Fugitive Heart

by Bonnie Dee

  If Elliot had spent it, his ass was grass, though perhaps they’d allow him to live—maimed of course as an illustration. The Espositos didn’t torture to get information, but they did occasionally make examples of people. And because Bert’s dad had a penchant for that sort of activity.

  Nick stopped the car at the beginning of the narrow drive leading to the farmhouse. “Wait here. I’ll hike in and see what’s going on. No need to announce our arrival if someone’s visiting.”

  “How about we drive in with the lights off. That way, if someone’s there, we can make a quick escape.”

  He thumped his fingers on the steering wheel. “Yeah, okay.”

  She gave a small gasp.

  His heart sped, and he glanced around, but the too-dark night seemed peaceful. He wished there were streetlights out here. “What is it?”

  She shrugged. “Nothing. It’s just you.”

  “What? I haven’t done anything.” She wasn’t a mind reader, was she? Because in his mind, he frequently had her naked and begging, and that might make a woman gasp.

  “No, it’s just that you changed your plans after I made a suggestion.”

  “Smart-ass.” He threw the car in gear and started down the drive, peering over the wheel to see out into the near-total darkness. Once they got near enough, he’d cut the lights.

  “Anyway, why wouldn’t I change my plan? You’re right. It’s safer to be in a car than on foot.”

  “I’m not used to guys listening. I mean, I wouldn’t expect it from a guy like you.”

  “Yeah? Like me?”

  Lights off. He slowed even more. The brush on the side of the path blocked any moonlight. “If I get out of this, I’m going to eat more carrots. They help night vision, right?”

  “If? You think there’s a chance you might not?”

  Mistake. He could hear her uncertainty and fear. “Just kidding,” he reassured her. “Tell me what you mean about guys like me.”

  “You’re kind of dangerous. I mean, you seem that way. A little macho and swaggering.”

  “Huh.” He wasn’t sure he liked the swaggering bit. Macho and dangerous might be okay.

  “Guys like that are usually unwilling to shift their plans, especially if they’re challenged by a woman.”

  He shook his head in amazement. “I think maybe you know some major assholes.”

  The windows were open, so they heard the soft cry of an owl, even over the car engine. The house lay in the dark, with no sign of life.

  He parked the car up against the barn, hidden from the road but close enough to the house that they could get to it in seconds if they had to.

  “No lights,” he said as they walked through the back door.

  She gasped again, and he realized she’d thumped against the edge of the kitchen counter hard. “Ow,” she muttered, and her body swayed in the dark as she rubbed her hip. “Crap. Ow.”

  He moved to her and put his hands on her arms. “Are you all right?”

  She stopped moving. A moment later, she moved closer. “Yeah. I’m fine.” She sounded out of breath and gave a soft sighing moan—and suddenly he understood. His breath went ragged too.

  He let his arms slide under her arms around her body and urgently tugged her closer. His mouth touched her cheek, and he found his way to her mouth. She stayed stiff but only for a moment. Within a couple of heartbeats she wrapped her arms around his torso and melted against him.

  Yes.

  They didn’t have time for this now, he reminded himself, and then silently argued that they might not have time for it later. They needed this. Carpe diem, dammit.

  She groaned and slipped her hand under his shirt. Her fingers chilled his back but only for a moment. He interpreted her eager hands on his skin as an invitation to touch her anywhere he wanted. Too impatient to mess with the uniform dress’s zipper, he reached under it and let the cloth bunch on his wrists as he ran his palms over the curves of her hips, around to the small of her back. He cupped his other hand over her mound and felt the heat and moisture through the slippery warm material. Yes. The slick fabric felt good, but he wanted her body’s silk directly against his palm.

  Tucking his fingers into the elastic of her panties, he pushed down the scrap of cloth, making a note to himself to check out her underwear when they had light again.

  She struggled in his arms, and he almost pulled back and apologized until he understood she was pushing off her shoes and then that wisp of panties.

