Hot On His Trail

“Do you have the makings for sandwiches?” She directed the question to Lenny, who slowly nodded his head.

“Help yourself. I’ve got plenty of bread, peanut butter and jelly, ham and cheese, and there’s some leftover tuna salad in the refrigerator.”

“I’ll make us something to take in the truck while Taggert finishes getting dressed.”

Nick let his head fall back against the couch. He felt less light-headed with the support, a little sturdier. The sensation of strength was an illusion, he knew. He was about to pass out.

It would be so easy to drift away, to close his eyes and fall asleep and give up. He wasn’t a man to give up easily. He’d fought long and hard for everything he’d had. He’d worked his way up from nothing. Literally nothing. After all those years of hard work he was back to nothing again. He should fight, as he always did; he should defy the odds. But right now—right now he considered giving up, giving in. It would be the easy thing to do.

Hell, he hadn’t taken the easy way very often in his life. Why should he start now?

“Now what?” he whispered, “Dammit, I don’t even know where I’m going yet.”

Shea walked confidently toward the kitchen, a lively spring in her step. Watching the sway of her hips and the bounce of that ponytail made him a bit dizzy. She’d been so afraid just a few hours ago, but she didn’t look like a hostage anymore. And there wasn’t even a hint of worry in her eyes. There should be, dammit, there should be.

But he was the one sitting here remembering what she felt like, what she smelled like. He’d been so close to a kiss, and he’d wanted it. For a moment he’d wanted it as much as he wanted freedom, the truth, his life back. So who was the hostage now?

“I don’t have a clue where to go from here,” he said again, his voice so low he figured no one would hear.

“That’s okay,” Shea said without so much as a glance back. “I know exactly where we’re going.”

Chapter 4

Every now and then, quite frequently, actually, Shea glanced at the sleeping man in the passenger seat of the rumbling old pickup truck. Shea didn’t know what year Lenny’s two-tone, pale blue and white Ford was, but it was definitely old. They just didn’t use chrome like this anymore. Taggert had not wanted her to drive, but he hadn’t put up too much of a fuss. He had to know that he was in no shape to drive.

Taggert didn’t completely trust her, but he didn’t have anyone else to turn to. And he needed help.

Sleeping, he looked much less menacing than he had when he’d threatened her with a gun and tried to send her packing in the rain. Lips soft, ice-chip eyes closed, features relatively relaxed, he was simply beautiful. Not a pretty beautiful, but a manly beautiful. The kind that made women’s hearts thud and their eyes go misty while they sighed in wonder. He had a real man’s face, with a long straight nose and a sharp jawline and a dusting of five o’clock shadow. And that beautiful face was resting atop a nearly perfect body.

She smiled crookedly. Leave it to her to finally find a man she was insanely attracted to now, at the most inopportune time and place in the most unsuitable of circumstances. She’d been so focused on her career lately that she brushed off most men who asked her for a date, and the few dates she’d suffered through hadn’t been much fun.

She’d let Grace talk her into a blind date with a homicide detective a few months back. Luther Malone. Good-looking guy, smart, and as anxious for the blind date as she’d been, which meant the evening had gotten off to a very bad start. She hadn’t found him to be much fun, and he’d gotten quickly annoyed with her nosy questions. He’d taken her home early and there hadn’t been a second date.

Shea took a quick glance at the gas gauge and whistled low and sharp. Almost empty. Like it or not, she would have to stop soon. Better here on a country road than on the interstate, she imagined, spotting the solitary sign straight ahead.

Placing an Atlanta Braves cap, one of Lenny’s contributions, on Taggert’s head, she left him sleeping while she pumped gas into the guzzler of a truck. She didn’t think she looked too strange, even though the outfit she’d scrounged from Lenny’s late wife’s closet came directly from the sixties. Capri pants were making a comeback, and the blouse was fairly simple, so she didn’t think her attire would raise any eyebrows. She’d steered clear of the tiedye T-shirts and the neon-green bell-bottom pants.

