Consumed by Fire (19 page)

“And that’s why he didn’t rip your throat out,” she said, feeling stupid and trapped and manipulated. “I should have realized that from the very beginning.”

He shrugged. “I know you’re used to being the smartest person in the room, but there are times when even you can’t figure something out.” She gave him a contemptuous glare, one that left him completely unmoved. “As for finding you, it was easy enough. You remember that practically transparent wrapper you wore a couple of times for approximately two seconds? It contained enough of your scent to train him to home in on you.”

She jerked her head to stare at his cool, emotionless face. “How in the world did you get that? I threw it in the trash when I left the Danieli.”

“I retrieved it. I figured it would come in handy. If I ever ended up missing you, I could always jack off into it.”

“You’re disgusting,” she said.

“So you’ve said.”

He pulled off the road, and she saw a truck stop, with a dozen big rigs parked outside, and her hopes rose. She loved country music and trucking songs. Maybe they really were the knights of the road, and they’d come to the rescue of a damsel in distress.

His gorgeous blue eyes were on her. “Don’t even think about it, Angel. I can kill, remember? Kill without remorse, without thinking twice, and trust me, I can be very efficient. You want to be responsible for the death of one or more of those truckers inside?”

He knew her too well. She refused to admit defeat, but she was going to have to think very hard before she put anyone else in danger. “Just feed me, Seymour,” she said, “and I won’t give you any more trouble.”

“
Little Shop of Horrors
,” he said, recognizing the quote. “That would be wise on your part.” The menace was still there. The man who’d tended her wounds, who’d protected her, had disappeared, leaving this cold-eyed stranger in his place. She’d been a fool to forget exactly who he was, seduced by the familiar body and the familiar touch. “Stay here while I walk Merlin.”

The dog lifted his head at the sound of his name, turning to look at Evangeline expectantly. “I think he wants me to come.”

“Tough. To me, Merlin,” he said in a cold voice.

But Evangeline was stroking under his neck; along with all his hidden training, she’d done a little of her own, and that was her signal to relax and play. Merlin turned and climbed into her lap, an impressive feat for a ninety-pound animal. Evangeline gave Bishop a limpid smile. “He thinks he’s a lapdog,” she said. “He may have started life as an attack dog, but after three years with me he’s become an absolute pussycat.” She was exaggerating, but it was basically the truth. Merlin loved to wrestle, to curl next to her, to climb into her lap. The only thing he wouldn’t do was sleep on her bed—he insisted on sleeping by the door, always on guard. He’d slept on Bishop’s mattress in the trailer, and it had only increased her anger.

“Don’t push me, Angel,” he muttered. “Get out of the damned truck then. We can all go for a walk.”

She gave him her best smile before reaching for the door. “Walkies, Merlin!” The dog jumped off her in excitement, waiting for her to climb out before he followed, dancing around.

“‘Walkies’?” Bishop said in tone of deep loathing. “You’ve ruined my dog.”

“You forget, he’s my dog now. You gave him to me.”

“Wouldn’t hold up in court,” he muttered.

“And of course you’re comfortable with the legal system.”

“If I want him you can’t stop me from taking him.”

The thought filled her with fear, but she was determined not to show it. Merlin was busy marking everything around them, and she hoped he’d lift his leg against Bishop’s faded jeans. “If you take him, he’ll do whatever he has to in order to get back to me. Ever seen
The Incredible Journey
? He’ll find me.”

She should have kept her fucking mouth shut. Bishop was on the ragged edge, and pushing him over would be a very bad idea. For some reason she couldn’t help it. She wasn’t going to be a victim, ever again.

“Do you want to eat?”

It wasn’t a question, it was a threat, and she could already smell hamburgers and bacon on the air.

“Eat,” she said with appropriate meekness, mentally giving him the finger.

He didn’t say anything more, but she got the message. She walked behind him, a deliberately demure ten paces as they made their way through the grass-covered space next to the diner. Merlin kept running ahead, then turning around, shooting straight back to her, cavorting in joy, bypassing Bishop each time, and any doubts she had vanished. Merlin would swim oceans to get to her, and she’d do the same.

