by Justine Davis, Amy J. Fetzer, Katherine Garbera, Meredith Fletcher, Catherine Mann
Darcy rushed to Mary Jo. Keeping one eye on Eli, she grabbed the bruised, bloodied woman and tugged her to her feet, then pushed her toward the back door. “Get out of here.”
“He’ll kill you!”
“I’m right behind you. Go!” Darcy put herself between Eli and Mary Jo.
Mary Jo was nearly at the door when Eli rolled over, shaking his head and getting to his feet. “You bitch!”
Oh, no. For a big man, he was fast. Darcy sidestepped again, circling, forcing his attention off his wife stumbling toward the back door. Darcy’d run out the front if she had to and circle back.
Eli charged again, this time with a table leg in his hand. He swung. Darcy ducked. The table leg sang past her head, the impact driving it into the plaster wall. Eli tried jerking it out and with her elbow, Darcy clipped him in the kidney. He howled, arching with the pain, then sank to his knees. She backed toward the door, but not fast enough. He grabbed her ankle and yanked.
She hit the floor so hard her teeth clicked. The knife flew from her grip and spun across the floor.
Oh God.
“Run, Mary Jo!”
But Mary Jo, a slim blonde dressed in shorts and a T-shirt meant for a twelve year old, huddled on the edge of the room, too scared to move.
“Yeah, run, Mary Jo,” Eli taunted, “so I can hunt you, too.” He lunged at Darcy.
As he came down, she drove the heel of her hand up into his nose.
Cartilage shifted, bone cracked. Blood poured.
Eli Archer lurched back on his haunches, swearing and clutching his bleeding nose. “I’m gonna kill you!” he shouted, swiping his sleeve under his nose, smearing blood before grabbing for her.
But Darcy rolled away, springing to her feet, glancing around for her knife. She spotted it, but he was there, lumbering, big and hound-dog ugly.
She dove at the knife, landing on her side, grappling for it as he neared. His meaty hand latched on to her calf. He dragged her.
Darcy kicked out, struggling to reach her knife.
Eli pulled her closer to him. One smack from him and it was over. Her face would be hamburger and the latex mask hiding her identity shredded.
A crash sounded at the front of the house, the door banging against the wall just as her fingers skipped over a piece of wood. She grasped the splintered table leg and with every bit of strength she had, she swung it at his head and connected with a solid thunk.
He dropped like a stone. Darcy didn’t move, breathing hard.
She heard the distinct click of a bullet moving into the chamber and looked up.
Jack Turner stood in the doorway to the living room, a huge .357 Magnum pointed at Eli’s head.
“You’re late.” She tossed aside the wood, then crawled to her feet, annoyed with him, but glad he was here.
“A bounty got loose.” His gaze flicked to her, switchblade sharp and angry. “Why the hell do you have backup if you don’t wait for it?”
“He started early,” she said as she retrieved her knife. Mary Jo was still in the corner, staring at her motionless husband. “You know, that was highly illegal—” she nodded toward the shattered front door “—unless there’s a bounty on him.”
“Oops. Wrong house,” Jack said, deadpan, his weapon still trained on Eli. “That disguise is hideous by the way.” His voice was low, for her ears only.
The short frosted wig and carefully applied latex face mask made her look homely. “Helps to ugly up a bit. People tend not to notice you.”
His gaze moved over her body with an intensity that rivaled static electricity. “Yeah, sure.”
“Let’s get out of here. I don’t want to wake the sleeping giant.”
But Eli still hadn’t moved.
“Oh, hell.” Assault was one thing, manslaughter in self-defense was quite another. She inched close enough to gingerly check his pulse, but Jack stopped her.
“Leave him. He’s breathing like an engine. He’ll wake soon enough.”
Darcy hurried to Mary Jo, pulling her off the floor.
“Who—who are you people?”
“You called me, remember? Come on.”
When Mary Jo started for Eli, Darcy stood in her way. “Look at me. Look at me!” When Mary Jo did, she said quickly, “It’s now or never, Mary Jo. You stay, he’ll kill you.”
