Authors: Vicki Hinze
He stepped out into the cool night air and looked down at her. Streaks of moonlight shadowed her face. Guilt shadowed his visions of their life together. He’d lied. He
wanted to tell Caron the truth. He should have told her long
ago. But he hadn’t. Now he doubted he had words to give her that wouldn’t take her away from him. She’d feel betrayed. And his name would be added to the long list of men in her life who had used her. Her father, Greg Cain, Mike—whoever he was—and Parker Simms. He couldn’t
do it. Not now. And maybe never. He had too much to lose.
“You sure you’re feeling okay?” Parker sat opposite Caron at her kitchen table.
“Yes, I’m sure.” Knowing she was closer to knowing
where Misty was, Caron could keep mental tabs on her, and
relax until dawn. They needed daylight to find the shed. She
needed rest; she’d need strength then. And if her second
brush with death had taught her nothing else, it had taught
her to seize every moment. This one belonged to her and
Parker. “I must be too tired. I’m going soft in the head.”
Parker dug into the white paper carton and pulled out a forkful of shrimp egg fu young. “All right, Snow White,
here you go.”
Leaning forward over the table, Caron took a bite.
Scraping the fork’s tines with her teeth, she leaned back in
her chair and chewed.
“Well?” Parker propped his elbow on the table, the fork
poised in midair.
“It’s good.” She scooped up the burger and held it out to him. “Your turn.”
Grim-faced, Parker slid the burning candle between them
aside. “Don’t shove it down my throat. It’s been years since
I’ve eaten red meat.”
Caron laughed. “I wouldn’t do that.”
He stretched over, took a healthy bite of burger, then fell
back. The chair groaned. Looking pensive, he slowly
chewed, then swallowed.
God, but he was a beautiful man. Strong-featured, tender-handed. He gave her that smile, that infamous tilt she’d once vowed she hated, and her insides softened to
mush.
“It’s okay.”
“Okay?” She guffawed and wiggled her bare toes against
his thigh under the table. “The world’s greatest ham
burger, and the best you can say is it’s okay?”
“Okay is good.” He captured her foot and dragged a fingertip along her arch. “Especially for red meat.”
It tickled. She tried to tug her foot back.
Parker wouldn’t let go. “Uh-uh. Ransom.”
The look in his eyes warmed. The candle’s flame flickered a dance in their depths. Her heart began a slow, hard
beating, a primal rhythm welling up from somewhere deep
inside her. She’d never before felt it, not like this, and its
mystique drew her, like a moth to a flame, like her to
Parker. “Demands?” Her voice sounded husky.
“Share your bed with me for the next few hours. That
sofa of yours is too short, and I’m beat.”
Was he asking her to sleep with him, or to
sleep
with
him?
“Don’t look at me like that, Caron.”
“Like what?” She got up and tossed her trash into the
bin under the sink.
“Like you’re half-afraid I’ll jump your bones.”
She was, but she was also half-afraid he wouldn’t.
“We’re just going to sleep a few hours until it’s time to
try and find Misty. Okay?”
“Okay.” Relieved and disappointed, she nodded and
walked into her bedroom.
Parker gave her time to shower and put on her flannel
nightgown. She climbed into bed, tugged the nightgown
down around her ankles and double-checked the top but
ton to make sure it was securely fastened.
After his shower, Parker came in, wearing only his jeans.
The lamplight glinted off his much-admired shoulders and
on his hair. The man had the broadest chest she’d ever seen.
It was sprinkled with thick, dark hair that wound down to
a thin
line
and disappeared beneath the waist of his jeans.
Beautiful. She swallowed hard.
He clicked off the lamp, then unzipped his pants. When
they hit the floor, she heard the stuff in his pockets jingle
and roll out. What was he wearing? It was too dark to see.
He got into bed and shifted his weight. The mattress sank, threatening to roll her over to his side. She gripped her edge, tempted to stretch out a toe to see if he was naked. But, deciding she was better off not knowing, she
stayed put.
“Goodnight, Caron.”
“Good night.” Her heart was pounding a zillion beats a minute. She’d never actually sleep with him here. They’d slept in the same bed before, but not with him maybe na
ked. Oh, geeze, he couldn’t be naked.
“Caron?” He sounded woozy already.
What now? Didn’t the fool man know that talking was
darn near impossible? “Mmm?”
“I borrowed your toothbrush. I hope it’s okay.”
It wasn’t okay. Her toothbrush had been closer to him than she had. Jealous of a toothbrush? Caron groaned inwardly. She’d slipped over the edge. “That’s fine, Parker.”
He rolled onto his side, his back to her. “Did you set the
alarm?”
“Yes.” He smelled soapy and crisp and fresh and clean.
All male. And he was throwing off enough body heat to
melt the polar ice caps. Both of them. She’d never sleep a
wink. Not a wink. That was her last coherent thought.
The phone rang.
Parker cranked open a lid and glared at the clock. Four a.m. The room looked...strange. Where the hell was he?
Memory flooded back. Caron’s. He was at Caron’s.
A second ring split the silence.
He untangled their legs and arms, reached over her and
grabbed the receiver, then nudged her awake. “Caron.”
She grunted a protest and nestled against him again.
