Moving Target

by Regan Black

  The back end of the car swung out wide and then she was perpendicular to the road. Scott listened and fired in the direction of the motorcycle, three shots at a time, aiming low and letting the kick of the gun lift his shots.

  The single headlight swung wide and away and then went out. The sounds from the motorcycle changed as the driver let off the throttle and metal screeched against wet, icy pavement. Jaime gave him no time to check the results. She swung the car around and stomped on the accelerator, racing for Clover City.

  “What now?” she asked as he powered up the window.

  “No idea.” He dusted the snow from his shirt and jeans before it melted. He should have insisted on stopping long enough to see if he’d hit anything. “I’m being followed.” Stating the obvious didn’t make it easier to sort out. If they knew his location, why not pick him up before he got into her car?

  “Why?”

  So many reasons. He couldn’t decide how to answer. The Army was surely searching for Scott Blackwell, escaped convict, yet she hadn’t flinched at his first name when he gave it. She’d had a good look at him and not shown any fear or worry. Did that mean the team on his tail had suppressed the escape or staged that accident as something else? How the hell could he tell her he’d been put in her path to kill her on the orders of a man with no name, only undeniable power?

  “Why?” she repeated.

  “People believe I committed a crime and ran from the consequences.”

  “You are clearly running,” she pointed out.

  “Not by choice.” He’d been so sure the truth would come out during the court martial, but everything had worked against them from the moment they’d returned to the FOB.

  “Did you commit the crime?” she asked.

  “No.” Why did he want to tell her the whole, sordid story? “Drop me at the edge of town,” he said, as lights dotted the horizon just ahead. “That’s really better for you.” Unless that gave the team an opening to kill her since he hadn’t. Damn it, what the hell was the best move here?

  “No,” she stated.

  Her refusal baffled him. “Yes,” he insisted. “It’s the safest option for you.”

  “No,” she repeated. “I’m not going to spend the rest of my days wondering how long it took you to die of exposure.”

  “That’s stupid. You don’t even know me.”

  “All the same, I’m not dropping you off in this weather.”

  He could only stare at her. “Miss—”

  “Jaime,” she corrected. “You don’t know me either, but I’ll give you a tip right now, arguing with me is useless once I’ve made up my mind.”

  “Jaime,” he tried again only to have her cut him off once more.

  “Whatever you say next shouldn’t even resemble a suggestion for me to dump you on the side of the road.” She tapped her chest. “Stubborn beyond reform.”

  “Is it really dumping me when I’m volunteering to get out?” He was about to beg.

  She shot him an exasperated look that managed to be a major turn on. Whoa. Not the time or place or even the right woman for that kind of reaction. Talk about a misplaced outlet for adrenaline.

  “You helped me with that tire and now you clearly need help,” she said as if life was that simple. “I owe you.”

  “You really don’t,” he muttered. “You gave me a shot, some breathing room. Really, that’s good enough.” If he ran now, maybe he could make it for longer than an hour this time. He looked over, wondering if testing him or killing her was more important to the man in the gray suit.

  “Not letting you go.”

  “Jaime.” Stubborn seemed to be the tip of the iceberg with this woman. Fine. “How do you propose to help me if they come back?”

  “I’m thinking.”

  He shook his head as she slowed down to the posted Clover City speed limit. She had no idea what she was in for and he didn’t have enough information to illuminate either of them. He had to convince her he could make it on his own.

  “I appreciate the gesture,” he said, as she parked behind an auto shop.

  She faced him, the neon of the sign overhead painting her dark hair in wild colors. “Appreciate this. You’ll help me haul my gear over to the motel at the end of the block. We’ll get a room, have a drink, and make a plan to get out of here tomorrow.”

  He had to say it. “Are you high?”

  “No. I was raised to do the right thing. As I suspect you were. Now let’s get moving just in case that jerk on the motorcycle managed to peel his mangled ride off the pavement.”