Mary Jo nodded sharply, and Darcy pulled her to the door. They ran down the porch, and Darcy directed her toward the woods.
“Go, straight that way.” She pointed, pushing her on. “Run, girl.”
Mary Jo looked back at the house she’d shared with Eli for two years and her expression grew angry. Good, that’s what Darcy needed to get her out alive.
Mary Jo took off, and Darcy backed up, sweeping branches across the ground to cover their tracks. Eli was a hunter, and word from the townsfolk was that he could track anything. His hunting dogs were feasting on some prime, sedative-laced USDA beef right now to keep them quiet. But that wouldn’t last.
Jack rushed to her. “Go! Dammit! I’ll do that.” He took the branches. “He’s waking up.”
Darcy froze, met his gaze. “Already? He must have a head like a rock.”
“So do you.” Jack pushed her toward the tree line.
Darcy ran, snatching up her equipment pack, then ducking under low branches. Mary Jo was only a few yards ahead of her, crying, but moving. Darcy called softly and the girl froze, a ragged silhouette against scrubby trees. Darcy raced past, grabbing Mary Jo’s hand, pulling her along, then pushing Mary Jo ahead of her. She still had to do some fast moving to get the girl safely away undetected. The two women ran, batting dry branches and skidding on crumbling ground. Then they were out in the open, vulnerable.
Darcy and Mary Jo headed straight to the edge of a ravine, stumbling down the dirt hillside to Darcy’s Jeep. Darcy pushed Mary Jo into the passenger seat, tossed in her bag, then slid behind the wheel. The engine started up on the first try and she gunned it, racing away from the Archer place.
“Is he dead?” Mary Jo asked.
“No.”
“Then he’ll find me, I know it!” she cried.
Darcy smothered her impatience, understanding coming quickly. “He won’t find you, Mary Jo.” Even if Eli had the balls to go to the police, with his record, they’d be slow to react to his claims. “I’m taking you someplace safe. Within twenty-four hours, someone will come to you at the safe house and document your abuse with photos and a statement.”
She’d helped a hundred women in the last three years, from women who drove Mercedes to ones who’d never seen the inside of a hospital before and would be scarred for life. Each time, the situation seemed more desperate. More hopeless. Often, Darcy was their last chance. For some, the legal system had failed them, letting wife beaters out on bail to find the women and do it again—often resulting in death. Some were too scared to venture into the unknown without support. Or worse, they’d become so brainwashed by verbal abuse that they thought they needed these men to survive.
Mary Jo Archer had a right to be scared.
Darcy understood that kind of fear only too well.
It made her an expert at evasion and deception. Five years as a Hollywood special-effects makeup artist made her unrecognizable even now. Using disguises at every leg of a rescue protected the women’s lives, as well as hers.
Darcy coveted her privacy like a fanatic. With good reason. She was a kidnapper. Plain and simple. She’d taken her baby son from his father and hidden from the world. From her perspective, the end justified the means. Saving a life. In her case, it was two lives.
But in the eyes of the law, she was the criminal. It wouldn’t matter that, before she’d escaped her abusive husband, she’d gone to the police and filed reports. Maurice’s influence had a long reach. The cops had dismissed her accusations, just as Maurice’s family and their friends had. Maurice had money, power and a stellar reputation as an executive film producer behind him, and in Beverly Hills and Hollywood that put him above
reproach. Above the law.
Darcy had had nothing, and Maurice had made sure she was trapped from all directions. Till she escaped with her friend Rainy Miller Carrington’s help.
Suddenly her throat tightened with unspent grief. Rainy was dead. Killed in a car crash only weeks ago. With Mary Jo’s call coming soon after the funeral, Darcy hadn’t even had a chance to mourn.
Rainy would be mad that I’m still hiding, Darcy thought morosely. Even the Cassandras, her schoolmates from the Athena Academy for Women, didn’t know the full extent of her ugly past. Rainy had known. And she’d told Kayla some of what Darcy had gone through to escape. The others knew she was no longer with her husband, and to them she was still Darcy Allen Steele, hairdresser and owner of the Chop Shop Salon. She was ashamed to admit the full truth to them.