When the tank was full she went inside to pay, heading for the back of the store to grab a couple of soft drinks and two banana Moon Pies. Taggert hadn’t eaten nearly enough of his sandwich, and he’d need his strength. Maybe a sugar boost would do it. She could use a sugar boost herself, truth be told.

She was at the counter counting out bills when the state trooper walked in. Her heart nearly stopped.

“Hi, Billy,” the clerk said with a wide smile. This was apparently a regular stop for Billy, the tall, thin trooper.

“Toby,” the officer said with a professional nod. “How’s it going?”

“Slow,” Toby said as Shea very carefully counted out her change. “You know how it is.”

Her first instinct was to turn and run like hell, but she didn’t. She took her drinks and Moon Pies and declined a bag, and glanced through the window to see that Taggert still slept. Thank goodness she’d thought to put the ball cap on his head!

“Where you headed, little lady? That your truck outside?”

Shea’s heart stopped. The trooper was talking to her! She took a deep breath and turned to face him, hoping the change of clothes and the fact that her hair was pulled severely back and her face scrubbed clean of makeup made enough of a difference in her appearance that he wouldn’t immediately recognize her.

She looked at him closely before speaking, to see if he made the connection. Apparently he didn’t. “My husband and I are headed to Florida to see my mama,” she said, putting on her best, deepest Southern accent. She sounded a lot like her cousin Susan, she decided as the words left her mouth. “Hate to get that old truck on the interstate, since it won’t do more than forty-five, and besides—” she gave the trooper a bright smile “—I like the drive better this way.”

He nodded. “I know what you mean. You be careful, though. When I came on duty I heard a murderer from Huntsville escaped this afternoon.” Billy shook his head, a quite large head on a long, narrow neck, she noticed.

“Really?”

“I hear it was all over the news, but since I’m on night shift I slept right through it.” He gave her a crooked smile. “Didn’t you see nothing about it?”

“Nope. I guess I was busy packing for the trip when the news was on.”

The trooper looked through the window to the truck, where Taggert stirred. Just a little.

“I’d better get moving. In a couple of hours it’ll be my turn to sleep and Pookie will have to do the driving.” Pookie? What was she thinking! “He’ll expect to find us a ways down the road when that happens.”

Shea shuffled the drinks and Moon Pies to make sure they were secure in her hands, said good-night to the clerk and the trooper, and escaped into the muggy night air with a sigh of relief. He hadn’t recognized her! Would he later, when he saw her picture on television or in the newspaper? Maybe. Maybe not.

She climbed into the truck and placed her purchases on the seat between her and Taggert. He opened his eyes, just slightly, and reached up to remove the ball cap.

And the trooper left the store with a cup of coffee in his hand.

Taggert leaned forward, moving slowly toward her, his lips parted to speak. The trooper was just about to pass in front of the truck, and his head rotated in their direction. After her heart leaped into her throat, Shea drew a deep breath and followed her instincts.

She took Taggert’s face in her hands and pulled his mouth to hers, kissing him to hide his face from the trooper. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Billy smile as he passed. She watched the trooper turn his attention to his patrol car, his smile still in place, and all the while her lips were glued to Taggert’s.

Feeling the danger was past when Billy stepped into his car, she started to pull away, but Taggert grabbed the back of her head with tender fingers and held her in place. His mouth moved over hers, soft and tender, as his tongue tasted her lower lip. Heavens, he was warm, softly arousing, close and intimate. There was no searing demand in the kiss, in fact it was quite sweet, but as it continued, she instinctively kissed him back, and something deep within her stirred. Something that didn’t need stirring, thank you very much.

Taggert’s hand slipped down and settled at the back of her neck, and a low growl escaped from deep in his throat as he continued to kiss her quite thoroughly. He didn’t touch her anywhere else, but Shea felt that kiss all through her body. Her nipples hardened, her knees shook, she felt her heart rate increase.

The trooper pulled away, and Shea turned her head to remove her lips from Taggert’s. He didn’t fight, but instead let his head fall heavily onto her shoulder. “Did I tell you how good you smell?” he whispered. “Fresh and clean and feminine. I didn’t know I would miss the way a woman smells,” he said in a low, groggy voice.

