Unlawful Contact

by Pamela Clare

  He didn’t want to think about leaving Sophie, saying good-bye, turning his back on the only woman he’d ever truly loved. Instead, he tried to think about how it would be to see his sister again, to hold Emily for the first time, to cross the border with the two of them and know that the long nightmare was finally over.

  Except that for Sophie it wouldn’t be over. Someone was still after her. She was still facing drug charges. She might still lose her job. To top that off, there was a chance that he’d gotten her pregnant.

  When you trash someone’s life, Hunter, you’re thorough.

  But no way in hell would he trade her freedom or her life for his.

  He’d given a lot of thought over the past few days to how he was going to get her out of this mess. She wasn’t going to like his plan, but he didn’t give a damn. He needed to keep her safe, and he needed to keep her out of prison. That’s what mattered.

  They drove in silence to the house, then gathered their things, Sophie taking a few minutes to switch into more suitable clothes and shoes before helping Marc pack the car. While Sophie waited in the Jag, Marc made a systematic sweep of the house to make certain they hadn’t forgotten anything. Only after the house had disappeared from his rearview mirror did he realize that the happiest hours of his life had been lived within its walls.

  IT FELT LIKE déjà vu—the darkness, the snow, driving west on US-6. Only this time, instead of being terrified of the man sitting beside her, she was terribly afraid of losing him. If Megan was hiding at Pastor Stevens’s house—and Sophie hoped against hope that she was—Hunt would be leaving her life in a matter of hours and making his way to Mexico, where he and Megan and Emily could live free of the horrors of the past.

  How strange to hope so desperately for the something that would break her heart.

  And yet living without Hunt and knowing he was free would be much easier than living without him and knowing he was suffering behind bars.

  No happy endings.

  They neared the mouth of Clear Creek Canyon, where Hunt had defied the police blockade, jumped the curb, and shaken the helicopter off their tail. The memory was vivid, but it seemed as if it had happened a thousand years ago. So much had changed since then.

  Hunt glanced over at the canyon as they passed, and Sophie knew he was remembering, too. “I want you to know that if there’d been any other way, I never would have put you through that. I was desperate, and you were the only answer. I’m sorry, Sophie.”

  Sophie swallowed the lump in her throat. “You don’t owe me any more apologies.”

  “The hell I don’t! God, Sophie, I—”

  “You did what you had to do for Megan’s sake and Emily’s. I’m happy I helped you get out of that hellhole. More than anything, I want you and Megan to be safe someplace where none of this can touch you. I just hope…”

  “What?”

  “I hope you can find a way to let me know you made it, that you’re alive and safe.”

  “I will.” He glanced over at her, his expression grave. “You can count on it.”

  “I’ll be living for that moment, Hunt.”

  Without saying a word, he reached over and took her hand.

  BY THE TIME they neared Jamestown, fat flakes were falling, and the snow had begun to stick to the road. The Jag had good tires—not as good as Sophie’s studded tires—but Marc was still forced to drive more slowly than he wanted.

  “Here it is—County Road 35.” Sophie pointed to a small paved road off to the right.

  Standing at the end of the road was a mailbox clearly labeled Stevens.

  Marc braked, then slowly turned the corner. “How much farther?”

  “It’s two miles down and on the right.”

  He turned the fog lights on, giving them a clear view of the snowy road. “No tire tracks. We’re the first ones to drive here since the storm started.”

  “Well, that’s a relief. It means we beat that rat bastard here, doesn’t it?”

  “Unless he can fly.”

  But the situation was far from perfect. The road was narrow with few driveways or turnouts. If someone else were to come along, they’d have one hell of a time hiding. With no way to know where the road emptied out—it might be a dead end—there was a chance that they could find themselves trapped.

  “So here’s the plan. When we get closer, I’m going to cut the lights and park the car out of sight of the Stevens’s house. Then I’ll move in—you stay behind me—and make sure no one beat us there. If the coast is clear, I’ll motion you forward. Then you go in and talk to them and see what they can tell you. But be quick. I don’t want us to get blocked in here.”