  “Hell, yes,” he said against her mouth and hauled her against him.

  “What if someone from New York shows up?” she whispered as she wiggled closer to him.

  “They’ll have to wait.”

  His eyes had adjusted to the dark of the house. Hands on her shoulders, he turned her around and got to work on the zipper. Moments later, she stood naked, her curves silvered by moonlight.

  “You too,” she protested, so he took care of his clothes, quickly—but he made sure to fish the condom from his wallet before tossing away the jeans.

  “Fast,” she said, but the word turned into a groan as he moved to her and their bare skin touched for the first time.

  He kissed her neck, nibbled her ear, then moved to her mouth again. “Are you that hot for me or worried about taking too much time for this?”

  “Both.”

  That sounded about right, but then she lifted a leg and wrapped it around his butt, grinding the slick heat of pussy to his erection, and he didn’t give a damn about motivation or danger or the Espositos or anything else.

  The counter. Good. He could see it there behind her, and he backed her up. Even as he boosted her onto the edge, she spread her legs wide so he could step—closer to paradise. Just the right height.

  “Please.” She clutched his arms and pulled herself. They came together again, mouth to mouth, breast to chest. He started to kneel to taste what he could feel brushing against his cock, but she pounded his shoulder. “No. Later. Now.”

  She whimpered, writhed, and he had no choice.

  He’d already put on the condom—no chance he’d lose that erection, and every chance he’d lose the packet in the dark.

  “Are you sure,” he started to say but she held herself open with one hand, grabbed his cock with the other, and he walked forward and straight into her body.

  She wrapped herself around him, legs against his rear, arms around his neck, so tight against him he could only rock. That suited him fine, rocking and sliding just the tiniest motion inside her. But then she began that unholy writhing again, and the control burst.

  She cried out. Jesus, and she squeezed too, waves of tightness around his cock. Her breath came hot and fast on his neck until she let go and leaned back on her elbows.

  “Harder. Faster,” she demanded and twisted and pushed from the kitchen counter, letting him go hard and deep. He loved how deep she made him go. Balls-deep. He thrust hard, stopping only to pull her leg up onto his shoulder, kissing along her calf, licking the side of her knee, tasting the warm salt of her flesh.

  “More,” she moaned.

  “I was right. You are bossy.” He gasped and pushed into her heat over and over, rough and needy, until he felt his body tighten. She cried out again—coming again and pulling him with her this time. He fell into an orgasm so startlingly strong the dark room grew light and his legs went weak.

  “Wow.” She rubbed her calf against the side of his neck. He kissed it and gently stroked it from ankle to knee. She had gorgeous legs.

  “You wanted fast,” he reminded her.

  “And powerful.”

  He couldn’t argue with that.

  He nibbled the tender inside of her knee and felt himself growing hard again.

  She heaved a long sigh and began to pull her leg away. He stopped her for a moment to give the impossibly soft skin another long stroke and a pat on the inner thigh.

  Ames moved languidly as she pulled herself up. She suddenly went still. “The car,” she said.
>
  “What?”

  “The car. Jake’s car.”

  “Tell me what you’re talking about.”

  “We should go back and look at the car.”

  “Explain how what we just did made you think about Jake’s car. Better make it good, or I’ll be insulted.” He went for a light tone but felt just ever so slightly serious. What they’d done together—that fast, furious fuck or making love or whatever it had been—he’d been completely into it and into her. Nothing else had existed.

  “It was the way you patted me just now. It reminded me of him.”

  She slid all the way off the counter and got down on her hands and knees. He felt her fingers brush his toes, and he squatted. “What are you doing?”

  “Getting dressed.”

  He sighed and reached for the dark pile he knew was his jeans and her uniform. “Here. So the way I touched you reminded you of Jake.”

