Trust Me: The Lassiter Group, Book 1 (6 page)

Once both hands were secured in front of her, he drove the truck around to the rear of the motel. He didn’t pull into the empty spot in front of their room, but parked behind the dumpster near the edge of the surrounding woods instead.

If Snake and Edward Blackwater somehow managed to pass by the place looking for them, they’d have to drive all the way to the end of the rear lot to spot the truck.

Grabbing his shirt, he climbed out and moved around the vehicle to open the door for Max. He reached for her when she didn’t look interested in getting out on her own. The look on her face as she snapped up her bag and hopped down said she’d rather follow the devil to hell than go anywhere with him.

Good thing he hadn’t been shot, nailed in the head, jumped on, kicked, punched and shoved into a tree or his feelings might be a little hurt.

Chapter Four

Max shivered next to him, but he didn’t stop to return her sweater. He wanted her inside first, contained, and maybe buried under enough blankets that he didn’t have to think about her breasts.

Nudging her up against the door, he dug the key from his pocket, then hustled her inside when he got the door open. After maneuvering her into the closest chair, he locked the door and slid the chain into place.

He didn’t immediately turn a light on, leaving only the moonlight streaming through the open window to see by as he leaned against the door for a moment.

“Aw, rough day at the office, honey?”

Maybe he could find some duct tape in that bag of hers.

Pushing away from the door, he crossed to the bedside table and switched on the lamp. The sudden brightness overpowered the small room, and he turned to drag the drapes shut.

Just large enough to accommodate the double bed draped in a faded gold bedspread, the room’s remaining furniture consisted of the chair Max occupied, a battered dresser and TV stand, all crowded within inches of each other. Beneath it all, the shabby tan colored shag carpet was a testament to the last time the room had been redone.

But it was clean and a much better place to plan his next move than camping out in the woods waiting for Max to give herself away.

Inside the bathroom, he barely glanced at his reflection when he noticed Max cast a speculative look at the room’s only exit. He snagged a towel from the shelf above the toilet and turned toward her.

“You won’t get very far.”

She didn’t argue with him, but he knew her earlier failure to ditch him wouldn’t stop her from trying again.

He leaned in the doorway. “For a woman who needed to use the bathroom so badly, you’re certainly not begging to get in here.”

“You won’t see me begging you for anything.”

“Not even for your life?”

Her chin rose a notch, defiance flashing in her eyes. “I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction.”

He didn’t doubt the conviction in her voice for a second. Cara had called Max a scrapper and everything he’d seen so far backed that up. That still didn’t mean Max hadn’t killed her, though.

Moving back to the chair, he snatched her bag off the floor and dumped the contents out on the bed.

“I’m all out of pink nail polish if you’re looking for some to match the sweater.”

“So I guess giving each other pedicures tonight is out then.” He dragged her sweater off and tossed it at her before getting back to snooping through her stuff. A large hair elastic caught his eye and he slid it up his arm to hold the small towel over the wound that had started bleeding again.

The extra magazine clips for her Glock looked to be the only interesting things in the pile, and once he tucked them in his other side pocket, he stretched out on the bed and closed his eyes.

For a full minute he felt Max’s gaze drilling into him. When she cursed under her breath, he cracked open an eye and watched her snatch up her shirt and stalk into the bathroom, stubbing her foot on the corner of the TV stand as she sailed past.

“Don’t lock it.”

She poked her hand out of the bathroom long enough to flip him off.

Jesus, the woman had balls. Either he hadn’t been intimidating enough, or she excelled at masking her fear with some serious attitude.

Or maybe it something to do with the minute he’d lost his mind back in the truck, when she taken her shirt off and asked if he was gay. People with worse reputations than hers had done a better job of baiting him in the past and he’d never once let it get to him.

He’d gone one-step further with her—proving she was wrong. There had been absolutely no tactical advantage in letting her know he was attracted to her. If anything, he’d sacrificed information she could try to use against him. Emphasis on
try
.

