On the Chase

by Katie Ruggle

  His laugh was low and husky, running up and down her spine like a physical touch. “Can’t promise that, Gracie. It’s kind of part of the job description.” He cocked his head as if thinking. “And dying is kind of part of the life description.”

  His cheek looked scruffy with a few days of stubble, and she was tempted to stroke it. Since she didn’t have a hand free, she closed the distance between them and brushed her lips against his jaw instead. He sucked in an audible breath.

  “Is this you punishing me?” he asked, his voice even lower, even rougher than before. Grace shivered. “Because I have to tell you, I’m going to want to be punished all the time after this.”

  “Want me to tie you to the bed?” she asked huskily, moving so she could nip at his earlobe. It was his turn to shudder.

  “Yes, please.” His response was so quick that she almost laughed. She would’ve laughed if she hadn’t been so turned on.

  With a huge effort of will, Grace shifted back so she could look at him. “Well, too bad. For as long as you’re stuck in this hospital, all rope-burned and shot and concussed and arm-broken, we can’t do anything. This is your punishment for being reckless and almost getting killed.”

  Tipping his head back, Hugh groaned as if in agony. Grace had a second of anxiety when she worried that he was really hurting, but then he peeked at her, and the corner of his mouth quirked up. “You’re so mean,” he said.

  He gave a gentle tug on her hands, one that she could’ve resisted if she’d actually put forth an effort. It was too hard, though. He drew her in, as if he had his own gravitational pull. His lips touched hers, lightly brushing before returning with a little more pressure. To her surprise, he didn’t try to deepen the kiss. Instead, he kissed her sweetly, almost chastely.

  Breaking the contact, Grace pulled back and studied him closely. The muscles in his face were tight, strained. She kissed the bridge of his nose before asking, “How badly does your head hurt?”

  Immediately, the lines between his eyebrows smoothed, and he gave her an easy grin. “You take away all my pain.”

  With a sigh, she brushed her lips against his bristly cheek a final time. “I wish that were true.” Carefully detaching herself, she pulled a visitor’s chair closer to the bed and sat. “Tell me when you need to sleep, or if you need more drugs or water or anything.”

  He laughed and then winced ever so slightly. “Thank you, Nurse Gracie, but just having you here is all I need.”

  “Uh-huh.” She didn’t believe that for a minute. She’d had a concussion when another girl had kicked her in the head during a high-school soccer game, so Grace knew the drill. “How much do you feel like you need to hurl?”

  Surprise flickered in his eyes before he smiled again, more honestly that time. “Don’t worry, Grace. I’ll give you at least a second of warning so you can get out of the way.”

  Her nose wrinkled. “Please do.” Despite her teasing, seeing Hugh injured was horrible. Her mind replayed the day’s terrifying events, and she shuddered.

  “Thinking about bomb stuff?” he guessed, his tone gentle.

  “Yeah. Bomb stuff.” Even after everything, he made her want to laugh. “So no one at the FBI knew that Barrett—Truman—sold drugs?”

  “So they say. We’ve worked with Shankle before, and I believe he’s honest. How do you not know something like that, though?” His forehead creased as he reached for her hand again. Although she worried that he’d pull her back in for more kissing, she allowed his fingers to close around hers. It was reassuring to touch him, to feel his living warmth, after her terror just a few hours ago. He absently ran his thumb over the back of her hand as he continued to speak.

  “Truman’s in jail, and he’s been denied bail. We should be able to go outside without people taking potshots at us now.”

  Grace sighed. Her current situation—involving hit men and drugged coffee and exploding drugs and a dirty FBI agent—was a long way from her previous peaceful, even slightly humdrum, existence. “Will everyone know the contract is canceled, or are you still in danger?”

  “His arrest is all over the news, so word will get around quickly. No one will want to kill me anymore.” Hugh made a wry face. “Well, at least no one will get paid for it. I can’t honestly say that no one wants to kill me.”

  Ignoring that last bit, which Hugh meant to be joking but Grace still found terrifying, she asked, “So we’re safe?”

