Unforgivable (19 page)

Ric returned to his pickup and roared out of the parking lot. This was why he hated relationships. Women were flighty and unpredictable. And even the nice ones could be sneaky as hell.

Not that he and Mia had a relationship. He hardly knew her. If his trip to Fort Worth had proven anything, it was that he didn’t know her at all.

And yet he had this overwhelming urge to protect her. Kind of tough to do when he had no freaking clue where she’d gone.

Did she have a weekend place somewhere? Maybe she was shacked up with a guy? He had no idea. The one thing he did know was that she’d be nowhere near her sister’s house. The last place she’d ever go was some-where that would draw unwanted attention to her nephew. Her sister probably knew where she’d gone, but
Ric had done some more snooping yesterday and learned that Sam’s mother was a lawyer. Ric wasn’t going to waste his time trying to wring information from a lawyer who didn’t want to talk.

He came to a juncture in the road and pointed his truck toward San Marcos. Wherever she’d gone, Ric needed to find her. Almost every murder case on his desk was linked to her in some way. Mia was the key, he knew it.

And yet what did he really know about her? Even with yesterday’s poking around, it didn’t amount to much.

He knew she had a dead sister. Amy Voss had been raped and murdered at the tender age of seventeen. The murder had happened twenty-one years ago. January seventh, in fact—the anniversary had just passed. Mia would have been eleven at the time, practically the same age as his daughter Ava. The crime was every family’s worst nightmare. It had to have been one of the defining events of Mia’s life—probably
the
defining event—and she’d never mentioned it to him.

What else did he know about her? Not nearly enough, considering how wrapped up she was in his cases. He knew she was smart, top of her field. He knew she was a workaholic, same as he was. He knew she had a luscious body that she kept covered up with a lab coat most of the time, which for some reason was a major turn-on. He knew that despite the science degrees and the brainy talk, she could kiss like a … hell, he didn’t know what it was like. It wasn’t like anything. He’d barely touched her, and she’d practically combusted. There was no other word for it—all of that pent-up heat coming right at
him. He couldn’t imagine what she’d be like if he ever got her into bed.

Actually, he could. Vividly. And getting her there was becoming one of his primary goals.

But it wasn’t just sex. He needed to know she was safe. Someone, for some reason, had threatened her, and so she’d run. She’d run from her house, her job, everything, including him. Goddamn it, he was pissed.

He was also scared.

As a forensic scientist, Mia kicked ass. As a woman trying to evade a killer? Different story. Mia hated guns. She couldn’t fight worth a damn. And she lacked the ability to think like a predator.

She needed protection, and Ric would provide it, along with a few other things she needed.

He just had to find her first.

Mia wandered down the aisle, perusing the selection of fishing lures. Buzzbaits, Bumble Bugs, plastic worms, spider grubs. She’d never seen such a mind-boggling collection of fake invertebrates. She shifted the shopping basket on her arm and turned down the next aisle, hoping it would contain some items she actually needed.

Cereal, bread, and granola bars. She added a box of Sugar Smacks to her basket and headed for the checkout counter.

“Get you some bait today?”

The man behind the register was large, bearded. And he wanted to sell her some bait. This was a bait shop, after all—Bud’s Bait Shop—and for all she knew, this was Bud himself, ringing up her groceries.

“Actually, I’ll take some lures.” She reached over and snagged a package off a nearby display. This was a fishing town, and she had rented a fishing cabin. Wouldn’t hurt to reinforce her cover by throwing a few supplies in with her purchase.

“You fishin’ for largemouth bass?”

Oh, hell. “That’s right.”

“That case, can’t go wrong with these.”

A tattooed man in a leather Harley-Davidson jacket turned to check her out as he pulled a six-pack from one of the refrigerator cases. Something about his look made her skin crawl.

“Best top-water bait around, you ask me.” Bud was still pitching his lures.

Mia smiled. “They’re my boyfriend’s favorite.”

“Need any beer today?”

“That’ll be all, thanks.” She took out her wallet, careful not to flash him even a glimpse of her new fake ID as she pulled out some cash. The biker walked up behind her, and she tried not to tense her shoulders as Bud made change and bagged her groceries.

“Good luck with the spooks,” he said, handing over the bag.

“Excuse me?”

“The Zara Spooks you got there. For your boyfriend.”

“Oh, yes. Thanks.” She avoided eye contact with anyone as she left the store. Her no-frills Toyota pickup, the one Alex had been kind enough to rent under her name instead of Mia’s, was waiting right near the door. Mia tugged her ball cap down over her face as she walked the short distance. The cap, flannel shirt, jeans, and barn jacket were meant to make her blend in. They seemed
to be doing the job. This town was pretty small—hardly more than a way station on the road to Canyon Lake, really—but it didn’t hurt to be cautious.

She turned the ignition and noted the glowing fuel sign. An eighth of a tank. She could probably put off filling up, but the last thing she needed was to get stranded. She headed for the town’s only gas station as an intolerable country song about fried chicken drifted from the speakers. Mia changed the dial, but the music selection was as limited as everything else around there. She gave up and turned it off as she coasted up to a pump. She’d pay cash. She walked up to the attendant, who was too preoccupied with the basketball game on his TV to give her more than a glance.

Mia leaned against the pickup and watched her breath form a frosty cloud as the numbers scrolled on the pump. She hugged her arms closer to her body for warmth.

The town was quiet, secluded. It was exactly what she’d been looking for when she told Alex she wanted to drop out of sight but stay somewhat close to home at the same time. Alex had come through completely. Before joining the Delphi Center, Alex had devoted her career to helping women in trouble disappear, and Mia had expected nothing less. Alex knew how to hide people, and in only a few short hours, she’d managed to throw together a cover and give Mia instructions on how to stay lost for a while. So far, everything had gone as planned.

