Tall, Dark and Lethal

Maybe they would never see each other again. That would be good. Bailey was pretty convinced that he was running from the law—otherwise he would have called the police after his house blew up. If fortune smiled on her, he would just keep running and never look back.

She stepped gingerly on the hot, sharp blacktop, running on nerves as she approached the cop car. The officer inside was shutting off the engine and fiddling with the laptop on the dashboard. Computer technology had entered every aspect of life these days. Even she had experimented with some digital garden-art designs, and thanks to her nephew’s tips, had actually gotten better at it.

Deep breath. She needed a moment to collect her thoughts so she could explain her situation coherently and the policeman wouldn’t think her a raving lunatic. She finger-combed her tangled hair one more time. Hi. My house exploded this morning. She bit her lip. How about Hi. I was kidnapped? Would that be putting it too strongly? Cade had said he only wanted to protect her. He’d done nothing to harm her so far—but he did have a gun. She filled her lungs with air again.

She could see the screen and the scrolling images on the officer’s laptop. As she tried to figure out what she would say to him once he stepped out of the car, Cade’s picture flashed on, with a single line of text on top. She moved closer to read it, but the picture changed too quickly.

She stared, rooted to the spot, as her own image scrolled onto the screen.

Where did they get that?

Her attention was quickly drawn from last year’s much-regretted experimental perm to the bolded message above her photo.

WANTED BY THE FBI. And below that, another line: CONSIDERED ARMED AND DANGEROUS.

Chapter Three

Damn. She was going for the cop. Couldn’t be left alone for a minute. Cade had looked back through the windows just in the nick of time.

“Excuse me.” He pushed through the people in line behind him, stepped outside and walked toward her as fast as he could without drawing attention. She seemed to be hesitating.

“How many bagels did you say you wanted, babe?”

She startled and whipped around, with a stunned look on her face, and hesitated for another beat as she glanced back at the black-and-white—hesitated too long.

“You better look at their choices.” He grabbed her by the elbow in what looked like an intimate gesture but would have been impossible to shake off had she tried, and steered her toward the diner, growling only two short words under his breath. “Get inside.”

A waitress hurried by just as they stepped in. “Good morning. Would you like a table?” Her smile didn’t reach her tired eyes, her mind clearly someplace else. She was in her fifties but her shoulders sloped like someone decades older. She did not, thank God, notice Bailey’s bare feet and point to the No Shoes, No Shirt, No Service sign on the door.

“Just picking up. Thanks.” Cade headed to the take-out station once again, where a high-school kid was manning the counter. The line had disappeared while he’d gone to stop Bailey from making his life even more complicated than it already was.

“Hi. One cup of coffee with all the fixings.” He’d seen the syrupy stuff Bailey carried around all day long in her “Gardens are Art” oversize mug.

The kid grabbed a purple DeDe’s plastic coffee cup. “Anything else?”

Cade let go of Bailey’s elbow and draped an arm casually around her slim waist, ignoring the kaleidoscope of donuts with their colored frosting in the antique display case in front of him. “Two breakfast sandwiches on whole-wheat bagels. Two bottles of orange juice.” His body was a weapon—he didn’t put junk into it any more than he would have shoved sand down his rifle barrel.

“Fifteen sixty-five.”

He put a twenty on the counter. “Keep the change.”

“Thank you, sir.” The kid’s smile widened, and he put some spring in his step as he went to get their food.

He was handing Cade the bag when the cop came in. Cade watched the man for a moment from the corner of his eye. The officer sat at a corner table and buried his head in the breakfast menu.

“Thanks.” Cade grabbed their food while Bailey reached for her coffee.

“Thank you for stopping in. Have a great day. Good morning. What can I get you today, sir?” The kid was already serving the next customer.

Cade didn’t have a free hand to hang on to Bailey, so he did his best to herd her in front of him before she got another brilliant idea. Especially since the cop was done making his selection and was scanning the place for the nearest waitress.

Cade watched Bailey for signs that she was ready to bolt, but she’d been uncharacteristically quiet since he’d brought her into the diner. He moved between her and the cop to block his view, turning his back.

Once they were at the door, he checked out the parking lot before stepping out, scanning the cars and the man who had just pulled in before walking to the Escalade.

“Don’t do that again.” He didn’t raise his voice but made sure his tone conveyed his message sufficiently.

She bit her lip and tightened her grip on her coffee.

Was he scaring her yet? He sure as hell hoped so. He hoped he could scare her enough to stop her from doing something colossally stupid. She looked subdued, if not scared. That was something.

“Help yourself.” He put the food between them once they got into the car, but he didn’t touch his. He wanted to be a little farther down the road—and in a different car—first.

