Dark Waters (2013) (25 page)

Anna followed Brent in a daze through the brightly lit aisles of another big-box store. Peter. Dead. Blood all over her kitchen floor. The images revolted her. The look of excitement in the killer’s eyes when she’d met his gaze—like he knew her, like he owned her. She shuddered. She recognized that predatory glint.

Tears welled in her eyes. Poor Peter. She’d treated him dreadfully. He’d gotten nothing for his trouble except the dubious pleasure of her company, and the first time he kissed her, she’d dumped him. Now he was dead. She wasn’t worth that. No one was worth that.

Brent had kissed her. She touched her lips.

Why had she reacted so badly to being kissed by a nice guy like Peter, but enjoyed the touch of Brent’s lips against hers? Had Peter just tasted wrong? Or was she still punishing herself for the past by being attracted to someone so completely unsuitable?

“Snap out of it, Anna.” Brent clicked his fingers under her nose. “I need you with me until we get out of the city.”

She blinked. Brent. They were in danger.
He
was in danger. She swallowed and nodded. They both wore ball caps and had changed shirts. She frowned. When had they done that?

He picked up a large box from the shelf. “Hold the cart.”

She grabbed the handlebar. He dumped the box and strode to grab sleeping bags off a shelf, and a first aid kit. He got the biggest one on the shelf and then she remembered all the blood.

“I think I’m going to be sick.” Her hand flew to her mouth and he grabbed her wrist and strode down an aisle that led to the bathrooms. He didn’t even hesitate, just strode into the ladies’ room and held her hair while she vomited into the toilet.

Thankfully it was early and no one else was there.

He wrapped her hair around his hand and stroked her back.

After a moment she got herself back together and wiped her mouth. He flushed and maneuvered her to the sinks. She shied away from the mirror. She looked like crap, but that wasn’t what bothered her. The expression in her eyes reminded her of a time she’d spent years trying to forget. Being lost. Defeated.

He let go of her hair, smoothing it down her back as she rinsed out her mouth with cold water. Then he leaned over the sink and washed his face, paying particular attention to the cut on his jaw. He dried off and turned to face her. The expression on his face suggested he didn’t want to talk about it, but she couldn’t help herself.

“Did I kill him?” Her voice was rough as a saw blade. “That man back there?”

He shook his head. “He had a pulse. Hopefully the cops got him.”

She gripped her stomach as the nausea threatened to return. She’d hit a man over the head with a bottle. Exactly the same thing Brent had done to his father. His father had died and he’d gone to prison—could go back again if the cops caught him now. Fleeing a crime scene was illegal, even she knew that. She grabbed his arm. “You have to get away from me. Head back across the border—”

He shook his head. “I’m not leaving you to deal with this alone, Anna.”

“But if they catch you now…”

His grip firmed. “Let’s make sure they don’t catch us.”

She blinked. He wasn’t leaving her. He’d put the thing he valued most highly—his freedom—on the line for her. Damn, he’d even put his life on the line as he’d wrestled that monster back there. “But—”

“No.” He smiled and he looked so tender, emotion welled up but she wasn’t about to start bawling like a baby. He wasn’t leaving her. The thought left her full of both relief and terror.

She remembered those pitiless black eyes. “We need to go to the cops.” Revulsion crept over every inch of her skin. She knew what he’d do if he caught her.

She was surprised when Brent nodded. “But not here. We need to meet Holly, and head north across the border.” She didn’t think they should wait that long, and a plan was starting to form in her mind.

Her teeth rattled. “I’m scared,” she admitted.

He pulled her to his chest. Rested his chin on her head. And damn, it felt so good, so right she just held on tight for a minute. When was the last time she’d relied on anyone? Before her dad had gone to prison, that’s when. And look how well that had turned out.

Voices outside the door made them jerk apart.

A woman came into the bathroom pushing a stroller. Her mouth dropped when she saw Brent. He wrapped his arm over Anna’s shoulders and smiled. “Morning sickness,” he lied easily. He got her moving out the door. “She can’t go more than an hour first thing without tossing her cookies.”

The woman’s expression turned sympathetic, but Anna’s heart thumped uneasily as she thought about the idea of being pregnant.
Kids
. She’d always thought she didn’t want kids. She had pupils she loved, but her own baby? Being responsible for an
entire life? She’d thought she hadn’t wanted that, but now…the brush with death had her realizing that having a baby was something she actually thought she could handle one day. Being a parent was something she’d like to try. If they got out of this mess alive, she was going to readjust a few of her life goals. That was the one good thing about near-death experiences: they made you figure out what was really important. Friendship. Loyalty. Looking after the people you cared about.

So how was she going to get Brent out of this mess?

They found their cart where they’d left it in the aisle.

“I’m going to grab some clothes,” she told him, careful to keep her voice upbeat even though she felt miserable inside. “I’ll meet you in the men’s department in fifteen minutes. Then we’ll get some food and head out of the city.”

Dark eyebrows rose, but his gaze never wavered from hers. “OK—fifteen minutes. But don’t think about ditching me and turning yourself in. I’ll just follow you right to the nearest cop shop.”

Oh, heck
. Was she that transparent?

Blue eyes pierced her. “I don’t need any sacrifices, Anna. I don’t deserve any. Going to the cops without that evidence just makes your father—and possibly you—look guilty.”

Gooseflesh crept over her. “Me?”

“Your father ‘stole’ their money—I’m guessing a lot of money—otherwise, these assholes would have cut their losses and moved on. He said he sent
you
the details. What if they went for some accessory angle? Without the evidence we can’t prove squat about Davis’s good intentions. And in jail you’re vulnerable to whoever they can buy off.”

Not to mention she’d be in
jail
. “I’m sorry I ever got you involved in this mess.”