So why did she feel antsy? Mia gazed down the long empty highway and finally put a label on the emotion that had been hounding her these past three days.

She felt lonesome.

It was silly, she knew. The whole point of being there was to be alone, as far removed from her job and her family and San Marcos as she could safely get and still carry out her plan. And yet the fact that she hadn’t had a real conversation in days was starting to needle her. Her brief meet-up with Sophie at the truck stop where she’d delivered Mia’s evidence kit to her didn’t count. The instant Sophie had mentioned bumping into Jonah, she’d quashed Mia’s interest in chitchat.

If Jonah was looking for Mia, then Ric was. And although that didn’t come as a surprise, she didn’t want to dwell on his interest, or she might waver from her course. And she couldn’t. Not yet. She couldn’t afford to reach out to Ric or anyone else, no matter how much she wanted to, until she had answers to some of her questions—namely, who was threatening her and her family. Mia intended to find out as soon as the fingerprint evidence she’d submitted the day before came back from the lab.

The nozzle clicked, and Mia removed it from the truck and replaced the gas cap. She wiped her dusty hands on the legs of her jeans and pulled the keys from her pocket. A wool glove fell out, and she stooped down to get it.

Crack!

She dropped to the pavement. She knew that sound. It was—

Crack!

Grit kicked up into her face, and she scrambled around the truck. Someone was shooting at her!

The teenager stepped out from his booth. “What the—”

“Go back inside!” she screamed, flattening herself against the back bumper of the truck. She glanced around frantically. Where had the shots had come from?

Brakes squealed, and she whirled to see a big silver grille coming straight at her. Her heart skittered as it screeched to a stop inches from her face. She lunged away, but a hand clamped around her arm. A wall of leather surrounded her. She thought of the biker guy and started kicking and screaming like a banshee.

“Mia, come
on
!” And then it was Ric’s face in front of her, and she was being hauled across the pavement. He jerked open the passenger door to his truck and threw her inside, then dove in behind her. In seconds, he was behind the wheel and peeling away from the gas station, his door hanging open beside him.

“Close your door!” he yelled, yanking his shut.

Mia reached for the handle from her position on the floor. She started to crawl into the seat, but Ric shoved her head down.

“Stay low!”

She curled into a ball and squeezed her eyes shut as she tried to get her breath. It was happening. Again. Someone was shooting at her, and her heart hammered, and she couldn’t breathe. Ric took a corner on what felt like two wheels, and Mia bumped against the dashboard.

Ric’s expression was mean, warlike. She noticed the gun in his hand. She cowered away from it, not wanting to be anywhere near the thing if it accidentally went off.

He took another corner and looked back over his shoulder. Then he looked at her again.

“Hold this.” He thrust the gun at her, butt-first. She
took it. It felt warm from his grip, and she didn’t know what to do with it, so she rested it on the seat—pointed at the door—as he dug into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out his cell phone.

“Please don’t call the police.”

His gaze snapped to her, and his eyes narrowed.

“Please?”

For a long moment, he watched her, his expression loaded with hostility.

“Ric, the
road
.”

He looked into the mirror again. His foot eased off the gas, and he looked down. “You can get up now. He’s not behind us.”

She returned his gun to him and pulled herself into the seat, shocked by the amount of effort it took. Her knees throbbed. They felt bruised, probably from dropping to the ground. Her palms were bleeding. She wiped them off on the legs of her jeans and brushed the hair from her eyes. She looked back over her shoulder, but the road behind them was empty. She glanced ahead. Empty that way, too.

“You sure we’re not being followed?” She heard the quiver in her voice.

“That was a rifle shot. Came from the woods north of the gas station.”

“So he’s—”

“Probably on foot.”

For minutes, they drove in silence. Mia closed her eyes and tried to get her breath back. She did, but she still felt the adrenaline pumping through her veins, making her shaky and hot and nauseated.

The truck slowed. Ric pulled over onto the shoulder
and turned to face her. Those black eyes bored into her, straight into her soul.

“Who was that?” His voice was tight with fury.

She stared at him. She opened her mouth to answer, but then Sam’s face flashed through her mind and she clamped her lips shut. She couldn’t tell anyone her suspicions, not even Ric. Not until she knew if she was right.

“Answer me, goddamn it!”

She swallowed. “I don’t know.”

He watched her for a long moment, then looked away and cursed.

“How did you find me?” she asked.

“I looked.”

He took his phone from the console and started dialing.

“What are you doing?”

He cut a glance at her. “Saving your ass.”

CHAPTER 13

The phone call was short, clipped. Even if it had been in English instead of Spanish, Mia doubted she would have understood what was going on. After disconnecting, Ric tapped some info into his GPS and swung back onto the road, leaving a spray of gravel behind them.

“Where are we going?”

He kept his gaze on the highway.

“I’ve rented a house on the south rim of the lake,” she said. “All my stuff’s there.”

“Forget your stuff.”

She stared at him.

“I’m taking you to a safe house. The Bureau has one not too far from here.”

“You called the
FBI
?”

“I called my brother.”

“The FBI agent.”

He just looked at her. He’d probably figured out by now that she didn’t trust cops. Of any flavor. If there was one thing she felt certain of, it was that the man who’d carjacked her and killed Frank Hannigan and staged
Sam’s kidnapping was a cop. Besides carrying a gun identical to Ric’s, the man knew way too much about way too many things not to be some sort of law-enforcement insider. Current or former cop, Mia didn’t know, but either way, he had connections.

She took a deep breath and stared through the windshield, resigning herself to a new fate. A safe house. With Ric. How was she going to investigate this thing with him babysitting her?