by Tori Carson
“Use two hands, you’re gonna get us killed.” She reached down and grabbed her purse. After she had pulled out her pistol and wallet she tossed it into his lap.
He immediately threw it out of the window, cut the wheel and darted across three lanes of traffic then down another side street. “Where’s your cell phone?”
“Ahh, crap, it was in my purse.”
Ahh, crap? We’re being shot at and the worse expletive she could come up with is Ahh, crap? He was going to burn in hell for getting her mixed up in this situation. “Keep your head down. I think I’ve lost them, but we’ll ditch this car just to be sure.” He made his way across town to another storage lot with his other emergency car. If only he could stash her someplace safe, he’d have a little talk with Donley. What was the man thinking risking his own daughter? It made Teague mad enough to see blood. Preferably Donley’s.
* * * *
“Sir, we have a problem.” Sid held the phone away from his ear, grateful that they weren’t face to face.
“Spill it, Sid, I’m not in the mood for cat and mouse.”
He took a quick breath and began his report. “When the unit responded to Ms. Donley’s location, they found five armed assailants tossing the house. Ms. Donley, or, more accurately, her cell phone, was moving slowly westward. Agents called for backup, cordoned off the area and engaged the assailants.”
“My daughter, Sid, where’s my daughter and what’s her condition?”
“We’re not sure, sir. I tracked her cell phone for approximately eight miles. I relayed the ending location to an agent. They retrieved a purse, presumably hers, from the middle of an intersection. The cell phone was destroyed, presumably from the fall it took.”
“She carries a Sig forty-five. Was it retrieved?”
“No, sir. Her wallet was also missing.”
“Find her, Sid. I don’t care what it takes or what resources you need. Find her.”
“Yes, sir,” he answered automatically to the dial tone.
* * * *
Chantel had been going over what little Reese had told her. She had no idea who was chasing them. The NBIA was involved, but how and to what extent? Who were the bad guys? No way was her father dirty. It blew her mind that he could even think that. “What’s your real name?”
He scanned her face looking for something—what, she wasn’t sure. Did he trust her? She hadn’t given him any reason to.
“Me first. How long did you live in Georgia?”
Had she told him that they’d lived there? She couldn’t remember. “About a year and a half. Were you in Georgia too?”
“For about a year.” He ran his fingers through her hair. “They used a redhead to set me up that time.”
She knew where he was going with this. “I’m not setting you up.” It was on the tip of her tongue to accuse him of being paranoid, but if someone really was out to get him, it wasn’t really paranoia. “My dad might’ve tracked my car through GPS. It had to be a coincidence that they showed up when the others did.” He obviously didn’t believe her. “I hadn’t considered that when I decided to go to your house. I don’t understand what happened. I got the impression you were working with my dad. Why would they break in?”
“You should’ve stayed the hell away from me. Damn it, Channy, you’re gonna get yourself killed or worse.”
She chuckled nervously. “In my world, it doesn’t get much worse than dead.”
“I hope you live a long, naive life and can go to your grave still believing that.”
They rode in silence for several miles. The adrenaline was wearing off. She wanted to keep him talking. He was distant, not much like the man she’d fallen for only a week ago. Worry lines creased his brow. His left hand never left the steering wheel. His handsome eyes were haunted and ever moving. This man twisted her heart into a painful knot. “What happened in Georgia?”
“Believe me, darlin’, you don’t want to know.”
He’d accused her of being naive and maybe she was.
“How long were you in Texas?”
She looked at him carefully. He was fishing. He knew little bits and pieces and wanted her to fill in the blanks. He didn’t trust her, but how could he? His life was hidden in a thick fog of carefully constructed lies. Trust would have to be built slowly, one stone at a time. “I never lived in Texas. When my dad was transferred, I opted to stay in Georgia and finish my degree. I followed them to New Mexico when my mom was diagnosed with cancer. They didn’t think she would make it long. Turns out they were right.”
