In Too Deep: A Romantic Suspense Novel

by Landish, Lauren

  "I'm enjoying actually riding outside," Melina said. “Gives me a reason to get out of the house sometimes. You'll have to teach me about the rest, I used machines the few times I actually got myself into the gym back in Lima."

  "So why worry about it now?" I asked, intrigued.

  "Because I have a reason to look my best," she said impishly. "And that reason also means I want to have plenty of stamina, too."

  "Well you know, the best way to increase stamina at something is to do it over and over again," I replied, cocking an eyebrow. "What about that?"

  "We're in the wrong store for accessories for that," she teased. "But okay, whatever you want to buy. Uh, and maybe a yoga mat too. I did a few yoga classes back in Lima that were a lot of fun, and I thought I'd give that a shot again."

  Our shopping determined, we went up front and paid, hauling the heavy basket of stuff out to the truck. "So I had another question for you," I said as I loaded the box of weight plates into the bed of my truck. We’d gotten enough so that I could actually make sixty pound dumbbells if I wanted. "Want to get some more stuff for the house? I mean, my couch is pretty ratty."

  "I kind of like the couch," Melina answered with a laugh. "We've made some good memories on it in just the time I've been here. But I’m sure we could get something. Why?"

  "I was thinking the Bed, Bath and Beyond inside the mall, and maybe Victoria's Secret?"

  "That's not interior decoration," Melina teased. "I think you just want to get into my pants."

  "Well, they'll be a bit high on my legs and too small in the waist but I can try."

  "You're incorrigible."

  I grinned. "Thank you."

  It took us all the way until four thirty to finish our shopping and get back on the Interstate back towards Truth or Consequences. "So what did you think of Las Cruces?"

  "I think the next time we want to get out of town, Elephant Butte sounds like more fun," Melina said. She turned to look at me, and something behind us caught her attention. "Jesus man, slow down."

  I glanced in my rear view mirror, seeing a car speeding up behind us. We were about halfway between Las Cruces and T or C, the road actually pretty deserted. "This road gets a lot of speeders. I'll let him pass by."

  I edged to my right, giving him plenty of space to swing around in the passing lane, until something caught my attention. It was the double flash of light off the windshield that caused me to look up again, and I felt my heart stop with fear. The windshield was Faraday glass. "That's no normal speeder."

  "What do you mean?" Melina asked, her expression changing as I jammed my accelerator all the way to the floor, my Dodge leaping ahead. "What the hell are you doing?"

  "Putting space between us and them, I hope," I said. While my Dakota isn't the newest truck on the road, I'd made sure that it had a good engine under the hood. Even still, it was a Dodge pickup, and wasn't built for racing. Surging past ninety, I saw that the car was staying behind us easily, and was in fact starting to close the gap. "Damn."

  "What is it?" Melina asked nervously. “And why are we speeding away?"

  "That car behind us, it's dangerous," I said simply. I couldn't give her any more of an answer, keeping my attention on the road in front of me. I knew where we were, and I hoped that I could stay ahead of my pursuers for the next ten miles. After that, there was a rest stop, and maybe I could pull off there for safety.

  Melina, realizing that she wasn't going to get an answer, thankfully did the right thing. There are two common responses when people are confronted with a chaotic, unknown situation. One is to shut up and pay attention. That’s the correct thing to do, but sadly, most people don't do it. The other is to freak the hell out, pestering anyone who might have information with an endless bombardment of questions that you aren't really listening to anyway. Usually though, the same people who are trying to save your ass are the people you are pestering with questions. That’s why putting a door between the pilot and the passengers in an airplane is a good idea.

  I thought I'd started to put distance between me and the car, when it suddenly closed the gap again, not stopping. I swerved to the left, into the passing lane, whipping around a semi that blared its horn at us as we shot by. The reaction of the car behind me worried me more. It wasn't stopping. "In the glove box, there's a pistol," I told Melina. "If something happens, I want you to use it."

  “Cam, what the hell is going on?!”