Bishop got back to the pickup truck first, and by the time Evangeline and Merlin arrived he had a bowl of water for Merlin to inhale before the dog jumped into the truck, the cab windows open. He wouldn’t leave, and he’d make sure no one would come near the vehicle.

It was a cool evening in the late summer—the endless day had brought them through Montana and into the flat part of Wyoming, and she hadn’t been awake to appreciate the jagged peaks of the mountains. Would they get back in the truck and drive all night, or were they going to stop at a motel . . . ? She didn’t want to think about it. She needed to fill her stomach. After that, she could come up with a plan. She’d been fantasizing about revenge for the last five years—surely she could adapt one of those scenarios to her current situation?

Food. She was planning to follow Bishop into the diner, but he caught her arm in a grip that looked casual but was going to leave bruises. “Smile at me, sugar,” he muttered. “Or you’re on bread and water.”

She gave him her most brilliant smile. “Fuck you,” she said sweetly, and walked into the truck stop like the most docile of wives.

Chapter Nine

Bishop took in a deep breath as he checked out the diner. It was crowded, noisy, and bright, filled with the smells of everything cooked in fat, and all those strangers made him feel twitchy. Evangeline was being relatively well behaved beside him as they took an empty booth—he’d scared her. Good. He wasn’t in the mood to fart around, and it would take very little to push him over the edge. He’d never hurt her, but right now he didn’t mind her thinking he would. In fact, the smart thing to do would be to keep her on edge, afraid enough to obey his commands without hesitation, not ask any questions, not think for herself.

But that wasn’t the new Evangeline. In fact it wasn’t even the old Evangeline, though she’d been a damned sight more trusting. She’d still been reticent, but he’d been able to smash through any of her doubts with sex, blinding, mesmerizing sex that left her shattered and compliant.

There was only one problem with that. It had left him shattered as well, and he hadn’t been able to replicate the experience in the last five years. No one felt like her, no one took him to the places she did, and he’d eventually given up, at least for the time being. A good long period of celibacy would probably whet his appetite, make him appreciate the simple pleasure of getting off.

He hadn’t factored in having to rescue Evangeline.

He’d thought she was safe enough at her backwoods little college, particularly with Merlin dogging her heels. Bullets wouldn’t stop Merlin—nothing would.

He had no idea how Corsini’s people had found out about Evangeline. He’d done his level best to break every single tie he had. He’d trained Merlin for her, but Ryder had delivered him, and it would have been almost impossible for him to be traced back to Bishop. “Almost” being the key word.

He must have made a mistake, one of many as far as Evangeline was concerned, which was why he’d kept away from her. His brains were in his pants when it came to her—it was purely sexual and he knew it, but even that knowledge couldn’t diminish his need for her.

Now the Corsinis were after her, and he suspected he could thank Claudia for that. She could have leaked the information to the crime family. That way they’d use Evangeline as a way to draw him out, and if he wasn’t careful, they’d both be dead. He’d never be able to prove Claudia’s interference, but once the Corsinis made the connection, Evangeline’s days would be numbered. Thank God she’d been off in the hinterlands doing research, out of reach of everyone, not even an Internet connection or cell phone service to track her. It had given him long enough to come out of the woodwork to protect her.

He’d married Evangeline to keep Claudia away from her, and it had infuriated his sometimes partner. There’d been nothing she could do about it, and he’d assumed that after five years she would have forgotten all about her. He should have known better than to make assumptions. Claudia had become more and more unstable in the last five years and their boss, Madsen, knew it. Getting rid of an operative like Claudia wasn’t as easy as handing her a pink slip—she was too much of a loose cannon, and too skilled to be taken out easily. He didn’t envy Madsen—it was going to be a bitch no matter how he decided to handle the situation.

Problem was, Claudia was too damned smart, even if she was caught up with maintaining her cool, unemotional focus; and getting rid of her, the only viable way to control her, wouldn’t be easy. In the meantime all bets were off, and Claudia might or might not continue to follow orders. She’d never forgiven Bishop for ensuring Evangeline would live, and if she couldn’t kill Evangeline, she’d find someone who would. All his complicated schemes and hard work might come to nothing. He should have realized there was no way Claudia was going to let it go. If he’d really wanted to ensure Evangeline’s safety, he should have killed Claudia during that mission. But he didn’t kill easily; he’d worked with Claudia on a number of occasions, and he’d made the mistake of thinking she was more stable. Maybe back then she was—after all, Evangeline had survived five years. It was the rest of his wife’s life that was in jeopardy.