  She laughed. “That sounds really bad doesn’t it? He’s never touched me like that. Only his car. And now that I’m thinking about it, there was that look on his face. Back when he hung out with Elliot in high school and we played poker, he used to get all tight-mouthed, literally. It’s what he did when he had good cards or a secret. He touched his car the way you touched my leg, possessively. Like he was thinking, you’re not taking this from me.”

  He’d felt possessive of that leg and wished it and the rest of her still warmed him. He pulled on his jeans and zipped carefully.

  “Do we confront him or search on the sly?”

  “You’re asking me?” Her uniform muffled her voice.

  “Sure. You obviously liked it when I listened to you before. I want to get lucky again, so I figure it’s a good ploy. Besides, you know this guy. Will he talk if we force the issue?”

  She twisted as she tried to zip the uniform. Had she put the bra back on? He realized they’d gone at it so quickly that he hadn’t had a chance to touch her breasts often enough. When this was over, when the Espositos had been vanquished, he had two goals in life. One involved many plans he had for her body. The other was to get back to his old life—a version of it. With her in it? That seemed unlikely.

  That ruined the mellow glow of their sex. Because, damn, those goals most definitely didn’t align unless Ames was willing to leave her home and come with him to New York or wherever he ended up.

  Or, if he were willing to stay in Arnesdale. He was actually beginning to appreciate the charms of small-town living and could imagine himself staying with Ames, but he certainly couldn’t imagine a career here.

  There was no point in mulling over future plans right now. He’d concentrate on the problem at hand, getting the Espositos out of the picture.

  Nick found his socks, pulled them on and decided he couldn’t leave Ames until they found Elliot one way or another. Finding her brother would be important to her. He’d keep helping her as long as it took.

  When had his goals changed? While they fucked would be the perfectly reasonable male answer, but he knew he’d been caught by her before that. Maybe while he held her by the side of the road, or when she confronted a guy she thought might be a killer to find out what had happened to her brother.

  Or maybe when she talked about the goddamn goldfish at the back of her family’s lost house. He pictured her swirling a hand through murky water, conjuring up the former family pets, and suddenly had a clear vision of her living in his decrepit house. The walls were freshly painted, curtains hung at the windows. The rooms were lovingly furnished, warm and welcoming. And beautiful orange fish swam in a freshly dug pond out back.

  In his vision, he was with her in the house, sharing a four-poster bed in the master bedroom. But that future seemed unlikely. Sadness lanced through him as the glowing Hallmark image evaporated and the dark, complicated truth of reality took its place.

  Chapter Eleven

  God, she could still feel the impression of his body against hers—inside hers, but now they were hurrying in a less fun way, rushing to get their clothes back on and leave. She longed for a leisurely night to map each other’s bodies, to take him up on his offer of tasting her pussy, to measure and mold the thickness of his cock with her hands and mouth. But time was their enemy. They couldn’t sprawl in bed like lovers do, and for all she knew, Nick didn’t want that anyway. Maybe he’d rather keep this quick and casual.

  But then, he’d said that thing about taking her to New York with him and showing her his city. Was that just a line? She simply couldn’t tell. Her gut told her Nick sincerely liked her and enjoyed spending time with her, but her gut had been wrong about guys before. Quite often, in fact. “Too open and trusting,” Marty had warned her time and again.

  “You good?” She couldn’t see Nick’s face in the dark as he spoke, but she already knew the questioning tilt of his left eyebrow as if she’d studied his face for years instead of days. “Need anything? Water? A damp washcloth? I can find something.”

  “No, I’m fine,” she said as she drew her underwear up over the wetness between her legs. “Great, in fact. I really needed that. Thank you.”

  “Thank you. It was… I wish we had more time. I’d like to go again without rushing this time.” His hand stroked down her back; then he pulled her into a soft, affectionate kiss.

  Relief washed through her, and the knot of tension that had started forming in the pit of her stomach released. It wasn’t her imagination. Nick had felt something too—at least enough to make him want to spend more time exploring each another.

  She drew away from the kiss, pressed her lips to his rough cheek and sighed against his skin.