He glanced into the rearview mirror before backing out of his spot and saw the cop at the diner’s door, looking at the cars in the parking lot. Time to haul ass.

He pulled out onto Route 1 but veered off almost immediately onto a side street. He snaked through a labyrinth of housing developments. Maybe the cop was looking for the Escalade. Whoever owned it could easily have called it in by now.

Bailey sipped her coffee, set it in the cup holder and looked at him, anxiety in her eyes. “I understand that you think you are saving me, but I’m asking you to let me go. Please.”

She still didn’t get it. “No.”

Her jaw muscles tightened and her fists clenched. “I’m not going to quit trying to get away from you. You can’t watch me every second. You are going to have to sleep at some point.”

That was what she thought. He could go without rest for days when on a mission. But it would help both of them if she stopped struggling every step of the way.

“This is for your own good.” That sounded lame—she wasn’t going to go for that.

And she didn’t.

“I can decide what’s for my own good!” she shouted, clearly at the end of her rope. “Why does the FBI want us?”

The what? He lifted an eyebrow. He hadn’t told her about the FBI—there was no sense in getting her all worked up. He figured the shock of her house blowing up was enough for one day, considering she was a civilian.

She drew a deep breath, which pushed her breasts against the T-shirt of his that she’d borrowed. “Our picture was on that officer’s computer in his car.”

So that was why she’d stopped in her tracks when she’d reached the black-and-white. Could be the cop had recognized them in the diner.

He hesitated only a moment before reaching his decision. It would be easier to tell her the truth and gain her cooperation than watch her every second of every day until he figured out what was going on. “We’ve been implicated in domestic terrorism. Both of us,” he added for emphasis.

She went white and stared at him. “Why?” Her mouth closed and then opened again, but nothing else came out.

“You tell me.”

She was slack jawed for another minute before speaking again. “But they’re wrong. We can explain that it’s a mistake, can’t we? We just have to tell them that it’s crazy. They can’t have any proof. We have to go back and talk to someone.”

She seemed determined to rush into disaster. A real babe in the woods.

Her eyes pleaded with him. “Listen to me. We can’t run. This is probably the worst thing we could be doing.”

The fact that she still didn’t trust him after he’d spent his entire morning saving her curvaceous behind frustrated him beyond words. “How keen are you on a surfing holiday?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Think water and a board.”

Her eyes widened. She swallowed. “They wouldn’t do that to us. We are U.S. citizens. They can’t interrogate us like that.” But she sounded less than certain.

“You’d be surprised what gets done behind closed doors these days. At the very least, we’ll be taken in for serious interrogation. We’re talking days, at the minimum. They are not going to let us go until they figure out what’s going on. I’d prefer to figure things out on my own, then go in once we’re cleared.”

“But we didn’t do anything.”

“And eventually they would figure that out. My worry is what would happen in the meantime.”

“They can’t have any evidence.”

“They might now. Our house blew up.”

“You said those were terrorists.”

“There’s a chance there won’t be any witnesses to testify to that. But the Feds will be finding pieces of guns and traces of C4 all over the ruins.”

Again, no words came out of her mouth, which was still opening and closing as if she were a fish out of water. Which she was.

He shrugged. “Don’t make a big deal out of this. They were left over from my old job.”

“You had guns and explosives in the house?” she squeaked.

He glanced at her to make sure she was okay. “For self-protection.”

She buried her face in her hands, leaning forward as far as the seat belt would allow. A full minute passed before she looked at him again, and it was clear from the set of her jaw how much effort it took for her to keep herself under control. “I could go back and tell them all that stuff was yours. You could hide until you clear yourself. I have nothing to do with any of this.”

“Probably true. But do you think they’ll take your word for it?”

That gave her something to think about for another minute or two. “Okay. But if we have to hide out while whatever this is gets resolved, I’d prefer to hide out on my own. That’s my bottom line.” She drew herself straight and tried to look very tough and businesslike. All five feet five inches of her. In silk pajama shorts, with no shoes, pink toenails wiggling furiously under the dashboard.

He bit back a grin. Gotta give the girl points for trying. “Where?”

“With my brother. Or a trusted friend.”

He didn’t miss the emphasis on trusted. “They’ll have that covered.”

The toe wiggling stopped. Her face went pale again. “You think they’ll investigate my family?”

“Family, friends, coworkers. Consider it already done.”

“But this is insane. This is so unfair.”

Was it? He’d invaded people’s privacy without a second thought if he’d determined that the information he could gain would move his mission forward. He hadn’t given much thought to what it felt like from the other end. Didn’t care much, truthfully. The kind of people who’d made it on to his radar screen were the kind of people who wouldn’t hesitate to shoot a grenade through his house. “Welcome to the real world.”

