Running Wilde (3 page)

“Sure thing, hon.” Marcie’s brow wrinkled. “Why don’t you call one of the bouncers to walk you out?”

“No. No, I don’t think it’s that big of a deal. Just…you know how these drunks can get. I’d rather not give them the opportunity to follow me.”

“Got it.”

“But you make sure you have someone walk you out at the end of the night, okay?”

Marcie waved a hand. “No worries. Darren is picking me up after work tonight.”

Okay, that made her feel better about throwing Marcie at Marcus and his Cajun friend. If they were up to no good, they wouldn’t bother her once her boyfriend arrived. Darren was a bouncer at another club down the street, and he was the size of a Mack truck. Nobody, drunk or otherwise, messed with him.

Sage headed toward the door.

“See you tomorrow,” Marcie called after her.

She winced. Yeah. Tomorrow. How many times had friends said that to her over the years, only to never see her again? Too many to count, and now she’d have to add Marcie to that list.

Because for Sage Evans, there was no tomorrow.

Chapter Three

Vaughn snagged an empty parking spot on the street several spaces behind the black Nissan Xterra that Marcus had said he was driving. He climbed out of the rental and started down the sidewalk. The narrow, on
e-way street was still in the French Quarter but far enough away from the insanity on Bourbon that it was dark and quiet. Mostly residential, from the looks of it, with lots of houses butted right up against each other.

He approached the Xterra, and the driver’s side window buzzed down.

“Hey, man,” Marcus said as they clapped hands in greeting. “I didn’t expect you until morning.”

“Caught a lucky break at the airport and jumped on an earlier flight.” He nodded up the street. “Which house is she in?”

“Blue one, end of the block. Number 926. After she went in, I did a bit of recon to make sure she couldn’t sneak out a back door. There is one that lets out into the alley next to the house, but the only exit from the alley is onto this street. She hasn’t left.”

Vaughn studied the shotgun style house. Long and narrow, it had elaborate scrollwork under the eaves and two tall, shuttered doors. The first door was marked 928. The second, 926. “You sure she didn’t spot you?”

“Nah. If she had, she wouldn’t have come home. She’s smart. Sent one of her waitress friends to distract us before she left the bar.”

Yeah, that was smart, and his chest expanded with a completely irrational sense of pride. He viciously squashed it. He was
not
proud of her. “Didn’t work.”

Marcus raised a brow. “You think so? Do you see Jean-Luc anywhere around here?”

Point taken. Vaughn cracked a smile. “So the Rajin’ Cajun is…uh,
handling
the distraction.”

“Ha. If that’s what the kids are calling it these days.”

“Sorry for ruining your night,” Vaughn said and meant it.

Marcus lifted a shoulder in a shrug meant to be casual, but there was a whole lot of tension behind it. “This is Jean-Luc’s thing. You know, it’s his way of blowing off steam. Figured I’d tag along just to make sure he didn’t end up some husband’s punching bag, but I wasn’t feeling it. Not after all the shit that went down on our last mission.”

Vaughn had heard HORNET’s last mission had been a clusterfuck of epic proportions. They had exposed corruption in some high up places, but it had nearly cost several members of the team their lives, including Gabe Bristow. “How’s Gabe?”

“He’s awake.” Marcus’s voice cracked a bit, and he cleared his throat. “Gave us a scare, but he’s on the road to recovery. It’s just…gonna be a long one. The doctors aren’t sure if he’ll ever walk again.”

“He will,” Vaughn said, his own throat tightening at the thought of his former teammate stuck in a wheelchair for life. But Gabe “Stonewall” Bristow had been one of his best friends on the teams, and he knew the bastard was too stubborn not to walk again.

Marcus nodded, sucked in a breath, and returned his attention to the house. “The woman looks familiar. Feel like I’ve seen her face somewhere before. Is she wanted by the FBI for something?”

“Could be, but this is…personal. She stole something from me, and I want it back.”

Marcus looked at him sharply. “That all?”

Vaughn tried for a shrug. “She’s also an identity thief. I plan to take her back to DC and turn her in for that. Who knows what her other crimes are?”

“All right,” Marcus said after a moment. “Want me to stick around in case she decides to bolt?”

“Nah. I don’t want to monopolize any more of your time.”

“Hey, Jean-Luc has his distractions, and I have mine.”

Vaughn studied the former FBI agent for a long second, then patted the side of the vehicle and backed up a step. “I’ve heard you’re good with a lock. Get me in the front door and you take the alley.”

