In the Arms of a Stranger (Entangled Ignite), page 13
This was so not right. He ended the kiss, but held her tight, knowing he had to do something to protect this woman. The tangled emotions that had precipitated their kiss could get her killed. Then his life wouldn’t be worth living.
“Let’s go inside,” he said, placing one last kiss against her hair.
She nodded, her arms still around him. Not because she felt the same way, he was certain, but because of a natural reaction. He was the only sanity around her.
“What about…?”
“I’ll take care of him in a minute.” But what the hell he’d do with that body and the one in the bathroom was beyond him at the moment.
She kept one arm around JP, the back of his jacket clutched in her hand.
He flicked off the boathouse light from the kitchen switch, and led her to the living room. Nothing here showed what had happened, how the man in the bathroom had come into the bedroom, intent on killing him. The bathroom was another story. She shouldn’t see that. Bad enough she’d seen him kill the guy on the deck.
“Sit here for a minute,” he said, leading her to the couch. “I have to take care of something.”
“Cal,” she said, sitting.
“What?”
“Cal. His name is Cal,” she said and hugged herself. “The other man. In the house.You…got him, didn’t you?”
“How do you know his name is Cal?”
“The one out there, he called him on his cell phone. He had a funny put-on Southern accent. But all he got was static.”
Damn! He hadn’t seen any communication device on the bathroom guy. That meant there was a third man, this Cal, who, for whatever reason, had been out of touch, but who’d know where to look for his buddies. Shit. He and Abby had to get the hell out of here!
He squatted in front of her. “What were you doing down in the boathouse?”
“Searching, but I didn’t find anything. There’s a boat, but I was afraid to get it down.”
“Why look there? Why not in the house?”
“If Wade hid papers in Buck’s stall, I figured he’d hide whatever it is away from this house, too.”
That made sense.
“It’s a motorboat,” she continued, “it’s not big. But I suppose he could have hidden something inside or in the motor.”
Footsteps on the front porch interrupted their conversation. Abby looked at him, as if asking what to do.
“Go to the kitchen. Don’t make a sound.” He moved to the window and looked out. By the time he identified who it was, she’d just made it to the kitchen.
“It’s Kyle.”
“Hey, dude,” Kyle said as JP opened the door. “Heard some noises from the back. Wanted to be sure you’re okay. Hey, Mrs. A!”
“We’re fine,” JP said. “We went down to the boathouse.”
“You had trouble with the boat? I can help,” Kyle offered.
“I tripped,” Abby hurried to say.
“Whoa, man. I mean Mrs. A. You gotta be careful in your condition, and all.”
Abby looked away from Kyle, her gaze zeroing in on JP.
“Johnny?” she asked, curious.
“It’s all good, Mrs. A. Johnny told me you’re pregnant. That’s really cool. Luke’s gonna be a fantastic uncle.”
Abby’s gaze moved again from Kyle back to him. He wanted to explain why he’d said such a thing. He was fucking insane, that’s why.
“Don’t worry,” she said finally, “I’m fine.”
“Listen, Kyle,” JP said when she finally quit looking at him as if he’d lost his mind, “we’re taking off, after all. Abby’s not feeling well and we have to get back to Atlanta tomorrow. Tell your dad I’ll be in touch.”
“Sure. I’ll take care of things as usual. Any idea when Luke’ll be back?”
“Sorry, no.”
“Well, good night. Good meeting you both.” The boy backed out and JP closed the door.
“What was that all about?”
“We can’t stay here. I said Atlanta to throw off anyone who comes after these guys.”
She nodded. “And my condition?”
“Oh, that,” he said, knowing nonchalance was not working. “That little as—jerk with Kyle made some jackass comment about women when you got upset, so I thought I’d put him in his place.”
“By telling him I’m pregnant?”
“It worked,” he said. “We need to finish up quickly.” If Wade wanted him here, then he’d left some clue. “Let’s look in the boat and get out of here.”
Then he’d take care of the men he’d killed.
…
A roller-coaster ride, Abby thought as she stepped out on the deck. That’s what this was. A hair-raising roller coaster ride with peaks and valleys that were wreaking havoc with her emotions.
She’d known JP Blackmon for a single day and already she’d experienced stark terror and overwhelming relief that this man she barely knew had survived what he was clearly trained to survive. And not just because without him she’d be dead.
The whole thing was like a bad dream. It was all getting to her. He was getting to her. She couldn’t possibly feel anything for a man so much like Wade. So much a stranger. And not just because of the short time they’d known each other.
Below, on the dock, lay a dead man.
A dead man! A tiny hysterical bubble of laughter escaped her control.
JP, two steps down from her, turned and looked up. “Something wrong?”
“No, I’m just—” What? What was she?
“It’s okay to be scared,” he said, his voice soft in the stillness of the night.
But it’s not okay to have feelings for you.
All she could manage was a nod.
He reached up, took her hand, and led her down the final steps. “Don’t look at him.”