  Scott knew when he was beaten. His life had gone off the rails when he’d been accused of murder. He’d help her haul the gear to the motel and have that drink, but only to ward off the chill. Once he told her enough of the truth, she’d come to her senses and let him walk away.

  *

  Jaime had been honing her instincts about people since she was a kid. She’d learned early, with transient workers moving through the rural Montana area where she’d grown up. Her martial arts training had emphasized those lessons. To win, it was vital to read an opponent quickly and adjust accordingly. The result was a confidence and trust in her intuition. Scott was in trouble, but he wasn’t a direct threat to her. Whoever had chased him was a problem, but that only made her more determined to help him.

  She’d always been a sucker for an underdog. And this underdog was sexy as hell to go along with his skills with both firearms and lug wrench. Military all the way—right down to the decisive nature and wide protective streak. He didn’t act like a veteran who’d lost his way and couldn’t adjust to being a stateside civilian again. No, she had him pegged as a man with bigger problems even before the idiot on the motorcycle attacked her car and he’d admitted he was wanted for a crime he didn’t commit.

  They stacked her luggage and gun cases in the space between the bed and the bathroom wall. It only made it more obvious that he carried nothing beyond the clothing on his back. He needed a coat at the very least if he was going to stay in the area. She decided they could take care of that in the morning while they waited for the shop to put on the new tires.

  She unwrapped two of the plastic cups stacked by the sink. Pulling a flask out of her toiletry case, she poured a measure of whiskey into each plastic cup, handing him one. “To your health.” She raised her cup.

  A corner of his mouth lifted as he tapped his cup to hers. “Cheers.”

  She watched him knock back the shot in a quick gulp. “Will you talk about it?”

  “Better if I don’t,” he said. “I’m sorry you were, ah, caught in the middle.”

  She waited. He clearly wanted to say more. “We survived,” she said when he didn’t elaborate. She poured him a second drink. “If you didn’t commit the crime, why run?”

  He cocked an eyebrow, refusing to answer, swirling the liquor in his cup.

  “So you did something else wrong?” she pressed.

  His unfocused gaze landed on the floor between them. “Aren’t prisons full of criminals claiming they’ve been framed?”

  “I’ve heard that.” She studied him. “In your case I’d believe it.”

  “Why?”

  “Call it a hunch.”

  “That’s a lot to risk your life on, sharing a drink with a stranger in motel room.” His attention bounced to the door and back to her. “Are you always this naïve?”

  “If you wanted to hurt me you’ve had plenty of time to do it. You haven’t even tried to intimidate me.” She toed off her shoes and sat back on the bed, tucking one foot under her opposite thigh. He watched every movement. “I was raised to be compassionate,” she began, only to be interrupted by a noise outside the door. They both flinched.

  “Stay back,” he murmured, stepping in front of her.

  She snorted, rolling to her feet. “Yeah, you’re a real baddie,” she muttered at his shoulder.

  He didn’t spare her so much as a glance as he eased to the window to peer through the narrow bre
ak in the curtain.

  “See anything?” she whispered.

  “No,” he mouthed in near silence, his closed fist down near his hip moved like a head shake.

  Sign language for ‘no’. This guy kept getting more interesting. Still, another scrape or footfall sounded before a voice carried through the thin door. “You’re clear for tonight. Rest easy, Blackwell.”

  Blackwell? Was that his last name?

  She heard faint footsteps moving away from their door. After a long minute of continued silence, Jaime poked him in the shoulder. “You said no one was there.”

  His eyebrows beetled over his dark brown eyes. “No one was.”

  “Those boots sounded pretty substantial for a ghost.”

  “Uh-huh.” Scott’s fingers eased away from the edge of the curtain. “I’m leaving.”

  She couldn’t let him do that, though she didn’t really want to explore why she wanted him to stay. He made her feel safe, which was probably the lingering adrenaline playing with her head. “When was the last time you slept in a bed?” she asked, though the answer was irrelevant.

