Hittin It: A Hitman Romance (Marked for Love Book 2) (5 page)

Something like relief flashed across Sabrina’s face, a smile teasing her lips, then she turned her attention back to her client and the dog laid down at a soft order from her.

Finally, the other lady left after shaking Sabrina’s hand.

She waved him over as if he were her next customer. “You have my journals?” Sabrina stood and shook out her thick lavender skirts, a hopeful smile on her face. “Don’t you? Please...”

“Yeah. I’m really sorry. I must have missed that one crate when I was moving your things.” Sorrier than she’d ever know. The visual of her and that sheriff filled his head again, and he forced himself to mentally shake it off.

She studied him intently as if she couldn’t quite figure out if he’d read them or not. He met her gaze head on, his own eyes never wavering. Could she tell he was lying? Finally, she wrapped her cards in a piece of silk, slipped them into her pocket and grabbed the dog’s leash. “Come on, Scamp.”

He wound between her legs and Will’s. “He likes you, you know.”

“Let’s get these journals.” He didn’t much care for dogs, especially ones that pissed in his Tahoe.

“Oh that’s right. Your sister’s waiting.”

He started slightly, and then nodded. He shouldn’t have been surprised that she remembered. After all, she made her living by paying attention.

It took them nearly thirty minutes of walking in the sweltering early-evening heat to get back to his Tahoe, and by the time they did, Will was wishing he’d broken down and gotten one of those turkey legs. His mouth fairly watered at the thought of biting into one.

Sabrina barely said two words to him the whole time.  He knew what she was thinking though. She was thinking about those journals. And if he’d read them. Any normal human would have at least
looked
at them, but Will didn’t want to acknowledge the fact he had. They obviously meant a lot to her.

They closed the last few feet to his SUV. In less than thirty seconds they’d say goodbye. Again. A thought that sobered him.

Out here, so far from the fun and frivolity of the fair, the silence of the makeshift parking lot was broken only by the occasional passing car on the nearby two-lane road, and their feet moving through the dry, trampled grass and loose dirt.

Will opened the back of the SUV and lifted out the crate of journals. “Can you carry these?”

“Of course.” She reached for them just as her damned dog decided to take a piss right next to Will’s foot. Mud and urine splattered his shoe. He glanced down at the mutt then up at Sabrina whose cheeks turned pink. “He really does like you," she said by way of an apology.

Will slammed the trunk and stepped over the dog, just as something bit the back of his hand. The pain had barely registered when Sabrina stumbled back a few steps, pale faced and shaky, her eyes huge, her whole body trembling.

Frowning, Will rubbed his stinging hand, only to have his fingers come away wet and red. He’d been shot.

“Fuck!” Cursing even more, he pressed his bleeding hand against his jeans to staunch the flow while shoving a swaying Sabrina to the ground between his vehicle and the one next to it. Will hurriedly patted her down, relieved when he found no blood or injuries “You okay?” he asked brusquely.

Her head bobbed and her voice warbled and squeaked when she spoke. “Your hand?”

“I’m fine.” His hand was slick with blood and burned, but he’d live. “Are you?” He peered around the back of the Tahoe just as the back-side window shattered. A dusty, black Monte Carlo sat on the farm road about fifty feet away. The passenger side window was down, the driver hidden in shadows, so all he could see was the edge of what looked like a silencer.

“Roy?”

Glass rained down on them as another of the back windows exploded. Dread, cold and thick filled him as the mutt trotted over, settling on Sabrina’s skirts, blithely unaware of the danger they were in. She crouched down, curled into a ball against the other car, her skirts covering her legs and hiding the dog from flying glass.

That Monte Carlo looked exactly like the one he’d left parked at the old gas station outside of Tucson. He’d bet his life they were one in the same—and at this point, pretty much was.

“Don’t move.”  Will opened the driver’s door and reached under his seat, pulling out his Glock. The other car was still there, engine thrumming while the driver patiently waited to take another shot at them.

“Roy?” Sabrina hissed, her face clouded with fear. “What are you doing?”

“Stay here.” At best he could get one or two shots off before the other car took off. Before someone came to investigate and
they
had to take off. He reached back inside, pulling out his duffle bag and throwing it next to Sabrina in case they had to make a run for it.