“Go back to sleep, Taggert,” Shea said, placing her hands on his shoulders and forcing him gently into his corner of the truck. “With any luck, you won’t even remember this.”

“Nick,” he said as he settled back with his eyes drifting closed. “Any woman who kisses like you do should call me Nick.”

“Nick,” she said softly, placing the baseball cap on his head. He immediately removed it and tossed it to the floor, where it landed on a small stack of T-shirts Lenny had contributed to the cause.

She sighed heavily and started the rumbling engine, pulling away from the pumps and onto the two-lane road. Heavens. If that trooper ever did recognize her and realize who the man in the truck was, she would be in deep. Way too deep.

About a mile down the road, she took the cell phone from her purse and switched it on. Mark was on speed dial. This would be her last chance to use the phone. Once they got where they were going it wouldn’t be safe. The cellular company could trace them to this area, but right now they were on the move. From here they could go anywhere. Georgia, Florida. South Alabama.

“Mark,” she said, when her cameraman answered the phone. “It’s me.”

“Shea?” he shouted. “Oh my, are you all right? Did he hurt you? Where are you? I’ll come—”

“Mark, I just have a minute,” she interrupted. “Listen carefully.”

She heard him breathing, but he said nothing. “First of all, call Boone in Birmingham and tell him to call my folks and Clint and Dean and tell them I’m all right.”

“Are you?” Mark asked softly.

“Yes, I’m fine,” Shea assured him. “Ask Boone to check into the Taggert trial and the Winkler murder and see if he finds anything odd.”

“Done,” Mark said, all-business.

“Then call my friend Grace Madigan and see if she’ll do the same. She and Boone will take different tacks, so they might come up with different results.” Grace’s husband was a private investigator in Huntsville, and she’d been working for him for months. Mark and Boone and Grace. Shea didn’t trust anyone else.

“Okay. Shea? What’s going on?”

“Just…trust me, Mark.”

She heard his uncertain sigh over the crackling line.

“Do you have caller ID yet?” she asked.

“Nope.”

“Don’t get it,” she said. “I’ll call you in a few days and this will only work if you don’t know where I am.”

“Jeez, Shea,” he said in a low voice. “This sounds dangerous.”

She glanced at the man sleeping beside her. “It is,” she said softly.

Tara, Nick thought dizzily as he opened his eyes. A gravel driveway crunched beneath the slow-moving truck tires, and the moonlight shone brightly on…Tara.

“You’re awake,” the weathergirl said in a low voice. “That’s good. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to rouse you, and I really do not want to spend the night in this truck.”

He’d been out for hours. Plenty of time for Shea Sinclair to reconsider her foolish plan and drive him directly to the nearest police station.

But she hadn’t. “Where are we?”

“Marion,” she said with a smile. “My aunt’s house. They’re on vacation. My cousin Susan lives in California, and her first baby is due in a couple of days. Aunt Irene and Uncle Henry won’t be home for weeks.”

The gravel drive circled the house, and Shea stopped before the back door. Not Tara, Nick thought as he looked at the peeling white paint and overgrown garden. But not a police station, either. It was such a relief to know that someone, anyone, believed in his innocence. He might be a good story to the weathergirl, but she had to believe…. She wouldn’t bring him here if she thought he was guilty. She wouldn’t stay with him if she thought he was a cold-blooded killer.

She didn’t kill the engine, but jumped out of the driver’s seat to circle the truck and open his door. She offered an arm in assistance, and he took it and stepped down.

“You wait here,” she said softly, “while I hide the truck in the barn.”

“There’s a barn?” He leaned on her and remembered…something. The way she smelled, the way she tasted. The way she tasted?

“It’s pretty far back on the property and hidden from the road, so I don’t think anyone will even think to look for the truck there. It’s too far for you to walk, though.” She left him leaning against the kitchen door and hurried back to the truck. As it rumbled away, he watched the tail lights. When he couldn’t see them anymore, he closed his eyes and slumped to the ground. How did he know what she tasted like?

The next thing he knew Shea was there again, and he was sitting on the porch with his back against the door. He’d fallen asleep, or passed out, while she’d been taking care of hiding the truck. She lifted a potted plant and reached beneath it, pulling out a key. What kind of a town was this?

