Sloan still said nothing. He silently blessed her for that as he took his one quick look at the passing sedan. The driver was the only occupant, unless someone was hiding as they passed. Then he zeroed in on the rear plate.
He reached for the console and typed in the license number, all the while keeping the phone to his ear, as if he were just idly looking around while he listened to someone talk.
By the time the answer popped up on the screen, the car was out of sight around a curve just ahead on the road. He put down the phone and read the registration data, which showed the vehicle as registered to a trust. He frowned. Why did that ring a bell?
“The Wallace Northwest Trust,” he muttered, as if saying it aloud would jog his memory.
“It was the gold car?” Sloan asked, her first words since he’d said they were being followed.
“Yes.”
She didn’t say any more, but something about her silence made him look at her. “Sloan?”
“It’s just that...the day we went down to reapply, after I called and asked for your friend, I thought maybe I was being followed. And then again the other night after we found Rick.”
He went very still. “What? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It was just a feeling. I couldn’t be sure, and there are a million gold cars like that.”
He tried to keep his tone even. “You noticed a particular car? Like that one?”
She waved a hand, as if dismissing her own words. “I thought I was imagining it. A...flashback sort of thing.”
He guessed that that and worse had happened when she’d been making nationwide noise.
“You should have told me.”
“You were already doing so much, and—”
“You still should have told me.”
She sighed. “In hindsight, obviously I should have.”
She wasn’t so determined to be right that she couldn’t admit that. He liked that about her. Among the multitude of other things he liked about her, he thought wryly, heading his mind off before it could careen down that road full of memories of last night.
She glanced at the screen, although it was harder to see from the passenger seat.
“That’s who owns it?”
He nodded. “Registered and legal owner. It seems familiar, but I can’t put my finger on from where.”
She leaned over to see more clearly. “The Wallace Northwest Trust. Nice and vague. Could be anything or anyone. Could you run it? Or the Foxworth whiz kid?”
It snapped into place. “Tyler! This was on the list of companies and shells he came up with, backtracking to Harcourt Mead.” He reached out to the keyboard once more. “I should check what other vehicles they own. Maybe this has been going on longer than we think. If—”
He stopped suddenly.
“What?” she asked.
“We don’t know how high this really goes.” She’d probably think he was crazy. Then again, she of all people might not. So he went on. “But we know how high it could go.”
He’d been right. She got there immediately—he saw it in her face.
“But why? It’s just a little piece of land that’s been in my uncle’s family for generations.”
“I have no idea,” he said. “But I think if we figure that out, we’ll find all the answers.”
He shut down the computer without making that next inquiry. His gut was saying don’t leave a trail. Crazy when he wasn’t sure of anything, but he’d learned the hard way to listen to that instinct.
She watched him, then shifted her gaze to his face. “You think they might...what?”
He glanced around before he answered. Confirmed what he’d caught with his peripheral vision: a gold sedan very much like the one that had followed them had pulled into the lot of the convenience store across the street. He couldn’t see the plate from here, but he still knew.
“They could have a flag in the system,” he said, “on names, plates, whatever, to let them know an inquiry was made.”
She drew back slightly. “Would they know who made it?”
No one had gotten out of the car. Those instincts upped the volume.
“They’d know it was through the sheriff’s office. And they could track it to this terminal eventually, although it would take some time. How much depends on how much juice the asker has.”
“The car’s back. Across the street.”
He blinked at the sudden change. Not at the fact that she’d noticed it, though. She was on top of things, Sloan Burke. He smiled at her.
“Yes.”
“He pulled in, parked, but hasn’t gone into the store.”
“You don’t miss much, do you?”
She smiled briefly but said only, “So now what?”
He smiled back, held it. “Kiss me.”
She blinked, clearly startled. “What?”
“For show, of course,” he said, but couldn’t stop his mouth from quirking upward.
“Oh. Of course. Mead probably put this guy on us.”
“Exactly.”
“Given what you told him, I think you should kiss me, then.”
He grinned. Widely. And he didn’t wince, even inwardly, when he realized that if he’d taken time to speak before doing just that, his words would have been something like “Damn, I love this woman.”
The heat that flared the moment his mouth came down on hers rippled through him, banishing any thought of the cold outside, the follower across the street or the edge of the console digging into his ribs. She kissed him back, fiercely, eagerly, and within a split second his heart was hammering, sending his pulse racing and spreading the heat so quickly it took what little breath he had left away.
It took everything he had to pull away from her. For a moment all he could do was sit there, trying to convince his suddenly unruly body it wasn’t going to get what it wanted—who it wanted—right now. And the way Sloan was looking at him, as if she was having the same problem, did not help at all.