“I didn’t know. I’m sorry, Channy.” He needed to stash Channy somewhere safe, but where? Her father was in the shit. He hoped, for Channy’s sake, he wasn’t personally involved. No matter how guilty Donley appeared, Teague couldn’t believe that he was the Weasel. Everything sure looked that way, though, and that begged the question, was he being framed? The idea of turning her over to anyone tightened his gut.
While Teague couldn’t wrap his head around Donley being the Weasel, he didn’t have the same problem when he considered that Donley could be the leak ratting him out at every turn.
“How did you get involved with the NBIA?”
Either she was involved or she wasn’t. If she was, she already knew about his past, and if she wasn’t, telling her wouldn’t matter. “It started in Georgia right after I graduated college. I landed a great job. My whole future lay ahead of me until I stuck my nose where it didn’t belong.” He shook his head, getting pissed off all over again. “Forget it, I don’t want to talk about this.”
“What’s your real name?” she asked softly.
“Teague Brodie.” It felt good to tell the truth.
“Was or is Teague Brodie married?”
They were running for their lives and she was asking about his marital status. He’d never understand women. “No, darlin’. No wife, girlfriend or kids.” At least he hadn’t sunk that far.
“Are you really a southern boy, Teague, or was that part of your cover?”
The teasing sound of her voice thickened his cock and irritated him. This was not the time to get distracted.
“Born and raised in southern Louisiana. You don’t get more southern than that, ma’am.” His twang was thicker. Words spoken slower in respect for the laid-back attitude he dearly missed.
“You’re lucky. We’ve moved my whole life. I don’t really have a hometown or a single place I’d call home. When I was a kid, I hated it. I’d make friends and we’d move. Though looking back on it, it wasn’t so bad. I got to meet a lot of people. See a lot of places.”
“Where all have you lived?” He wasn’t used to answering questions. It was far easier to ask them.
“I was born in DC. From there we moved to Maryland. I don’t remember much of that, I was too young. We spent almost four years in New York. I guess I’d call that my home. I went to school there, made good friends. But it didn’t last long. From there we went to Georgia. We even spent some time in New Mexico. I liked it there. It’s rich, southwestern history was so different from New York. Most recently, we lived in California.”
Chapter Ten
Chantel noticed that they had turned off onto I-40. “Where are we headed? I know you don’t trust my father, but he’s gotta be worried sick right now. I really hate stressing him out unnecessarily.”
“I know you do. And you’re right, I don’t trust him.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Listen, Channy, I’m willing to drop you off at a police station and you can call him to come get you. But something’s not right. Either Donley or someone very close to him is involved in this. I want to believe you’re safe with him.” He shook his head, and seemed to be musing to himself. “But I just don’t know. He allows you to run around without protection. I don’t get that. I’ve done some checking. The sicko who broke into your house is the real deal. You should be under lock and key until they catch this guy.”
“Allowed? Did you just say he shouldn’t allow me to run around? I’m sure I
heard you wrong.” She stared at him in disbelief. “Allow? Humph,” she snorted. “This isn’t some sex game. This is my life we’re talking about.”
“Hell yes, I said allow.” He seemed completely unrepentant and firm in his conviction. “And you’re damn right this isn’t a game. You’re going to get yourself killed.”
Chantel slid away from him. Sitting sideways with her back to the door, she looked him up and down. Cavewoman Chantel was thrilled that he cared and wanted her protected. Modern woman Chantel had her hackles raised that he assumed that anyone could dictate her actions. Outside the bedroom, that is.
“Those are fighting words, buddy. No one allows me to do anything. I’m an adult. I may be too naive for your tastes, but I’m still free to make my own choices. No one tells me what to do, or controls me. Control is just an illusion anyway.”
“If this bastard gets his hands on you, you’re gonna wish it was an illusion. He’s been raping, torturing, mutilating and ultimately killing women almost as long as you’ve been alive. This isn’t some women’s lib…issue. This is your life and I’m the only one taking it seriously.” His temper seemed to be getting the better of him.