  “And what if Megan is there?”

  “Then I’ll come in, get her and the baby, and we’ll figure it out from there.” Marc felt her gaze on him and knew she was trying to decide whether he truly didn’t have a plan or whether he was being deliberately vague. But the less she knew the better.

  Then he saw the sign—Pine River Christian Girls Camp. “We’re here.”

  He cut the headlights and turned off onto a small gravel road that must have been a service road for the cabins. Grateful for the muffling properties of the snow, he nudged the car forward until it was hidden between two cabins and invisible from the highway. Not that someone following them wouldn’t see his tire tracks, but they’d have to be looking to find them.

  He killed the engine, unbuckled his safety belt, and pulled the second Glock out of the glove box. The other was tucked tightly in the waistband of his jeans. “You stay a good twenty feet behind me and out of sight.”

  She nodded. “The main house is on the north end.”

  They got out of the car and shut the doors silently. The air was crisp and cold, the scents of pine and snow mingling with smoke from a wood fire. Above them the sky was dark, storm clouds lying over the mountain peaks like a heavy blanket.

  Marc moved to the first cabin, checking the parking lot meticulously for tire tracks or any sign that anyone had made it here before them to stake the place out. He saw nothing. No tire tracks. No footprints. No ski tracks.

  Motioning to Sophie to follow, he worked his way around the perimeter, using the cabins for cover until the Stevens’s house stood just ahead of them, golden light spilling from its frost-covered windows. Four inches of snow lay on the steps and the front porch, not a single footprint anywhere. “Go head and knock on the door. If anyone’s there who shouldn’t be, I’ll have you covered.”

  Sophie nodded, a look of determination on her face.

  But before she could take a step, he reached for her, caught the back of her neck with his free hand, and drew her into a slow, lingering kiss. Then he looked into her eyes, wanting her to know, wanting her to understand. “You’re the smartest, bravest, most wonderful, most beautiful, most precious woman I’ve ever known, Sophie Alton. When I’m gone, remember that.”

  Their mingled breath rose around them, a cloud of crystalline white.

  “You mean everything to me, Marc Hunter.” Snowflakes on her lashes, she pressed her fingertips to his lips. “Wherever you go, remember that.”

  Then she turned and walked quickly over to the house, up the steps and to the front door, her knock startling the silence. After a few seconds, a tall thin man with glasses and short gray hair opened the door. Marc recognized him instantly—Pastor John Stevens.

  Behind him, baby in arms, stood Megan.

  CHAPTER 28

  SOPHIE STARED, ALMOST unable to believe what she was seeing. “Megan!”

  Megan stood in the middle of the kitchen holding little Emily in her arms, an astonished look on her face. “Sophie Alton?”

  “Come inside where it’s warm.” Pastor John gestured Sophie indoors. “Tonight’s no night to be out and about.”

  But no one seemed to hear him.

  Just then, Megan looked past Sophie, and her eyes flew wide, her lips forming a silent O. Hunt stood at the base of the stairs, arms at his side, gun still in ha
nd and pointed at the ground, his gaze fixed on his sister.

  With a cry, Megan pushed past the pastor and ran out the door, baby still in her arms, meeting Hunt at the top of the stairs, sobbing her joy against his chest.

  Gun now in his coat pocket, he crushed them both against him, enfolding his sister and niece in his embrace, his cheek resting against the top of Megan’s head, his eyes squeezed shut, his voice a ragged whisper. “Thank God!”

  Tears blurred Sophie’s vision, blurred her sense of time, blurred everything except for the warm surge of relief that washed through her—and the bittersweet ache in her chest.

  Megan and Emily were safe. They were safe. They’d been safe all along.

  And now that Hunt had found them, he would be leaving.

  Sophie couldn’t remember another moment when she’d felt happier and so completely desolate at the same time.

  You knew this moment would come, Alton. This is what you’ve been hoping for. This is the best possible thing that could have happened.

  Yes, it was. But that didn’t make it any easier.