  “Except for the situation with Martin Jovanovic.” He gave her a serious, intent look as he said the name. “Agent Shankle is anxious to talk to you about him.”

  Swallowing, Grace said in a small voice, “Oh. So, Uncle Martin is a big deal?”

  “A really big deal.”

  The idea of leaving Hugh to go to the police station to face a judgmental Blessard and an FBI interview was not appealing. “Do I have to go right now?”

  “Want to have them come here? I could sit in on the interview.” It really seemed like Hugh could read minds. Although it was tempting to take him up on the offer, she could tell he was flagging. His face had paled under his tan, and there were white lines bracketing his mouth. He was hurting and tired, and he didn’t need to be putting on a show of strength for her and the FBI agents.

  Leaning close, she pressed a kiss to his furrowed forehead. Although she meant it to be brief, she couldn’t help but linger. The feel of his skin under her lips was addicting, especially when, a short time earlier, she’d been terrified that she wouldn’t be able to kiss him anymore. At that thought, she moved to press her mouth to his. He enthusiastically participated. If not for the knock on the door, Grace might never have stopped.

  Dazed, she pulled away from Hugh as the door swung open and Otto stepped into the room. He lifted an eyebrow, as if asking if he was interrupting, and she gave him a smile in response.

  “I’d better get to the station, then,” she said, trying to sound enthusiastic. By the way Hugh smirked at her, she was pretty sure she’d failed. “Get some rest. I’ll be back tonight.” Glancing at the clock on the wall, she saw it was almost four in the afternoon. With a final squeeze, she released his hand and stood. Her abused muscles protested, although not as loudly as her ribs, and she held back a wince.

  “Ribs hurt?” Hugh asked.

  She made a face. “Is it that obvious?”

  Instead of making his usual joke, he regarded her seriously. “Yeah, but just to me.”

  That struck her as sweet, so she bent to give him yet another kiss. Otto cleared his throat from where he was still standing just inside the door, and she smiled against Hugh’s mouth before pulling back slightly.

  “I should go.”

  “Sure you don’t want Shankle to come here?” He stroked her cheek with his thumb.

  Forcing herself to step back, she gave him a final smile. “Of course I do, but you need sleep, and I need to act like an adult. Therefore, I’m going to the station, Otto’s going to tell you something and hang out for a while…I assume?” She glanced at Otto for confirmation, and he gave a short nod. “And then you’re going to take drugs and sleep.”

  He made a face. “No drugs.”

  “Hugh.” Grace gave him her most serious face. “Your arm is broken. You need drugs.”

  “They make me puke, and I’m close enough to losing my cookies without them.” His expression lightened as he teased, “You already asked me to hold back on the vomiting.”

  She shrugged with a casualness she didn’t feel. “I won’t even be here, so hurl away.”

  Hugh laughed and then stopped abruptly, wincing.

  “Sorry.”

  “You can’t help being funny.”

  Although she was ready to fall right back into their easy back and forth, Grace knew she needed to leave. Delaying wasn’t making it any easier, but walking out of his room was incredibly hard. Just a short time ago, she ha
dn’t known if he was going to live. Even if he was going to be sleeping, she wanted to stay right there, holding his hand, watching him breathe, confirming with each lift of his chest that he hadn’t left her alone. Now was not the time to unleash her inner creeper, though.

  She needed to go. Walking toward the door with feigned breeziness, she said over her shoulder, “See you later, alligator.” Immediately, she wanted to suck that back inside. Seriously? Was she five?

  “Later, alligator?” Of course Hugh couldn’t just let it go. She felt equal parts evil glee and guilt when he laughed and then looked pained. “Okay. In a while, crocodile.”

  Shooting Otto a quick smile of farewell, she slipped through the door but then stuck her head back into the room. “See you soon, you big baboon.” Without giving Hugh a chance to respond, she headed down the hall, the sound of his short-lived burst of laughter following her.

  Chapter 18

  “Ready?”

