“Lou Ellen, when this is over, you are going to owe me big time,” Gray snarled, as he pinched his phone between his jaw and shoulder to heft his suitcase into the trunk. 

He’d called the office to forewarn her they were on the way to the compound so she could smooth the way with Logan, but she informed him that wouldn’t be smart.  They’d just received a visit by a group by federal marshals with a warrant in hand for Michaela’s arrest. 

Now, Gray had no idea where he would take her.

“I realize that, but you’re helping yourself too.  We need Michaela in that office—and she needs your help.”

“We don’t need her in that office, Lou—she’s more trouble than she’s worth.  I’ll take her to the airport and buy her a ticket back to Jersey.  Her family can help her.” 

He needed Michaela Girabaldi like he needed a hole in his head, which is what he would likely have if he didn’t get away from her.  She was like a beautiful mirage in a broken mirror, and he didn’t need any more bad luck than he already had.

“Her family is why she’s in this mess!”  Lou Ellen shouted.  “She did not commit those crimes, and you’ll do no such thing, young man.  What you’re going to do is prove that she’s innocent.  Considering the financial aspect, you’re the only one of us who can…and you need to hurry up about it.”

Lou Ellen’s tone reminded him of a teacher he once had.  Stone Cold Cameron, the kids used to call her, which probably explained why Lou Ellen instilled the same fear in him when she used that tone.  Arguing would only get him hit upside his head with a book.

“Lou, if I help her, I’ll be aiding and abetting a wanted fugitive, obstructing justice, which means I’ll probably be in a cell beside her even if she didn’t commit them!” Gray growled, as he slammed the trunk shut. “I didn’t sign on for this, Lou.  Her damned brother is a mobster, she likely committed those crimes, and now the feds are after us too?”

“Just help her, Grayson, please. She needs you to help her.  I alerted Caleb and Levi that you might need them.  They’re on standby, and Hawk is too.”

“Does Logan know about all this?” Gray asked, with a sigh.

“Logan and Susan both flew to DC to meet with the contractor about the new office.  They won’t be back until the end of the week, so no, they don’t know.  I also didn’t tell Slade because he would tell Logan.”

Oh, the tangled webs we weave.  Gray sighed again.

“Why are you so attached to Michaela Girabaldi? Why do you care, Lou?”

Gray just couldn’t figure that out.  Except, dammit, he was starting to care about her too, and he didn’t want to.  The woman had a way of sneaking up on a person and making them care about her.  She’d lied to him repeatedly, omitted vital information that could have prevented him from chasing his tail for over a week—and still he cared. 

After his experience with Mona, it just didn’t make sense.  He thought she was involved up to her beautiful neck, but he just couldn’t make that fit with what he knew about her otherwise.

“She reminds me of me.”  Lou Ellen sighed wistfully, which was strange. “I was in a similar circumstance when I was younger, and trust me, it’s not where you want to be.  My first husband saved me, God rest his soul.”

Her first husband?  How many had she had? 

There was so much Gray didn’t know about their fiery office manager.  None of them knew much, because she rarely talked about her past or background.  The only things he knew were she’d been a stock broker, was best friends with a senator, she was tough as nails, had a heart of gold and the only man in her life now was Bruno, her forty-five. 

That’s all he really needed to know, other than he loved her like a mother, like most of the guys at Deep Six.  Which meant he’d do just about anything for her.  Even time at the federal country club, which is where this would likely end.

“I don’t know if I can help her, Lou, but I’ll try—for you.  I have to find somewhere for us to go, because it’s not safe here anymore.”

“Do what you need to, just don’t let her out of your sight.  Promise me, Gray,” Lou Ellen demanded and he sighed again.

“I promise, Lou.”  Gray hung up the phone and turned to go back inside, but tensed when he caught sight of someone running down the rutted driveway toward the main road. 

He squinted, saw a black ponytail and knew it was Michaela, who was supposed to be in the shower.  He glanced at the side door, saw it standing open, and realized she’d just heard everything he said.  With a curse, he shoved his phone into his pocket and took off after her.

“Michaela, wait!” he shouted, running as fast as he could.  She was faster, and he didn’t catch her until she got to the road and stopped to look one way and then the other. 

He grabbed her arm, turned her around and the savage fear, the abject betrayal, and the hopeless desperation on her face, squeezed his heart like an iron fist.  When it released, guilt poured through him. Gray had known that kind of terror before himself, that same desperation.  Seeing this tiny woman experiencing that nightmare made him want to take her somewhere the people causing that fear would never find her. 

But Gray had no idea where that place might be.  One thing he knew for certain now was she wasn’t feigning it.  Her fear was real.

“Let me go!” she growled as she pulled her arm, but Gray tightened his hold.

“Don’t be stupid, Jersey,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm.  “You need help, and I’m going to give it to you.”

“I don’t want your job, and I don’t want your help,” she said, her hazel eyes wild. “I’m going to find a phone to call my brother to help me.  He’s my family and cares whether I live or die.”

