Vaughn grunted but said nothing more for another two miles. Just when she started to think their conversation had ended, he muttered, “What I don’t get is why you got engaged to Preston Linz in the first place. Lark Linz would have been a stupid name.”
Yes, it would have been, which was why she’d planned to hyphenate her last name had she gone through with the marriage. She shrugged. “He had money, power. I thought he was a safe bet.” She’d thought he would have been able to protect her with his political connections, thought if she was his wife she wouldn’t have to keep running.
So much for that.
“Instead, he turned out to be nothing but another fuckhead.” She smiled over at Vaughn and injected her voice with as much sweetness as she could. “It’s a running theme with my exes.”
He cut her a sideways glance. “I’m not one of your exes.”
“Sure you are. Ex-lover. It’s a thing. And you’re definitely a fuckhead. I mean, what other kind of guy kidnaps a woman out of her apartment, handcuffs her, and drives her halfway across the country?”
“I didn’t kidnap you out of your apartment.”
“Okay, from the bus stop. You think that’s any better?”
“I didn’t kidnap you, period. You’re a fugitive, and I’m returning you to the authorities.”
Oh, boy. He had no idea. She leaned her head against the seat. “Is there anything I can do to make you change your mind?”
“No.”
She doubted that. Everyone had a price, but it wasn’t always monetary— something she’d learned the hard way over the years. She just had to find Vaughn’s.
Chapter Six
Four hours into their trip, the gas light came on. Vaughn grumbled at it. No fucking way. Apparently, this car got shit for mileage—worse even than his Hummer. He glanced over at Sage. She’d gone still and silent hours ago, but she wasn’t asleep. She wanted him to think she was, and he’d gone along with it, but he was too attuned to her body. He heard every breath she took, could practically hear her heart beating in the silence. She couldn’t fake him out.
Damn, he didn’t want to stop. Every time the car slowed gave her an escape opportunity. Completely stopped and shut off with a gas nozzle attached? That was more than an opportunity—it was an open fucking door and a neon sign blinking the words “escape now!”—and she’d be a fool not to attempt it. She was no fool.
Still, he didn’t have much choice. He’d have bigger problems if they ran out of gas on the highway.
He reached for the handcuffs in the cup holder between them. “Give me your wrist.”
She jerked upright and pulled her arm protectively against her breasts. “Hell no.”
“We need gas, and I’m not slowing down until you’re secured.”
“Then I guess we’re not getting gas, huh?”
He didn’t have the patience for this. The exit he needed was less than a mile away. He grabbed her arm and one-handedly wrestled it down enough to snap the cuff around her wrist. She struck out, and he leaned toward his window to avoid the blow. The car swerved.
“Fuck!” He slapped both hands on the wheel to straighten the vehicle before they went into the woods off the exit ramp.
She continued to smack him, raining ineffectual punches down on his shoulder and arm. It was annoying but didn’t hurt, and he could ignore it until he got control of the car. Then she swiveled in the seat, got her legs involved, and yeah, that wasn’t exactly comfortable. Her foot connected with his ribs and knocked the air from his lungs. The next kick slammed into the gearshift, and the car started a sickly whine as it slowed to a crawl on the exit ramp.
She grabbed the door handle and yanked…
It didn’t move.
“Sorry, vixen. Child protective locks.” He wrestled the shifter back into place and eased the car to the stop sign at the bottom of the ramp, laughing as she cursed like one of his Navy buddies and turned her ferocious kicks on the poor, unsuspecting door.
Maybe he shouldn’t be enjoying himself so much, but he was. Damn, he really was. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had this much fun. “That’s not going to work, either.”
She turned on him, hair sticking up, eyes throwing daggers, her chest heaving with each indrawn breath. All feral and…
Really fucking hot.
There was suddenly a lot less room in the front of his pants, and he shifted in his seat to ease the pressure. Her gaze dropped to his lap, and she huffed out a breath that might have been a laugh had there been any humor behind it. She straightened, smoothing her hands over her hair and down the front of her shirt.