  Then little Emily, perhaps upset by her mother’s tears, started to cry, her tiny face an image of distress. She’d grown so much since the last time Sophie had seen her, the dark hair on her head thicker, her cheeks chubby and pink, her fuzzy yellow pajamas making Sophie think of a little duckling.

  Hunt drew back, looked down at his niece, a wide grin on his face. “She’s beautiful, Megan. Truly, she’s beautiful. She has your eyes, and she’s so…little.”

  Sophie couldn’t help but smile, tears still streaming down her face.

  Megan laughed. “She’s grown so much. She’s almost eight months old now.”

  “She’s probably cold.” A woman who must have been Connie Stevens, the pastor’s wife, poked her head through the doorway, the silver front legs of her walker visible behind her husband. A heavyset woman with tight, white curls, she gave them all a no-nonsense look. “Come inside, for goodness sake! You’re letting all the heat out.”

  They found themselves herded into a large, homey kitchen, the snowy night shut out behind them. Dishes sat in sudsy water in the sink, the delicious scents of dinner lingering in the air. A plate of cookies sat on the counter next to the oven. A country-style kitchen table dominated the room, a high chair at one end, salt and pepper shakers and a sugar bowl pushed toward its center.

  “We’ve got some leftover pot roast if you’re hungry—mashed potatoes, green beans, biscuits.” Connie shuffled back to the table and sat in a wood chair cushioned by a pillow. “Take your coats off and make yourselves at home.”

  And suddenly it all seemed so bizarre. Two strangers show up on the Stevens’s doorstep in the dark of the night, one of them a man carrying a gun, and the first thing the pastor and his wife do is invite them in and offer to feed them?

  That’s probably not what Sophie would have done.

  Not knowing what to say, she fell back on professional habit and introduced herself, offering her hand first to Connie, then to the pastor. “I’m Sophie Alton.”

  Pastor John looked down at her through his bifocals, took her hand, shook it. Big and rangy, his jaw fiercely square, he’d obviously been a strong man in his day. “Welcome, Sophie. I think I’ve heard Megan mention you. And you must be Marc, her brother.”

  But Hunt and Megan were caught up in each other—and the baby.

  Megan bounced Emily, crooning to her, calming her. “This is your Uncle Marc. Can you say, ‘Hi, Uncle Marc’?”

  Hunt ran his big man’s hand gently over the baby’s head, then ducked down and kissed her. “Hey, little girl. Don’t cry. It’s going to be all right.”

  And through a fresh rush of tears, Sophie hoped with all her heart it would be.

  MARC LOOKED INTO Emily’s big blue eyes and knew he was a goner. No longer crying, she yawned, then gave him a sleepy smile that put dimples in her cheeks and showed off four itsy-bitsy teeth. She leaned toward him, reaching for him with one pudgy little hand.

  “She wants you to hold her.” Without warning, Megan shifted the baby into his arms.

  Shit!

  “Um, I don’t think…” He froze, doing his best not to drop Emily, sure there must be a thousand ways he could hurt her.

  He’d expected the baby to start crying again. He was a stranger, after all, a man who didn’t know a damned thing about babies except how they were made. But instead of crying, she rested her little head against his chest, popped a tiny thumb into her mouth, and began to suck, her eyes drifting shut, delicate lashes resting against her rosy cheeks.

  He pressed his lips to the downy hair on her head, his heart seeming to swell inside his chest until it hurt. She was so precious—small, helpless, utterly innocent. Somehow he loved her already, loved her down to his DNA. Was this what it felt like to be a father?

  He would never know. Unless…

  Without meaning to, he looked over at Sophie and found her watching him, a smile on her pretty face, tears gliding down her cheeks, her hand resting low against her belly in a gesture that told him she was thinking exactly the same thing.

  And just like that the regret he’d been trying so damned hard to ignore sank into his chest like a knife, pain flaring sudden and sharp behind his breastbone. He didn’t want to leave her, couldn’t leave her, had no goddamned choice but to leave her.

  In fact, he ought to be on the road already. There wasn’t time for this. Someone might be close on their heels, someone who wanted both Megan and Sophie dead. The thought jolted him back to reality.

