He’d lived in Vegas long enough to know that the odds were always on the side of the house. He’d learned when to walk away from the table, and right now that seemed like a damned good idea. The more distance he and Cara put between them and the Santutegi guys, the better he liked it.
He took the cash and stuffed it in his pocket, then dropped the wallet in the toilet. Leaving the stall, he dropped the credit cards deep in the trash. He washed his hands, then walked out of the restroom. He’d left Cara alone too long.
She still sat in the booth, already halfway through her pancakes, no longer on the phone. She looked up as she saw him, and the sweetness of her smile warmed him. “Hey.”
“Hey.” He slid into the seat, trying to focus despite his reaction to her welcome.
You’re in bad shape, Montana, if one little smile can get you going.
He glanced around as if looking for the waitress, noting that their tails were watching him. Him, not Cara.
“These pancakes are delicious,” she said. “I hope yours aren’t cold.”
“Yeah.” He picked up his fork, then leaned forward to snag the syrup from her side of the table. “Listen,” he murmured. “I think we need to lose these guys.”
She paused in lifting her cup to her lips, but only for a second. She took a sip of coffee, then whispered, “How?”
He poured syrup on his pancakes. “I thought about slipping out the bathroom window to slash their tires, but it’s too small. We’re going to have to ditch them somewhere.”
She finished the last gulp of coffee. “Let me do it.”
He cut up his pancakes, still thinking of alternatives. “Let you do what?”
“Let me take care of the tires.”
He jerked his gaze up, staring as she calmly popped a bit of pancake into her mouth. “Absolutely not.”
“Why not? If you’re sure they’re tailing us—”
“I am.”
“—then let me help. I might fit through the window, and if you stay here to distract them, they may not suspect anything.”
“That’s a crazy plan.”
“You didn’t think so when you were going to do it.”
“I’m a professional.”
“Yeah, but I’m from Jersey.” She flashed him a mischievous grin. “Danny taught me a few things.”
“Be serious. Have you ever slashed a tire before?”
An enticing little twinkle lit her eyes. “Yes. My boyfriend cheated on me with Andrea Miller in senior year, and I made sure his car stayed in her driveway for her parents to find.”
Truth
.
He weighed the odds. “I don’t want you in danger.”
“You won’t let me be. Do you have a knife I can use?”
“Yeah. I can slip it to you under the table.”
“I have a better idea.” Grabbing her purse, she slid out of the booth, then came to stand in front of him, blocking the view of the tails while he slid the knife out of his pocket and palmed it.
“How did you want to do this?” he asked, looking up at her. The white tank top under her plaid shirt really showcased her assets at eye level. His mouth watered.
She bent over, surprising him, her lips hovering above his. “Slip it in my pocket.” Then she kissed him.
Heat flared like a spewing volcano, sweeping over him. Her scent wrapped around him, cinnamon and vanilla and delicious female, her curly ponytail sliding forward and tickling his face. He grabbed the waistband of her jeans, tugging her closer, fighting the urge to yank her into his lap and take what he wanted. The Hunter jerked against the leash of his control, wanting woman. Wanting sex.
And Rafe just wanted
her
.
She pulled back from the kiss just enough to murmur, “Put it in, hot shot.”
For a moment he thought she had read his mind. Then he remembered—danger, people following them, the knife. He pretended to caress her hip and slipped the weapon into her front pocket.
She straightened, swinging her purse in front of the slight bulge. “This trip is getting more and more interesting, Rafe Montana.”
It sure as hell was. It had been awhile for him, and she turned him on like a match to tinder. He wanted to find a motel somewhere so they could get lost in each other for days. He looked in her eyes and saw the truth there: simmering arousal, feminine interest … and death.
Damn it. How could he have forgotten that?
“I’ll be right back,” she said, apparently not picking up on his disquiet.
He watched her walk across the room, ponytail bouncing and that sweetly curved ass swaying with sensual invitation. As she passed the men from Santutegi, he fully expected them to watch her go by. But their gazes stayed fixed on him.
