Three
led them to an economy car parked in the visitor’s lot. The thing was a POS. A rust bucket on wheels.
“You actually drive this thing?” Booker scanned the surrounding area as Ellie unlocked the passenger door. Twenty-four hours ago, Regan had been snatched from the adjoining lot. Booker had watched the video feed, and the helplessness of seeing her shoved into the trunk of a car was still too fresh in his mind.
“I don’t do a lot of driving. It usually gets me from point A to point B, which is all I care about.”
Booker wanted to question her about why she didn’t drive much, but Ellie had already climbed into the car and was working the lock on the glove compartment.
Booker caged her in, resting one arm against the doorframe, the other against the edge of the open door. He should probably give her some space, but until he knew what was going on he had no intention of backing off.
Brandon levered his ass onto the hood on the other side of the door, watching Booker’s six while Booker focused on Ellie.
Just like old times.
Only it wasn’t. Everything was different now. He wasn’t the same man. He and Ellie weren’t a couple. Hell, they weren’t even friends.
He wanted to be annoyed that she and Brandon had maintained their friendship without his knowledge, but he couldn’t summon the energy. He was too busy basking in the perverse pleasure he felt over the fact she called a friend—Brandon—instead of another man. A romantic partner. The idea of some other bastard taking care of his wife made him mental.
Welcome to my twelve years of insanity.
What kind of sick fuck was he that he couldn’t think of her in any other way than as his wife? He inked the divorce papers. He moved his stuff. He respected her wish to be free of him and had gone on with his life. He’d even taken other women to bed, although not often. The guilt after each encounter chipped away at his soul.
He’d given fucking vows, for Christ’s sake. A man didn’t forget something like that no matter how long he lived. Or existed. Whatever. Semantics.
Booker swiped a hand down his face.
It didn’t take a rocket scientist to understand he had some unresolved issues. They were his burden to bear.
The wisest course of action would be to forget about the past and focus on the tasks at hand. Determine the source of the threat. Eliminate it. Go home. Sleep for a month. Bam.
The glove compartment fell open and Ellie pulled out a manila envelope with her name scrawled across the front. Tearing open one end, she peered inside with a frown. “That’s strange.”
“What?” Booker leaned down and caught a whiff of her scent. She smelled like summer on the beach. Coconut and some kind of fruit. He’d never craved a piña colada more in his life. He’d have to keep a lid on that shit. Ellie needed his protection, not his dick. But damn if the traitor didn’t perk behind his fly anyway.
“There are two drives.”
“And that’s unusual?”
She dumped the contents into her palm and inspected each one. “I’ve been off work quiet a bit lately, but they’ve never sent two before, so I’d say yes.”
Brandon launched himself off the car’s hood. “Let’s go inside and find Noah. Let him take a quick look before we decide what to do next.”
A fine idea, except the last time Booker had seen their computer expert in the waiting room, the guy had been turbo sucking his way to the bottom of a flask.
Booker held out his palm to Ellie. “Let me have those.” Once she dropped the stick-shaped devices into his hand, he backed away to give her room to get out of the vehicle. “Or we could use one of Noah’s laptops and take a look ourselves.”
Ellie reached into the backseat and pulled out a duffel bag. She locked the car door and shoved it shut. Her movements were slow and uncoordinated. Booker lifted her chin and checked her eyes. Heavy eyelids and small pupils. The painkillers were kicking in. “You doing okay?”
She jerked her chin from his grip. “What do you think?”
Booker eyed the duffel. He’d bet his left nut she had clothes and probably some toiletries in there. “You weren’t planning to go home tonight, were you? Where did you plan to go?”
“I was going to check into a hotel for a couple of days.” She readjusted the strap on her shoulder. “Do you really believe there’s something on the drives worth hurting me over? I work for Jennings, Bradford & Mosley. They aren’t criminal attorneys. Owen practices corporate law.”
“Plenty of crooked corporations out there,” Booker said. “It stands to reason they would hire crooked attorneys.”
“Owen Jennings is big shit in Austin,” Brandon said as he flanked Ellie’s left and started back toward the entrance to the ER. “Word is he’s throwing his hat into the political arena.”
Ellie nodded. “He mentioned plans to run for mayor. And he doesn’t want to stop there. Ultimately, he plans to run for senate.”
Booker instantly hated big shit Owen who apparently had no problem sharing his personal aspirations with Booker’s wife.
Ex-wife. Christ. He was a mess.
And what kind of name was Owen? Sounded like a name for a missionary position, tighty-whitey wearing motherfucker. How exactly was Ellie involved with the man? Booker’s vision went a little wonky thinking about Ellie as the underside of Owen’s missionary so he forced the vision out of his brain before it could stick.
Booker fell in step on Ellie’s right. “A bid for office is gonna take money. Greed is a powerful motivator for engaging in illegal activity. Are you sleeping with him?”
Not very smooth, but Booker had to know.
Ellie pressed the heel of her palm against one eye. “I so don’t need this right now. What the hell am I supposed to do if there’s something illegal on those drives? And if there is, why would Owen send them to me?”
Booker heard the car before he saw it. Behind them an engine revved. Tires squealed against the pavement. He jerked around and a set of headlights burst on, momentarily blinding him.
