The Game Has Changed (11 page)

“Hey,” he breathed. “You alright,
Luv?”

The sound of his voice startled her as it broke
the silence.

“Yeah,” she said softly as she looked at
him.

“I'd be very surprised if you were,
Sweetheart,” he offered tenderly. “I'd be quite shook up after what
you went through if I were you.”

A shaky sigh slid past her lips. “Yeah,” she
whispered in agreement, returning to her previous
position.

“He really didn't hurt you, right?” he
insisted.

“Well . . .” she said, her voice quavering. “He
did strike me across my face.” She trembled as the memory surfaced.
“And near my leg, I felt . . . I felt his . . . his . .
.”

He nodded with understanding.

“But I don't think he . . .” she gasped, unable
to finish her sentence. “I . . . don't know, though, but I think
not . . .”

Evan was sentient of her innocence and purity
and said affectionately, “You would know. The first time would be
painful for you. If it didn't hurt, then you're okay.”

A tiny, frightened cry escaped her. In an
unexpected display of both support and affection, Evan placed a
hand on her thigh in hopes of reassuring her. Jaime gasped with
surprise, causing him to draw back for a second or two. He
suspected that she was assuming his doing so was a sexual move
rather than a supportive one. She quickly placed her hand on his
and guided his hand back so that it rested against her thigh once
more.

“Let me see your face,” he requested, hoping to
make her more comfortable. “Look at me.”

He quickly glanced at her face to give her a
once over. Turning back to face the road, he said, “I don't see any
damage to your beautiful face. Does it hurt, then?”

She shook her head, a dreamy sigh escaping her.
“Not anymore.”

“
Can I ask you something, Darlin’?”
he inquired, moments later.

She nodded. “Of course.”

He released a pent-up breath and said, “You had
the perfect opportunity back there to end your whole ordeal with
me, you know. You could have brought me down fast and hard, but you
didn't. Rather than do so, you protected me instead. Why did you,
Sweetheart?”

Jaime felt her heart hammer within her chest.
She wasn't sure as to why she’d done it, but the maelstrom of
feelings and sensations she was having since their first day
together were muddling her senses and scrambling her common sense.
Of that, she was sure.

Should she divulge to him what she was really
feeling for him? Was it too soon? Should she wait and see how this
'relationship' evolved or if he really had more ominous plans for
her? Yet if that was the case, if his intent was the least little
bit nefarious, would he have so bravely fought for her? She felt so
confused and wanted to break down and cry, but she found herself
suppressing her tears.

Evan sensed her confliction and remained quiet.
He preferred to let her think things through.

“I guess . . .” she replied, at last, after
making the decision to lay her heart upon her sleeve for him to
see. “You made me feel so safe when I needed it so desperately.”
She took another deep breath to steady herself. “I felt safer with
you than I've ever felt with anyone before.” Another moment of
silence slipped by. “I mean I do feel safe with you. I don’t want
to lose that . . . to lose you yet.”

Evan felt touched by her heart-rending
admission as well as her concern. By doing the right thing in order
to protect her, he’d inadvertently caused her feelings for him to
progress further. There was no longer any doubt that she was
helplessly in love with him.

He grasped her hand tightly and smiled sadly at
her. “I have to protect you,” he said, hoping to make her
understand that it was his duty to do so and not an act of love.
“It's because of me that you're here. I couldn’t let you get raped.
The guilt would kill me.”

She nodded, but he knew the message wasn't
getting across to her as he’d intended it to. He sighed and flashed
her one of his gorgeous and infamously flirty smiles. “You know
what, Darlin'?” She shook her head, a wondrous expression spreading
across her face. “I don't think we need the tape
anymore.”

Was he saying that because he trusted her now
or because she was so in love with him that it was unlikely that
she would run away? Was he secretly hoping she would run
away?

Jaime grinned broadly. A shy giggle burst from
her lips. “Just when I was starting to enjoy it, too!” Evan burst
into laughter. She giggled even more, pleased that she had made him
laugh. “I'm serious!”

“I believe you,” he murmured with
amusement.

CHAPTER 12

Overcast and dreary, George Johnson felt that
the pouring rain appropriately matched the heavy hearted mood that
surrounded him and his family. Jaime was missing. Almost three days
had passed since she’d first gone missing. She hadn’t returned home
from school that day and it was only now that the police department
was officially declaring her a missing person.

George sat on the sofa in his living room full
of anguish. His wife, Mary, tried to comfort him, but there wasn’t
much that she could say or do to help. The little news the
investigator’s brought him was very discouraging, and sometimes,
downright scary. Mary found it hard to lie to him and say that
everything would be all right.

The authorities had alerted them to the fact
that a fugitive fleeing from a crime in New York City had been
traced to the area. An abandoned car crash had been located about
five miles from the high school. Witnesses had seen a girl matching
Jaime’s description leaving the ice cream parlor near the school
with a tall, dark-haired Caucasian male.

All evidence pointed to this man being one and
the same. They were doing DNA typing of the blood found inside the
car, hoping to match it up with hospital records. For the time
being, the man’s identity was unknown and was still at large. An
APB had been sent out to several of the nearby states as no one had
seen him or Jaime since then.

While there was a possibility that Jaime was
involved with the man, George was assured that the FBI was also on
the case. Knowing that fact didn’t ease his fears at all. He sat on
the sofa fretting nervously as his wife noticed that he was very
close to tears, something she had not seen very often in her
strong-willed husband.

