All Jacked Up (11 page)

“So was Jack the Ripper.”

“That’s one of the theories.”

“Spare me the others,” Jack said. “What about your friends?”

Aubrey groaned. “We’re back to that?”

“And we’ll keep coming back to it until you can rule them out.”

“All my friends are from work.” She had to stop and yawn, talking through the tail end of it. “All we talk about is library business, and the only thing I read there is work-related stuff.”

She did a quick mental rundown of the last month or so at the library, trying to figure out if there was some duty she’d performed that might have put her in this predicament. “I was working in the Map Room when you abducted me, but I only transferred in there a couple of weeks ago. I thought tourists and researchers would be a nice change over law clerks.

“Before that I used to help with congressional research once in a while. I guess I could have accidentally read something over someone’s shoulder, or they could think I had. Sometimes I’d walk up behind some clerk or aide to ask if they needed help and they’d close their laptop or blank the computer screen, even when they were searching the card catalog.”

“Too bad you don’t come equipped with one of those,” Jack said.

She ignored him in favor of another yawn. “I always chalked it up to the secrecy and infighting of politics. Our wonderful bipartisan political system breeds more paranoia than checks and balances.”

Jack said something or asked another question, but all Aubrey heard was a deep rumble her brain was just too tired to decipher. She wasn’t so out of it, though, that she didn’t notice Jack wrap around her like a blanket. No, Jack would be more like a leather jacket, soft, well-worn leather—with some pretty interesting features that didn’t exactly engender relaxation.

“Jack?”

“Aubrey?”

She overlooked the fact that he’d used her name. It was harder to get past the quiet rumble of his voice vibrating through her. And how much she liked it. But there was one thing even more impossible to ignore. “The rocks were softer,” she said.

“There’s a simple way to solve the problem.”

“Yeah, you and your brain could go sleep somewhere else.”

He scooted his hips away. “Satisfied? Because I’m not.”

Aubrey laughed softly. “I guess I should be flattered.”

“Strictly chemistry,” Jack growled. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“I know that, but it’s the closest thing to a compliment I’m going to get from you.”

“I’m not a diplomat, remember?”

“Call me an optimist.”

“Optimism isn’t a compliment, it’s a cop-out from reality.”

“That’s some observation, coming from a guy with such a hopeful outlook where his sex life is concerned.”

“Okay.” Jack huffed out a breath. “You’re still scrawny, and you talk too much, but you drive okay. For a woman.”

“That was panic. And luck.” But she was smiling.

“If I have to be stuck with a civilian, I’d rather be stuck with one who acts instead of freezing.”

“Now that could qualify as a compliment.” She felt him shift closer to her and figured it out. “You were just being nice so—”

He moved his hips back again. “It was worth a shot.”

“Jack?”

“What?”

“Shut up.”

He slammed his hips back against her butt. “If I’m going to be uncomfortable so are you.”

She snuggled back against him. “Who’s uncomfortable?”

He cupped a hand around her breast. “The rocks are softer,” he murmured in her ear.

She shivered.

He rubbed his hand over her nipple, and her breath sighed out. She stretched, restless, trying to stop the quivering parts of her body from quivering and work the tension out of the rest of her. She didn’t intentionally rub up against Jack, but she didn’t try to spare him, either.

He clamped his hands around her hips. “You keep that up and I won’t care if you’re a willing participant or not.”

Aubrey went still, adrenaline shooting through her veins for a completely different reason.

Jack took his hands away, settling close behind her, but only touching her from the waist up.

“Just so we’re clear,” she said carefully, “you’re only keeping me warm.”

“Christ,” he ground out, obviously disgusted with her. “I’d think you’d trust me by now.”

Aubrey didn’t say anything. So far he’d kept her alive, and she believed he would continue to protect her as long as it was in his best interest. That didn’t mean she believed the reasons he’d given her. And it didn’t mean she trusted him.

The best thing she could say about the situation was that with Jack wrapped around her for the preceding seven hours or so she hadn’t been hungry or cold or sore. Sexually frustrated, now, that was another story.

She’d been so exhausted sleep hadn’t been an issue, but she’d awakened at a full simmer, thanks to Jack. Staring at his backside wasn’t helping, but she’d made the wise choice and kept their relationship nonphysical, at least the kind of nonphysical that didn’t entail an exchange of bodily fluids.

He’d probably still drag her around whenever she disagreed with him, and toss her over his shoulder if he thought the situation warranted it, but at least he wouldn’t be expecting her to reward him for it. She was glad for that, really she was. The last thing she needed was Jack thinking she was all right with any of this.

Sex, in Jack’s mind, would undoubtedly equate with “all right.” And no, she thought, shushing the little voice in her head that whispered maybe she should do just that to put him off his guard. That little voice wasn’t worried about whether or not Jack trusted her. That little voice was looking for some instant gratification, leaving her to deal with the ramifications. She wasn’t having sex with Jack Mitchell. No way, never, not even if he turned into George Clooney.

She narrowed her eyes on the back of his head, telling herself she didn’t see any Clooney resemblance, just because Jack had dark hair . . . Okay, she amended, Rhett Butler. Butler was a fictional heartthrob, and anyway, Clark Gable was dead. The day Jack Mitchell turned into Gable was the day she’d sleep with him.