His judgment might have been temporarily clouded by a sexy, determined woman he might have admired if not for her questionable role in Blackwater’s organization and Cara’s death, but he’d be damned if it happened a second time.

Frustrated with failing to keep his mission objective—getting Max back to Lassiter Group headquarters—front and center, he grabbed the extra pillow off the bed, along with the bedspread and crossed to the bathroom.

When she didn’t answer his knock, he shoved the door open.

She turned from the sink, a towel in her hands. “Do come in,” she scoffed.

The less than spacious bathroom left only a few feet between them and his gaze dropped to the open buttons on her pants. Dropping the blanket and pillow, he closed the distance between them.

She backed up against the vanity, but didn’t push his hands away when he stepped in to fix her pants for her.

“I’m handcuffed, not paralyzed. But if you’re inclined to be so helpful, why not take the cuffs off?”

“Injured, not brain dead.” He made quick work of fastening the buttons but didn’t retreat until he realized how still she was, like she was holding her breath.

He glanced up, searching her face to be sure she wasn’t about to try something. Their gazes met, held and then she broke eye contact.

“Fuck, no.”

So she’d finally noticed the pillow and blanket.

Without waiting for a thank you, he made a strategic retreat, falling back to the doorway.

“Wait a minute.”

Lucas shook his head. “You’re sleeping in here. In the tub, on the floor, I don’t particularly care.”

Max stepped over the pile on the floor. “What about the bed?”

He blocked the doorway with his arm just in case she was serious, and God help him, she looked like it. “What about it?”

“It’s big enough for the two of us.”

“But I thought you didn’t get friendly with every perp who made a pass at you?”

Her eyes shrank to murderous slits, and she slammed the door in his face.

“Bet you’re wishing you’d stayed in the tree, huh?”

No matter how thick the door was, he very clearly heard, “Asshole.”

Satisfied she’d stay out of trouble for a few minutes at least, he returned to the bed and picked up the phone to call Tess.

Hoping last night had only been a dream, Max opened her eyes.

No such luck.

Same cracked light fixture and drab bathroom—minus the potato bug that she’d seen scuttling across the floor last night. She didn’t even want to think about where it might have crawled for the short time she’d actually spent sleeping. Between wondering about Lucas and who he worked for and running through countless scenarios to get herself out of this mess, sleep hadn’t been high on her priority list.

Sleep hadn’t been a priority for three months actually. Staying one step ahead of Blackwater, finding places to lay low, conserving what little money she had left and doing her best not to think about what the bastards had done to Cara made sleeping difficult at best and pretty much impossible when a nightmare took hold and wouldn’t let her go.

Staying with Sherri had been the closest she’d come to any kind of peace, and thanks to Lucas and Snake she was back to square one. Damn them.

Recognizing the first stirring of anxiety press down on her lungs, she stood and scrubbed her face with cool water, rubbing until she felt the cold seep into her pores, waking her up all the way.

A flash of color caught her eye and she spotted her bag on the floor by the door. She must have slept deeper than she thought since she hadn’t heard Lucas come in.

Listening at the door, she didn’t hear any signs of movement. Either he was still asleep himself or he was sitting there waiting for her to get moving. Actually, the latter seemed unlikely. Barging in and telling her to get her ass in gear seemed more probable after how things had gone down last night.

Either way, she had a little time to get cleaned up and pull a few random twigs from her hair while she tried wrapping her mind around the only option she had left.

She’d lie.

Lie and use his attraction to her for all it was worth. She hadn’t imagined the way he’d responded to her in the truck. She couldn’t see the point in him playing her and then pulling away. If he’d felt that brief—
extremely
brief—moment of mutual awareness and planned to do something about it, he wouldn’t have left her in the bathroom all night.

She’d done worse things than make promises she couldn’t keep. Getting two people killed weighed far more on her heart than leading Lucas on ever would.

She couldn’t guarantee another physical confrontation would go her way any more than the last one had. He was strong, fast and seemed to know a hell of a lot more about her than she knew about him. He had every advantage and if she didn’t do something to level the playing field, she was going to regret hiding out in New Brunswick more than she already did.