“You just made my point. He’s been doing these things for over twenty years. What am I supposed to do? Spend my life in hiding? No, I’m not gonna do that.” She tried to get a handle on her anger. He just wanted to protect her. That meant he cared about her. Focus on that, not the urge to slap him into the twenty-first century.
“If I could get my hands on that video equipment, I could track the bastard down.”
She sighed. “Sid said they hit a dead end with that. The data was encrypted and sent to an offshore server. They can’t prove they even belong to the same sicko that…” She couldn’t put into words what the creep had done.
Teague reached over and took her hand. His thumb stroked her wrist. “There’s nothing to point away from it either. Just because it’s frightening doesn’t mean you can ignore it. Whether the webcams are his or not, this guy is out there and he’s targeted you.”
His voice still made her quiver. She was mad at him, yet her body was going all soft and mushy. That was just wrong. “I’m not an idiot. I do realize some sicko has fixated on me. I’m talking about something bigger. Something worth living for. And spending your life in hiding isn’t living.” Would he realize she was talking about him? That she was still stinging from his dismissal of their relationship… If you could even call what they’d shared a relationship. “Life is about setting a goal and going for it. It’s about being happy. Are you happy, Teague?”
“Will you be if the Weasel has you locked away in his own private torture chamber?” His tone had a distinct bite to it.
“Either way, I’d be locked away living each day for the sound of my own heartbeat. What’s that? It sure isn’t being alive.”
“What happened to the timid girl afraid of a little blindfold?” He gave her a look that about set her panties on fire. “She had more sense, more self-preservation. This ‘grab life by the reins’ girl is scaring the hell out of me.”
The longer she stayed on her soapbox the more it rang true. She knew she was on the right track. Teague was not going to run her off. I’ve set my goal, buddy, and nothing’s gonna stop me. After shaking his hand loose, she cupped his crotch. “It does more than scare you,” she whispered wickedly.
Channy was a huge lesson in contradiction. She rarely cussed, but could if riled sufficiently, was sweet and naive yet passionate, pig-headed and stubborn to a fault. Damn, she made his cock itch to take her. Right here in the middle of bloody nowhere. How did she tie him up in knots when nothing had touched him in such a long time? He pulled her hand away and linked his fingers with hers.
“There’s a highway patrol barracks a few miles ahead. Time to decide. Do you stay with me or do I drop you off and you call your dad?” This was fucked up. He didn’t want to let her go. He wasn’t sure if he could let her go. Just seeing her again, telling her his real name, had him thinking things, dreaming things, he hadn’t expected.
“It isn’t fair to worry him. If those were his men, he knows we ran into trouble. He’ll be afraid we were abducted. How can we contact him, alleviate his fear and still keep you in your comfort zone?”
Teague pulled over. He wanted to drag her with him, take away her choice and just do it his way. But there she was looking at him with those dreamy eyes, killing him with her faith in him. She was acknowledging his needs and asking for his help at the same time. He slammed his hands onto the steering wheel, giving up to the inevitable.
“Open up the glove box. There’s a throwaway cell phone in there. Text him, tell him you’re with me, you’re safe and we’ll be in contact soon.”
She shook her head. “I need to call him. If he doesn’t hear my voice, he’ll have his doubts.”
“No. Text him. If you call, he’ll get a lock on the signal.”
“They can do that with just a text,” she reasoned. “Why don’t you want me to call him?”
He let go of her hand and gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were turning white.
“Don’t go all caveman on me, just spill it.”
“You like caveman,” he lowered his voice and raised one eyebrow, daring her to disagree.
She tsked, “You’re stalling.”
He hung his head, pretending to be crushed. “He’s going to explode when he hears you’re with me. Then your face will take on that pouty look that makes me want to hurt whatever put it there.” He waited while she made up her mind.