“Mr. Johnson?” A new face materialized as the
man approached the couple in order to introduce himself. The man
held out his hand to George. George nervously obliged, standing up
to shake his hand. “I’m special agent Marshall. I’m with the FBI
and I’ll be handling your niece’s case. I just need to ask you a
few questions about her,” he said, slipping into the nearest seat
beside them. He met Mary’s eyes and nodded. “Mrs.
Johnson.”

George nodded and scooted closer to his wife.
“I’ve already told the police everything.”

“I’m sorry, Sir, but we’re a different
department. Any information you can give me about your niece would
expedite the chances of our finding her.”

“And of finding her safe, I hope?” George
cried, slowly losing his cool.

“I’m almost certain it’s a possibility,” Agent
Marshall replied with encouragement. “From what the NYPD has told
me about this suspect, I don’t think he’s particularly dangerous.
He was an accessory to murder, but he probably took your niece out
of desperation because of the circumstances he now finds himself
in. I want to believe that he won’t hurt her.”
“How can you know this?” George moaned with anxiety.

Agent Marshall smiled, his eyes glinting with a
ruthlessness that belied his calm demeanor. “I’m a criminal
profiler. That’s my job, to figure these guys out. I’ve already put
in the APB to all police units in the surrounding areas about this
man and the fact that he’s traveling with an innocent. I’ve made it
clear that it’s a possible hostage situation so they know to handle
everything with kid gloves.”

George sighed with relief. “That makes me feel
a little better,” he whispered as Mary rubbed his arm for
support.

“Your niece is how old again?” Marshall asked
as he started his interrogation.

“Seventeen,” was their reply.

“And she’s never run away before
this?”

“Of course not!” George cried.

“I’m sorry, but we have to look at every
possible angle.”

“She’s a very mature and responsible teenager,”
George defended angrily. “She wants to go to an Ivy League school
when she graduates.”

“She’s a straight A student,” Mary added. “And
she practically took care of her father before he passed. She
cooked for him and did everything else as well!”

Marshall nodded, jotting notes into a small
book.

“She’s so young,” George said in a shaky
whisper. “She wanted more independence, but she’s still so naïve
and vulnerable.”

Mary wound her arm tenderly about his
shoulders. “This is not your fault. You can’t blame yourself,
George. There’s no way you could’ve prevented this.”

“I could have driven her to school and picked
her up, too. I asked her that morning, remember?” he agonized, his
voice trembling with emotion. “I could have insisted on stricter
rules with her! I promised my brother as he lay dying in his
hospital bed that I would take care of her for him. Just look at
what I’ve allowed to happen to her!”

George’s heart hammered painfully within his
chest as he thought about Jaime. He wondered where she could be and
if she was truly safe. Agent Marshall jotted down several
additional notes into the pad and assured him and Mary that he’d be
in touch with them soon. Deep inside, he prayed that once he did
so, he’d have some good news for them. Worry and exhaustion were
starting to set in and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold
them off. His only hope lay in the hands of the FBI and he prayed
that they’d be able to bring Jaime home soon, safe and sound, once
and for all.

***

Evan and Jaime found themselves in a newly
secured motel room after buying more clothes and food. Jaime sat on
the edge of the single full-sized bed that occupied the room,
feeling secure in the knowledge that she was with Evan. An
unexpected wave of happiness invaded every inch of her
body.

She sat there admiring the flat black ballet
style shoes she had purchased at the K-mart they’d stopped at
earlier. The shoes weren’t a normal style for her as she normally
wore sneakers, but something inside of her made her desire more
feminine-looking shoes. She had found it fun in trying on shoes and
helping Evan pick out new shirts. They’d stocked up on food as well
and rather than going to a restaurant for dinner, they ate
ready-made sandwiches that they’d picked up at a store.

Evan was just outside the door, once again
smoking a cigarette. Jaime wasn’t particularly fond of that bad
habit of his and she often wondered if she could ever help him to
quit. Such a thing would mean that a special relationship existed
between them and she knew they weren’t quite there yet.

Never-the-less, she wanted more than anything
to be there for him when the time came. She found herself
daydreaming about her eventual relationship with him every chance
she had.
Could a bond like that exist
between us?
she wondered.
Could we be lovers someday?
She knew he was a
tad older than her, but the notion made her wonder if it was truly
possible for something to take form between them. Suddenly, she had
an idea.

Her eyes fell upon his wallet as it lay on the
bedside table. She swung her legs around and scooted over to his
side of the bed, keeping her eyes on the door the whole time. With
his wallet in her hand, she hastily opened it and was immediately
presented with his California driver’s license.

His picture was absolutely wonderful for a DMV
taken photograph. He had a very cocky and handsome smile. It was
almost a “stick it to the man” kind of smile. She could picture him
giving the photographer the middle finger if he had been allowed
to. She realized that he probably lived his whole life in that
manner, thumbing his nose at authority. It explained as to why he
didn’t seem all that distressed or anxious about his evasion from
the law.

She noticed his birth date and found that he
was almost ten years older than her. That fact filled her with
anguish. He wouldn’t want a lover that much younger than him. Nor
would he want her naiveté and inexperience, especially since he
had, by his own admission, lots of lovers in the past.

She heard him enter and realized she’d been
caught red-handed in looking through his wallet. A startled cry
slid past her lips and her cheeks flushed with color as she looked
up to find him standing nearby. To her surprise, she found that he
wasn’t angry. Instead, a knowing smile was plastered across his
lips.

“Lookin’ to rob me, me Darlin’? I’ve got e’en
mo money in me jacket ‘ere,” he asked with an enhanced Cockney
accent. He held his black leather jacket open to point to the
inside pockets where he’d stashed more of his money. “Ye want a
couple o bob then?”