  “You don’t even care that whoever that was knew my name?”

  “Your name is Scott Blackwell?” Watching him, she caught the flinch. He opened his mouth only to shut it again. She folded her arms over her chest. “You have a dry, warm place to rest for tonight. Use it.”

  “But…” He flung a hand to the door, his voice trailing off.

  “Whoever it was outside gave you the same advice. I suggest you accept that you’re outvoted.” She turned for the bathroom. “I’ll be out in five minutes.” She turned, catching him looking at the door. “I have friends and family all over this town, if you run, when we find you we’ll all be aggravated and grumpy that you dragged us out in this weather.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Now I’m your prisoner?”

  She found his emphasis curious. “No. Here’s how I see it. You’ll leave. I’ll make a few calls, explain you’re a friend in a tough spot, upset enough that you wandered off without a coat. You’ll be found in a hurry and you’ll end up thawing out in a hospital room. No one ever gets any sleep in a hospital.”

  He muttered something she was surely better off not hearing and helped himself to another drink.

  Confident he’d stay put she took a fast, hot shower and changed into warm fleece pants and a thermal shirt before returning to the room. Her heart kicked with relief that he was still there. “Shower’s free,” she said.

  Perched at the end of the bed nearest the door, he stared at the floor, his elbows propped on his knees. “Great.” He didn’t move.

  “What’s wrong? Is it clothing?” Despite the weather, she had a friend or two who would bring something over for him, no questions asked. “I don’t have anything in your size, but I can call in a favor.” He was fit and taller than her, though he wasn’t bulky. His poise and confidence made her think of him as much bigger. Still, he was broad enough through the shoulders that not even her coat would come close to fitting him.

  “It’s the whole damn mess,” he said. He kicked at a duffle bag she hadn’t noticed. “Someone dropped this off while you were in the shower.”

  Jaime strode to the door. “You mean the person who was out there earlier?”

  He shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  “What the hell is going on?”

  “Damned if I know. There was another knock and when I opened the door, the bag was there,” he said.

  “Well, open it,” she suggested.

  “I did.” He handed her a plain white envelope, his name printed by hand in block capital lettering on the outside. “I need a drink.”

  That bad, huh? “Help yourself.” She handed him the flask and took the envelope in exchange. Whoever had addressed the envelope had also written the note inside:

  “Dear Mr. Blackwell,

  We know you’re innocent. Though it isn’t safe to return to your previous life and career, we can give you distance from those hunting you.

  Please take the enclosed capsule. It should disable the technology being used to track you. We will be in touch in the morning.”

  Jaime peered into the envelope and felt around with her fingers. “You took whatever was in here?”

  He nodded.

  “It could have been poison.”

  “Still tickin’. I feel fine,” he said with a what’s-there-to-lose shrug. “Over the last few days it was obvious there was a team tracking me somehow.”

  “Who? Why?”

  “I don’t know who.” He bent and pulled cargo pants, a T-shirt, and a long-sleeved pullover out of the bag. “Why is up for debate too. Guess we’ll find out in the morning.”

  He tugged off his boots and stripped out of his flannel shirt and the tee underneath.

  Her breath backed up in her lungs at the view of his lean torso and washboard abs. Distinctive tattoos only added to the overall appeal, rippling as he moved. As he passed by she noticed the scarring high on his shoulder and down across the flat of his shoulder blade. Burns and shrapnel she guessed, managing not to ask. Lower still, his skin was a mosaic of healing bruises. Someone had recently used him for a punching bag.

  The bathroom door closed and a few minutes later the shower taps came on. Not feeling the least bit guilty, she searched through the bag he’d been given. She found more clothes, including silk underwear and a fleece-lined reversible all-weather coat and gloves.