“My BS meter is going off, but pretending I believed your explanation, you have to understand he’s my father. Yelling is what he does. You can’t take it seriously. I never would’ve survived my teenage years if I’d taken his bluster to heart.”
“He doesn’t hurt my feelings, darlin’, he hurts yours. That’s unacceptable.”
“I’m a tough cavewoman, I can take it,” she goaded him good-naturedly.
“Thirty seconds. I’m timing it.” He lit the face of his wrist watch.
Clearly agitated, she punched in her dad’s private number with unnecessary force.
“Donley,” the old man growled into the phone on the first ring.
“Dad, it’s Chantel.” She talked fast. “I’m with Reese. I didn’t want you to worry about us. We’re fine.”
“Where the hell are you?”
“Dad, I can’t talk right now. Reese needs to check into some things. We’re in no danger. I’ll talk to you soon. Love you.” She closed the phone. “How’d I do?”
“Fifteen seconds. Not bad.” He checked his blind spots. “Give me the phone.” He turned the cell off and tossed it into the high-speed lane as he pulled back onto the freeway and gunned it.
* * * *
“G.? It’s Sammy. You’re right. The place was swarming with feds.”
“Bring him to me.”
“We’ve got him. We’re en route. He stashed his wife and kid. We’ll have them within a day.”
“The bastard sayin’ anything?”
“He’s trying to stall. Says he’s tracking him using GPS. Swears he can lead us right to him.”
“Your call. Sammy, I want his ass and his progeny. Don’t let me down.”
“You got it G.”
If Foster and his family weren’t in imminent danger it would almost be funny listening to them. “I didn’t fuck this up,” Foster protested between swollen, split lips. “Twice, I’ve gift wrapped him for you.” With his hands zip tied behind him, he slammed his shoulder into the door panel for emphasis. One eye was completely useless, the other could see only shadows. “I don’t know what the fuck you want. Release me and I’ll track him down. Again!” Foster tried to buy some time.
* * * *
The cabin was small and rugged. Rough-hewn logs created the walls. Large, looming trees blocked the sight of the washboard dirt road that lay miles from the nearest pavement. The interior was bleak. No running wat
er, no electricity. It was little more than a structurally sound tent, yet Chantel loved it. She had Reese, no, Teague, all to herself and she wasn’t going to let him go. He was a lot like the cabin. A little rough around the edges, but with an endearing charm that drew her in.
She watched as he set up a makeshift bed.
“You’ve gotta be tired. Lie down and rest a bit, Channy.”
“Sure, Teague, I’d love to get some rest. Thank you for asking.” She stretched out the word until his eyebrow perked.
His rumbly chuckle shot through her. “I think you got the wrong impression of me, darlin’. Asking just doesn’t come naturally to me, especially if it concerns the health, safety or pleasure of a woman I care about.”
She beamed inside at his words. Maybe this would work out after all. “You’re a strong man, Teague. You can learn.”
“You must make your father nuts.”
“Mostly.” A grin bloomed into a smile.
Teague went near the door. Kneeling down, he drew a metal object from his pocket, inserted it between two boards and yanked. Without much difficulty, they sprang free. He reached in and drew out a duffel bag. In moments, he was back at her side with a first aid kit.
“Let me see those hands.”
Without hesitation, she held her wrists out to him.
Teague pulled out astringent and tweezers. Very carefully, he removed the dirt from her skin. Looking at the damage, he snarled then set about removing the small barbs buried so deeply in her hands and forearms.
While he dug around in her right palm, she used her left to grab hold of him, stilling his actions. “For starters, that hurts.” She sat up and leaned against the wall trying to take the bite out of her voice. “Let me work on you, while the acid you poured on my cuts eats through the rest of my flesh.”
“Is your middle name Sarcasm by any chance?” He showed her his hands. “I’m fine, angel. I’m not as soft as you are.” He smiled the first genuine smile she had seen from him in a while. “Or as whiny.”