Even asleep, she wanted to be close. Smiling, Parker
nudged her again and put the phone to her ear.
“Hello,” she mumbled in a croaky voice.
Parker heard the click. Whoever it was hung up. He
moved the receiver to his ear and heard the dial tone, then
dropped it back into the cradle. “You usually get calls in
the middle of the night?”
“No.” She opened her eyes. “No, I don’t.” She turned
over to face him, her eyes wide now, alert and fully awake.
“Parker, I sense danger.”
He got out of bed and tossed Caron a pair of jeans from
the chair, then grabbed his pants. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“Out of here.” One leg in his pants, he shoved the other through, hiked them up, then zipped the fly. “We’re sit
ting ducks.”
He went to the closet, grabbed the first blouse he saw, then tossed it to her, too. “Would you come on?”
She scooted out of bed and jerked on her jeans. “What’s
the hurry? I said I sense danger. I didn’t say the
apartment is on fire.”
Her sweater in his hand, he strode back to her, swept her fingers out of the way and took over buttoning her blouse.
“Look, I’ve learned the hard way to respect your senses.
When you image danger, I react. Got it?”
She smiled up at him. “Got it.”
He gave her tush a friendly pat. “Good. Let’s move.”
“I think you’re overreacting, Parker.” Caron started
across the complex’s lawn, toward the row of parked cars. The Porsche looked out of place. Glossy and black and re
flecting the yellow light from the sign across the street, it
stuck out like a sore thumb. “It was just a hang-up call. The
danger might be totally unrelated.”
“Or it might not be.” He stopped walking at the front of
the car. “Whoever left that message on your door
well knows where you live.”
He could have gone all night without reminding her of
the message, and she would have been just fine. She stepped
off the curb and reached for the door handle.
Tires screeched. Caron looked toward the sound. A black
car sped toward them.
Parker jerked her halfway over the car’s hood, then
shoved her down into a crouch and pulled her along the row of
cars to a rusted-out pickup.
Loud pops split the air. Louder, staccato ones in a swift barrage sprayed her apartment and jarred Caron’s teeth.
Glass shattered—windows and windshields. Metallic
pings
sounded in a long series that had her ears ringing. Dust
from the bricks on the building flew. They were shooting at
her
home. At
her
car.
Lights snapped on. People in other apartments began screaming. A baby started crying. And across the street a man walked out of the store carrying a bag of groceries,
saw what was happening, dropped the bag and darted back
inside. Still the firing of bullets rent the air.
Smelling smoke, Caron moved back far enough from Parker’s shoulder to see the flames. Her car was on fire.
Then, just as suddenly as it had started, the shooting
stopped. The car sped away, its tires squealing. Caron
looked up and saw it fishtail, clipping the corner.
When it was gone, she looked at Parker. “Decker?”
“Or Forrester.” Parker grimaced. “Or maybe Sandy.”
“No, not Sandy.” That something that had been nig
gling at her drew closer, hanging just at the frayed edge of
her mind.
“He’s in this up to his eyeballs, Caron. I know that hurts
you, but that’s the way it is.”
Understanding dawned. “Oh, God!” Caron jumped to
her feet. “Oh, God!”
Parker stood up and grabbed Caron’s arms. “What?”
“Misty!”
People began pouring out of the apartments to check the
damage, some crying, some cursing. Some dressed in pajamas, some men with bare chests and feet.
“Come on.” Parker began moving toward his car.
Caron followed, sidestepping an old woman carrying a
baseball bat. That was as futile and illogical as her locking the door to keep Killer out of her car. Caron reached for the
door handle.
“Don’t!”
Parker held up his hand. “Move back.”
Caron leaned against the nearest craggy oak and watched
Parker check out the car. He walked around it, then lay flat
on the ground and looked at its underside. When he stood back up, he popped the hood and inspected the engine.
Seemingly satisfied, he nodded. “Okay, let’s go.”
Caron got into the car and grabbed the phone. The wire
dangled loose from the receiver. She tossed it to the floor
board. “Find a phone. The store. Stop at the store.” She
raked her hand through her sleep-tossed hair. “God, I knew
it. I knew I was missing something basic.”
“What?” Parker wheeled in and braked to a stop. Be
fore he shifted into Park, Caron was getting out of the car.
“Mary Beth,” Caron shouted back at him, and yanked the receiver from the phone hanging on the store’s outer
wall. She dropped a coin into the slot and dialed, and sec
onds later she was talking.
She put in a second quarter, dialed again, then waited.
No talking this time. A third quarter hit the slot, and again she said nothing. Then a fourth. She paused a second, then
keyed in a series of numbers. What was she doing? She held
the receiver for a long time, staring down at the ground, obviously listening, but she didn’t say anything. Caron stiffened suddenly, dropped the receiver, and rushed back
to the car.
She bumped against the front fender. When she jerked open the door, she shouted, “Gretna!” then launched into
telling him what had happened. “Charles Nivens was with
Mary Beth. She’s getting him to check the Hunt files for a client named Vanessa. We should’ve done that before, Parker, but I was afraid of his Mafia connections.”
“Mafia? Who’s Mafia-connected?”
“But he wouldn’t dare tell them—”