“Four or five hours, depending on traffic.”
“That’s not bad at all. Thank you for taking me with you.”
“I couldn’t leave you in Vegas. You’re safer with me.”
“I think you’re right.” Her obvious gratitude slipped past his defenses and stroked his heart. “But I wanted to thank you anyway. You’re the first one who could tell me anything. I’ve been worried sick about Danny.”
“Worried enough that you flew all the way out here to look for him.” Rafe glanced away from the road to look at her. “You’re a good sister.”
She shrugged. “Anyone would do the same.”
“I guess.” He thought of his own siblings, wondered if they would come riding to the rescue if he needed them. Once upon a time, definitely. Now? He had no idea.
“Family protects each other,” Cara said. “And Danny is the only family I have left.”
Rafe merged onto the highway and sped up to the pace of the traffic. “Seems like you’re the one doing all the protecting.”
“That’s not true.” She sighed. “Well, maybe. Danny’s a dreamer. One of us has to keep her feet planted in the realm of reality.”
“What do you mean, ‘dreamer?’”
Her voice softened, fondness soaking every word. “Danny always has big plans. They just never seem to work out.”
“Some people might call that a screwup, not a dreamer.”
“He’s not a screwup!” He glanced over to see her sitting stiffly in her seat, those eyes hot like melted caramel. “He just doesn’t always think things through.”
“And what about you? You seem like the type who plans out everything.”
She gave a laugh that rang with surprising bitterness. “No one can plan out everything.”
He wanted to ask who had hurt her, but he didn’t dare—didn’t dare care. Yet despite his resolve, he was drawn to her warmth, in the way that made him want to cuddle on the couch with her and share popcorn from the same bowl as they watched a movie. Maybe make out like a couple of teenagers.
The Hunter stirred, and the image of innocent necking rapidly changed into the two of them naked on the rug in front of a fire, going at it like the last man and woman on earth.
Damn it.
“So what about you?” she asked, her husky voice unwittingly feeding the daydream. “Are you a planner or a seat-of-the-pants kind of guy?”
“A little of both. It’s good to be flexible, since life rarely cooperates with our plans.” He shifted in his seat and glanced over at her, then considered himself lucky she didn’t seem to realize the physical effect she had on him. “So tell me more about Danny. He’s your stepbrother, right?”
“Yes, but I think of him as flesh-and-blood.”
“No other siblings?”
“No.” She shook her head, and the afternoon sun danced across golden strands mixed with brown, glittered off the gold Claddagh earrings she wore. “Danny and I were both only children. His mother passed away, and my father took off right after I was born.”
“That’s rough. Do you stay in touch with your dad?”
“No. He divorced my mother a couple of years after disappearing, then later died. I never met him. Donald was the only father I really had.”
Rafe thought of his own father, tried to imagine growing up without him. The mere idea made his heart hurt. “Donald was Danny’s father?”
“Yes. He was a nice man.” Wistfulness softened her tone. “He was a retired policeman.”
“Was?”
“He and my mother died in a car crash eight years ago. Danny had just turned eighteen, and I was twenty-one and just finishing college. They hydroplaned after a nasty thunderstorm and went off the road. Mom was killed instantly.” Her voice caught.
Sympathy gentled his tone as he asked, “What about Donald?”
“He lived two days, then slipped away without ever waking up.” She laid her head back against the headrest. “The worst part was not being able to say good-bye. Or rather, I could say it, but I don’t know if he heard me. I hope he did.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” She took a deep breath. “That’s how I knew Danny was in trouble. Every year on the anniversary of the accident—August nineteenth—he comes back to Jersey and we visit their graves. But not this year. He’s never missed the nineteenth, not in all this time.” She sniffled and reached for the glove compartment. “Do you have any tissues in here?”
“Somewhere. Watch out for—”
“Oh.” She stared at the gun for a long moment, then lifted it with two fingers so she could pull out the fast-food napkins resting underneath it. Shoving the weapon farther into the glove box with one finger, she slammed the compartment shut. “It never occurred to me that you’d have a gun.”
“I don’t use it much.”
“But you have used it.”
“Look, some of the people I chase down are dangerous. Murderers, drug dealers, sometimes just crazy desperate.”
“You don’t have to explain to me.”
“Seems like you want me to.”
“No, what I want you to do is find Danny, Mr. Montana. And not shoot him.”
“I doubt there would be a need.” He threw her a quick frown. “And my name is Rafe. Quit that snooty Mr. Montana stuff.”
“I wasn’t being snooty.”
“Look, I know you’re worried about Danny. You don’t know me, and you know what I do for a living. And you probably watch too much TV like everyone else. Mostly skip tracing is boring stuff. But once in a while there’s a nut job who starts waving a gun around, and I have no intention of going out that way. So, yeah, I have a gun. Yeah, I’ve used it. It’s part of what I do.”
She remained silent for a moment before asking, “Have you ever killed anyone?”
Now it was his turn to hesitate. Finally he said, “Yeah, I have.”
* * *
Though she’d expected the answer, Cara was still a little shocked to hear it spoken out loud. Who had he killed? When? Under what circumstances?