  Agent Shankle was not what she expected. He was not the cookie-cutter, blue-suit-wearing, side-part-combing FBI agent that years of watching television and movies had prepared her for. He looked more like a bouncer for a seedy bar. Shankle was a big guy, with a barrel chest and acne-scarred skin. Although he didn’t have any official facial hair, his five-o’clock shadow would have made a pirate proud. There was a suit, but it was rumpled, as if he kept it wadded up in a drawer when he wasn’t forced to wear it. He looked like he’d be more at home wearing BDUs and a T-shirt as he constructed bombs in the basement of his bunker than he was wearing a wrinkled suit jacket in a police-station interview room. She would’ve assumed that Shankle was a criminal way before she’d have suspected innocuous-looking Agent Barrett was Truman.

  Shankle cleared his throat, and Grace jumped a little. She realized that, while she’d been mentally redressing him—and giving him a few illegal hobbies—he’d been waiting for an answer. “Oh! Sorry. It’s been a long day. Yes, I’m ready.”

  It was a lie. She wasn’t ready. She’d never been so un-ready in her life. Even when she’d called Corban Dabbs in eighth grade to ask him to a dance, her hands hadn’t shaken this hard.

  Shankle clicked a few times on his laptop touch pad and then looked at her expectantly. She dialed the old-school landline phone that they’d hooked up to the laptop. If everything worked as it was supposed to, it would record her conversation with Noah and keep anyone on the other end from tracing it, while at the same time tracking Noah’s location.

  Slowly, Grace dialed his number, a number she’d memorized right after he’d first given it to her. She’d had such a huge crush on him initially that she’d been illogically worried she was going to lose his number by dropping her phone in a puddle or something. Thinking back on him, though, he seemed like a pale shadow, just as inconsequential as the cartoon prince he resembled. Hugh filled her mind now with his teasing and stupid heroics and muscles, so there was no room for Noah anymore.

  That’s probably a good thing, she thought semi-hysterically, listening to the phone ring on the other end. Family reunions would’ve been awkward. As she turned a nervous heave of laughter into a cough, the ringing stopped, and so did her breathing.

  “Noah Jovanovic,” he said coolly. Instead of a rush of nostalgia, all she felt was fear. His voice brought back that terrible night in vivid detail—the blood, her terrified escape, Martin dragging her toward the front door. Her throat closed, and she couldn’t speak.

  As Noah said his name again, this time impatiently, Shankle made impatient “talk!” gestures. With panic gripping her voice box, the words wouldn’t come. Why hadn’t she taken Hugh up on his offer to sit in on the interview? He gave her courage, and this wouldn’t have happened if he were there, holding her hand.

  Shankle kicked her in the shin. It hurt. More than that, the kick was so juvenile, so Hugh-like, that it startled her out of her frozen fear, and she blurted out, “Noah?” Only then did she glare across the table at Shankle’s smug face.

  “Kaylee?” Noah sounded startled. “Is that really you? Where are you? Are you okay?”

  “Yes, it’s me.” Her voice shook a little. Now that her indignation had faded, reality had returned and so had the tremor in her voice. Maybe she should ask the FBI agent to give her a wet willy or something so she could be startled into regaining her composure again. Rather than helping, the thought just made inappropriate giggles start to build in her lungs.

  “Are you okay?” he asked again. “Where have you been? We all thought you were d— that something bad had happened to you. The cops have been here a bunch of times, asking about you. Why didn’t you call? Forget that, why didn’t you tell me you were leaving that night? Did I say something wrong? Did something happen?”

  “I’m okay.” Noah’s babble eased a few of Grace’s nerves. He was normally so self-confident, so composed, and his flood of anxious questions made her hopeful that he wasn’t a bad guy—or at least not as bad as his uncle. “Something did happen that night.”

  “What was it?”

  Grace took a deep breath and flicked an unsure glance at Shankle, who gave her an encouraging nod. “How much do you know about Martin’s business?”

  “What?” Noah sounded completely confused. “Uncle Martin’s business? What does that have to do with anything?”

