Guilty Pleasures

She came back, leaned over him much as she had earlier with the same tantalizing view. He heard the teeth give, but when she straightened a moment later, he found his hands were still restrained … only now without the post involved.

She stared at the question on his face. “You won’t be needing them. Now up, soldier. I know you know how to move with your hands tied behind your back.”

He thought about making a smart-ass comment, but she was already through the door and ripping the tarp from the car.

He got up and began following her, then backtracked to get his cell and wallet from the desk, stuffing each into back jeans pockets. Then he spotted a click-top pen. Bingo. He palmed it and stuffed it inside the waistband of his jeans before joining her.

She climbed inside the car and reached to open the passenger’s door for him. He awkwardly got inside and was trying to figure out a way to close it with his foot when she reached across him, her breasts brushing against his thighs, to close it for him.

Then she reached behind him, taking his cell from his pocket and tossing it to the dash.

He had to give her credit; she didn’t miss a trick.

Which made him feel a little less bad about being taken hostage by her.

A little.

“The doors?” he asked.

She gave him a long look. “Blocked from the outside. The bastard parked on the other side.”

“Then how are we going to get out—?”

The engine started and the car was in gear before he could utter the next word. His neck jerked as she sped in Reverse, the old car’s monster engine roaring in his ears.

She reached across him and yanked the seat belt across his lap, shoving the latch into his hands behind his back before doing her own.

“Hold on,” she said, smiling in his direction.

She pressed a button on the visor. Even as he awkwardly secured his seat belt, he looked over his shoulder, watching as another door, this one a garage type, lifted some fifty yards behind them on the opposite warehouse wall.

“It’s not going to make it up in time,” he said over the engine’s growl.

“It’ll make it.”

Twenty yards … ten … five …

The top of the car hit the bottom of the door, but it didn’t slow them down.

She hit the brakes on the other side and did a one-eighty.

“Oops,” she said.

He couldn’t help shaking his head, amused.

The car was barely straight before she shoved the stick into Drive, roaring off before the guy in her apartment had any idea what hit him.

Or maybe not.

Jon stared back at a large man in faded, full-out desert military gear rounding the side of the warehouse a hundred yards away. Only, he didn’t look like anyone he’d ever served with. This guy had long blond hair tied back and a full beard. And his weapon was Russian, more specifically an AK-47.

Definitely not something an American soldier would be toting.

Militia? Or military-loving mercenary?

That meant their visitors numbered at least two: the one on the stairs and this one.

He caught Mara’s glance as she looked away from the same sight. She didn’t appear surprised. But if he was expecting any kind of explanation, he was sadly disappointed.

Jon shifted in the seat and worked on getting the click-top pen out of the waistband of his jeans, the spring of which he planned to use to pick his handcuffs….

4

AFTER TEN MINUTES, Mara slowed her speed on the mostly deserted roads for which she’d opted, checking her mirrors every few seconds for signs she’d been followed. She hadn’t been.

Or at least it appeared that way.

But it wasn’t empty, really, was it? The road behind her was choked with ghosts from her past.

She felt a breath away from having the Pop-Tart she’d eaten this morning hurl from her churning stomach.

Now that the urgency had passed, her worsening circumstances crowded around her, inside her, making it impossible to do much beyond keep the car on the road and stare at the glaring reality of her situation. It wasn’t enough that they’d set her up for murder … Now they were trying to kill her.

She checked the road behind her again. Still empty. But she didn’t expect it to remain that way.

She passed a slow-moving sedan on the two-lane highway then screeched to a stop on the right shoulder. Jon looked at her as if she’d gone mad. Which was okay with her; the more unpredictable she came off, the more she had the upper hand.

She’d learned early on that it wasn’t curiosity that killed the cat, but predictability. At least when it came to predators. So she made it a point to never do the same thing twice.

Of course, she would have been well served to remember that over the past few years. Instead, she’d allowed herself to be lulled into a false sense of security.

She ignored the horn blow of the sedan as it passed them as she got out of the car and slowly made her way around the vehicle.

Though it had been parked in the off-airport lot for months and, as an older vehicle, had no low-jack tracking device, that didn’t necessarily mean it was bug free. And it would certainly explain why she hadn’t been followed. If she was being tracked, then there was no need.

It made a tactical kind of sense, their targeting her now. They’d gone through all the trouble of setting her up for the prosecutor’s murder. The last thing they needed was for her to be hell-bent on proving her innocence.

If she was surprised and hurt to see an ex–family member standing outside the warehouse toting an AK-47 … well, she wasn’t about to cop to it.

She did feel a bit of relief that he hadn’t taken the money shot when he’d had the opportunity. But she didn’t kid herself into thinking she’d be as lucky next time.

So it wasn’t only the local and federal authorities, not to mention who knew what yahoos from private firms—she spared Reece a glance—on her tail. It was also the local militia. People who knew her better than any biological family members, if only because they’d taught her all she knew.

Well, not all. If that was true, she might as well surrender to her fate now.

At any rate, she also understood that it wasn’t so much what you knew, but what you did with that knowledge that determined the outcome of any situation.

She only hoped she wasn’t as rusty as some of her sculptures back at the warehouse.