Last Call (8 page)

Rhys swung the towel bar, smacking her
assailant in the back of his head. "That's for putting your hands
on me, you filthy bastard." She connected again. "And that's for my
partner"

As soon as Rhys stopped swinging, Nick threw
in an uppercut that sent the man windmilling backward into the
dresser. The asshole bounced off the furniture and landed in
heap.

Nick stepped back, breathing hard. "Damn,
Rhys," he said, not taking his eyes off the man on the floor. "What
happened to staying out of trouble?"

"You say that like I wanted to be mauled." The
memory of the unwelcome touch made her skin crawl. She still
couldn't put a face to him — or at least didn't pick up on anything
familiar through a sheen of blood and sweat.

"Watch that bathroom door," Nick said, leaning
to check pockets on the big guy. Finding nothing, he wiped his
hands on his pants and stepped back. "At least they're not total
idiots. We're out of here."

She tried to slow her breathing.
"How?"

"I rented a car. Grab your shoes." He picked
up the plastic bag he'd dropped and gestured toward the
exit.

Rhys slipped into the tennis shoes she'd left
near the door and stepped into the hall ahead of Nick. "Now what?"
she asked when the door closed behind them. The maids were going to
have one hell of a bad surprise if the goons didn't get out of
there in short order.

Nick grabbed her hand — if the move was meant
to be casual, her heart missed the memo — and headed for the exit
at the end of the hall. "We hit the road," he said. "Maybe do a
little sightseeing."

"Surely you jest."

"A little. Come on." He pulled her toward a
small SUV.

She'd just met the seat when he jumped in the
driver's side and fired the engine, wasting no time exiting the
lot. He pulled onto the main road and drove several blocks before
steering behind a Chinese restaurant. Her stomach rumbled even
though there wasn't a hint of food smell in the air.

"Let's see your arm," he said, nudging the car
into park.

While he rifled through the plastic bag
bearing the name of a drug store — and containing, among other
things, a box of condoms — she drew her arm from the shirt so he
could dress the wound. The discovery stunned her, but it wasn't a
topic she wanted to discuss. Not until she'd had some time to make
sense of her own feelings.

Not surprisingly, the bleeding had picked up
during the brawl. She bit her lip while Nick tended to the damage,
then she gratefully popped the over-the-counter painkillers he gave
her and swallowed them dry. Her head throbbed. While he packed up
his first aid gear, she leaned against the seat and
smiled.

He caught her eye, his own expression weary.
"You get happy over some weird shit, Rhys."

"Feels like old times," she said. She needn't
elaborate — he could take it any way he wanted.

"I guess it does," he said. "Not that I enjoy
having my heart hit the floor like that."

"Yeah, the whole situation must have really
sucked for you," she said wryly.

"Hey," he protested. "I took one to the
jaw."

"I'm sure the card store has something for
that," she said.

Nick looked from the dash to her and back
again. His mouth stretched in a familiar, delicious grin and he
shook his head. "I've missed you, you know."

Hiding a smile, she turned her attention to
the window as he pulled onto the highway. The world glittered,
evidence of the previous night's storm reflecting in an omnipresent
thin sheet of ice.

"Where are we headed?" she asked.

"First, my apartment."

She looked at him. "You already said that
wasn't happening. Also worth a mention, I'm not getting anywhere
near your bed."

He tilted his head. "Don't be so sure. We're
off the clock now, you know."

Rhys wasn't often speechless, but her lips
still tingled with his kiss, leaving her without a defense. They'd
always had their job between them, but this new arrangement sorely
lacked boundaries; any they might have claimed shot to hell when
his groin settled against hers.

"I think we—" He broke off when his phone
rang. He picked it up and answered, "Yep."

A mumble threaded the line, but Rhys couldn't
distinguish the words.

"Going to get some personal items, then headed
off grid." Nick signaled, then took the exit to downtown. In the
middle of the turn, he moved the phone from his head, tapped the
screen, and handed her the device.

"Where to?"
Cutter
. She immediately recognized
him over the speaker.

"I'm keeping that to myself, buddy," Nick
replied. "No need to drag you into this."

"I'm already in it," Cutter growled. "If you
want my help—"

"I appreciate your help. The less you know,
the better."

Cutter must have gotten the message. "At least
tell what name you're running under so I can let you know if it
comes up with a tag."

Nick glanced at Rhys.

She tipped her head in a half-nod.

"The rental car is registered to Jake Davis,"
Nick said. "If you hear anything, you know how to get
me."

"Yeah, I got you," Cutter said, and ended the
call.

Rhys dropped the phone to her lap. "Cutter
seems defensive," she said.

"He's got his butt on the line with us. I
guess I can forgive defensive."

"Mmmm." Unconvinced, she stared out the window
where the suburbs gave way to a more urban landscape. "Where's your
apartment?"

"About five minutes off. Just on the wrong
side of the tracks."

Rhys opened her mouth to comment, then snapped
it shut when the car lurched. She whipped around in time to see a
truck hit them.

"Get down," Nick demanded.

"You piss off anyone in a blue pickup?" she
asked, ignoring his orders. "Late model Ford." The truck gleamed,
the sun reflecting off the windshield and blinding her to the
vehicle's occupant. But she could see the license plate just
fine.

"Dammit," he muttered. "I told you to get
down." He hesitated. "And can you see anything?"

Rhys tapped the plate number into Nick's cell
phone. "Can't see who's inside," she said through gritted teeth.
"But I got the tag. Feel free to lose them now."