“The mobster?” Gray asked, with a snort.  When she whimpered like an injured animal might, he wished he hadn’t.  But that’s exactly what her brother was, and she would find no help there.  He sighed, and loosened his grip on her arm.  “I’m sorry for what I said.  That wasn’t for your ears.”

“Well, it’s how you feel, so why be sorry?” She brushed his hand away to rub her arm.  “I’ll take care of myself. You just go back to your compound and your job, because that’s all you care about.”

“That’s not true, Michaela. Why would I have offered to help you? Why would I have followed you when you left the hotel? Because I was concerned.” Gray really had no idea why he was working so hard to make her let him help her, but the thought of letting her handle this alone was now not something he’d consider.

It could be because, from the moment you met Michaela Girabaldi, her fire touched a cold place inside of you and warmed it again. The place that has been gray and dead inside since Mona.

“You really want me to answer that question?” she asked, her head tilted.

“Yeah, I would,” he replied, because if he kept her talking, at least she wasn’t running.

“Because you wanted a piece of ass would be my guess.  Now that you’ve gotten it—you have no use for me.”  She pointed her finger at his chest.  “Well, I have no use for you!  Now, leave me alone.”

Perhaps she’d forgotten that she was the one who instigated what culminated in them having sex on that beach bed two hours ago.  He’d taken her bait, but she’d started it.

“Since you got a piece of ass, you mean?  Is that what the massage was about, Michaela?  You torturing me for the last week with the grand finale being showing up naked on the patio?  You got what you wanted from me, so what were you looking for in exchange for your services?” Gray shot back, the answer more important to him than his next breath.

“No, that massage was about me having too much wine and being stupid enough to care that you were hurt!” she shouted.

Her body shook, and a rumble started somewhere low in her chest.  Gray saw a black blur and it was his only warning before her purse connected with the side of his head.  He staggered back, and raised his hands just in time to deflect a second blow to the other side of his head.  His hand tangled in the strap as his brain finally settled back in place. 

He jerked it from her and tossed it to the ground, then clamped his hand around her arm to stop the forward momentum of her raised fist.  She fought like a five-foot-nothing grizzly, planting the toe of her small foot in his shin.  When she bent her knee, he jerked her body against his and held her tight.  He felt her mouth open and her teeth brush his skin.

“If you bite me, I’m going to return the favor, on your plush rear end,” he warned, as he held her squirming body against him. 

The thought of doing just that caused his dick to go rock-hard.  Everything about this woman kept him in a state of sensual agitation. Even her temper. She was so damned gorgeous and fiery when she was mad, it challenged him to redirect that fire to more productive endeavors.

“You weren’t a piece of ass. I said I’m sorry—now be an adult and let’s get out of here before we both wind up dead or in jail.”

“Fine,” she mumbled against his chest. “Let me go!”

“Not until you promise not to run.  Say you forgive me and that you’ll let me help you,” he said as calmly as he could manage.

“I don’t forgive you, porca miseria—” A long, shuddering sigh heated his skin as her body wilted against him. “But I do need your help. I won’t be paying for it with my services, however.”

Porca? Pig? Miseria? Miserable?  She called him a miserable pig, and she was right.  “Be warned, I’m starting to catch on to your Italian insults.”

“Be warned I really don’t care.  I can repeat them in English, if you need me to,” she growled, leaning away to glare up at him.  “Here’s one you probably haven’t heard—Vaffanculo!  It means go fuck yourself!”

“No, I got the miserable pig part, and have no argument for you.  I’m sorry.”  The sharp spears in her eyes softened a little, but her mouth remained tight.

“I have to agree with you there, as well. You are sorry.  But if you help me, I’ll try not to kill you in your sleep like I did my uncle,” she said, her eyes sparking again.  “But if you ever call me a puttana again—you’re a dead man!”

“Puttana?” Gray repeated, his brows crashing together.

“A whore, asshole.  If my brother heard what you said to me about exchanging my services, I guarantee you you’d be dead.”

“You are not a whore, and if my question made you think that, I’m sorry.”  Replaying it in his mind, comparing it with his thoughts on the matter, she was right again.  He had called her that without calling her that.  But it sure hadn’t stopped him from enjoying every second of her services.

“Well, that’s progress.” She studied him for a moment, then her chin lifted. “But you still think I’m a lying, thieving killer. How can you help me, if that’s what you think of me?” she challenged, pulling away from him to bend and pick up her purse. Gray took a step back as she looped it over her shoulder and folded her arms.  “I think it would be best if I found someone who believes me to help.”

“I do believe you, Michaela.  You didn’t kill your uncle, and you didn’t steal that money,” Gray replied, and her eyebrows lifted.

“Oh, really?” she said, tilting her head to the side. “Well, what changed your mind about me?  I know I could definitely kill you at the moment, so I do have it in me.”

“You said it, so I believe you,” Gray replied confidently. 