She studied the forbidding lines of his profile. His tone sounded so calm and matter-of-fact when he talked about it, but she noticed the way he clenched his jaw, the way he stared straight ahead at the road. However casual the words, she could tell that taking a life still affected him, and that settled her nerves more than any assurances he could have made. He didn’t take killing lightly.
“Let’s talk about something else,” she said.
“Good idea.” His tense shoulders visibly relaxed.
“Tell me about you. Where are you from?”
His fingers clenched oh-so-slightly on the wheel. “Here.”
“Here as in Las Vegas?”
“That’s where I live.”
“That’s where you live, but is that where you’re from?”
“What does that matter?”
“Why don’t you want to tell me?”
“Because it’s not about me. Tell me more about Danny. I need to know all I can so I can track him.”
“Mr. Montana…” He sent her a warning look and she corrected herself. “Rafe, I’m a woman in a truck with a man she barely knows, headed through the desert. My instincts told me to trust you. Don’t make me regret following them.”
He sighed. “Okay, I’m a big believer in instincts. I was born in Arizona, but I live in Vegas. I’m twenty-eight, a Scorpio, and I have every Beatles album ever released.”
“The digital remasters?”
He slid her a glance. “Of course.”
“So far my instincts were right about you.” She settled back in her seat. “What else?”
“Isn’t that enough?”
“Hardly.”
“Too bad. Talk about something else.”
The finality in his tone discouraged any further personal questions, though his short answers only made her more curious. But as a woman who had founded her own business, she had learned when to push and when to wait. This w
as a waiting time for certain.
“What do you want to talk about?” she asked.
“Tell me about you,” he said.
“I was born and raised in New Jersey. I’m twenty-nine, a Taurus, and have all the Beatles albums except one.”
“Which one?”
“Sorry, I don’t know you well enough for that,” she said with a mock sniff.
He laughed, and the genuine amusement in the sound had her lips curving as well. “You have a great laugh,” she said.
He cast her a glance. “Thanks.”
The heat in that one, fleeting look almost melted her into the seat cushion.
“So,” she said a little too brightly. “What else do you want to know?”
His lips quirked, but he kept his eyes on the road. “How come you live in New Jersey, but Danny lives in Vegas?”
“When our parents died, we both inherited insurance money. After the funeral costs and settling the estate, there was a little left for each of us. I saved mine until I got my graduate degrees, then used it to start my business, Apex Consulting.”
“Right, you said you have two graduate degrees.”
“Yeah.” She shrugged, uncomfortable as always when the subject of her unusually high intellect came up. She’d learned the hard way that people—especially men—tended to shy away from those they perceived to be smarter than they were.
But Rafe just nodded and said, “So you own your own business. That’s an accomplishment these days.”
Her shoulders relaxed. “I had to take on partners a couple of years ago to stay afloat when the economy took a dive, but yes, we’ve managed to keep our heads above water.”
“What does Apex do?”
“We write custom computer programs that interface two software packages that normally would not talk to each other. This way our clients can run customized reports using data from two separate applications.”
“Sounds complicated.”
“Not really. It’s more like a Chinese menu. One from column A, one from column B, print report.”
He chuckled. “And Danny?”
She couldn’t stop the curve of her lips. “Danny headed to Vegas. He was going to win big.”
He smiled, shaking his head. “Of course he was. That’s what Vegas counts on.”
She shrugged. “He blew through the money, of course, but he loves Vegas. He always thinks the next big jackpot is just around the corner and wants to be there to catch it.”
“I bet he does.” Rafe narrowed his eyes, glanced in his rearview mirror, then at his side mirror, then back to rearview. He sped up a little, glancing back and forth from the rearview mirror to the road and back. The energy in the truck shifted, growing thick with tension.
Cara felt it, in the ripple of gooseflesh along her arms, the tingle at the back of her neck. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
He didn’t say anything.
“Rafe. Tell me what’s going on.”
He glanced behind them again. Sped up.
She clenched her fingers around the armrests of her seat. “Please tell me what’s going on. I need to know.”
He glanced over at her. “I think we’re being followed.”
She turned to look out the rear window. A lone sedan kept pace behind them, silver paint gleaming in the afternoon sun. “Who would follow us?”
“Good question. I’m going to keep going for a while, see if they stick. There’s a truck stop about an hour from here. If they’re still behind us when we get there, then we’ll know.” He flashed her a grin. “Trust me. I—”
“Do this for a living. Yes, I know. I just hope you’re wrong.”
His expression sobered. “Me too.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
An hour later, Rafe headed for an approaching exit ramp, where a sign promised food and bathrooms. He stopped at the red light at the top of the ramp, glanced behind him at the silver sedan coming over the rise.
“Are they still there?” Cara asked, her voice tight.
Rafe glanced again in the rearview mirror. “Yeah, they’re still there.”
“Maybe they’re not really following us.”
He didn’t answer. The light turned green, and he gunned it, heading for a flashing neon sign of the restaurant ahead of them. He formed the question in his mind, just as he’d done every few minutes or so for the past several miles.