He settled back in the booth, acting like he hadn’t noticed them, and dug into his pancakes. He tried to focus on business and not on the arousal still heating his blood. Cara’s life depended on his protection, and that sobering reminder helped calm him. Why were the suits watching
him
if they were after Cara?
Unless they weren’t after her at all. And that just made no sense.
Where is Cara?
He’d barely asked the question before the vision swelled in his mind. Cara had already slipped out the window and headed over to the silver sedan, staying low and moving quickly. Once she got close to the car, she ducked down into a crouch and hurried to the rear tire. A single jab of his knife did the job. She crept up to the front of the vehicle. A second stab damaged the passenger side tire. Then she scurried back toward the restaurant again, using cars and the shadows of the late afternoon as cover.
By the time Cara finished her mission, he’d cleaned his plate. He got the check from Nancy, went to the register and paid in cash. Then he hung out near the candy by the checkout counter, the picture of the exasperated boyfriend waiting for his girl to come out of the restroom.
Finally the women’s room door opened, and Cara stepped out. She saw him immediately and came right over.
“All set?” he asked.
She grinned. “Oh, yeah.”
He slid his arm around her waist and guided her to the door, aware that their followers had risen from their table and were headed toward checkout. He and Cara stepped outside, and he took her hand and hurried with her toward his SUV.
“Won’t they be suspicious if they see us running?” Cara asked, panting as she tried to keep up with his long strides.
“I’m not running.”
“But I am. My legs are shorter than yours.”
“Sorry.” He slowed his pace so she could keep up with his brisk walk. “Maybe they’ll think we’re hot to get to a motel, especially after that show you put on.”
They reached the SUV and she stopped, looking up into his eyes. “Sorry, it was all I could think of.”
Lie
. She’d wanted to kiss him, and even though he knew it was a bad idea to get involved with her, he couldn’t regret it, either. “When we get clear of these guys, we’re going to talk about this.”
She studied his face for a minute. “Okay.”
Their followers came out of the restaurant. Rafe led her to her side, unlocked the door, and helped her in with a hand on her butt. She raised her brows at him as he closed the door for her, and he shrugged, unrepentant. He was disciplined, not dead.
“We are definitely going to talk,” she said when he climbed into the driver’s seat.
“First we get out of here.” He pulled out of the space, watching their pursuers in the rearview mirror as they discovered their disabled car. He grinned and turned his attention to the road.
“Wow, they’re really mad.” Cara leaned toward the right, watching the drama in the side mirror. “I sliced the tires on the passenger side. They’re not going anywhere.”
“You did a good job. That should give us a chance to put some distance between us and them.”
She turned toward him, a frown on her face. “Do you think they know we’re going to Flagstaff?”
“I think they know we’re following Danny.” A vision swept into his head: Danny leaving Flagstaff, heading south through the desert in an old Jeep. He tightened his hands on the wheel to control his elation. “Actually,” he lied, “I got a call on my cell while you were in the ladies’ room. A guy I know saw Danny leaving Flagstaff.”
“You’ve got someone following him?”
“I put the word out. Once we get closer to him, I’ll call in my friend Mike Torrez. The law says I need to go through an Arizona agent since I’m licensed in Nevada, and the extra man might come in handy.” He sent her a sidelong glance, noticed the way she gripped her purse. “What’s the matter?”
“It’s bad enough to have one bounty hunter after him. I trust you not to hurt him, maybe to even listen to his side of the story. I don’t know what others might do.”
“Listen to his side of the story? Cara, he skipped bail. There’s nothing he can say to get out of that.”
“What if he was innocent of the crime?”
“I told you, that’s up to the court. My job is to bring in the guy who cost the bail bondsman a bunch of money when he skipped out on his court date. You told me your condo is on the line for this. Aren’t you ticked about that?”
“Of course I am. I plan on having a long talk with Danny when we find him. I just don’t want to see him go to jail.”
“A long talk? Cara, Danny broke the law when he skipped. He’s guilty of that, whether or not he’s guilty of the crime he was arrested for.”
She was quiet for a long moment. “I thought you might be able to help him,” she finally said.