Mickie’s eyes said she didn’t trust him or believe him, and he couldn’t blame her.  Because of the putrid colors Mona had left behind in his world, since he met her, Gray realized he had painted Michaela Girabaldi with the same dirty brush. 

It was time to start with a clean, white canvas and let new colors in, vibrant reds and oranges, which Michaela brought to the table.  But that was a scary proposition after what he’d been through.  Especially when this was a similar circumstance, which could also put him behind bars if Michaela was lying.  Please, God, don’t let her be lying.  He couldn’t go through that again.

The roar of a powerful engine drowned out the lulling swoosh of the waves at the shoreline and the cry of the gulls overhead.  In slow motion, Gray looked far down the deserted, sand-swept road.  He squinted against the bright sunlight to zero in on a black SUV barreling toward them. 

Mickie squeaked. Gray grabbed her hand and pulled her behind him as he ran back toward the house.  If he didn’t get them out of there before that SUV reached the drive, they would be trapped, because he had no doubt whoever was in that vehicle was coming for them.

At the back of the rental car, Gray dropped Mickie’s hand and ran to the driver’s door.  He flung open the door, but looked back at her where she was frozen in place, where he’d left her near the trunk.

“Get in,” he growled, as he got behind the wheel. 

His hand shook as he cranked the car and glanced in the rearview to see the SUV pull into the drive.  Mickie got into the passenger seat as Gray looked out over the dash at the beach, which was now their only route of escape.  Why in the hell hadn’t Lou Ellen rented an SUV instead of this motorized roller skate?

“How will we get out of here if we’re in the car?” she asked, gnawing her lip as she opened the door, threw her purse on the floorboard and got inside.

“We’ve got to go off-roading so put on your seat belt.”

Gray twisted the knob to put the car into drive.  Holding the brake, he revved the engine, because he knew he’d need good momentum to break through the lattice work at the back of the carport.  He also knew he’d need that head start to launch over the eight-inch drop to the ground.

“We could just run down the beach to the next house,” she said, her voice high as she strapped her seat belt over her chest then braced a hand on the dash.  “That would be better than this, wouldn’t it?”

“There are no houses within two miles, Jersey.  Just woods to the west, which is where I’m headed.  They’re in an SUV and can drive on the beach, but we’ll just have to pray the sand is packed from the tide.”  He revved the engine higher, closed his eyes then let off the brake as he jammed his foot to the floorboard.  Logan was going to kill him, because in all likelihood he was going to be paying for a rental rod.

“But we’re not in an SUV!” she shouted as the car shot forward. 

The lattice splintered, she squeaked and pieces of wood flew over the windshield.  Gray gripped the wheel tight, braced, and gritted his teeth as the small car went airborne.  The tin can with tires slammed down onto the ground and rocked from side to side as he fishtailed toward the beach.

“We’ll go as far as we can and then run.  At least we’ll have a head start on them.”  Her answer was a whimper as she pushed her hair from her eyes and grabbed the dash again.  Gray gunned the motor, the car hit the loosely-packed sand and went about fifteen yards before the wheels became buried.

“What now, Mr. Bond?  Do we take the Moonraker capsule to Mars before they catch us and feed us to the sharks?” she asked sarcastically as she unfastened her seat belt and grabbed her purse.  Gray shot her a glare as he killed the engine

Bond? James Bond?  Smart-mouthed little hellion.

“Vaffanculo!” he grumbled, proud that he remembered that insult, as he put his shoulder into the door to push it through the sand to open it.  Yes, he was definitely learning how to deal with Michaela Girabaldi, he thought, as she shot him a surprised look.

“I can’t get my door open,” she said, grunting as she pushed on it. 

Gray ran around to open her door and help her out, which was a feat.  He glanced at the back tire, which was no larger than a bicycle tire and it was flat, which meant even if they hadn’t bogged down, they wouldn’t have gotten far.  He opened the trunk, grabbed his briefcase then her hand.

“God forbid you should leave your briefcase when we’re running for our lives,” she snarled as he glanced back to see the SUV was now halfway up the drive.

He took off running, and pulled her with him, even though he knew there wasn’t a chance in hell they were going to get away.  At least maybe they could find some cover in the sea grass about a hundred yards in the distance. 

“This was your bright idea, so you’re on your own,” Michaela growled as she looked back over her shoulder. 

He didn’t have to, because he heard groan of the SUV behind them digging into the sand.  She pulled her hand from his and quickly outdistanced him in her tennis shoes.  His waterlogged dress shoes filled with sand and slipped on his feet as he tried to catch up with her. 

Gray was glad she decided to save herself.  If she hadn’t pulled away, he would have told her to, and she would have argued, because he suggested it.  The closer she got to the sea grass, the more relieved he became, because he knew there was no way he was going to save himself.

Stopping, Gray drew his air pistol out of his briefcase as he turned and waited so he could take aim at the driver’s side of the windshield of the SUV.