  “I’ll explain. I just need to know if you’re part of…” Grace attempted to think of a noninflammatory way to say torture, but quickly gave up and rephrased the question. “Do you work for Martin?”

  “No.” His answer was immediate. “You know that. I’m a mortgage broker.”

  She did know that. He’d told her on their first date. What she didn’t know was if she believed him or not. “Do you know what Martin’s business involves?”

  “Not really.” Noah sounded as if he was getting frustrated. “I know the basics, but his business is pretty diverse. He owns a couple of restaurants, some laundromats, a few apartment buildings. That’s all I can think of right now.” He made an impatient sound. “Why are we talking about Uncle Martin right now? Where have you been? I’ve been worried about you! And poor Penny…”

  Grace stopped breathing. “What about Penny?”

  “What?”

  “You said ‘poor Penny.’ What did you mean? What’s happened to her?” As she spoke, her voice rose higher and higher until it broke on the last word.

  “Nothing!” Noah said harshly, and then dragged in an audible breath. When he continued, he sounded more subdued. “Nothing happened to Penny, except that you disappeared and scared us both out of our minds. Penny’s fine. Worried, but fine. Where are you? Do you need me to come and get you?”

  Despite the fact that his tone was filled with concern, his last question made Grace physically recoil. “No! I mean, no. I’m safe for now.” She gave Shankle a questioning look. He frowned and then held out his hand, turning it side to side. What does that mean? Grace wondered, staring at him. Widening her eyes, she made a what-do-I-do face, and he lifted one shoulder in a shrug. Nice. It looked like it was up to her whether she spilled the beans to Noah. The more she talked to him, the more she thought he was telling the truth. He was too concerned about her, and his worry—even his frustration—seemed honest.

  “Kaylee? Are you still there?”

  “Yes.” Her fingers tapped on the table as she tried to think, to decide. For the hundredth time, she wished Hugh was there for moral support. She shook off the thought. With or without Hugh, she needed to get this done. If Noah really wasn’t connected with Martin’s business, he could help the FBI, give them information that might help convict the senior Jovanovic. If Noah was playing her, though, he already knew what she’d witnessed. Martin would’ve told him that she let those men out of that terrible room. She wouldn’t be giving away anything that he didn’t know.

  There was a pause before Noah spoke again. “Talk to me, Kaylee. I’ve been so worried about you
. I haven’t slept since you disappeared.”

  The concern in his voice confirmed her decision. “I got lost on the way to the bathroom,” she blurted.

  “O-kay,” he said slowly.

  “I just started opening doors, trying to find the right one. One led down some stairs, and I was just about to shut the door when I heard someone call for help. I went down there, and… It was awful, Noah. There were three guys, tied to chairs, and they’d been tortured.” Her voice caught. Somehow, it was worse telling the story to the nephew of the torturer than it had been to share it with Hugh or Agent Shankle. “One was unconscious, and there was another who’d been beaten so badly that he didn’t even look human. Then there was one whose eye…” She couldn’t finish the thought. “It was awful. I cut them free, and they went one direction, and I left out a back door.”

  “Kaylee.” There was so much horror and disbelief in that one word that tears sprang to her eyes. Was this going to be when he told her he didn’t believe her? That she was crazy? After all, the only witnesses were the men who’d escaped, and she didn’t even know their names. She’d asked Shankle about them, but he’d said the FBI didn’t have any information about their identity. “You think that Uncle Martin was involved in something like that? He’s a good man, Kaylee. I can’t believe you’d think that.”

  “He grabbed me. When I was trying to leave, he grabbed me and dragged me back toward the house.” She didn’t need to see Shankle’s frown to know that she was telling the story all wrong. It was hard to stay reasonable and orderly when Noah sounded as if his uncle would never do anything wrong.

  “I’m sure he was just trying to talk to you.” Noah’s soothing, patronizing tone put Grace’s teeth on edge. Oddly enough, though, the shot of irritation helped calm her slightly. Taking a breath, she let it out slowly and silently, using the pause to get her thoughts in order.