“Surreal world.” She looked out the window at the peaceful community he was driving through, carefully obeying the speed limit. “What are we doing here?”

“Looking for another ride.”

“You can’t keep stealing. That is a crime. I don’t want to get involved in things like this.” There was a new edge of desperation in her voice.

He said nothing as he drove by house after house.

“Are you looking for something specific?” she snapped, shoving her cinnamon hair out of her face, giving him that furious fairy look.

He’d been developing a fascination with furious fairies in the past three months.

“A way out of here. This is a residential area. As soon as someone looks out their window, they’ll notice if their car is gone. I need a business where people won’t go out into the parking lot again at least until their lunch break.” He turned onto a bigger road at the end of the street and saw some office buildings not far off. He headed that way.

“Do you do this a lot?”

He thought back to other cars he’d borrowed on various undercover missions. And that one plane, an older model Cessna, in Colombia. “When necessary.”

She groaned.

“Drink your coffee.” Those full lips needed an occupation other than nagging. He could have suggested a number of activities for them that would have made him happy. Damn, if he looked at her long enough, he could almost feel her lips on him. But based on the killer look she was shooting him at the moment, it probably wasn’t the right time to suggest anything…personal.

“I’m fully awake. Thanks,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest and blocking his view of her nipples as they pushed against the fabric of his T-shirt. He sure did love air-conditioning.

He navigated over to the corporate park and stopped. “Okay, let’s go.”

“This is a bus stop.”

“They’ll find the car and get it back to the owner faster if we leave it here.” He waited until she got out and then swung his bag over his shoulder, picked up her pajama top from the back and wiped the interior and the door handles to remove fingerprints. “Hey, that’s mine,” she protested, grabbing at the top.

“It can be washed. You just said you didn’t want to be linked to things like grand theft auto.” He gave her a pointed look. “Let’s not leave a calling card.”

“You’re so good at this, it’s scary.” She watched him through narrowed eyes. “I suppose if you weren’t, you’d be in jail,” she added.

If he weren’t, he’d be dead.

A quick scan of the parking lot turned up exactly what he wanted: a Land Rover with four-wheel drive. The doors were locked, but he had his bag of tricks with him. He reached in and pulled out a small tool kit.

In minutes, they were on the road, heading south. He didn’t stop until they crossed the Maryland border, and then only long enough to run into Wal-Mart for a few changes of clothes, plus shoes for her, food and another canvas bag to stash everything in.

“When are you going to tell me where we’re heading?” she asked when they were back on the road again, her fine legs covered by new, tan capri pants.

“A friend of mine has a fishing camp at one of the smaller lakes around here.”

“We can’t live at a fishing camp for the rest of our lives. We have to talk to someone. I really think you’re making a mistake here.”

Oddly, staying at the camp with her for a prolonged time didn’t seem all that unappealing, despite her endless questioning of his judgment. He would just have to find another occupation for that smart mouth of hers.

“We’re staying until we can figure out who is after me. Or you,” he added, voicing a thought that had been idling in his mind since the Colonel had told him she was on the FBI’s list, too. “Any enemies?”

She gave him her signature glare—annoyance fused with impatience and suffering—and turned her pixie nose way up in the air. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

He didn’t think it likely that the tangos had anything to do with her, but until he had proof positive who the bastards were and what they wanted, he couldn’t dismiss any possibility. And he couldn’t let her go. Couldn’t let her go, anyway, as long as the FBI was looking for her. If they had a bone to pick with him, he didn’t want them to find her and drag her into his mess.

He recognized the turnoff and took it. Ten miles later, he found himself in a maze of small, unpaved roads, gravel crunching under the tires. He’d only been to Joey’s camp once, ten years ago. The area had changed since—it was built up, with hardly any open land left. New drives and lanes had been put in.

“Lost?” she asked when he rolled down the same street the second time around.

“Canvassing the neighborhood before approaching the target.”

The look on her face told him he wasn’t fooling her. “Too bad we don’t have GPS.”

“I wouldn’t have taken the car if it did. We could have been tracked through that.”

“Do you always think of everything?” She sounded more annoyed than impressed.

And why in hell would that bother him? He wasn’t trying to impress her. He just wanted to make sure that nothing bad happened to her, especially not because of his questionable past.

“I try.” He flashed her a grin as he caught a familiar sight through the window.

Joey’s place hadn’t changed, except for a new tin roof. It was still just a shack for a weekend of beer drinking and fishing. Heaven.

“This is it?” she asked when he slowed. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Home sweet home.”

“I’ll sleep in the car, if it’s all the same to you. You go in, figure out what’s going on, come out when you have it, and then we go home.”

“We have to get rid of the car.”

Pause. “Can’t we just take off the license plate? Or cover it with something?”

