In the Arms of a Stranger (Entangled Ignite) (21 page)

Which told him it had to be either Brooks wanting to capture him, or the man who’d framed him, wanting to kill him. Willing to trade two innocent lives for his.

Why? What did JP know that was so important three people had to be killed to keep him silent?

Abby looked shell-shocked, dazed. “It’s Ron. It has to be. It sounded just like him.”

“Ron?”

“Ron Hodges. He’s a neighbor. He volunteers with Search and Rescue.”

JP frowned. “The one who came to the house that night?”

“Yes. He and Wade fished together sometimes.” Her eyes widened on his. “Damn! I forgot to tell you. The last day I was home, Ron said he knew what Wade did—he called him a ‘spook.’” She shook her head. “Wade would never have told him. He wouldn’t have told anybody.”

No. Wade had definitely proven he could keep a secret. That meant Ron Hodges knew from some other source. Who? Was Ron one of the bad guys, or just a hired thug?

“What are we going to do?” Abby cried.

He turned on her cell phone again, waited for the signal, then punched through until he found the missed call. Then he pressed the callback button.

Three rings. Four. “JP!” came the answer. “How ya doin’, buddy.”

JP didn’t recognize the voice. “Ron?”

“That’ll work. We both knew Wade,” Ron Hodges replied. “Careful, methodical, loyal Wade.” He paused. “Wade left you—well, he left you something. I’ll have to admit that dead, Wade is a problem.”

Did that mean this bastard hadn’t actually killed Wade?

“A problem,” JP said, “because now you can’t find what he left for me. Namely, evidence of who you are and what you did.”

JP sent up a heartfelt apology to Wade, wherever he was, for ever doubting his loyalty.

“He always said you were good.” Ron laughed. “I won’t make you guess anymore. It’s really simple. Give me what I want within twenty-four hours, or else the boy and his uncle are dead.”

“I need more time.”

“Tough. Twenty-four hours. Call me before that time’s up. Have whatever it is Wade left you, and you can have ’em back. Wherever you are, you’d best be in Abby’s zip code in twenty-four.”

“What have you done with Steve’s son and his friend?”

“Left ‘em high and dry in the woods. They’ll be found in a day or two. Good thing they didn’t see me.”

JP bit back a string of curses. “Let me talk to Steve.”

“No can do, buddy. He’s keeping the boy calm.” The line crackled. “Tell me, Wade ever talk about Frank Boyle?”

Wade’s first partner. The one who’d been killed.

“Just to say he was dead,” JP replied.

“Man, oh, man, could Wade keep a secret. The Agency gave me a fresh start. Kinda like witness protection.”

Mistrust filtered through JP. “That close to Wade’s home? Why?”

“Nah. I was already living there when Wade showed up. Surprised me, if you want to know the truth. Never expected the middle of nowhere to be so attractive.”

Frank Boyle
. JP tried to remember what little he knew about the man. And figure out why he’d be mixed up in all this. He needed to think.

“Let Abby talk to her son.”

There was a pause. “How about she listens to him,” Boyle replied. “Put her on.”

JP handed her the phone. She listened for a few moments, tears streaming down her face even harder, before handing the phone back to him.

“Did you hear them?”

“Steve’s playing with him,” she said, and turned away.

JP put the phone to his ear. “Tell me why, Boyle.”

“You know what to do. Twenty-four hours.” Boyle hung up, leaving him more confused than ever.

Frank Boyle. Legendary. There had been rumors about Wade’s former partner. Impulsive. Too quick to disobey orders. He’d died during an operation in Afghanistan. Obviously he hadn’t died. And Wade had kept that secret, too. The one that had reared up and killed him, and was about to destroy his family.

“We have to do something!” Abby said. She’d wiped away her tears, but she looked—ravaged. Raw.
Furious
.

He had to think, had to quit feeling.
Emotions get you killed
.

Only this time it could be Wade’s son.
Abby’s son
.

Would be, unless JP could stop whatever was happening. Regardless of Boyle’s promises, no way would the bastard let Cole and Steve live. Not when they could implicate him in a kidnapping.