To the rest of the world, including Jack, she was Piper Daniels, an alias she’d been using for nearly three years.
Everything in my life is an alias.
A forgery, a mask to keep herself and her son, Charlie, safe and hidden. She did nothing that would alert her husband to her whereabouts and was certain he was still searching for her.
Maurice wasn’t the kind of man who gave up control. Ever. Power and control were the root of who he was. And you didn’t cross him without consequences.
She took a deep breath, searching for calm. She needed a clear mind for the next hours of the journey.
At least Mary Jo had a fresh chance.
“You’ll file a report with the police,” Darcy said, her eyes on the road, “and then disappear till Eli is behind bars.”
“He should be in prison,” Mary Jo muttered bitterly. “See how he likes it.”
Darcy glanced her way. The girl’s face was a mess.
Maurice had never struck her face—it would have been proof to the public that he abused her. No, he had more deadly ways of keeping her under control.
“Eli kept me in a prison for years,” Mary Jo said, oblivious to Darcy’s thoughts. “That house might as well have had bars.”
The comment hit Darcy square in the chest.
A prison without walls. She was still locked in hers.
“Why don’t you try to get some sleep.” She spoke quickly to bury the feelings struggling to surface. “It’s a couple hours till we make it to the safe house.”
Mary Jo snuggled down into the seat. Darcy drove, aware of every flash of light in her rearview mirror. Every car they passed. Tonight, Mary Jo had her freedom.
After three years, Darcy didn’t.
Because Maurice was out there. Waiting for her to slip up. Hunting her.
A pearl of fear slid down her throat.
She hated it. It tasted foul and pitiful.
And Darcy knew she couldn’t live like this anymore.
But even after three years, she hadn’t figured out a way to outsmart Maurice. Legally, he still had the power.
And she wasn’t giving up her son, not even for her freedom.
Chapter 2
Nevada
Just past the state line, Darcy pulled into the Sleep Easy Motel parking lot, wishing it was her own driveway. But she was still hours away from Comanche, Nevada, and at two in the morning, she was bone tired, her eyes gritty.
She turned off the engine and leaned back into the seat. Mission accomplished. Mary Jo was at the safe house in Utah, and she’d zigzagged her way toward the motel to make sure that no one followed her. She’d removed the mask and wig somewhere in between when she’d stopped to grab a bite to eat. Her skin itched from the glue and all she wanted was a hot shower and a soft bed.
Grabbing her bags from the back seat, she climbed out, locked up, then headed toward her room. She stopped short when she saw a figure braced against the overhang support post outside, smoking a cigarette.
Jack Turner.
No man wore a black cowboy hat that easily.
Just seeing him made something under her skin shiver. But Darcy didn’t want to be anywhere near Jack tonight. Hours in the car with her own unpleasant thoughts for company, she felt combustible. Rainy’s death, the grief she’d shelved to help Mary Jo and leaving Charlie again when she just wanted to cuddle up with him and be safe had left her riddled with a mountain of emotions just waiting to crush her. Succumbing to them anywhere near Jack would just make a bigger mess of her life. He’d want to know too much, and right now, she felt weak enough to slip up.
“Well at least you didn’t get arrested,” she said.
He stared at her hard for a second, then pitched the smoke onto the pavement. “Don’t do anything that stupid again,” he said coldly.
She didn’t need a reminder of the danger she’d put herself in. The bruise on her hip would do that. “I didn’t have a choice. And I can take care of myself.”
He sent her an arched look that said after the stunt she’d pulled tonight, he wasn’t so sure. “Why do you keep doing this, Piper?”
Piper. God, what she wouldn’t give to hear her own name. “Because no one else will help them.”
“That’s what the cops are for.”
She scoffed. They’d been down this route before. Ever since that night nearly two years ago when he’d busted through a door to apprehend his bounty and found her helping a woman escape, he’d appointed himself her protector. She almost laughed. If he knew the truth about her, he’d be outta here. Or hauling her in to the police.