He didn’t miss how she lingered over her breasts a moment too long, and his whole oxygen intake system stalled out. He remembered how sensitive her nipples were, how they had peaked at the slightest caress of his tongue and how her back had arched toward him. She’d begged for more once. If he got his mouth on her now, he could make her beg again.
No.
Fuck, what was he thinking?
He hit the blinker too hard, turned right, and stopped at the only place he saw—a truck stop that offered everything from a gas station to a restaurant. He pulled up to one of the pumps and lunged over as she reached for the door again. With a quick squeeze of his hand, the cuff dangling from her wrist snicked closed around the door’s assist handle.
“Don’t move.”
She hissed and yanked on the cuff. “I hate you.”
“Good. Means I’m doing something right.”
“What’s to stop me from rolling down the window and screaming rape?”
“I’ll tell everyone you’re my insane cousin and I’m having you committed. And the way you look right now, vixen…” He tugged on a strand of her hair, which still stood up in every direction. “They’ll believe me.”
As he pushed open his door and slid out, he heard her mutter, “Fuckhead.”
Genuinely amused, he leaned down to peer back inside. “C’mon, I know you have a vocabulary that puts my Navy buddies to shame. You can do better than that.”
She whirled in her seat as much as she was able and glared at him. “You’re a ball-less, piss-sucking, colon-licking, fuckwit douchecanoe twatwaffle!”
“There you go.” He grinned and shut the door on her cry of frustration.
Twatwaffle?
He snorted a laugh and grabbed a credit card out of his wallet, but he discovered a piece of paper over the card reader with the words “out of order—pay inside only” printed on it. He’d have to pull forward to the next pump, because there was no way in hell he was leaving Sage in the car by herself. She’d probably try chewing off her arm.
He reached for the door again but stopped when he spotted another out of order paper stuck on the next pump’s card reader. And another across the way. All of them were out.
Figured he’d choose the one backwater truck stop with broken pumps.
Swearing under his breath, he glanced toward the building. The front was all glass, so he’d never be out of sight of the car. Plus, he could grab some snacks while he was in there. He hadn’t realized he was hungry until he spotted a display of potato chips through the window, right by the register, and his stomach gave a grumble of protest against his unintentional fast. He hadn’t eaten anything all day except for a package of peanuts on the plane from DC to New Orleans, and if he was going to be driving all night, he’d need some food. And caffeine.
He yanked open the door and leaned inside. “I have to go in. Do. Not. Move. If you try anything, I will hunt you down, and you will not like the consequences. Understand?”
She glowered at him, which he figured was the best answer he was going to get.
He straightened away from the car but paused before closing the door. “Do you need anything?”
“Oh yes, I do. If you don’t mind?” She was suddenly all sweetness, and that made him wary.
“Uh, sure. What do you need?”
She flipped him off. “A big bag of fu
ck you.”
He laughed. “Yeah, I walked into that one.” He held up a finger in warning. “Do. Not. Move. I mean it.”
…
Sage waited, holding her breath until he stepped into the building. The front was all glass, and no doubt he was keeping an eye on her, but this was the best chance she was going to get.
She felt along her nape for the bobby pin tucked in there. She’d learned a long time ago that it paid to keep one handy. She slid it out and fumbled but caught it before it fell into the crack between the seats. Breathing out a sigh of relief, she opened it up and slid one end into the lock on the cuffs, then checked to make sure Vaughn was still in line.
Arms loaded with snacks, he was stuck behind a woman who was apparently throwing a fit over something as the employees behind the counter did their best to calm her. Vaughn tapped his foot and shot a glance toward the car to make sure she was still where he’d left her. She gave a snarky salute, which had him shaking his head.