It was a little after seven o’clock. Twenty-four hours. They had until tomorrow night to find whatever it was Wade had hidden. And if they didn’t, he’d fake it.

“We have to search your house.”

“It’s been searched. Twice. I told you!” A sob of frustration cut through her words.

He shook his head. “We’ll do it with what you know now. What we know about how Wade thought,” he explained.

She just stared, her beautiful eyes, wet with tears, intent on him. Trusting. He never wanted to lose that trust. He needed to take care of this.

“I don’t have any idea of how Wade thought,” she said finally, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I didn’t know him at all.”

“You did, Abby. He took care of you and Cole. He protected you. If I hadn’t come along, you’d be safe—”

“And ignorant.” She shook her head. “No. There’s no blame here. Or maybe blame all around. But that doesn’t matter now. All that matters is Cole and Steve.”

She was right. JP’s training finally kicked in past the fear.
Stay focused
. He pulled back onto the road, thoughts churning.

While Boyle had said to head back to Alabama, he wouldn’t take his hostages back to Abby’s house. He’d pick a spot he was familiar with, a place that gave him the advantage. Still JP’d have to be careful.

Within a half an hour they were on the interstate, headed for the airport in Amarillo. The drive took a little over an hour. Along the way, he stopped to buy some things for a disguise. He had to have at least a hope of getting past Brooks and his means of surveillance. Because in the airport, with security the way it was, there was no way to carry—not on his body, not in the bags. He’d have to toss his guns, get another when they landed in Mobile, the closest airport to Abby’s Alabama hometown.

He bought her a head scarf and a loose floral print dress that fell to her knees. He bought himself some cheap cowboy boots that he scuffed on the asphalt in the parking lot, and a long-sleeve denim shirt. They changed at a convenience store and drove straight to the airport to buy the tickets.

The Amarillo airport had no flights to anywhere this late. The best he could do was an early morning flight, connecting through Dallas, which he’d buy in the morning so as not to give Brooks the chance to find them.

He had no fake ID for Abby, nothing but her actual driver’s license, so he’d have to buy her ticket in her real name. Maybe Brooks would be so intent on looking for him that Abby’s name wouldn’t be flagged. He’d buy his ticket in the one alias he’d been saving, and use the credit card in that name to charge his fare. Abby’s would go on a different card.

It was nearly ten when they found a motel close to the airport. Their flight would leave at six in the morning and arrive in Mobile, an hour and a half from Abby’s house, a little after noon. He had yet to buy a gun, and with Brooks still on the lookout, they’d have to be careful when they got there. That wouldn’t leave them much time left to search, but the house was the only possible place left.

But JP had already decided. If they didn’t find what Wade had hidden—hopefully a record of Boyle’s actions that incriminated him, something JP was sure Wade would do if he’d had the time—JP was going to bluff his way to Boyle. And use the skills the Agency had taught him, skills that had been honed and practiced over the years with Wade, and before him with JP’s Delta unit.

Because no way in hell would Wade and Abby’s son pay for JP’s mistakes, for his lack of faith in Wade.

If it was the last thing he ever did, he would give Abby back her life.

…

Abby wasn’t sure she could climb the steps to the second floor of the chain motel JP had chosen. How he kept going, his energy level seemingly unfazed by the last few hours of emotional, breakneck activity was beyond her.

The deadline given to them seemed to focus him, while for her the nightmare prospect of losing her son and brother made her thoughts scatter in a million different directions.

The room was generic. Two queen beds, a floral print spread, a small table, a chair, the television. The bathroom was big.

“Go ahead and get a shower,” JP said, putting their pack and duffel down inside the small closet.

“Are you sure? Aren’t you tired?”

“I’m fine,” he said with a smile. A sweet smile that for some reason made her think of Cole. Which made her thoughts careen back into a black place she didn’t want to visit.

She didn’t want him to see her like this. Overwrought. Needy. Desperate. She grabbed her bag and went into the bathroom.

There, she managed to compose herself, to keep herself focused on showering, using the hotel shampoo, which didn’t seem to want to wash out of her hair. Soft water, she thought. Two of the bites on her back were red and inflamed. She’d scratched them during the day and irritated them. She combed out her wet hair, dressed in a clean T-shirt that would serve as her nightgown, and clean shorts.