"Sit back. If they ram us again, you don't
want to be twisted like that."

No sooner had he spoken than the truck slammed
into the back of their smaller sport-utility, the impact causing
them to catch air. The SUV hopped and fishtailed, the rear skidding
out before Nick wrestled it back under control. "Black ice," he
muttered. "Hang on."

This time, Rhys did as she was
told.

Nick hit the gas, shooting through the sparse
traffic. Horns blew, serenading the chase — the noise not drowning
out his cursing. "I really don't want to attract the cops," he
said, his jaw tight.

They blew easily past the other cars. "Yeah,
not the way to avoid attention."

He took the outside lane. The pickup
followed.

"Gotcha," Nick said, jerking into the middle
lane and slamming on the brakes. He took a hard left, cutting off
traffic to make a last-second exit from the highway.

Cars swerved past, blocking the truck from
making the same maneuver.

The SUV bounced on two tires through the turn,
finally righting itself at the base of the ramp.

Rhys made a shaky attempt at catching her
breath and sought Nick's eyes.

"What?" He shrugged, but the move didn't hide
the tension cording his neck. "That was our exit."

She said nothing as he eased through the
intersection.

He spoke after a brief silence. "We need a new
ride. My building is the one ahead on the right. People around here
don't like the cops, so I think we'll have some time if we borrow
something."

Rhys frowned. "I don't love this outlaw
stuff."

"What are you talking about? You
live for this
outlaw
stuff
."

"Mostly when I'm not actually an
outlaw."

He grinned, handed her a key, and pointed.
"First door. The place is pretty rough. Head for the bathroom and
look in the cabinet under the sink. The bottom is loose and
half-rotten, so it's easy to lift. My laptop and gun are in a clean
garbage bag under the plywood. I'll grab a car and meet you back
here in a couple of minutes."

Rhys took the key, warmed when he didn't baby
her. In spite of the battle lines permanently drawn between them,
one thing he'd never done was prop himself up on his third leg and
act superior. "Anything else you need?"

"There's some cash in there, too. Just bring
the bag and everything in it."

"Got it." Rhys jumped from the car before it
stopped rolling. She crossed the sidewalk to Nick's door in four
long strides. As soon as she turned the knob, he drove into the
next alley. The damage to the back of the late model car, Rhys
noted, was substantial enough to draw attention. Even if the
sport-utility hadn't been linked to them, they'd have to ditch it
now.

The door to Nick's apartment swung inward with
a guttural squeal; the echo in the dank, cold room gave her the
creeps. The apartment reeked of abandonment, the peeling walls and
matted carpet forlorn. The meager furnishings — which included a
large wooden cable spool, of all things — made it easy to ascertain
she was alone. After a quick look in the bedroom and two closets,
Rhys stepped into the yellow bathroom, hesitated, then stuck her
hand into the dark hollow under the bathroom sink. She found a
small hole in the cabinet's bottom. It took a great deal of
willpower to actually reach her fingers inside to lift the bottom.
Fortunately the only treasures she found were Nick's, just as he
indicated. With a short sigh of relief, she removed the items,
replaced the wood, tucked the bag under her arm, and headed for the
exit.

Rhys locked the door behind her and looked
around. No one seemed to pay her any mind, but tall buildings lined
the street. There was ample opportunity to be observed from any of
dozens of windows facing Nick's place. And odds were good whoever
was after them had someone on Nick's apartment, which meant she
might well be standing in a bullseye.

She hesitated at the entry,
reminded of where she'd ducked right before being shot. The memory
blew threw her with the wind — shrill and bone-cold.
He's familiar
. Not the
man who pointed the gun at her, but the other one.

"Looks like a double header
tonight, T."
The shooter's words came back
to her.
T
. Clearly
it was short for something, but a single letter of the alphabet did
little to narrow the possibilities.

An engine revved a few feet away. Startled,
Rhys drew back to the present. In front of her idled an ugly brown
car with Nick behind the wheel. He looked at her with questions in
his eyes.

Rhys gave her surroundings a cursory appraisal
before crossing the sidewalk to join him.

"What?" he asked.

"T. One of the hit men went by T."

His lips flattened into a thin line. "I hoped
when things came back to you we'd have a little more than
that."

"You and me both. His voice was familiar,
though. It's going to drive me nuts until I figure out why." She
opened the bag. "Anyway, I think it's all here. Your apartment, by
the way, is a bit too bachelor for me."

He snorted. "Yeah, me, too. Been there a whole
week and still haven't manage to unpack the throw
pillows."

She thought back to their previous
conversations. "No one knows you're here, huh?"

"Not a soul. No one knew my phone number,
either. It's a pre-paid," he said, his tone growing
somber.

"Did you order cable or anything?
Pizza?"

"All the utilities were included with the
apartment." He cleared his throat. "And I paid cash for all food
deliveries."

Rhys smiled. Neither she nor Nick liked to
cook, and working together — playing house, more often than not —
provided ample opportunity to have his takeout preferences
completely memorized. Unfortunately, takeout was the least of their
issues. "Someone wanted to find you."

He gave her a quick sideways glance. "Yeah,
well, someone found a way to do it."

"Through me," she murmured.

If Nick heard her, he did nothing to indicate
it. He seemed to split his focus between the road and the rearview
mirror. "Keep an eye out for a tail. I'd be surprised if no one was
sitting on my place, especially considering we were tracked to that
hotel."

"How were you found?"

"I wish I knew." He paused, then sent her a
look so infused with emotion it nearly drove her to the floorboards
in a puddle. "Glad I was, though."