  “Melina, just take it,” I said, pulling in front of the semi and jamming my brakes. I dropped from just over a hundred and twenty down to ninety in a matter of seconds, our seat belts locking up. I was hoping to use the semi to mask the maneuver, but I wasn't fast enough. Instead, the car clipped the back of my truck, spinning it out and into the dirt.

  It was the first time Melina lost any of her cool, but even then she didn't lose it totally. Clamping her hands onto the arm rests next to her, she screamed once, shortly, as I fought to keep the truck from flipping over in the desert hardpan. We did a complete three-sixty, coming to rest with our nose pointed almost back towards the Interstate. The semi, which had seen it all, started to slow down. "Now we find out if they're ours or theirs."

  “Huh?” Melina gasped, still shocked by the sudden change in situation. I reached over and thumbed the glove compartment, looking for the other car in the dust and chaos.

  "The car. If they're ours, they'll drive on, not wanting to be identified. If they're not . . .” I pulled out my pistol, a Smith & Wesson M&P in 9mm Parabellum, and scanned the desert. "If they're not, we're going to have to fight."

  Chapter 21

  Melina

  When Cam jammed the accelerator to the floor, the sudden increase in speed pushed me back into my seat. I looked over at him, and his face had changed from just a few seconds before. He'd been the relaxed, confident man that had taken me shopping that afternoon. Instead, I saw an intensity that scared me, honestly. He looked, for the first time I'd known him, not only dangerous but worried as well.

  Don't lie to yourself, he looked dangerous before, remember? A little voice in my head said. I thought back to our dinner date at the resort, when that bitch intentionally tripped me, her boy toy laughing and taunting me all the while. It was only for an instant, but I swore in that instant that Cam could have taken the guy’s head off without a second's hesitation. At the time it’d been electric, arousing. Although I didn’t let him, I loved that he wanted to stand up for me. Now, with that same look combined with concern in his eyes, it scared the hell out of me.

  We rocketed down the Interstate, the other car behind us, and I held on tightly. The road was straight and flat, with little curves or anything that would distract from going as fast as we could. At about a hundred, the truck started to shimmy a little, a vibration that started in the soles of your feet before being carried into your tailbone through the seat underneath you. Still, Cam didn't let up, pushing even harder, his grip on the steering wheel going white-knuckled. Without taking his eyes off the road, he talked to me. “In the glove box, there's a pistol. If something happens, I want you to use it.”

  The tone of his voice scared me more than anything else. I'd heard it sometimes in the pharmacy, from cancer patients who've been told their disease was inoperable. It was the sound of a man who was getting ready to die. Cam, what the hell is going on?!

  “Melina, just take it,” he said. We passed a semi that blared its air horn, rattling my teeth in my head at how loud it felt even over the screaming engine of Cam's truck. Cam jerked the wheel over and we swerved in front of the semi, jamming on the brakes almost immediately. My seatbelt bit deeply into my chest, and I was sure I was going to have a case of whiplash afterward, but it still wasn't fast enough. The car that had been pursuing us clipped the back of Cam's truck, and suddenly we were spinning, Cam gritting his teeth while I screamed. We hit the dirt, a cloud of dust surrounding us and obliterating everything outside the cab of the truck.

  I could hear Cam muttering under his bre
ath, and I was pretty sure he was telling his truck not to flip, but I couldn't be certain. We spun around once and a bit more, the truck coming to a stop with the nose pointed back toward the highway. Cam reached across me and opened the glove box. "Now we find out if they're ours or theirs."

  “Huh?” I gasped, confused, scared, and nearly out of my mind.

  "The car. If they're ours, they'll drive on, not wanting to be identified. If they're not . . .” Cam pulled out a pistol that looked sleek and deadly, jacking the slide and staring out the window of the truck. "If they're not, we're going to have to fight."

  I gaped at him, unsure if I was seeing correctly, or if the combination of fear and pain was causing me to hallucinate. My seatbelt still bit deeply into my chest and I pushed at it, struggling for a moment before remembering something a friend who had been a volunteer firefighter in Ohio taught me. Seat belts work on momentum and pull, kind of like Venetian blinds. As long as the belt pulls slowly in one direction or another, it flows easily. However, once the friction lock kicks in, all the yanking for slack in the world isn't going to do a damn thing. Instead, the trick is to try and give the belt a little bit of slack. Once the tension is off the friction lock should disengage unless the belt's been damaged in some way. Since Cam's truck hadn't flipped, I hoped the belt wasn't damaged.