Darcy’s only advantage was that Maurice had never filed kidnapping charges against her. She knew why—it would mean giving up control of his life if he was investigated.
“If that always worked, then they wouldn’t be calling me, would they?” Or you, bounty hunter.
Jack moved away from the post, stopping inches from her. From under the dark hat, his China-blue gaze bored into her. He gently pinched her chin and turned her face to the side, looking for marks. “Did he hurt you?”
She stepped back, yet was touched by his concern. He looked as if he’d just about burn rubber to go avenge her.
“No, he never got the chance,” Darcy said. “I had the advantage of surprise and he was tanked already.”
He folded his arms. The motion made him look bigger. “You should know by now that booze just makes them stronger, meaner—”
“But slow and off balance,” she cut in. “Besides, you know that most of the time when I rescue a woman, the man isn’t home.”
Jack snarled something she didn’t get, then said, “Were you thinking of Charlie when you confronted that ape?”
Her gaze narrowed. “Don’t lecture me, Jack. You know I was. Charlie’s all I have. And if you don’t like the way I do things, then why are you always shadowing me?”
She didn’t expect an answer. She’d asked once. He never explained and wasn’t open to prying. Neither was she, so she dropped it. Though she’d tried skirting around him, he always found a way to be near. It was simply less aggravating to include him in her plans, and she admitted she felt safer with Jack and his big gun close by.
“Charlie needs his mother alive, not in a damn grave!”
His sharp tone stung, felt chastising, and she stiffened. “You think? Jeez, Jack, you act like I wanted to face down Eli. I waited as long as I could! He was going to kill her.”
“And then you.”
“Then be on time!”
His head snapped back, his expression taut.
She arched a brow. The air between them felt charged. Darcy felt so brittle and angry, she was spoiling for a fight.
“I’m capable of defending myself and you know it.”
What he didn’t know was that she’d graduated from the Athena Academy for the Advancement of Women, a private high school in Arizona that recruited exceptional girls and trained them mentally and physically to become anything they could imagine. Many Athena graduates went on to do government work, or joined the military. Darcy knew more about survival, self-defense and investigating than the average woman. While she’d never thought of herself as exception
al, she had good reflexes, strength and a sharp mind. Of the rest of the Cassandra team, two worked for intelligence agencies, one had joined the police force, one had become a national newscaster who had been recruited for government operations on the side, and one was rising fast in the ranks of the U.S. Air Force. What Darcy did for abused women was dangerous enough, but her skills were in deception. By altering her face and hair and using her acting talent from UCLA Drama, Darcy could deceive her own mother. She’d never regretted not going into the CIA when they’d come to recruit her. She had Charlie because of that choice, and though the rest of her life wasn’t perfect, she wouldn’t trade being his mom for any of it.
Maurice was her only regret now. He’d taken control after she’d married him, but then, she’d given some up for him to do that. Never again, she thought, even if it meant ignoring her attraction to Jack.
“Yeah, but fast and agile doesn’t always match up against big and brutal.”
“Don’t I know it,” she muttered. For a second the cool ice of his gaze softened.
He was powerful without saying a word. His rare smiles made her stomach pitch, and Charlie adored him. That alone warned her that Jack Turner was in her life too much already. Yet Jack was so unlike Maurice. He respected her views, cared less what people thought and dressed more for comfort than style—his black hat was shaped with wear, his brown bomber jacket a relic from the fifties. He was rarely without either. Or his gun.
Like her, he played everything close to the vest, as if testing people. He didn’t play games. Didn’t waste time or words. If she succumbed to even a scrap of her feelings, he would take her heart. And she’d made too many mistakes to invite more trouble.
“You’re thinking too hard, I can tell,” he said softly, his gaze riveted to her.
His gentle tone rippled over her skin, making it tighten. “Yeah, I know.” She shifted, hitched her bag on her shoulder, stuck her hands in her jacket pockets. “I have a lot on my mind.” Before he could lend those big shoulders to lean on she said, “Go to your room, Jack. You must be tired, too. I’m fine.”