“The kind of town where people trust their neighbors,” Shea said as she assisted him to his feet and placed an arm around his waist, propping him up while she slipped the key into the lock.

“Did I ask that out loud?” he whispered.

“You mumbled,” she said, opening the door to a dark kitchen.

“No lights,” she said. “I don’t expect any of the neighbors are up this late, and most of the house is shielded by trees anyway, but I don’t want to take any chances. We haven’t come this far just to get caught because we turned on a light.”

We, she said.

“The moonlight will do,” she said sensibly. “For now.”

He let her lead him through the kitchen, through a huge dining room, to the foot of the stairway.

“Can you make it up the stairs?” she asked, uncertainty in her voice.

“Of course I can,” he snapped, angry at his weakness, at his inability to think straight. Tomorrow morning everything would be better. Tomorrow he would know what to do.

Moving up the stairs was slow going, with Shea on one side, the banister on the other and his body being completely uncooperative. He was breathless when they reached the first landing, near to passing out again when they reached the second floor.

“Carol’s room is the closest,” Shea said, turning him to the right. “I hope you like purple.”

Nothing had any color in the moonlight, but oh, the double bed looked soft, and warm, and if he could just make it that far…

At the edge of the bed he tumbled, falling to the soft mattress, pulling Shea with him. She squealed a little, in surprise, just before they landed with a gentle bounce.

He held on tight to still the spinning in his head. Shea Sinclair could make the spinning stop. She could ground him. He drew her close, testing her softness and warmth. Feeling the wonderful way her curves settled against the length of his body.

“You can let me up now,” she whispered.

“Not yet.” He buried his face against her hair, reached out and removed the rubber band that contained the dark strands, so her locks spilled down and around. “You smell so good.”

“So I’ve been told,” she muttered unhappily.

“You smell like sunshine and soap and…sex.”

“I do not,” she insisted, pushing against his chest.

He didn’t let go. He hadn’t slept in a real bed in ten months, had forgotten what a soft mattress felt like. He’d forgotten what a woman felt like, but Shea brought it all back. The feminine shape. The gentle suppleness.

“How do I know how good you taste?” he asked, pulling her close and resting his head against her shoulder as he laid one leg, the uninjured one, over both of hers.

“You don’t,” she snapped. “You’re delusional.”

He pressed his lips against her neck, very briefly. “No,” he said. “I’m not.” He used what little strength he had against her, holding her down gently, locking his leg around hers, laying an arm over her chest.

“Let me go.”

“I just want to sleep,” he said, feeling himself drift away. “And I want to hold you while I sleep. Smell you. Taste you.”

“Taggert…” she said, her voice distant and uncertain.

“I won’t hurt you, I swear,” he whispered. “I would never…”

As he drifted away he heard her whisper, “I know.”

Taggert was heavy, warm and massive, and sound asleep. It might’ve been possible to slip out from under him and make her way to Susan’s room for the night, but Shea allowed herself to remain beneath him as her own exhaustion washed over her.

Besides, maybe he really did need to hold her as he slept. She liked that idea, that someone needed her in such a simple way. She didn’t have to worry about him trying anything funny. He was in no shape, physically, to be a threat to her.

Stretched out beside and over her exhausted body, touching and holding her, Taggert seemed massive and overwhelming. He fixed her to the mattress with his muscled arm and one long leg. He leaned into her, too, in a way that pinned her down without crushing her beneath his weight.

Still at last, safe in the dark, she finally had time to ask herself the big question. What had she done? Taggert had given her the chance to escape, and other chances had come and gone. Yes, this was a big story, but it was more than that.

The same sense of right and wrong that had driven Dean to the U.S. Marshals Service and Boone to the Birmingham Police Department and then into his own P.I. practice lurked within her, too. She couldn’t stand by while an innocent man went to prison, and maybe even to the electric chair. It went against everything her parents had taught her. Justice. Honor. Moral integrity. Okay, they were old-fashioned ideals in a technical world, but they were what she knew and believed in.

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