  Exhaling as hard as I could, I sucked in my belly like I was trying to jam myself into jeans that were two sizes too small, and pushed on the belt, feeding it back into the slot on the door post. I actually heard a light *chunk* as the lock let go, and suddenly the belt was loose and floppy in my hands again, allowing me to unlatch the belt and breathe again. "Fuck."

  In the amount of time I'd been struggling with my belt, Cam was already out of the truck, kneeling in the dirt near the nose of his truck, his pistol out and pointing toward the road. The dust had settled some, and I could see nothing of the car that had been pursuing us. I could see the semi we'd passed had stopped, and I could see the driver waddling his way down the breakdown lane toward us. I opened my door and got out, looking around. There was nobody else, except for a car that passed us as I went around the back of the truck. It looked like most our stuff was somehow still in the back, although I guess it wasn't too outlandish considering they were heavy.

  Cam got off his knee and lowered his pistol, still keeping it at his side. He turned, and while most of the dangerous look was off of his face, the ghost of it was still there. "Are you all right?"

  "What the fuck was that?" I asked, anger replacing my fear. "What the hell are you involved in?"

  "I hoped it wouldn't happen anymore, not after last time and my warning," Cam said, still looking at the approaching truck driver. He seemed to make a decision internally and stepped back, looking at me for the first time. He sighed and looked down. "Remember the other day, along the Rio Grande, when we talked about regrets? This was part of it."

  "Part of what?" I yelled, pushing him in the chest. "Nearly getting us killed? Packing heat? Is that thing even legal?"

  "It is, and I have a totally legit concealed carry license as well," Cam said, ignoring my hands and going back to the truck, putting the pistol in the driver's seat. "And I never tried to get you killed."

  "Well, what do you call this?!” I screamed, shoving him again. I raised my hand to smack him, expecting him to block it or try and grab my wrist. Instead, I slapped him across the face as hard as I could, rocking his head to the left and sending a final crack across the desert that was quickly swallowed by the wind.

  Cam turned his face to look at me again, and I blanched. My fingernails had torn two furrows in his cheek, the blood already welling up to drip down his cheek. I could also see the pain in his eyes, but it wasn't from the slap itself, but at how upset I was. "Melina, I promise you I'll explain all of this, but now’s not the time. The driver's nearly here."

  His quiet, plaintive voice doused my anger in a splash of icy water. I nodded and broke down, sobbing as Cam wrapped his arms around me. "What is going on?"

  "I promise, I'll tell you. But I can't right now. The less you know for the next day, the better. It'll protect you."

  The truck driver came up, huffing from the shuffling run he'd been doing. "Gawddam," he drawled in what had to be the world's most perfect country-western accent. "You two okay?"

  "We're not hurt,” Cam said. “Where’s the car that hit us?”

  "Ah, that sumbitch took off like he had a rocket up his ass," the driver said, pointing. "I called the Highway Patrol, but I didn't get a plate on the guy. They should be here soon. You sure you okay partner? You're bleedin'."

  Cam nodded as I stayed where I was, the driver's words causing me to sob anew. The driver didn't say anything, although I could hear him shuffling from side to side while we waited for the cops to arrive.

  * * *

  "So you have no clue at all why this car was chasing you?"

  It was nearly ten at night, and I was exhausted. With the dump of adrenaline from the chase wearing off, I'd spent the past two hours feeling like something the cat had dragged in. Instead of being able to sleep it off in bed, I was sitting in a cramped room back in Las Cruces. It was technically a meeting room for the State Police, but it sure as hell felt like an interrogation room to me.

  It didn't help that the cop who was questioning me seemed to have learned everything he knew about asking questions from watching The Wire or The Shield. About the only thing missing from his approach was a burning cigarette stinking up the place.