“There’s a chance that it might have LoJack.” Technology worked both ways—sometimes it made life easier; sometimes it made life harder.

She closed her eyes for a moment. “Okay.”

Not that he needed her approval or permission. The decisions would be made by him on this mission. Maybe she didn’t fully grasp that yet. She would.

He drove the car to a small train station just as the train to Baltimore pulled in. Inspired by a sudden idea, he bought two tickets for the next train to New York from a ticket agent, and then called a tow truck from the public phone. He told the guy to tow the car to the Baltimore harbor parking lot and drop it off there.

If it had LoJack, the cops would follow it there. If any witnesses remembered the towing service’s name and the cops asked the guy where the pickup had been, they’d go to the train station and talk to the ticket agent, who would say he’d bought two tickets to NewYork. The cops would think he and Bailey had sent the car to Baltimore as a decoy and then gotten on the train to New York. That would make sense—her brother was there. He was sure the cops and Agent Rubliczky would make that assumption. If they connected Cade and Bailey to the stolen car at all. He felt reasonably safe to spend a few days at Joey’s camp.

“And how are we going to get around?” she asked as the tow truck disappeared in the distance with a good chunk of his cash.

They were in the middle of nowhere. Next to the station was a garish gift-shop tent with “Final Sale” and “Everything $5” written all over it. He could see the lake glistening in the distance, could smell the water from here. The beach was a short walk away. People lay out on the sand and on boats. The path to the beach was clear; everyone who’d gotten off the train had already made their way down.

“We’ll have ourselves a lovely stroll.” He scanned the main road, which was just a few hundred feet from the station. “Or not,” he said as a police cruiser appeared and took the damn turnoff. If the Land Rover was discovered missing shortly after he’d taken it, if it did have LoJack…. He glanced toward the lake, which was blue and brilliant and inviting. “How about a swim?”

Her eyes went wide as she took a step back from him. “I can’t swim.”

“At all?” Everybody knew how to swim. Who didn’t know how to swim? A woman whose middle name was Trouble, that was who.

Annoyance filled her blue-violet eyes. “I work at a garden center. I don’t need to know how to swim. The biggest body of water I ever see is the indoor lily pond.”

“Take it easy,” he said under his breath, taking stock of their situation.

His bag was slung over his shoulder, covering the gun tucked into his waistband at the small of his back. Bailey carried the canvas bag with the clothes and food. With a little help, they could look like tourists.

Thank God for the obligatory souvenir tent. He grabbed a My Fish Is Bigger Than Yours baseball hat with fake blond hair attached for her and a pair of dorky-looking sunglasses for himself along with two cheap fishing poles. He paid for them, and they headed straight for the path that led to the lake.

They would blend in with the people sunning and fishing on the shore unless the cops came in for a closer look, in which case they’d just have to keep moving.

Another cop car suddenly pulled in. To continue toward the lake would mean passing right by the police officer. But they had already started out on the path. To turn abruptly around would look suspicious.

He stopped, sneaked his arms around Bailey’s slim waist and turned her to him.

She was scared enough not to protest. Blue-violet eyes searched his face. Her mouth was set in a tight line of fear. “They are going to catch us, aren’t they? I don’t know if I should hope for that or keep running from it. I don’t know you—”

“I used to work for the Department of Homeland Security.”

Her eyes widened. “Kind of?”

He bit back a grin. Yeah, kind of. His group, the SDDU, was a top secret commando team used for black ops. The unit’s existence was known only to a select few, even at the highest reaches of government. Their leader, Colonel Wilson, reported directly to the secretary of Homeland Security.

“You’re safe with me. Relax.” He dipped his head as the cop got out of his car. The man was heading toward the train station, toward them. There was only one way he could think of to cover their faces.

“I’m going to kiss you,” he warned.

She looked too petrified to protest. Certainly too petrified to enjoy it. Too bad, because he planned on doing just that. He had stared at her full lips many times since he’d moved in, and had contemplated some serious lip-locking with his shrew of a neighbor. He could be annoyed with her and lust after her at the same time. The male mind was a marvel of biology, no mistake about it.

He brushed his lips over hers—full, sweet, soft—and swallowed a moan that began to bubble up inside his chest. No sense getting too worked up with a cop heading their way.

“It might help if you look like you’re into this,” he whispered against her mouth.

She relaxed marginally in his arms.

The cop was only a few feet from them and still coming.

Cade opened his mouth over hers. He was going to make this kiss look real—that was his last coherent thought.

Their lips were doing all the touching, but it was his groin that got all the heat. Funny how that worked. He had expected pleasure—she was a finelooking woman with a body that would have made any healthy man sit up and take notice. But he hadn’t expected his breath to get caught in the middle of his chest. That didn’t usually happen.

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