As if she wanted to. But her gaze drifted that way involuntarily. She had to stop herself. She’d seen the shot. She knew the man had a bullet in his forehead. Dead center.
JP was that good a shot. Wait. A good shot or a marksman? Those were mere words. He was flesh and blood, and he’d killed two men.
Who would have killed us.
When they reached the boathouse, she pointed. “The controls are over there.”
He took a flashlight she hadn’t noticed he was carrying, and shone it on the controls. Once he’d lowered the boat into the water, he turned to her.
“We have to hurry. Whoever they work for undoubtedly knew where they were going. When they don’t report back, someone else will show up here. So, as quickly as possible, check as much as you can. I’ll take care of all the mechanical stuff.” He handed her the flashlight, then pulled a penlight from his jeans’ back pocket.
She didn’t know much about boats, but she checked everything that looked like it might open. She found life preservers, flares, something that looked like a built-in cooler. She could hear JP, feel the boat rock as he moved from one side to the other.
All at once, he said, “Got it.”
He was standing at the back of the boat, where the engine was located.
“What is it?” she asked when she joined him.
He held something in his hand, something she couldn’t see clearly.
“Papers.”
She stepped closer. Papers in a plastic zipper bag, just like the one she’d found in the barn. “Another house?”
She didn’t want to ask, “Another life?”
She thought he wasn’t going to answer, but finally, he said, “I don’t know. No time to look.”
Before she could ask anything else, he stuffed the packet into his windbreaker pocket and reassembled the boat engine cover.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said, stepping onto the dock and stretching out his hand to help her.
They walked back to the foot of the steps. And to the dead man.
“I want you to sit up there, right at the doorway.” He indicated the kitchen door. “I’m going to put the body in the boathouse. Then I’ll have to bring the other one down.”
She watched him. A schoolteacher, watching a spy take care of business. The same kind of business the stranger who’d been her husband had taken care of.
It was all so matter-of-fact.
Death. Secrets.
And a man who knew how to survive.
…
He would have to take her with him.
JP tried to think of some way around it, but Cal—whoever the hell that was—had to know she was here. Those assassins had shown up within hours of their arrival. Obviously, either they’d been followed or the bad guys were watching the house. Either way, he needed to get the hell out of there. With Abby.
There was no way to keep her safe unless he took care of her. Even then, given what he didn’t know, he wasn’t sure he could.
If only he had someone he could trust. But he’d only trusted Wade, and Wade was the reason for this entire clusterfuck. But Wade might also be his salvation. His conviction that his partner had set him up was crumbling more and more. He was now willing to believe that Wade had been set up, too, and that he’d left something, maybe hard evidence, for JP to find. Hopefully the papers he’d just found held the key.
Admit it. He was coming around to the belief that Wade had been one of the good guys until the end—while Abby was reaching exactly the opposite conclusion.
Hell. It was all a matter of perspective.
Either way, she was one tough lady. Most civilians would have fainted at half the crap that had happened tonight. Still, when he thought of the stark terror on her face when that bastard was holding her at gunpoint, his mind threatened to shut down.
When he should have wounded the fucker, should have kept him alive in order to find out who was behind it all, he’d up and killed him.
Face it, Blackmon. You screwed up.
Because of his fear for her.
That could not happen again, or she could die. They both could.
The papers he’d found in the boat, added to what he’d found in the file folder—even though he’d refused to admit it to her—led to another place, another name, another alias. One even JP had never heard about. Wade Price kept his secrets well. And if JP brought her along, she’d learn things that could possibly add to the hurt she’d already experienced.
She sat on the couch now, her knees drawn up to her chest, the thick fall of her hair a dark wave on one shoulder. She had to get home to her son so she could be safe. And happy. Grow old.
He knew where he had to take her.
“Come on,” he said.
She looked up at him, her face in shadows. “Where to?”
His place. Where he’d leave her, for safety’s sake. “Away. For now.”
She nodded. So pretty and fresh and innocent. He hadn’t had anyone like her in his life in so long that he wanted to hold on, be cleansed by her. When she stood, he walked past her into the kitchen. He’d left his jacket in there when he took care of the bodies, not wanting blood on it. Now he scrubbed his face, hands, and arms. But nothing could wash away the truth.
As much as he wanted her, as much as he sensed she was tempted by him, all he would ever do—could ever do—was hurt her. Just as Wade had.
She handed him a towel, and he dried off. Meanwhile, she pulled the plastic bag from his jacket, opened it, and examined the contents. He’d glanced quickly at the papers inside earlier, just to make sure there wasn’t anything she shouldn’t know, adding the postcard he’d found in the files. In reality, she shouldn’t know any of it, but it was too late for that. He was shrugging into his jacket when she spoke.
“Do you know who Dorie is?”
“No.” Damn, now he wished he hadn’t put the postcard in there.
“He used the name Asa Pickett, didn’t he?”
“Maybe,” he said. “Probably.”
“We have to find where he used that name and go there.”
So matter-of-fact. So ignorant of what could happen. What would happen, because JP hadn’t been thinking. He was feeling.