“Well,” she said after a moment, sounding as breathless as he felt, “that was convincing.”
“It sure as hell was,” he muttered, turning his head fractionally, just enough to see out of the corner of his eye the gold car was still there.
He heard her take in a breath, as if steadying herself. If her reaction was anywhere near as strong as his had been, he understood completely. And no matter how many times he told himself it was all too likely she was still in love with her dead husband, or that no woman in her right mind would want to deal with his own personal ghosts, he couldn’t seem to stop his mind from roaring down roads he’d sworn never to travel again.
“I can see him,” she said.
She was in a better position, he realized. “Anything?”
“I think he’s on the phone. His hand’s up to his ear.”
“Maybe calling for instructions.” He glanced at her. “Maybe we should give him something to really talk about.”
Something glinted in those green eyes, something that reminded him—as if he needed anything to remind him—of last night. But one corner of her mouth twitched, as if she was suppressing a grin. That same flash of humor was in her voice when she spoke.
“If you want to have sex right here and now, in public, I think I should remind you that could be a career ender for you.”
He was laughing before he even realized it was bubbling up inside him. It didn’t feel quite so strange. He knew it had to be because she had made it happen more in almost two weeks than anyone had in the past eight years.
Still grinning, he reached for the key and turned the ignition. “Let’s rattle his cage,” he said.
Chapter 29
“We’re going to Seattle?” Sloan asked as they slid into the lane for the ferry. It wa
sn’t crowded at midday on Saturday. Most who were going over for the weekend had already gone, but later it would be jam-packed with people heading into the city for the evening.
They’d made the drive to the island terminal leisurely, as if they had no concerns and all the time in the world. Brett had made no dodging turns, no apparent effort to lose the gold car, which once out on the highway had dropped back behind a pickup and an electrician’s van. So she had to assume he wanted the car to be able to follow.
“We’re going through Seattle,” he said.
“Because? I mean, besides that it would be easier to shed this guy?”
He flashed her a smile that made her pulse take a little leap. “Exactly. And of course, we’re going on a romantic weekend getaway.”
That leap shifted into a maintained race at his words. But something about the way he said them and that “of course” told her he hadn’t really meant it. At least, not in the way she would have liked. Which told her more than she was ready to process about how far she’d fallen down this rabbit hole.
Fallen, heck. You dived in. Headfirst. No one to blame but yourself for this one, girl.
“You’re assuming he’s working for Mead, then?”
“Not completely. If he’s not, it’ll be easier to lose him in Seattle, and if he is...”
“We’re playing to what Mead already thinks.” With an effort, she kept her tone casual, joking. “Well, I’m packed, at least.”
“Comes to that, my go bag’s in the back.”
Wait, this could really happen? “What would make it come to that?”
“If we can’t shake him. That is, if he even follows us on. Looks like he’s pulled off to the side. Probably calling the boss again.”
“Not much for initiative, is he?”
Brett shot her that smile again, warming her even as she worked to quash the wish that they were really going away for that romantic weekend. “Or the boss is a micromanager.”
“That sounds more like your friend’s odious boss.”
“Yes. And it could be him behind this.”
“But why would he want to follow us?”
“Don’t know.” He was checking the rearview mirror again. “But he’s in this somehow, so I’m keep all options open.”
“What if he doesn’t follow?”
“They we go straight north and take the other ferry back. And head to Foxworth.”
Cutter sat up in the backseat and let out a muffled whuff of sound at the name. He’d been so quiet Sloan had nearly forgotten he was there.
“At least you don’t have to pack for him,” she said.
Brett chuckled as they moved up to the ticket booth. “Nope. His needs seem to be people he likes, tennis balls and food, in that order.”
The woman working the booth recognized him. Sloan wasn’t surprised. She supposed deputies were here often, since this was one of the main ways to get out of the county and to the city. Besides, any woman breathing would likely remember him.
“Nice dog,” she said, glancing at the back window. Cutter politely endured the scrutiny, cocking his head at the angle that Sloan had noticed nearly always made people smile.
“Thank you,” Brett said without further explanation.
“He’ll have to stay there for the duration of the crossing, you know. Only walk-ons are allowed up top.” Her voice held just the right amount of regret.
“I know. Thanks,” he said as she handed him some change.
Sloan shifted her gaze back to the rearview mirror as the woman asked if he was on official business. Brett said no, but after he’d paid, the woman directed him to the first-on loading lane anyway.
“Nice,” she said as they started moving again, cutting toward the lane reserved for special loading. Bikes went on first, for safety, then motorcycles, but they’d be next.
“I wouldn’t have asked, but since she offered, it’ll help,” he said.
She realized he meant this would put them first on, first off, handy given what they were trying to do.