They broke out of the dense tree cover and the sun all but blinded her before she could find any Butler/Gable characteristics in Jack. He did have a tendency to sweep her up like Rhett had done with Scarlett . . . And then it occurred to Aubrey that something was different. She raised a hand to shade her eyes and looked around. It took her a minute, but she finally figured it out. “You changed direction.”

Jack kept covering ground, but Aubrey could tell he’d heard her by the way his shoulders hunched.

“Walking and talking too much for you to handle simultaneously?”

He stopped short, letting his head drop to his chest. “Just when I managed to forget you were back there.”

“I’d’ve thought your fantasies leaned more toward pretending I was a big-busted stripper without the word ‘no’ in my vocabulary.”

“That was last night.”

“Funny, last night I was pretending you weren’t back there.”

He started walking again, fast enough to let her know he wanted to fulfill that fantasy.

Aubrey had to trot a little to keep up with him, but hey, what was a little physical exertion when things were finally getting interesting? “So, where are we going?”

“To the road.”

“How far is that?”

“Are you going to talk the whole way?”

“If you think it will help pass the time.”

“Do me a favor and stop when you see my ears bleeding.”

Aubrey couldn’t help but smile. It might be juvenile to keep poking at him, but he made it so much fun. “What are we going to do when we get to the road?”

“Catch a lift.”

“Where to?”

“Someplace we can get a meal and buy some emergency supplies.”

“Oh boy, another Larry’s One Stop.”

“Something bigger.”

Aubrey’s heart almost stopped beating. She’d been shot at, run off the road, and had a close encounter with Jack last night. And what made her feel faint was a chance to shop. “Are you serious?”

He nodded, once, and her head took a long, lazy spin at the thought of actual civilization. “I want real food and a hotel room with a shower and a bed, and moisturizer with sunscreen, the kind they carry at department-store makeup counters.” But mostly she wanted to be rid of Jack. Not that she thought he was trying to kill her anymore; if that were the case she’d be in a shallow grave by now, scooped out of the dirt with his bare hands if need be.

“Sounds like you want a mall,” he said.

A mall would be perfect. Crowds of people, multiple exits, ATMs and pay phones all over the place. And mall security. If she couldn’t lose Jack there, she could kiss her self-respect good-bye.

She’d replayed their conversation from last night, examined each point without her attitude for Jack getting in the way. She’d come to the conclusion that the only way to figure out what she knew about Corona was to go back to where she’d learned it—Washington, D.C.—and retrace her steps. Jack would never agree with her, so she was going to have to get away from him and do it on her own. For that she’d need a city, with people and buildings and a thousand places to hide until Jack got tired of looking for her.

“We must be close to Atlanta, right? There’s bound to be somewhere we can get everything we need at one time,” she said carefully, “since we don’t have transportation.”

“I was being sarcastic. There’s no way I’m letting you loose in a mall.”

“Why not? There’ll be people everywhere—”

“And you’ll blend right in.”

“Last time you were angry because I stood out.”

“How happy do you think I’ll be if you disappear?”

“Pretty happy,” she muttered.

“If you spent more time listening and less time talking, you’d know that isn’t true.”

“Right, you need me until I lead you to whoever ratted you out.”

“And you’re not getting anything out of the deal? Like your life?”

“This is a life? I’ve been abducted at gunpoint, handcuffed—twice—almost blown up and nearly drowned. And that wasn’t even the hit men.”

Jack looked over his shoulder, probably so she could see his grin. “You’re still alive, aren’t you?”

“I’d hate to see what kind of damage you could inflict if you weren’t trying to save my life.” For his sake, not hers, she reminded herself. Aubrey kicked at a handy tuft of weeds, noting the little shot of bitterness mixed in with the anger. “It’s not like I want to go to Lenox Square and parade around with a sign on my back that says ‘shoot me.’ I’m hungry and I’m tired and I’m dirty. If you’re concerned about me taking off, we can go to a hotel and get a room on the fifteenth floor, and you can order room service while I take a long, hot shower. There’s a Ritz-Carlton in Atlanta—”

“No.”

“You’re right, that’s too expensive. Not to mention it’s Buckhead. We’d kind of stand out dressed like this. We should probably rule out all of midtown and downtown. Nobody would notice us in Little Five Points,” she mused, thinking of the conglomeration of secondhand shops, tattoo parlors, funky bars, and casual restaurants. “Half the people there look like they could use a good scrubbing.”

“Sounds like you know your way around Atlanta.”

“I spent a long weekend there once,” she said, her mood climbing at the memory of the luxurious room she’d occupied at the Ritz, of wandering through the streets, eating in restaurants, and browsing through the shops with no worries of being targeted for more than a nice, fat commission.

“I’ve been to Atlanta,” he muttered. “Didn’t spend a lot of time in Buckhead.”

“I’m sure Atlanta has its share of seedy alleys and ratty dives filled with criminals and hookers.”

“And you think I’m on a first-name basis with them.”

“You took the time to get their names?”

Jack snorted out a sound that came suspiciously close to a laugh. “I had to book some of them.”