A shoot out at the Ren-Faire Corral was out of the question.

Will fired a couple of well-placed shots inside the window, deciding more would attract the kind of attention he didn’t want. Gun in hand, he crouched down, his back pressed against the SUV. Sabrina had deteriorated into a shaking bundle of brightly colored silks.

“Sabrina, calm down.”

“He shot my journal.” She lifted it out of the crate and showed him the bullet hole. “I was just standing there and—”

And Will had just signed her death warrant. She’d been seen with him. He checked through the broken window. The other car was definitely gone. He circled around the front, checked in both directions, and crossed to the wooden stake marking the end of the parking lot. In the distance, he could see the car’s taillights. They'd be back. The question was when.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his cell phone and punched in his brother’s number. “I’m in trouble.” It galled Will to no end to utter those words, let alone think them. But when forced to choose between Wynn and John—and their sister, who wasn’t even an option—Will had decided the brother who
could
lie if necessary was definitely the better choice. “And Dad can’t find out.”

“Dad knows all and sees all, Will." Wynn's voice was surprisingly calm. "You know that.”

“Not this time,” he breathed, deliberately keeping his voice low.

“You in jail?” Wynn asked.

Neither the Feds nor local police had ever connected a job to a Collier man. A fact Will’s dad was incredibly proud of.

“No. Worse.” He blew out a breath, surprised at how rattled he was as he glanced over at Sabrina again. “I think. I’m not sure.” Will quickly filled him in, and then dropped his voice, hoping Sabrina wouldn’t hear him. “I think someone’s put a contract out on me.”

“You sure?”

Will examined his injured hand. “Some random person just shot at me, so yeah, I’m pretty sure.”

“I’ll make some calls. Keep moving in the mean time.”

They hung up, and Will turned to find Sabrina behind him, wide-eyed, pale and if he was right, angry.

“W
hy would someone put a
hit
out on you?” I stared at Roy, growing angrier with each passing second. My stomach quaked and my body trembled at the thought of how close I’d come to being shot. If it wasn’t for my journals...I shuddered. I’d be lying on the ground bleeding. Or dead.

I glanced at Roy’s hand, and swallowed hard, wished I hadn’t looked. The oozing blood brought it all back. “
Why
, Roy?”

He stared at me, those chilly gray eyes unwavering. “It’s difficult.”

The sound of another vehicle coming had him spinning around, his grip tightening on his gun as they passed on by. They never even looked in our direction. Just some farmer running his weekend errands.

“And why do you have a gun? Are you a cop?” I took another hard look at him, and then shook my head. “No, you’re not a cop. Cops don't make enough to buy vans for complete strangers.”

That cold, ugly piece of metal clutched in his hands was the last straw.  My stomach rolled over and I hurled my tiny breakfast onto the bumper of his SUV. Even though a part of me knew it was my imagination and more than a few bad memories, the bitter, acrid smell of death and loss filled my nose and throat, choking me. I coughed and gagged, struggling to suck some of the hot, dry air into my lungs. I pushed away from Roy when he tried to help me. “Go to hell!”

“Sabrina...” He reappeared with a bottle of water.

Pushing my hair out of my face, I glared up at him, took a swig and spat it out. I barely missed his shoe. “You make me sick.”

He visibly flinched and paled, but the slight crack in his veneer quickly shored itself up, disappearing in the wag of a dog’s tail. “We have to go.”

I shook my head almost hard enough to make me dizzy. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

He grabbed me by the arm, hauling me to my feet. “If you don’t come with me, you’re a dead woman. How's that?”

As much as I wanted to pray for someone, anyone, to come and rescue me, I knew it was useless. I’d have to rescue myself, just as I always did. How could I have so badly misjudged Roy? Not that I’d ever believed he was some random Good Samaritan or Robin Hood helping the poor and helpless, but I was normally a pretty decent judge of character. Survival made it a necessity.

I sure hadn’t pegged him for the gun-toting type. “Are you a fed? FBI?” I asked, a part of me hoping he did undercover work. The rest of me was resigned to waiting for a truth I probably wouldn’t like.