The slim tube of tinted lip gloss in her bag caught her attention, and she pulled it out, rolling it back and forth in her palm. It had belonged to Cara. She’d been carrying it around for weeks as though she could use it to hold onto her friend a little longer.

She’d found Cara’s purse when she’d been fleeing the warehouse but the contents—lip gloss, Blackwater’s business card, a hotel keycard—hadn’t offered any clues about what information Cara had claimed to have for her.

Twisting off the cap, Max ran the gloss over her lips. She stared as her reflection, trying to gear herself up for something she might not even be able to pull off. Three months of running had carved away pieces she wasn’t sure would fit back together again. Some never would, the same way Cara would never take another breath, never smile, never laugh.

Don’t.

She squeezed her eyes so tight they hurt, praying she wasn’t about lose it. Giving in to the horrific memories stirred up after yesterday was the quickest way to ensure she ended up dead.

As much as part of her wanted to stop running, just wanted it to all be over, she desperately wanted to find a way back to her life. The one Blackwater had ripped away from her, first when he screwed with her family, then her career and then Cara.

More than anyone she wanted to call her partner, Glen. For three years he’d been the one backing her up, reinforcing her instincts or talking her out of one of her more radical ideas. But even if he’d heard or uncovered something that could help her, she couldn’t risk calling him, no matter how much she could use his advice right now.

Blackwater was responsible for that too. Glen hadn’t blamed her for their suspension or losing his fiancée, but she might as well have killed Jillian herself. If she hadn’t pushed Glen so hard to help her find something to bring Blackwater down for good Jillian might still be alive. Glen was better off if she didn’t involve him, leaving her on her own.

Max just wasn’t sure if that was enough anymore.

“You’re not looking too hot.”

Her head snapped up and she caught Lucas’s reflection in the mirror. She’d been so preoccupied with talking herself down from some kind of meltdown that she hadn’t heard him come in.

She tucked the lip gloss into her pocket. “I could say the same about you. How’s your shoulder this morning?” The question had way too much bite if she wanted to talk her way out of this mess, and she let out a breath. “Sorry. For all I know you got hit by a bullet meant for me.” She picked up her bag and stepped back from the sink, taking a seat on the edge of the tub when he made no move to let her pass.

“You’re not actually going to cooperate this morning, are you?”

Massaging the back of her neck, she offered a weak smile. “I’m not interested in starting the morning the same way we ended last night.”

He rinsed his face and ran a damp hand through his hair. He wore a different shirt this morning, dark blue and long sleeved, along with a blue and white ball cap. Had he borrowed them from the desk clerk or perhaps stolen them from the occupants staying in the closest room?

She leaned against the wall, eyes closed, as she felt him studying her.

“I’ve got coffee,” he said finally.

“Really?” She didn’t have to exaggerate how appealing that sounded. She hadn’t eaten since lunch yesterday and her system could benefit from a boost of caffeine.

He started out of the room then stopped when he noticed her sweater was still on the floor.

She shrugged. “I think the cuffs make a much bolder fashion statement without the sweater.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, and he dug the key from his pocket. He hadn’t hesitated to touch her last night, but this morning he seemed careful to keep any physical contact to a minimum.

He uncuffed one wrist and handed her the sweater. Dropping her bag, she pulled it over her head, aware of the moment his attention slid down her chest. She ducked her head, the nervous flutter in her belly having nothing to do with the game she was playing.

A full ten seconds passed before he cuffed her again, and she intentionally brushed up against him as she squeezed past. Without a lot of wiggle room, she had to turn her body into his to fit, drawing the slow slide out an extra second or two.

He only let her get a couple feet ahead of him into the main room before he circled around, giving her a wide berth.

Grateful to have more than ten square feet to move around in, she sat on the edge of the bed. Lucas handed her one of the two coffees from the bedside table. Ten bucks said Lucas had given the desk clerk a nice tip to deliver them right to the room.