She didn’t have long. She had to be free when he reached the register, because that was the only time he would be distracted enough for her to make a run for it. Adrenaline made her hands shake, and she took a second to calm herself before she set to work on the lock. A moment later, the cuff clicked—the sound more like freedom than even the National Anthem. Thank God. She pulled it off and checked on Vaughn again. He was just stepping up to the register. Perfect timing.
Sage scooted over into the driver’s seat and waited until he looked down at his wallet to count out bills. Now was her chance.
She shoved open the door and slipped out, keeping low, moving fast between the pumps. Nothing but dark woods surrounded the truck stop—why couldn’t Vaughn have picked someplace more populated?—so her escape options were limited. He’d turn this place upside-down looking for her, but those woods weren’t the least bit inviting. This was still swamp country, and the last thing she wanted was to become a gator’s late night snack.
She crept to the side of the building without windows and pressed herself into the shadows against the wall. Maybe she could catch a ride with a trucker—no, the idea gave her the creeps. Not to mention, went against every survival instinct she’d spent the last five years cultivating. So she’d hide right under his nose and, if she had to, risk the woods. Ending up gator-bait was still better than returning to DC.
At least with the gator, she had a shot at surviving.
…
Of course she was gone. Honestly, he’d have been disappointed in her if she had listened to him and stayed put.
Vaughn set his bag of snacks in the backseat and took the time to start the gas pump before he went looking for her. She couldn’t have gotten very far since she’d only been out of his sight for a minute. And, damn, she could’ve taught Houdini a thing or two about quick escapes. Had to admire her for that. He also had to wonder where she’d learned all the tricks of the escape and evasion trade. Was she a trained operative? His step hitched at the thought, then he stopped moving altogether when he recalled Marcus’s comment about how familiar she looked. Marcus, who was former FBI, had recognized her from somewhere.
Vaughn grabbed his phone to send a text to Marcus, and it started vibrating in his hand. Someone was calling him from a DC number he didn’t recognize.
Weird. The only people who had this number were his brothers, sisters-in-law, a few of his SEAL buddies, and Marcus. But his oldest brother Greer had been MIA for nearly a month—the last person to talk to him had been Reece three weeks ago and Greer hadn’t given any information about his whereabouts, only that he “had something to do” before he could return. Maybe this was him and he’d ditched his old number for some reason.
Vaughn answered his phone. “Yeah?”
“Vaughn, how are you? It’s Giuseppe.”
A cold knot of dread lodged in his stomach. “Bellisario. I don’t remember giving you this number.”
“You specialize in finding people. Well, so do I. I’m wondering if you’ve given any more thought to my business proposal.”
Shit. Now that he was on Bellisario’s radar, he wasn’t going to get away with pretending that encounter hadn’t happened. “I’m in the middle of something right now.”
“Whatever they’re paying, I’ll double it to drop what you’re doing and come back to DC and work for me.”
Come back to DC.
Fuck, he wasn’t just on Bellisario’s radar. The man was tracking him and knew he was out of town. “Why?”
“I’ve been reading up on you. You’re the best at what you do, and I need the best.”
“For what?”
“For reasons we’ll discuss once you’re back in the city.”
He couldn’t deal with this right now. He had other issues, namely a slippery little blonde who was currently hiding somewhere in this truck stop, hoping he’d give up on her. Which was not happening.
“Two days,” he told Bellisario. “I’ll be back in two days.”
“I don’t like to wait.”
“And I don’t answer to you.”
“We’ll see about that.”
The hair on the back of Vaughn’s neck lifted at the threat—and yes, it was a threat, despite Bellisario’s pleasant tone. “Two days.” He hung up and banged the phone against his forehead a few times.
One problem at a time, he told himself.
He sucked in a lungful of air and let it out slowly. What had he been doing?
Text. Right. He was going to text Marcus.
He typed one out, asking if it was possible Marcus had recognized Sage from his years of working with the government. But even as he hit send, doubt niggled at the back of his mind.