“No, and my name’s not Roy. It’s Will, and we have to go—
now
. Where’s your van?” He stalked around me, not waiting for a reply, as he pulled another bag from the back seat.

“Then who are you?” I wasn’t going anywhere until I got some answers.

“Later,” he sighed. He slammed the door and slipped his sunglasses on.

“Now.”

“We really don’t have time for this.”

“Make time.” I crossed my rubbery arms over my chest, pleased when Scamp came to lean against my foot in solidarity.

“I—” For the first time in our short acquaintance, he actually looked uncomfortable as he glanced around, “—I, um, I’m a professional...”

“A professional
what
? You’re not
the law
.” I sniffed. “Obviously.”

“Hitman,” he said it so softly, his words took a minute to register.

I backed away, angling between the car parked next to Will’s and the one nosed up to it. Had I heard him right? People didn’t really...
really
, did they? Random acts of violence were one thing but...but cold...calculated... “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“You are if you want to live.” He shoved his gun under his shirt, and then picked up my crate of journals in his free hand.

“
No
, I’m
not!
” Arms crossed over my chest, I added, “You can’t make me.”

“Sabrina.” He sighed again, obviously losing patience. The parking lot appeared empty, the gates a long ways away, longer than I could ever hope to run and get away from Will/Roy. What passed for fair security was, for all intents and purposes, invisible. “They saw us together. If you don’t come with me, you’re dead. Simple as that. Now, where’s your damn van?”

“You kill people for a living.” My stomach clenched painfully as I wrestled my way between the two cars and started walking toward the entrance. I might not get far, but I’d do my best. I tugged at Scamp’s leash, my feet moving as fast as I could make them. I didn’t even realize I was crying until I tripped on the hem of my skirt and nearly fell.

From behind me came the sound of quick footsteps and Will cursing. I started to run, holding my skirts up, my Birkenstocks flapping against the sandy soil. Scamp barked, jumping and running beside me as if we were playing a game. I’d barely made it past half a dozen cars when Will caught my arm in a vise grip just as a group in full costume, souvenir beer steins in hand, appeared from between two cars. I shot them a pleading look as Will spun me around and covered my mouth with his. His lips were hot and firm; an arm snaked around my waist.

I whimpered against his lips at the realization that he wasn’t letting me go. No matter how much I argued or how far I tried to run.

I’d gotten myself into a hell of a fucking mess this time.

Instead of a Beagle I should have gotten a Rottweiler.  Sighing, I leaned against him, relaxing slightly, hoping he’d think I’d given in, but Will was no fool. My mouth felt thick with tears as he finally let me up for air. He cradled my head against his chest, his good hand buried in my hair.

“I’m sorry,” he said gruffly, his breath warm in my ear.

I sucked in a deep breath, inhaling the scent of sweat and man and...blood, then reared back and slapped him as hard as I could. “I hate you,” I said, shaking the sting out of my hand.

The sight of his bloody hand pressed to his cheek made me nauseous all over again.

“I’m scared.” My voice shook.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice softer this time and his expression contrite “Truly. Sorry.”

He dropped the crate and reached for me. I backed away, pulling my scarf from my hair. “Gimme your hand,” I said, scowling.

While I wrapped up his injured hand, he rubbed my shoulder, his expression thoughtful, his fingers occasionally pulling at my curls and distracting me. Deliberate or accidental, I wasn’t sure, but it made my fingers clumsy.

“Thank you,” he growled.

“Yeah, whatever.” He’d never know how badly I wanted to bury my face in his chest and cry. Something I hadn’t let anyone see me do since Ronnie died. “I should let you bleed to death.”

He chuckled. “It’s just a flesh wound.”

"So it'll take a while. I'm patient." Sucking in a deep breath, I forced myself to back away from the (questionable) safety of his arms. My little patch job would just have to do, though I wasn’t even sure why I’d bothered. “I don’t want to go with you...
Will
.”

Sighing, he brushed some curls off my forehead. “I know. But if you don’t and you die, I’d never forgive myself.”

“Splitting up—”

“No.” He shook his head for emphasis. “No splitting up. Whoever’s after me isn’t the type of person to play. They’ll make it their business to find you—”