She turned her head as if she were merely looking out toward the water of the harbor but gave the rearview mirror a look as she did so. “He’s still pulled to the side.”
“Yes.” He gave her another glance as they pulled to the front of the first-on lane, behind only an ambulance that appeared, thankfully, to be empty. “You’re good at this.”
“Haven’t forgotten everything I learned in DC, I guess.”
“I’m sorry. That you had to learn that way.”
“Sometimes ignorance really is bliss. But foolish.”
“A lot of people live that way.”
She turned in her seat as he put the car in Park and turned off the engine for the ten or so minutes they had before boarding began.
“And they’re able to do that because of people like you,” she said.
He gave a barely noticeable one-shouldered shrug. “And Jason,” he said quietly.
It seemed so odd to hear her husband’s name spoken by this man, the man she had spent such a long, passionate night with. It should have felt bad. Or she should have. Guilty or extremely awkward at the least.
But she felt none of that. Maybe because he’d spoken Jason’s name with the utmost respect. Even with a note of understanding, as if he realized her feelings might well be conflicted. Brett Dunbar was a very perceptive man. Probably why he was so good at what he did.
“Yes,” she finally answered, and left it at that because there really wasn’t much more to say.
Cutter, still sitting up in the backseat, barked suddenly. Instinctively Sloan turned to look at him. He was glancing out the back window, and she realized the gold car had moved. It was now at one of the ticket booths and seconds later was driving toward the loading lanes.
“He’s following,” she said.
“Yes,” Brett agreed, and she realized he’d already seen it. Amazing how he didn’t appear to be looking around but was always so aware. Given his job, a good thing. She felt that twinge of warning again, but it was much more muted now. A night like last night could do that, she thought wryly.
Their line had started moving, and they were the second on after the ambulance. It put them in the center bay, near the open bow of the ferry. She glanced back.
“I can’t see him,” she said.
“He’s back there.”
“They really want to know where we’re going.”
“Or they want to make sure we really are going.”
She frowned. “You mean they want to know where we are?”
“Or where we’re not.”
Her frown deepened, but before she could ask, he’d taken out his phone. He called up a number and hit the call icon.
“Dunbar,” he said. “We seem to have picked up an appendage.”
There was the briefest of pauses before he explained about the details on the vehicle. And why he hadn’t pursued it.
Another pause. Then, “Thanks. We’re about to board the ferry leaving the island. I’ll try to lose him in Seattle. Then we’ll head back.”
He listened for a moment, then said a final “Right. Thanks.”
He hung up and put the phone back into his pocket.
“Rafe,” he explained. “Ty’s on the car and looking for any others that trust might own.” He seemed to hesitate before going on. “Your aunt and uncle are doing fine. Your uncle seems to have hit it off with the rehab therapist Foxworth arranged.”
That surprised her a little. Uncle Chuck simply didn’t like needing help, and he was openly grumpy about it, especially when he wasn’t feeling well and needed it the most. But she was thankful for whatever small miracle Foxworth had worked.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Thank Rafe. And Foxworth.”<
br />
“It’s amazing. What they do, I mean.”
“Yes. I had my doubts when I first ran into them, but they’re definitely the good guys.”
“Like follows like,” she said.
He drew back slightly. “Thanks. If that was a compliment.”
“It was. One of many I could give, were you in the mood.”
Something hot and primal flashed in his eyes for an instant. “Don’t,” he said. “We’ll be back to ending my career.”
Her cheeks heated as the words reminded her of her own comment. Actually doing what she’d teased him about would never even be on her radar, but she couldn’t deny the thought was salaciously arousing. But then, that seemed to be a constant state at the moment.
And that was a place she had never expected to be again in her life. She wasn’t sure she wanted to be there. But she was, and now she had to deal with it.
Chapter 30
Sloan kept silent through the ferry crossing, smiling only when Brett lowered a back window to let the fresh air of the crossing into the car despite the chill. Cutter leaned out, his nose twitching as he savored the smells.
“Why do I get the feeling he knows exactly what’s going on and who’s involved, and that if we let him out, he’d charge right back to wherever that car is?”
“Because you’re getting to know him,” Brett said, his mouth quirking.
Sloan smiled.
After a while Brett was tapping his finger restlessly on the steering wheel, and his expression wasn’t happy.
“You don’t like not knowing exactly where he is?” she asked.
“I don’t like not knowing who he is and who he’s working for,” he said. “And I’m weighing the advantage of finding that out versus letting them continue to think we’re blissfully unaware.”
“Finding out?”
“We’re on a boat. He can only run so far.”
He was thinking about confronting the man? She didn’t much like that idea. Then again, she had no doubt he could handle it.
Operation Power Play Page 20