JP was sitting on the bed when she came out of the bathroom, checking one of three guns he had next to him. He’d put one in her bag—she recognized it. One of the others was the gun he carried in the holster. But she hadn’t seen the third. A spare. One he’d picked up at his cabin and kept out of sight, she guessed.

He looked up.

“Bathroom’s all yours.”

“Thanks.” He put the small gun into his bag. The other two went on the night table between the beds.

Their beds. Where they’d sleep. The idea shot straight to some inner place she’d managed to avoid since she’d realized how she felt about him.

He stripped off his denim shirt and tossed it onto a chair. His white undershirt came off just as quickly and landed on the shirt. Such typically male moves, that she smiled around the rioting emotions she felt. The bandage on his side had come loose during the day. She almost offered to help him, but stopped herself. She really shouldn’t touch him. Not tonight. She was too needy. Too vulnerable. He grabbed his backpack and disappeared into the bathroom.

She turned back the covers of one of the beds, sat down, and clicked on the television. She flipped channels, searching for something to distract herself. Several movies were on, ones she hadn’t seen. But she couldn’t concentrate. She tossed aside the remote after finding a spy movie, watching without really seeing. A car chase was unfolding, the hero racing to get away from the bad guys. Shooting. Speed. Danger. Possible death at every turn.
Likely death
. Her mind stalled at that thought, and—

“It’s not like that, you know,” JP interrupted her spiraling thoughts. He stood at the bathroom door, dressed only in jeans, his hair still wet. “It can be tedious beyond belief.”

She blinked, and replayed what he’d said. She couldn’t picture him bored, putting up with tedium.

“Sometimes it’s a struggle just to stay awake.” He leaned against the doorjamb, his attention back on the movie.

“Then why do it?”

He straightened and met her eyes over the bed between them. “Somebody has to.”

There was more, there had to be. But she would never know. She’d never know him, not really. She could read a million things into the way he looked at her, the way he’d interacted with Cole. The way he’d touched her. Might touch her…

But in the end he’d still be a stranger. A stranger who drew her like no one ever had. A sleek but powerfully built man who made his living by risking his life.

He hadn’t bandaged his wound.

She stood up and crossed the room as he bent to put his backpack in the closet. “Let me take a look at your side.”

She’d caught him off guard. He straightened and stepped away.
Avoidance
.

“I’m sorry,” she said hurriedly, backing off. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Abby,” he said, his voice a rich husky baritone, “you make me a hell of a lot more than uncomfortable.”

The charged silence that followed made the air between them crackle. Or maybe only she felt this way.

No, the heat in his eyes told her he was just as affected by her.

Just the situation
, she told herself.
Close proximity. Danger. Adrenaline
. Like in the movies.

He reached out and touched her cheek with the back of his hand. “I’ll put on a clean bandage.”

She stood frozen to the floor, watching him close the bathroom door between them.

So what was she going to do? Throw herself at him?
Get real, Abby
.

Her hair had dripped down her back, soaking her shirt. She grabbed the hair dryer and began blow-drying it. With no brush, she simply held the strands out with one hand while directing the hot air with the other.

JP came out of the bathroom, his side freshly bandaged, still dressed only in jeans, and stretched out on his bed. She could feel him watching her.

The hair at the nape of her neck was still damp, so she bent at the waist, flipped her hair over, and finished drying it. All the while she could feel JP’s attention on her. When she straightened and glanced toward him, he’d placed a pillow across his stomach.

Still watching her.

Mouth suddenly dry, she carefully replaced the dryer on its stand. Their eyes met in the mirror.

If she didn’t do something rational, she was going to do something abysmally stupid.

“Did you take your antibiotics?” Her question hung in the air between them for several moments.

“They’re in my bag. I’ll get one in a minute.”

But the tone of his voice.
Oh, God
, the tone.

She felt clumsy, disoriented. “I’ll, um, get one for you.”

“I can do it.”

But she was already rummaging through his duffel. She found the envelope with the tablets. Concentrating intently on them, she got a glass of water from the bathroom and brought it to him.