“You might want to try being a tourist someday, Jack. Go somewhere because you want to, not because you have to. Stay in a nice hotel. There’s this place called the Brown Palace in Denver that would be perfect for you. It was built in 1892, and it’s a big antique, like walking into the past.”

“I’m not that old.”

“Some of your attitudes are, and since this place is bound to lift your male chauvinism to a level even a deaf stripper would recognize and run away from, you’ll have plenty of time to hit the Sixteenth Street Mall. There are all sorts of macho souvenirs, snake-head key chains, big spiders encased in plastic. Ten-gallon hats.” He didn’t tell her to shut up, but she could tell by the set of his shoulders that he would’ve plugged his ears and sung
la-la-la
to block out the sound of her voice, if it wouldn’t have been childish.

Aubrey, however, was in a childish sort of mood, so she kept right on talking. “Then again, Denver doesn’t seem right for you, Jack, all that clean air and pretty scenery. Maybe Chicago, no, Las Vegas, that’s your kind of city. Gambling, cheap liquor, free food, and legalized prostitution.”

He glanced over his shoulder at Aubrey, no comment necessary—not about Vegas, anyway. “You do a lot of traveling for someone on a librarian’s salary.”

“The government pays fairly well.”

“Couldn’t prove it by me.”

Aubrey did a double take, and decided it really was suspicion she heard in his voice. “What, do you think I’m blackmailing someone?”

“I’d pay to get you to shut up.”

She almost laughed. “Okay, I used to date this guy who did a lot of traveling for work, and sometimes he’d invite me along with him and we’d make a weekend out of it. He spent his days on official business, so I spent mine sightseeing.”

“Somebody put up with you for an entire weekend?”

“I put up with him for six months. It felt almost as long as the last two days with you.”

“There’s something we can agree on,” Jack said, pausing long enough to cock his head and listen before he struck off in a slightly altered direction. Uphill of course. “With any luck we’re about to get one step closer to getting rid of each other.”

They broke out of the woods and found themselves next to the Blue Ridge Parkway again, and Aubrey realized that the sound she’d been hearing wasn’t the wind, but the occasional whoosh of traffic. She’d never been so glad to see a miserable, wilderness-lined two-lane ribbon of road in her life.

She sat down on a deadfall just at the edge of the woods, rubbing her feet and watching Jack take up a stance on the gravel shoulder, one thumb stuck out. She could have sworn the cars sped up. Amusing, but she didn’t want to spend the rest of the day sitting roadside, waiting for one of those vehicles to be full of Corona employees.

She slipped her shoes back on, not bothering to tie them, and picked her way through underbrush and a narrow little ditch to the gravel shoulder. “Move over, Clark.”

“Kent?”

“Gable.” She stopped, shook her head, then eased Jack aside with the back of her hand. “Let me show you how it’s done.”

He took one step and stopped, a brick wall in black clothing and an even blacker scowl. “You’ve done a lot of hitchhiking?”

She shook her head. “
It Happened One Night.
”

“Let me guess, one of your porn books.”

“It was a movie,” Aubrey said, “Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert.” But it could have been one of her porn—her romances. A poor little rich girl running away to elope, a reporter in need of a good scoop, and one night of mayhem ending . . . Okay, Claudette and Clark had fallen in love. But she wasn’t having sex with Jack, despite the Clark Gable comparison, and she sure as heck wasn’t falling in love with him.

The important thing was that along the way Claudette had held her own. Not unlike myself, Aubrey thought, minus the rich father, the handsome hero, and true love.

“I’ll spare you the whole story,” she said, “but there was this one scene where Clark and Claudette were stranded and Clark tried to flag down a car but no one would stop. Makes no sense to me unless all the drivers were men, which was possible since it was the forties and most women probably weren’t allowed to drive. Your kind of decade, Jack. All the little women were at home in the kitchen, barefoot and pregnant.”

Jack gave her a look, trying for intimidation. It didn’t faze her in the least.

“Anyway,” she continued, “Clark wasn’t having any luck getting them a ride, so Claudette hiked her skirt up and showed off her ankle and the first guy that came by screeched to a halt. You know, maybe it wasn’t such a bad decade at that, when all it took to get a guy’s attention was an ankle. There’s something to be said for a little mystery, don’t you think?”

Jack let the silence draw out for a full ten seconds. “Are you done talking, or did you just stop to breathe?”

“Why, were you going somewhere?”

His scowl deepened. The traffic on the road sped up again.

Aubrey ran her hands through her hair to fluff it up or smooth it down, depending, and gave Jack a two-handed shove that got a little grunt from him but no actual movement. “If you keep standing there with that face, we’ll never get a ride.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my face.”

“Until you put it on top of your body, with that expression, and it shouts ‘serial killer.’ No one will stop as long as you’re standing behind me.”

“Unless it’s someone who wants you dead.”

Someone besides him, his tone said. Aubrey almost smiled. She didn’t know what it was about this kind of back and forth with Jack, but it made her feel so . . . alive. Or maybe she felt so alive because she’d come so close to dead. “I’m willing to take that chance if it will get us somewhere civilized.”