Who’s following us?
The universe remained silent. His mind stayed blank.
This was getting really old.
Rafe pulled into a parking spot and turned off the engine, then glanced over at Cara. Her eyes looked huge in her face.
“Are you sure about this?” she asked.
“It’s a long stretch of highway through the desert,” he replied, unfastening his seat belt. “That silver sedan has been behind us for a while now.”
“That doesn’t mean they’re following us.” She unbuckled her own seat belt. “The thing about highways is that everyone can only go in one direction.”
“Trust me, we’re being followed. Let’s go inside, get something to eat.”
“I could eat.” She opened her door as he got out on his side. “All I’ve had today is a cup of coffee.”
“Then we definitely need to feed you.” Once she’d closed the door, he hit the remote to lock the SUV. “Maybe we can get a table by the window so we can watch for these guys.”
“I feel like I’m in some spy flick,” she mumbled as they headed toward the entrance. She reached for the door, but Rafe got there first and held it open for her. She gave him a startled glance. “Wow. A real live gentleman.”
He shrugged. “Old habit.”
“Good habit.” As she stepped through the doorway, he paused on the threshold. The silver sedan pulled into the parking lot. Cara saw them, too. She tensed, then looked at Rafe. “That’s them, isn’t it?”
“Yup.” The Hunter stirred, sensing a potential enemy. Rafe urged her inside with a hand on her waist. “Don’t look at them. It’s better if they don’t know we’re on to them.”
“What are we going to do?”
“Right now? Eat. And watch.”
A dark-haired waitress with a cheerful smile and a name tag reading NANCY appeared in front of them, menus in hand. “Hi there. Two?”
“Yes.” Once more he guided Cara forward, this time with a touch on her lower back, inches from her tempting rear end. “Near the window if you can.”
“Of course. This way.” Perky Nancy led the way into the restaurant.
* * *
Rafe Montana had very warm hands.
Twice now he had touched her, just small contacts to ease her this way or that, leaving a pleasant tingle behind and an aura of safety that relieved her tense muscles. He indicated she take the side facing away from the door, then waited until she was seated before sliding into the booth himself. They took the menus from the smiling waitress.
The scents of burgers and coffee wafted through the dining room, and Cara’s stomach growled. The lone cup of coffee she’d had before all the craziness had started now proved its inadequacy when she flipped open the menu. “Hey, wow. Breakfast all day.”
“Sounds good.” He opened his menu but kept an eye slanted toward the door. Moments after they were seated, two men in suits walked into the restaurant.
“That’s them. No!” He covered her hand with his on the table, not glancing up from the menu. “Don’t look. We don’t want to make them suspicious.”
“Right.” Though she enjoyed the warmth of his skin, she gently slid her hand from beneath his. No use fanning fires when she wasn’t sure she wanted to brave the flames. “Tell me again, how do you even know they’re looking for us?”
“I’ve been doing this a long time, Cara.” His blue eyes burned with intensity, as if he would make her believe him by sheer force of will. “I have a … sense … about this kind of stuff.”
“Like some kind of superhero?” She chuckled and dropped her gaze to the me
nu again.
“I’m glad you think it’s funny.” The barely banked annoyance in his tone had her looking up again. He sat very still, tension rippling over his body. She got the sudden impression of a crouching tiger, waiting to pounce.
“I didn’t say it was funny,” she replied. “I just wonder if you’re overreacting.”
“Your stepbrother is missing, and someone trashed your room and tried to brainwash you into going home. Is that overreacting?”
The reminder splashed over her like ice water, and she carefully closed the menu. “No.”
He leaned closer. To anyone watching, they probably looked like lovers murmuring sweet nothings to each other. But there was nothing sweet about the no-nonsense look in his eyes. “For some reason, someone has targeted you. Maybe they think you know where to find Danny, or maybe they want to use you for bait to lure him out. That means that until we sort all this out, everyone is a suspect.” He sat back in his seat. “Especially a couple of guys in suits following us for miles.”
Smiling Nancy appeared, notepad in hand. “Hi there! What can I get you?”
“I’ll take the pancake special,” Cara said, never looking away from Rafe.
“Bacon or sausage?”
“Bacon.”
“How do you like your eggs?”
“Scrambled. And a cup of coffee.”
“Got it.” Nancy jotted the order on her pad. “What about you, sir?”
“The same.”
Nancy nodded, tucked the menus under her arm and walked away, still scribbling.
Cara sat back in the seat and rubbed her hands over her face. The waitress’s interruption had given her the moments she needed to process their situation. “I’m sorry. You’re right, you are the professional. I just have a hard time believing any of this is actually happening. I mean, stuff like this doesn’t usually happen to me.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “Happens to me all the time.”
She leaned in. “So you really think those guys are watching us?”
“Yeah. I can see them. Not too subtle about it, either.”
She frowned. “You can see them? But you’re looking straight at me.”
“Peripheral vision,” he said. “Yeah, they look like hired muscle.”
Prodigal Son Page 8