He tipped her chin up and her heart took a tumble. “You didn’t. Davis did.”

She blinked away the stupid tears that wanted to fill her eyes. She was starting to fall for Brent, a guy who was as dangerous
to her well-being as her father’s love had ever been. Love was an unstable, volatile emotion she could never trust.

She’d been alone her entire adult life. Sure, she had friends, colleagues, but she never really opened up. Never trusted. After the physical and emotional abuse she’d endured as a teen, the barriers she’d built had become an invisible fortress. But sometime during the last week, Brent had breached those walls and got closer to her than anyone else ever had.

Now those blue eyes darkened with something she recognized. Something that echoed deep inside her. Her heart gave a painful twist.
Great. Just great
.

They were in deep shit.

Parole violation? You bet your fucking ass. But he couldn’t throw Anna to the wolves and assume the system would save her. It didn’t save people. It locked them up and threw away the key. In the meantime, these assholes were getting away with murder. He and Anna were off the grid for now, camping in the boonies and hopefully falling off the face of the planet long enough to catch a break. But he was no closer to finding that evidence, or clearing Davis’s name than when he’d started this. Jack’s PI company was still investigating, but with Jack out of action…
shit
.

What the hell was going on? Who were these people? What had Davis stumbled on?

He was praying these guys hadn’t linked Brent Carver to B.C. Wilkinson. He’d buried his identity deep because people were nosy and he didn’t want a bunch of ex-cons turning up at his place hoping to rip off a few canvases or put a hole in his head. And although the reasons might not have been saintly, it was all working in his favor right now. But if his shithead parole officer heard about any of this, he was headed straight back to maximum security, and even the thought brought a low hot bolt of nausea slamming into his gut.

A week ago he’d been worried about turning up at a show. Now he was trying to avoid appearing on
America’s Most Wanted
.

Plan A and B had both fucked up and now they were trying something new. Flying completely under the radar. He wasn’t taking any chances.

He’d called Finn and told him what was going on and where and when he hoped to cross the border. Then he’d dumped everything electronic and paid cash for a couple of new prepaid cell phones. They’d ditched their bloody clothes in the trash, left their rental car at the mall—e-mailed his agent to get it delivered back to the company—and got a bus to a car lot. Using his alter ego’s credit card he’d bought a two-year-old jeep and they’d headed west into the Dakotas. Theoretically he still had to show up in NYC in a couple of days’ time. Chances of that happening were about as likely as the guy on Anna’s kitchen floor getting up and walking home.

Who the hell was Peter anyway?

They’d traveled for hours, zigzagging across three states. Now light was fading fast and Brent felt like a zombie. He took his frustration out pounding in a tent peg. Anna sat in a canvas chair watching him. She wore dark glasses that covered hollowed-out, exhausted eyes, and looked so close to breaking it was killing him.

They’d eaten junk food and grabbed a few basic camping supplies—coffee, instant pasta, bread—but neither of them had the energy to do more than swig from water bottles.

“I did exactly what you did.” Her voice was hoarse. “You got twenty years in prison.”

So this was what was bothering her. “I killed someone. You didn’t.” He looked up. “There were extenuating circumstances in your case.”

She lowered her glasses to reveal bloodshot eyes. “You had extenuating circumstances too.”

But no one had listened, which was exactly why he’d gotten her the hell out of her house this morning. The thought of sitting
in a holding cell while the cops sorted this mess out was akin to having electrodes attached to his balls. No, thank you.

“The guy’s alive. Quit beating yourself up.” The fucker had had the edge on Brent. If she hadn’t hit him when she did, chances were he’d be dead and she’d be…

So far he wasn’t turning out to be such a great bodyguard.

“Is the line that thin?” Her voice was as soft as the mist that hung over the nearby lake.

“Between good and evil?” Brent paused. He didn’t try to make light of his crime but…“No. But the line between being branded a criminal versus upstanding citizen? You bet your sweet ass.”

Even if the sonofabitch was dead, Anna Silver did not deserve to go to jail. She was running for her life through no fault of her own and that bastard deserved it.

The longer the day went on, the more she looked like she was about to snap. They needed sleep and this campground off Route 94 was the last place anyone would expect them to stay. Place was packed with families, but there was just enough space to squeeze in a two-man tent into a secluded bay near the water. It was quiet down here. No RVs. A couple of large family tents were barely visible through a thick stand of trees.

“Who was Peter?” he asked, tightening guylines.

“Oh, jeez. I’d almost forgotten about Peter.” She lost the little color she had left. Her hands dug into her scalp. “We dated for about six months, but I broke up with him Friday night after he kissed me.” There was something in her voice and his stomach clenched.

“He tried to force you?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I just didn’t like it.” Her breathing hitched. “He must have come to my house to try and make up. I barely gave him a thought since I last saw him.”

“You’ve had other things on your mind,” Brent reminded her gently.

“Shit!”

The profanity shocked him. He hadn’t heard her swear before. She was about to lose it, and they really didn’t want to attract any unwanted attention. He spoke fast. “A kiss tells you a lot about someone. You know that, right?” He took her by the shoulders. Christ, she felt so tiny and small and goddamn perfect. “I read whole books on kissing when I was inside.” Just to torture himself. “And it’s not just about touching lips—it’s a connection, maybe some sort of genetic litmus test. Peter”—
poor bastard
—“failed the test. It was him, not you.” He shook her slightly.

“But he’s dead because of me—”

“Hush now.” He pulled her against him, rocking her for comfort and hoping to keep the volume down. “He’s dead because some bastard likes hurting people.” She flinched, but he held tight. “No one does that for money. They do that because they enjoy it.” Gina’s smile flashed through his mind. Finn had sworn to him she hadn’t suffered, but sometimes his imagination conjured up the worst images.