Rule Number Two: feelings get you killed.
“I need to find a safe place for you. Until this blows over.”
She stared at him incredulously, then shook her head. “Not a chance.”
“Abby —”
“I told you. I’m here to find out what happened to Wade.”
Anger swirled through him, along with a good dose of jealousy, he conceded, despite the anger. She’d loved her late husband enough to risk her life now.
“What the hell do you think this is? A Sunday outing? I just killed two men. If I hadn’t, they would have killed us. Dead. Gone. Finito. This is no place for you.”
She hugged herself. “I will not raise my son under the shadow of what Brooks says Wade did. Cole will know that his father was a good man. I’m not going to lie to him.” Her words echoed in the small kitchen, then she continued. “I also don’t believe I’ll be safe anywhere. Not until we find out what’s happening, who’s behind all of this. You said these men communicated with this Cal. Whoever he is, he has to know I’m with you.”
Despite what she’d said earlier, she was not some mild, meek little schoolteacher. There was nothing mild or meek about her. She was smart and strong. And persistent as hell.
And he was stalling… Stalling and putting them both in even more danger.
Damn.
“Fine,” he said, hoping he managed to sound dispassionate through his clenched teeth. “But you do as I say. Always. I say jump, you jump.” For good measure, he added, “No questions.”
She smiled, making him wonder what she was thinking, and nodded. “Agreed. You’re the big bad spy.”
That wasn’t at all what he’d expected her to say. “I’m not a spy,” he returned automatically.
She tilted her head. “Then what are you?”
He blinked. Damn. “We’re called ‘officers.’”
She stared at him just long enough to make him wonder if he’d convinced her.
And despite the fact that he was really fed up with her stubbornness, the one thing he wanted to do more than anything was pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless.
For being fierce and tenacious. And brave and loyal. And possibly the sexiest woman alive.
All of it wasted on her dead husband.
…
JP pushed Abby’s car into the dark waters of an isolated bayou. She understood the need, but kept coming back to the practical: What would she do about a car when this was all over? And her clothes? She’d held onto her purse, but had nothing else except what she had on. Jeans, tennis shoes, and a white blouse that needed washing. Heck, she needed washing.
All inane things to consider, given what they’d been through. What they still had to go through.
After they’d climbed into his old truck and JP started driving, she again looked through the papers he’d found. A single postcard, one that must have been mailed in an envelope since there was no address and no postmark, from a woman named Dorie. It read:
I thought you’d like this one. Love, Dorie.
It was a picture of acres of flat land planted in wheat, with a caption that said:
Visit Texas!
Wade had grown up in Texas. The ranch his family had once owned was in Texas. The panhandle.
Was Dorie real? Was she family? A sister, maybe?
A wife?
The zipper bag also contained ten canceled checks, all written over the past twenty years. The first ones were for between one and two thousand each. The last ones for fifteen thousand dollars. Wade, under his own name, Wade Price—if that had been his real name—had written them all to someone named Asa Pickett. Was this Asa Pickett family? Or was it another of Wade’s aliases?
Or was the money about something else entirely? Something that would verify Brooks’s suspicions? Like payoffs. But for what? To keep this Asa Pickett from divulging something Wade was hiding?
She had to force herself to quit thinking about it because she just kept going around in circles.
By midnight, they were traveling north, with JP constantly checking his rearview and side view mirrors. They spent the night well off the highway on an isolated side road, hidden from view by trees and bushes. JP slept sitting up behind the steering wheel. She’d lowered her seat as far back as it would go and tumbled into an exhausted sleep.
The steady movement of the truck jolted her awake. The sun had barely risen above the horizon. They were driving on a country road, going through pastures and woods. Kudzu grew in massive random shapes up power lines and trees.
She didn’t say anything, just lay still and watched JP drive. His hands were fixed on the wheel, his attention on the road. But he heard her because he turned, his dark eyes making a quick sweep over her, then he focused on the road again.
“Where are we?” she asked, her voice rough from sleep.
“Northeast Louisiana. There’s a little town up here,” he replied, glancing back at her. “We can pick up some clothes, get something to eat.”
“Then what?”
“We’ll need to switch vehicles.”
Of course. They’d know his truck. “How long before we get where we’re going?”
“Depends on how long it takes us to find another car.”
“And then?”
“We’ll stop someplace safe where we can figure out what to do next.”
That seemed to be the end of that conversation. They hadn’t said much to each other since they’d left Ocean Springs. There wasn’t much to say, she supposed.
Apparently JP agreed, because they didn’t utter another word for the next hour. He continued north, along a road that meandered next to the Mississippi River levee, then along some more isolated roads before coming to a tiny little town. It was just inside the Arkansas border and consisted of nothing more than a town square, a mom-and-pop eatery, and a strip mall with a few shops still in business.
“You can buy a couple of changes of clothes in there,” JP said, pulling the truck to a stop in the parking lot of a thrift shop. “Do you have any cash?”
“Some, but I have my credit card.”
“No cards. Don’t use yours for anything from here on out.”