Evangeline wasn’t looking very happy about his efforts to keep her alive. She was staring at the greasy, thick menu with the concentration of a scholar, her forehead wrinkled beneath her loose, flyaway hair, and he wanted to reach across and brush the curls away. He did no such thing. It was shorter than it had been when he first met her, and he liked it. He liked it longer too. In fact, he liked every damned thing about her.

Things had happened so quickly she hadn’t picked out the anomalies of his story. She’d questioned him, of course, and circumstances had forced him to reveal too much already, but if he kept doing his best to scare her she might be smart enough to back off and behave herself.

And hell might freeze over.

The middle-aged waitress, with the appropriate name Alice emblazoned across her generous bosom, was already pouring wickedly dark coffee without request. “Hey, honey,” she said to him. “What can I get you?”

“Lumberjack Breakfast,” he said. It came with three fried eggs, a double order of bacon, sausage and ham, home fries, six pancakes, and a steak on the side.

She looked at him, impressed. “You got it. And what about you, sweetheart?” she applied to Evangeline.

He waited for her to order something like a chef’s salad or a mushroom omelet, but she didn’t even blink. “I’ll have the same,” she said. “And Diet Coke and keep it coming.”

Alice grinned. “My kind of woman,” she said. “I’ll put that order right in.”

Bishop glowered. He hadn’t eaten in too damned long, and his temper wasn’t feigned. “You’re never going to eat that much.”

“Can’t afford to treat a girl to an expensive meal? I can always call Alice back and tell her my ‘husband’ says I can’t have it. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s heard it.”

“And it wouldn’t be the first time that a husband busted his wife across the chops in a place like this,” he growled.

She gave him a demure smile, unthreatened. “Yes, but I’m a sweet, helpless little girl and you’re a big, nasty brute, and all these truckers would come to my rescue. If I were fat and middle-aged they’d probably cheer you on, more’s the pity, but in my case I don’t think they’d let you get away with it.”

“You’ve gotten cynical in your old age.”

Her eyes flashed. “I’m twenty-eight.”

“I know.” The coffee was so strong it was guaranteed to keep him up all night, driving, but he hadn’t decided whether that was the way to go or not. Having Clement find him had thrown his plans into the crapper, but he was good at improvising. If he found a motel that felt right, he’d stop; otherwise he’d just keep going. He knew how to go without sleep for days, and he wasn’t even tired yet.

A large, icy glass of Diet Coke appeared in front of them, along with a plastic pitcher filled with the stuff. “You drink all that and you’ll be peeing all night long, and I’m not making a dozen stops.”

She shrugged. “You forget—I have an iron bladder. Anyway, it’s my truck. I’ll pee in it if I want to.”

He couldn’t let himself smile, much as he wanted to. He shrugged. “Your problem, not mine.”

“Oh, I think when we get farther south and warmer it’ll be your problem too.”

“Drink your damned pop and shut up.”

Her eyebrows raised. “Aha. You’re from the Midwest.”

“What makes you think that?” he said lazily. Wyoming was a far cry from the Midwest.

“Only Midwesterners call soda, pop,” she said smugly.

It wouldn’t do any harm to spike her guns. “Well, you’re wrong. I’m from Wyoming, and we call it half a dozen names, like liquid poison and pig swill.”

“What part of Wyoming?” she countered. “Are we near your home?”

“I don’t have a home anymore, and any connection I have to this place is long gone. And stop asking me questions you know I won’t answer, Angel. The less you know the better.” He used his name for her deliberately—he liked the way it made her bristle.

“I hardly think that’s fair, since you supposedly know everything about me. Including my birthday and where I was born,” she added, taunting him, clearly doubting him.

“You were born September tenth, at seven twenty in the evening, at Jefferson General Hospital in Port Townsend, Washington. You weighed seven pounds, fifteen ounces, and . . .”

She looked slightly ill. “Enough,” she said. “I believe you.”