…

Sage needed to go, to jump on the next bus out of town. She’d head west. Houston or Austin. Or maybe south to Miami. Anywhere but here.

She grabbed her emergency go bag out of the closet and tossed it on her bed, then got down on her han
ds and knees to retrieve the lockbox from under the bed’s frame. She punched in the combo, flipped the top, and her heart plummeted into her belly.

She didn’t have enough cash.

She sat down hard on the wood floor of her little studio apartment and stared at the small stack of bills. Without counting, she knew there wasn’t enough, but still, she drew it out and separated the bills into neat piles on the floor.

Two thousand dollars.

Oh God, that was all she had?

French Quarter rent wasn’t cheap and had been sucking her dry, but she’d chosen this apartment because it was furnished and within walking distance to work, which meant she hadn’t needed to swindle her way into furniture or a car. But if she went to Houston or Austin, she’d need a vehicle. Texas cities were so spread out it was impossible to not own a car, and she definitely didn’t have the money for that. Two thousand would get her to a new city and maybe set her up in a new apartment—if she didn’t buy a new identity. If she did, it wouldn’t leave her enough for rent.

Her heart sank straight to the floor.

She didn’t have enough cash to leave.

Sage leaned back against the wall, drew her legs up, and rested her elbows on her knees, her fingers speared through her short hair. What was she going to do? She couldn’t stay here, but if she left, she’d have to live on the streets, and she so didn’t want to go back to that hell.

Her gaze caught on the built-in desk, where she’d set a stack of mail earlier in the day. It was mostly junk because she didn’t have friends or relatives, and she never ordered anything online. All she ever got in the mail was flyers, coupons, take-out menus…and credit card offers.

That was it. She scrambled to her feet and crossed the room in two long strides. Grabbed the stack of envelopes, flipped through until she found the offers from Visa and MasterCard. The real Sage Evans had had an excellent credit score before she died. If she applied, she’d probably get a high credit limit, which she could borrow cash against and—

No. She set the envelopes down. She refused to commit credit card fraud. So far, she’d managed to avoid adding that to her already long list of crimes. Yeah, so it paled in comparison to other things she’d done, but it was a line she’d set for herself on day one, and she was not going to cross it. Just like how she only took identities from the dead. She wasn’t in this to screw over a stranger. She just wanted to
survive
.

Okay, calm down. Maybe she was overreacting. Maybe Marcus and his Cajun friend were just two guys looking for some fun on Bourbon Street. Maybe—

Yeah, right. She knew better. All of her alarm bells were clanging. She had to get gone.

But dammit, she was on the schedule to dance at Elixir this weekend, which would bring in anywhere from two to three thousand dollars in tips. Holding off until after Mardi Gras was a risk, but if she was going to run again, she
needed
that money. And if she wasn’t willing to go the credit card route, what other choice did she have?

So she’d stay just for the weekend. She’d have to be extra careful, and if she caught even the faintest whiff of danger, then she was gone, money or no. And then… well, she’d figure it out, land on her feet. She always did.

Sighing, she gathered up her cash but decided against returning it to the lock box. If things went south on her, it’d happen fast, and she might not have the time to return home for the money. From now on, she’d have to keep it and her go bag easily accessible.

God, she was so tired of running.

“Better than the alternative,” she reminded herself as she packed the cash into a plastic baggie, then slid it into an inside pocket of her duffle. “And this is a pity-party free zone.”

Her life was what it was. Her decisions had made it this way. She just had to get over it and deal.

Her stomach growled. She set the bag down next to her bed and looked toward the galley-style kitchen, but she couldn’t work up enough energy to make dinner—if there was anything in the kitchen to make. She never went grocery shopping in the traditional sense, never filled up her cart with the standard fresh produce and meat and dairy. It was usually a few canned goods and boxes of pasta, stuff she could pack if she needed to, because she hated the thought of leaving food behind to spoil when she had to run again.

And she always had to run again.

Sage flopped onto her bed and scrubbed her hands over her face, then just lay there and watched familiar shadows play across the ceiling.

Or…no, not familiar. Not familiar at all.

Heart kicking, she stared up at the two large shadows that didn’t belong. Two large, man-shaped shadows, moving around near her front door. The soft
click
of her lock unlatching had her bolting upright in an instant.

Someone was breaking into her apartment.

It hadn’t been paranoia.

And why, oh why hadn’t she invested in a fucking deadbolt?

She launched off the bed just as the door creaked open and a huge shadow stepped inside. She needed her gun…which she’d left in her purse, right there by the door. Jesus. Her two years in the comfortable life of Lark Warren had made her sloppy.