She couldn’t be a government operative. Her aliases had been good enough to stand up to preliminary employment background checks, but anything deeper easily uncovered her lies. And since when did the government steal the identities of dead people? They didn’t, at least as far as he knew. If the government was involved, they would’ve crafted her aliases out of thin air, and nobody would have been able to track her from one to the next.
So who was she?
Not knowing drove him crazy. She was a puzzle, and he’d never had much patience for puzzles. That was Reece’s thing.
And speaking of Reece, he would be a great help right now.
Vaughn grabbed his cell phone again. It was late, but Reece was a workaholic, and he—
A cacophony of sound blasted from his phone, and Vaughn yanked it away from his ear. “What the hell?”
“Sorry,” Reece said and the noise receded. “We’re watching Pacific Rim, and Shelby likes to turn the surround sound on.”
“It’s like being at the theater,” Shelby said in the background as her African gray parrot, Poe, continued mimicking the sound effects from the movie.
Vaughn again pulled his phone away, stared at it a second, then said, “You are watching a monster movie?”
“Hey,” Reece said, offended, “I happen to like monster movies.”
Vaughn shook his head. The change in his brother since Shelby came into the picture was the stuff of miracles. The guy no longer worked 24/7, he laughed often, and he was more relaxed than ever before. Shelby had effectively removed the stick from Reece’s ass, and Vaughn loved her for it.
“Okay,” Vaughn said. “Sorry to interrupt. I need a favor. That tracking device you gave me? I need you to find it.”
There was a beat of silence, then Reece laughed. “She got away from you? I’m impressed.”
Grumbling, he scanned the parking lot. “Don’t be. She’s not going to be free for long. I stuck the tracker on her.”
“Still. She gave you the slip. That’s pretty damn impressive.”
“Just…find the tracker, will you? I’m at a truck stop off I-65 in Alabama, somewhere between Mobile and Montgomery.” He started toward the building again, but then he changed his mind and walked around to the side facing the woods. He didn’t think she was stupid enough to tempt an unfamil
iar forest in swamp country at night, but that side of the building had no windows, few lights, and no people. It’d be the perfect place to hide and wait someone out, and he had a feeling that was exactly what she was doing. Waiting him out.
Little did she know, she couldn’t. He’d spent a good portion of his SEAL career waiting. He could out-wait the apocalypse if he had to.
“All right, let me pull up a map…” A keyboard clacked in the background. “I see the truck stop. Tracker’s showing her on the northeast side of the building.”
“Stationary?”
“Appears so.”
Yup, she was hiding. “Thanks.” He pocketed his phone and broke into a run, circling the building to come up on her six. She might know escape and evasion, but he knew stealth. He knew how to stalk his prey in the shadows, and she was most definitely his prey.
As he neared the back side of the building, he slowed, quieted his steps and his breathing. He spotted her easily, pressed up against the wall, trying her best to meld into the darkness. It might have worked, too, if she wasn’t currently sporting bright blonde hair.
She was watching the front parking lot, totally unaware he was now an arm’s length behind her.
Or so he thought.
She whirled, and her fist just barely missed the side of his jaw. He grabbed her arm and immobilized it behind her back as he shoved her against the wall a little harder than he meant to. She smacked the cinderblocks with an audible umph, and he loosened his grip, afraid he might have actually hurt her.
Big mistake.
She twisted to face him and tried for his instep. When he blocked the move, she kicked out at his groin. He deflected with his thigh and pinned her to the wall again with his body.
“Always the balls,” he murmured next to her ear and tried to ignore how soft she felt against him. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were fascinated by them.”
She rolled her eyes. “Ugh, men. Go for a groin shot, and they think it’s because you want to fuck them rather than cripple them.”
“Ah, but you do want me, vixen.” He wrapped his hand around her neck and applied just enough pressure to dissuade her from trying to head-butt him—because if he were in her shoes, that would be his next move. Her heart was thundering, and he stroked his thumb lightly back and forth over her pulse point. “I can tell. You want to fuck me, and you hate it.”
Running Wilde Page 5