  The old man was saying something about guest rooms. “We’d hate for anyone to be out in this storm. The roads can be dangerous.”

  “I’ll never be able to thank you enough for all you’ve done for Megan, Pastor Stevens.” Marc kissed Emily’s soft head and handed her carefully back to Megan. Then he reached out and shook the pastor’s hand. “I’m eternally grateful.”

  “It’s been a blessing to have her with us.” Pastor John smiled. “She’s been a big help to Connie and a pleasure to have in the house.”

  “Unfortunately, we can’t stay. Megan, get your stuff. We need to go. And hurry. We don’t want to bring unwanted company down on these good people.”

  Megan’s eyes went wide, then narrowed. She glanced back and forth between Marc and Sophie. “How did you find me? Why are you two together? How did you get out?”

  “Long story. I’ll explain when we’re back on the highway.”

  But Pastor John shook his head. “You can’t run forever, son. Sooner or later, this is going to catch up with you.”

  Marc wondered how much this man knew about him. “Megan’s told you about me?”

  “Connie and I know everything.”

  Everything?

  Something in the way Pastor John looked at him set off a peal of warning in Marc’s brain. “Megan, get your things. Now.”

  Megan looked over at the pastor as if seeking guidance, then met Marc’s gaze. “No. He’s right. We can’t keep running. I need to face this. Somehow I need to—”

  “Charlotte Martin and Kristina Brody are dead, Megan, and whoever killed them is probably on his way here right now. And he’s not just after you. He wants Sophie, too.”

  Sophie watched the blood drain from Megan’s face and wished Hunt had found a less terrifying way to break the news. Sadly, it was the truth. “He’s right, Megan. We need to go.”

  Connie worked her way to her feet, her gaze on the phone that hung on the wall nearby. “It sounds to me like we ought to call the police.”

  “And what if this guy is the police?” Hunt walked over to the kitchen window and peeked outside. “Besides, no way in hell am I going to let my sister go back to prison. Megan, get your stuff and the baby’s. Hurry!”

  Sophie stepped forward. “I’ll help. Where are your things? Upstairs?”

  “Don’t, Megan.” Pastor John’s voice took on a stern edge. “Run now, and you’ll be running forever. Debts are meant t
o be paid.”

  Holding her drowsy baby close, Megan nodded, her gaze downcast.

  “And what about your debts?” Hunt took a step toward the pastor, a hard look on his face, the tension inside him palpable. “Do you realize they’ll probably arrest the two of you, too? You’ve let Megan hide under your roof. That’s a class three felony. Do you know what it’s like on the inside, old man?”

  “If Connie and I face charges for sheltering Megan, that’s a price we’re willing to pay.” Pastor John didn’t sound the least bit intimidated. “But I doubt they’ll arrest us. Ministers have a certain leeway when it comes to keeping confidences and offering sanctuary.”

  “And what about Megan? If we turn ourselves over to the police and survive, she’ll go back to prison, and she might lose Emily forever.”

  “Sooner or later she’ll have to face what she’s done, and we’ll support her every step of the way. But if she keeps running, she’ll never really be free of her past.” Pastor John’s eyes narrowed, and he seemed to measure Hunt. “Why don’t we talk about you for a moment? You’ve sacrificed so much for Megan already. How much more of your own life are you willing to give up for your sister, son?”

  In the next instant, Hunt crossed the room and stood nose to nose with Pastor John, a muscle clenching in his jaw. His voice was quiet, menacing. “I will do whatever is necessary to make sure no one hurts my sister again.”

  When he stepped back, the gun was in his hand.

  Megan gasped. “Marc, no!”

  Sophie stared in shock at the weapon. Surely, he wouldn’t—

  “I’m done talking. Mrs. Stevens, stay away from the phone. Megan, move!”

  “Put your gun away.” Pastor John dismissed the threat with a wave of his hand. “It doesn’t frighten us. We know you’re an honorable man. We know you didn’t kill John Cross. Megan did.”