  Someone expected him to stay in a cold climate. Apparently someone with good intentions. She wasn’t sure what to think of any of it. While he cleaned up, she used her cell phone to search his name, but nothing came up. Or rather, none of the results matched the Scott Blackwell showering on the other side of the closed bathroom door.

  The lack of results online didn’t deter her. She hadn’t changed her mind about him being a good guy caught in a world of trouble. She just wished she knew how best to help him. She supposed she wouldn’t have more insight until his guardian angels returned in the morning.

  Chapter 5

  Driving, his wipers fighting a losing battle with the increasing snowfall, John answered his cell phone with the hands free feature on the second ring. “You’re on speaker. How’s the weather?”

  “Cold,” Ben replied. “I’m on watch. He’s in the same room as the woman. Jaime Castle according to the registration in the car she was driving. He has the care package.”

  “And the traffic accident?” he asked. John had made a conscious decision not to ask how Ben kept up with his assigned targets, he was just glad they had a reliable team mate. Ben had only been minutes behind the attack on the car Blackwell had been riding in. He’d been seriously impressed by Blackwell’s successful defense and the woman’s driving skills.

  “Report’s been filed,” Ben said. “Sheriff’s deputy shook his head over the poor motorcyclist that lost control in the ice. Victim went right over the safety rail and the body looks like charcoal after the explosion. Road’s clear now,” Ben finished.

  John marveled at the things Ben managed so quickly. He glanced at Amelia who nodded as she looked at her phone screen. “I have it.”

  And he knew she’d pore over every detail, hoping for a viable link to UI, as soon as they were checked into a room. “We still have a ways to go. Amelia booked us at the same motel where Blackwell is staying with Castle.”

  “Not your usual accommodation standards,” Ben warned. “If he bolts I’ll call.”

  “We’ll be fine,” Amelia said, but Ben had already ended the call.

  “I just want out of this snow.” John rolled his shoulders and flexed his hands that were stiff from navigating dark, unfamiliar roads in this lousy weather.

  Ben, as effective at picking up a trail as he was at going unnoticed, had pinpointed Blackwell’s route quickly enough. As he’d closed in, the job had gotten easier thanks to an arrogant two-man team of UI operatives trailing after Blackwell.

  “How has this kid stayed aliv
e?” John asked, peering at the lousy weather icing up the windshield.

  “He’s clever with plenty of survival experience and training. I wouldn’t be surprised if he hopes to hide on the reservations.”

  “That won’t deter Messenger.”

  “You and I know that,” she agreed. “Scott Blackwell has no idea.”

  John reached over and laid his hand on hers. Without Amelia, he’d still be caught in the UI system, subject to Messenger’s whims and assignments. “Think he took that capsule?”

  “I’m sure Ben will know soon enough if he didn’t.”

  Neither one of them voiced the persistent concern that the capsule would prove ineffective against UI’s ever-changing tracking methods.

  “One of these days we’ll find the new lab,” Amelia said with such confidence that John could almost believe it as well.

  Chapter 6

  Scott was up with the first glimmer of sunlight, as much from military habit as the constant need to stay ahead of the people who had aimed him at Jaime and then followed to make sure he followed through. He looked over to the bed where she slept. Her dark hair was a sharp contrast to the white linens and her fair skin. Curled on side, her face relaxed, she resembled a sweet angel more than the tough woman who’d insisted he stay the night.

  He didn’t know which one of them to worry about more, him for his bizarre predicament or her for being stubborn about helping him.

  And this morning? His gaze went to the door as he wondered who had sent that note, capsule and clothing. How did anyone know to help him?

  With Jaime still sacked out, he ducked into the bathroom. Regardless of her misguided Good Samaritan motives, he owed her—big time—for the clean bed and good sleep. During his time in the army, he and his team had endured ridiculous conditions out in the field.

  He had an intimate understanding of stress, had been through survival training, and still hadn’t anticipated how lousy he’d feel on the run. Navigating this situation on his own without a friend in his corner or any resources was proving to be more of challenge than he could handle.