“I’m sorry, Cara, but that’s not what I do. Look, I’ll put off calling Mike until the last possible second, but I’m a hunter, not a charity worker. The sooner you understand that, the less disappointed you’ll be.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Cara didn’t know what to say after Rafe’s pronouncement. Somehow she’d thought he would help Danny when they found him, not just haul him back to jail. And now the law said he had to bring in another guy? She stared out the window, wondering if she was bringing more trouble to her brother instead of aiding him.
She took a steadying breath. Her emotions were all over the place these days. Between Danny and Warren, the stress alone was enough to raise her blood pressure. And then there was Rafe.
What had possessed her to kiss him back at the diner? She wasn’t usually so spontaneous, so forward. But Rafe’s talk of living in the moment had energized her, especially after hearing from her ex. After all, why shouldn’t she live in the moment, too? She’d spent a lifetime following the rules. Maybe it was time to break some.
But now she regretted making the first move. She shouldn’t have kissed him. What if Rafe Montana was the type of guy to help himself to a casual fling and then still throw her brother in jail? She should have waited to be sure rather than jump right in.
So much for living in the moment.
“Cara? You okay?”
She wanted to ignore him, but sticking her head in the sand wouldn’t help anyone. No one had forced her to make a move on him; she’d made that foolish decision on her own. “I’m all right.”
“Listen, I want you to understand where I’m coming from. I don’t want you to get the idea I’m some white knight taking you to rescue your brother.”
She gave a laugh. “The last thing I would ever call you, Rafe Montana, is a white knight.”
“Good.”
She turned to face him. “Though I was hoping you would give him a chance to explain.”
“Sweetheart, I don’t think you understand how all this works. Your stepbrother broke the law, and as an agent of that law, I am obligated to bring him in. Pretty cut and dried.”
“You’ve never found an exception, huh?”
“No. You break the law, you do the time. Like I said, cut and dried.”
“No second chances in your world, Rafe? No forgiveness?”
“I’m no saint, Cara.” He slanted her a hard look. “In my world, everything is pretty black and white.”
“I’m starting to see that.” She turned her gaze out the window at the darkening sky, wondering if she had jumped from the frying pan into the fire.
* * *
The sun was setting, turning the desert sky into an explosion of orange and lavender and deep blush pink. The boulders and mesas stood in stark silhouette against Mother Nature’s vivid show as Ekhia—the sun—sank deeper into the horizon. Cara had drifted off to sleep about an hour ago, granting him precious solitude at this powerful moment of ending and beginning.
Low in his throat, he crooned a melody ingrained from childhood—the song of farewell to Ekhia, followed immediately by the higher notes of the song of welcome to Ilargi, the moon. The ritual settled his soul, quieted the Hunter and gave him invaluable peace for a few cherished seconds.
“Are you Native American?” Cara’s sleepy voice came from the shadows of the passenger seat.
He exhaled, serenity floating away like a dream. “Some. On my father’s side.”
“I thought you looked it the first time I met you.” She shifted, her light hair visible even in the dimness of a highway without street lights. “That was a beautiful song. Does it mean something?”
That she had witnessed his ritual should have disturbed him. In his culture only a mate observed a man’s private communion with the elements; only a mate could possibly share in such an intimate moment without disrupting the balance. Had he known she was awake, he would never have exposed his soul in such a way.
Yet she
was
awake, she
had
heard his song, and no sense of violation disrupted his harmony with the universe. Even the Hunter remained quiet. Such a thing had never happened before, and he didn’t know what to think.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me,” she said when he didn’t answer.
“It’s not that.” He searched for words. “The song—it’s something of a prayer. My mother used to sing it to me.”
“It’s lovely. You have a nice voice.”
“Thanks.”
Shuffling noises came from the passenger side, and he glanced over to see her pulling the band out of her ponytail. Her hair settled over her shoulders, curling and waving in every direction. She combed her fingers through it, then started to gather it again.
“Don’t.” He turned his eyes to the road. “It looks nice that way.”
“Thanks, but it gets in a million tangles if I don’t keep it under control.”