before Emily could approach him. That meant she’d have to share her theory with Jim Keegan.

  He was surrounded, as usual, by a crowd of adoring coeds. Emily waited in the doorway, leaning against the frame. He glanced up at her, and somehow he knew that she wanted to talk to him.

  “What’s on your mind, Emily?” he called across the room.

  Emily was surprised. She hadn’t realized he even knew her name.

  “I was hoping to have a word with you,” she said.

  He glanced at his watch. “I’m late for a meeting downtown,” he said. “Can you walk me to my car while we talk?”

  Emily nodded. “Sure.”

  “Excuse us, ladies,” Detective Keegan said, smiling at the other girls.

  The girls disappeared down the hall, with more than one catty look thrown in Emily’s direction. Jim noticed, and grinned.

  “It’s nice to be so popular,” he said.

  “Watch out,” Emily said dryly. “You just might find yourself voted this year’s homecoming king.”

  Keegan laughed, coming to stand next to Emily. He was outrageously tall—at least eight inches taller than she was. She had to tip her head back to look up at him. And he had a nice laugh, rich and full and husky. It was sexy, just like his speaking voice. Emily felt her pulse kick into a higher gear, and she chastised herself, determined not to let him know how much he rattled her.

  He opened the door that led to the outside and stood back to let Emily go through first.

  “So, what’s up?” he asked.

  Praying that her voice wouldn’t give away her nervousness, Emily explained her theory about the possibility of one of the security guards being the rapist as she walked Jim Keegan down to the back campus parking lot.

  He was silent for a few minutes after she finished talking. They arrived at his car—a battered silver Chevy—and he leaned against the door and just looked down at her from his intimidating height. Somehow, she managed to hold her own, calmly meeting his eyes. Somehow, she managed not to blush under his scrutiny.

  “I’m going to let you in on a little secret,” he finally said. “Meyers and I came up with that same idea just yesterday.” His blue eyes became even more serious. “You can’t talk about this with anyone, okay?”

  She nodded, her own eyes wide.

  “That meeting we just held?” the detective continued. “It was a setup. We’re not going to have our patrols and our stakeout teams in the places we planned to have ’em. Instead, we’re going to send out decoys in the areas we told campus security that we weren’t going to be tonight. If this son of a bitch is working for the campus security, and if he decides to have some of his twisted idea of fun tonight, we have a good chance of nailing the bastard.”

  “That’s an awful lot of ifs,” Emily said.

  “Yeah, I know.” Keegan reached up to rub the back of his neck, as if it ached.

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “Yeah,” he said, pushing himself up and off his car and aiming the full intensity of his neon blue gaze at her. “Stay in your room and lock your doors and windows. Until we catch this bozo, you—and every other woman on campus—are not safe. Don’t forget that, Emily.”

  He reached forward to push a stray lock of her long brown hair off her face. Emily stepped backward, startled by the heat of his touch, and then embarrassed that she had reacted so obviously. But Jim looked away, as if he were embarrassed, too, and murmured an apology. He stared down at his boots, scuffing them slightly in the dust of the parking lot.

  “Remember what we know about this guy,” he said, glancing back at her. “He’s partial to brunettes. And we think he stalks his victims. We think he picks them out in advance, then follows them around to get their schedule, to find a time they’re regularly alone and vulnerable. If you get the sensation that someone’s tailing you, don’t ignore it, okay?”

  Emily nodded, unable to keep from smiling slightly. “That’s my speech, remember?” she said. “I’ve just spent the past two weeks visiting all the floors of all the dorms, saying those exact words.”

  Keegan smiled, too, a quick flash of white teeth. “Yeah, I know.” His smile faded. “It’s just…if this guy is somebody we’ve all been working with, he might get a real perverse kick out of hurting somebody like you—you know, one of the women on the student committee. And I’m afraid, ’cause you…I don’t know…you really stand out in the crowd, you know?”

  Emily had to laugh. “Me?” she said in disbelief. “I don’t think so. Kirsty Conlon or Megan West, maybe. They’re always the center of attention. Not me. I don’t get noticed, not the way they do.”

  “What, you think bouncing around the room and monopolizing the conversation is the only way to get noticed?” Jim asked, almost fiercely. “You’re wrong. Because I noticed you. I noticed you the first time you walked into that meeting room.”

  Emily felt her pulse skip a beat. He’d noticed her. This grown man, this real-life hero, this undercover cop, with a body to die for and the face of a movie star, had noticed her. But she was quick to scoff at her reaction to his flattering words. Because they were surely just that—flattery. He’d probably said similar things to Kirsty and Megan and all the other girls who followed him around, fluttering their eyelashes at him.

  But his next words surprised her.

  “I can’t believe you’re only a freshman,” he said, looking down at his boots again, talking almost as if to himself. “You seem so much older than the other girls.” He glanced up at Emily, his eyes frank and honest. “You know, if you were a senior, I would’ve asked you out. Hell, if you were a sophomore, I would’ve
…. But a freshman…” He shook his head in disgust, as if being a freshman were her fault.

  “What makes you think I’d go out with you?” Emily asked.

  “When I first noticed you,” he said frankly, “I also noticed that you noticed me, too.”

  “You’re outrageously self-confident, Detective,” she said, crossing her arms, determined not to let him see how his words were making her heart pound.

  “You’re outrageously pretty,” he countered.

  Her heart leapt higher, but then reality intervened. Inwardly Emily rolled her eyes. More blatant flattery. She knew darn well what she looked like. Sure, she had pretty eyes. And her hair was an exceptional shade of brown. But there was nothing special about her face, nothing that made her qualify as outrageously anything.

  Keegan leaned back against his car again, looking for all the world as if he were preparing to stay right there, flirting with her, all afternoon long.

  The man’s smile was way too charming, and his eyes seemed to hold a warmth and an intimacy that implied that she was the only woman in the world worthy of his attention. Emily knew that couldn’t possibly be true. Still, the heat in his eyes was intoxicating. She could get addicted very easily—she was already wondering when the next task force meeting would be, when she’d next see James Keegan. That, combined with the fact that she had discovered she truly liked the detective’s open honesty, not to mention that mysterious sadness in his eyes, could be very dangerous. If she stayed here, talking to him much longer, she would develop a full-fledged crush on the man. Assuming, of course, that she hadn’t developed one already.

  “Didn’t you say you were already late?” she asked him. “You better get going.”

  “Yeah, I should,” Jim said. He unlocked his car door. “Hop in.”

  Her surprise must have shown on her face, because he laughed.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not trying to kidnap you,” he said. “I’m just not about to leave you all alone out here in this parking lot.”