“Fuck! Look out!” Training and instinct took over. Booker snagged Ellie around the waist and pulled her back against his chest. Using all of his strength, he launched them between two cars, out of the way of the SUV that seemed determined to mow them down.
“Brandon?” he yelled as he scanned the parking lot. Fuck. Had the guy been hit?
A groan. Then, “I’m good. You guys okay?”
Booker released Ellie and spun her to face him before giving her a once over. She looked dazed, but otherwise uninjured. “We’re good. What the fuck was that?”
Brandon stood a few cars away and dusted himself off. “A coincidence?”
Booker caught sight of red taillights before the SUV jacked a u-ey. Two men burst from the backseat and hit the ground running.
Booker crouched behind a car, tugging Ellie down with him. “Does a coincidence come back for seconds?” He held up two fingers, using them to point in the direction of the men headed toward them. “Incoming.”
He was unarmed, damn it. They’d never make it to the safety of the ER before either the men or the truck got to them. “Got any bright ideas?”
Brandon cursed and pulled out his cell and his keys. “I’ll handle this shit. My truck is four rows over. Take it and get her the fuck out of here, man.”
Booker didn’t hesitate. He tightened his grip on Ellie’s hand and made a break for Brandon’s truck.
“Wait!” She dug her heels into the pavement. “We can’t leave Brandon.”
“We can and we will. Brandon can take care of himself. Use your feet, Ellie, or I’ll toss you over my fucking shoulder. Either way, we’re out of here.”
Thank God she stopped fighting. Behind them, tires screeched and the distinct pop pop of shots being fired rang out. A car window on Booker’s left exploded.
Ellie screamed. “Brandon!”
He jerked Ellie in front of him, eliminating her as a target. “They’re not shooting at him.”
Booker picked up the pace, pressing his hand against her lower back to guide her. With the other he used the remote to disengage the door locks on the truck.
Sirens blared in the distance. An incoming ambulance.
Within seconds Booker threw open the passenger side door of the truck and all but tossed Ellie into the seat. “Buckle up, then keep your head down.”
He didn’t wait for her to comply. He slammed the door. A quick glance over his shoulder verified the call Brandon made had brought Roman and Sully running. Behind them a uniformed cop burst through the doors, weapon drawn and ready for action.
Booker jumped into the vehicle. He kept the lights off as he surged out of the parking spot. He switched gears, cranked the wheel, and hauled ass out of the parking lot. He took a right, planning to head for the highway and from there, the lake cottage where he and the guys had been bunking with Ketcher.
He checked the rear view in time to see the SUV barreling toward the exit.
“Shit. Hang on.”
He slammed on the brakes and made a sharp left onto a side street. Guided by memory, he wound through the neighborhood, choosing streets at random until he was sure they weren’t being followed. Only then did he allow himself to glance over at Ellie. She’d been far too quiet for his liking. For good reason, it seemed. Bent forward in the seat with her cheek resting against her knee, Ellie’s glassy stare met his. Hello, painkillers. The woman was high as a kite.
“Are you hurt?”
“My…my fingers feel weird.” As if to demonstrate, Ellie sat up and showed him her hand. She wiggled her digits. His smile died before it got started.
No, damn it. He would not be charmed.
Booker swore under his breath. For twelve long years he’d been perfectly fine living in ignorance of her life, keeping his emotions locked down tight. Within seconds, seconds, she had stolen that ignorance from him.
He knew things now. Current, not-from-memory, things. Her tropical scent. That she had new and adorable little crinkles around her eyes. That her breasts looked fucking amazing under that tank top.
It wasn’t so much the new knowledge of her that ruffled his feathers. Oh no. His problem was that she made him feel. Back in the ER, all the hurt and anger had come rushing back to mingle with a sense of confusion and relief at seeing her again, followed quickly by irritation and yes, arousal. He’d been hard as a fucking rock from the moment she had opened her mouth to speak. There was another, more troublesome, emotion lurking around in his chest, but it could just stay there, locked up tight behind his ribs.
The way he saw it he had two choices. Be a prick so she would stop being so damn cute, or spank her ass bright red for turning him into an emotional volcano. He doubted she’d appreciate being tossed over his lap.
“Do you have a cell phone?” he asked.
“Yep. It’s in my bag.”
“Give it to me.”
“What do you—”
“You can argue later, but right now I need you to give me the goddamn phone.”
Booker lowered the window as she reached into her bag and pulled out the device.
“Here.”
“Thank you.” He took the phone and in one fluid motion, tossed it from the vehicle.
“Hey! What the hell?”
“Someone just tried to run you down. They could’ve found you by tracking your phone.”
“You’re making assumptions.” She tilted her head to rest against the window and she closed her eyes. “How do you know it was me they were trying to run over? Maybe they were after you. Maybe it was the same person who gave you that head wound?”
A good theory, with one fatal flaw. “Not possible.”
She did have a point, though. He and the guys had gone head-to-head with members of the Cuban cartel and won. He’d be a fool not to consider the possibility of retaliation.
“Why not?” Her words ran together. She was fading fast.
“Because the guy who clocked me is dead.”
The sound of her sharp inhale filled the truck.
“Did you kill him?”
Booker’s head throbbed. Now was not the time for a conversation about his life and the things he’d done.
“Get some rest, Ellie.”
He hit the expressway and floored the gas, wanting to put as much space as possible between them and Austin as possible. Or maybe just them.