  "I told you, I have no idea who the hell that was," I answered for what seemed like the thousandth time. "I was in Las Cruces to do some shopping with my boyfriend, and as we were driving back the guy came up behind us. When it looked like he was going to hit us, Cam tried getting out of the way, but the guy chased us. He hit us as we were trying to get away, and spun us out into the desert."

  "So for no reason at all, some psycho in an SUV decides to run you off the road?"

  I rolled my eyes, this cop's idea of changing details to try and trip me up was rather pathetic. "Not an SUV. A car. A black one. Where's Cam?"

  "Mr. Swagger is talking with another detective," the cop said. Of course, they couldn't call it questioning since technically we hadn't been arrested for anything yet. But Cam told me quietly as we’d gotten into the police car that I should cooperate. There was something in his voice that told me he knew what he was doing, so I went along with it.

  Still, my patience was reaching its limit. "You've gotten all the details I know," I said. "If you don't mind, I'm hungry and I'd like to get some dinner."

  I stood up, the cop shaking his head. "Sit down, Miss Browder."

  "Am I being detained?" I asked. "Because from what I know, you haven't arrested me, you haven't detained me, and if you are, then you need to inform me of my rights. At which point I'm going to invoke my right to remain silent until I see Cam. So no, I'm not going to sit down Detective . . . you know what, I don't even remember your name."

  I walked out into the main squad room, doing my best to not look like a harried, pissed off woman. The few cops still on duty watched but left me alone while the detective came out. "Miss Browder, please," he said, getting in front of me. "All right, no more questions, I can get you some coffee or tea. It's just that Mr. Swagger is still talking in the other room, that's all."

  "That's all?" I said, arching my eyebrow. "A traffic accident, albeit a strange one, and you still want to talk to us hours after it happened. That's all?"

  The detective sighed and nodded. "Listen, it's above my pay grade, that's all I know. Fifteen minutes after the two of you got here, I got pulled aside and told to keep you busy. Meanwhile, my Captain took over questioning, and that guy hasn't done any questioning since I joined the force a decade ago. Sorry about the heavy handed line, I just didn't know what else to do. My only instructions since then were to keep you from leaving until my superior is done. So come on, just have a seat in the lounge, okay?"

  I sighed, lo
oked around, then nodded. "Fine. But you pass on to your bosses that I want to see Cam. Ten minutes, no more."

  The detective smiled in compassion. "Okay, have a seat, and I'll come back with some tea. We make a halfway decent Darjeeling around here."

  "Milk and sugar then," I replied, going back into the lounge room and taking a seat. The detective returned three minutes later, a big mug in each hand. "Hope you're going to let me use the potty after this thing."

  He chuckled and nodded. “It's to your left as you leave this room.”

  I took a sip, enjoying the flavor. He had gone heavy on both the milk and the sugar, but the end result was silky smooth. "Not too bad.”

  "Thanks. The secret is I actually buy real heavy cream for it. Keep it in the fridge with my name on it. Soledad turned me on to it, she's really into good food. Thankfully I seem to have a metabolism that doesn't mind it all that much."

  Now that he had me sitting again, he quickly took advantage. “Listen, while we’re here, how’d you meet Cam?”

  "Vacation in the Caribbean," I answered. "Cam and I were at the same resort. I'd won the trip right before losing my job, so when he asked me to come to T or C, I couldn't think of a reason not to."

  "Sounds like a quick relationship," the detective said. "Ah well, love comes in all forms it seems. Hope you guys enjoy it. I used to patrol through T or C. Quiet town."

  "Very quiet, but at least the weather's warmer than Ohio," I said. He’d already seen my driver's license, he knew where I was from. "Less snow, too."

  "True, but the football's better in Ohio." We sat and drank our teas after that, the atmosphere much more relaxed. I’d finished about half of my mug when there was a light knock on the door. "That should be your boyfriend."

  The door opened and another cop came in, older than the detective I was talking to, and by the way the detective reacted, obviously higher in rank. Cam was right behind, an apologetic smile on his face. "I'm sorry it took so long."