She ran to the kitchen, which had come equipped with a full butcher block. Her hand shook, and it took her two tries to find the big knife, but as soon as her fingers closed around the handle, she swiped at her intruder, catching him across the upper arm. Not nearly as damaging a blow as she’d hoped. He cursed and shoved her against the wall with one huge hand while way too easily disarming her with the other. She kicked out, but his shin was like a steal beam, and he didn’t so much as flinch.

“Lark,” he said through his teeth. “Cut it out.”

Oh God. That voice. Low, soft, but with an oh so deadly edge that made her heart speed up and her nipples tighten. She knew that voice, the way it said her name. Had heard it over and over again in X-rated dreams on her loneliest of nights.

She stilled and stared up into the slivery-blue eyes of Vaughn Wilde.

For several heartbeats, neither of them moved.

Finally, he eased his grip on her and pushed a strand of her newly blonde hair out of her face. That snapped her back to the here and now like nothing else could have.

Vaughn had found her. Which meant
anyone
could find her.

He drew a breath as if about to say something, but she wasn’t going to give him the opportunity. She slammed a knee into his balls, and he bent double with an
umph
. Pain seized the back of her throat for hurting him, but dammit, she couldn’t afford feelings of guilt. If she let them in, they’d consume her. She bolted past him, scooped up her bag, smacked open the side door that let out into the alley…and ran directly into another big male chest.

Goddammit.

She glared up, expecting to see one of Vaughn’s brothers—most likely his twin—but instead met brown eyes crinkled in amusement.

Marcus.

So that was how Vaughn had found her.

He caught her arm and the corner of his mouth lifted in a half-smile that was too damn charming. “Going somewhere, doll?”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

She glanced around. The alley was blocked on three sides by the walls of her neighbors’ houses, and he was barring her only exit onto the street. She had to get past him if she had any hope of escaping.

Okay, no problem. She knew what made guys like him tick.

She drummed up every ounce of desperation she felt and let it leak out her eyes in the form of crocodile tears.

“Please,” she whispered, giving her voice a tremble. “Let me go. He’s my ex, and I’ve been trying to get away from his abuse and—”

“I don’t think so,” Marcus said, and his smile widened. He was enjoying himself, the bastard. “See, I know all of the Wilde brothers, and not a one of them would ever harm a woman.”

So much for tapping into his inner knight in shining armor.

Dammit, she’d known this guy was trouble. As soon as he walked into Elixir and her inner alarm bells started clanging, she should have ran out the back door to a new life. It had been so, so stupid to ignore her instincts when they hadn’t failed her yet. She’d know better next time.

If there was a next time, which wasn’t looking too promising. Marcus still held her by the arm and inside, Vaughn’s heavy footfalls were coming fast through her apartment toward the side door.

“Marcus?” Vaughn called, his voice strangled.

“Yeah, I got her.”

Oh, no. No, no, no.

She looked up at Marcus. He seemed like a decent enough guy, and she hated to hurt him, but…

“I’m sorry.” She yanked a Taser from her bag and shoved it into his ribs. He made a choked sound and dropped as if his legs had dissolved from underneath him. Without glancing back, she jumped over his prone body and sprinted into the street with Vaughn’s curses chasing her into the chill of the night.

…

Vaughn staggered to the door, wincing as he readjusted himself. The woman had damn near kicked his balls up into his throat, and his stomach threatened a revolt with each step he took.

A shout of pain rang out from the alleyway. Vaughn cursed, slammed through the door, and found Marcus on his
hands and knees in the alley. Lark was long gone.

“Jesus.” He dragged his hands through his hair, then locked them behind his head and stared down the alley. At his feet, Marcus groaned and sat up. He was looking a bit green, and Vaughn winced in sympathy. “Nut shot?”

Marcus dropped his head into his hands. “Dude, she fucking tasered me.”

Vaughn swore again and dug his phone out of his pocket. “If you were her and wanted to get out of the city fast, where would you go?”

“Got me. I don’t know this city. This is Jean-Luc’s stomping ground.”

“Then call him.” It came out as more of an order than he intended, but fuck it. He wasn’t trying to make friends here. He pulled up the GPS app on his phone and searched for nearby train or bus stations. He doubted she’d try to fly. She’d need too much money and documentation to get on a last minute flight. Would a train ask for ID? Probably, and he assumed there wouldn’t be one leaving at this time of night. So the bus stations were his best bet. And there was a bus stop less than a mile away.