  “Later, I hope.” She hated to feel so unsure, but who knew what would happen? “Now I suppose we’d better get over to Jake’s. I think stealth is the way to go. He’s going to stonewall if we confront him, and we need to search that old car.”

  Her thoughts and emotions veered in a new direction, away from mooning over Nick and toward sniffing out the path of her missing brother like a hound dog on the scent. “I know Elliot. I’m sure this is it. He talked Jake into holding his stuff for him, and what better place to hide it than a vehicle no one will ever drive?”

  “Jake’s such a good friend after all these years? Elliot would trust him?” He sounded dubious. She had to wonder if he had no friends he could count on.

  “Yeah, I think he would. Jake’s bone-deep loyal. One time he got busted for holding Elliot’s stash and never ratted on him.” And neither had she. Maybe if she’d spoken up back then instead of always enabling Elliot to slip out of trouble, he wouldn’t be the man he was today—someone who refused to be held accountable for his own actions, someone who might get killed because of his own foolishness.

  “All right, then. Stealth it is.”

  They drove into town and parked down the block from the Greely house. Ames felt a little ridiculous slinking down a suburban street in her cat-burglar suit of a polyester waitress uniform with one of Nick’s dark jackets over it. They were actually about to break and enter, a felony if they were caught. This suddenly seemed extreme, as if they were playing at being spies like children rather than behaving in a grown-up, reasonable manner. Maybe they should simply talk to Jake and get him to let them search the car.

  Ames walked a little slower as they snuck up the drive to the detached garage behind the house, but Nick forged ahead. He fiddled with the latch on the side window and beckoned her over. “Think you can wiggle through that?”

  He cupped his hands, cradling her foot, and boosted her up. Ames wedged herself into the small opening and shimmied through like a manic squirrel. She dropped into the darkness inside, hitting something on the workbench with her foot and knocking it to the floor. The wrench, or whatever it was, hit with a loud clank. She cursed and held her breath, certain the house lights would come on at any moment and Jake would come rushing outside to find his Fortress of Solitude breached.

  The garage was nearly pitch-black, only a bit of light from the small window illumin
ating the chaos of auto supplies inside. The scent of gasoline, oil and beer reminded her of those teen years when she’d occasionally encroached on the edges of her brother’s life. Ames threaded her way around old tires, an air compressor, a toolbox, and tripped over a stack of fan belts on her way to the door. She opened it, and Nick slipped inside.

  Ames led the way to the Mustang. She followed the chassis around to the open hood and switched on the work lamp she’d noticed hanging over the engine earlier.

  “Shh!” Nick hissed as if to quiet the brightness. He picked up an oily rag and draped it to hide most of the light, then got to work. The car door opened with a creak, and he slid inside.

  Ames crawled into the back and started feeling underneath the front seats for hidden packages. All she found was an ice scraper and crumpled bags that had probably once held 1970s’ burgers.

  She leaned over the front seat to watch Nick rifle through the glove box—too small to hold anything more than a few papers, but then maybe Elliot had taken the bulk of the cash with him wherever he’d skated off to. Nick’s search produced nothing but a dog-eared road atlas and the title papers for the vehicle.

  “We need to get into the trunk,” he whispered.

  “Check the ashtray for the key,” she suggested, but doubted it could be that easy. They’d probably have to crowbar the thing open. But when Nick slid the tray out, the key was nestled in the ash-encrusted interior. “Jackpot!”

  Nick snatched up the key and hurried to the back of the automobile. She scrambled out of the car and followed him. If the door hinges creaked loudly, the trunk was even worse. It gave a painful squeal as it opened. Ames could see nothing in the dark interior and cursed herself for not thinking to bring a flashlight. Stealthy nighttime reconnaissance wasn’t her forte.

  She stood beside Nick and felt around the jumbled contents, pushing aside a tire iron, some empty boxes, a blanket, some squishy things she didn’t want to think about. Then her fingers brushed up against something hard—rectangular—covered in plastic.