Pinups and Possibilities (14 page)

A yawning server came through the swinging kitchen door and set a glass and a straw down in front of the kid. Polly kissed Jayme’s head.

“Drink up,” she said, then hopped off her stool and pulled me aside.

“I know what you’re looking for,” she stated. “And you won’t find it.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I lied.

“I don’t know why…but I think it does.”

I shook my head. “We have to go.”

“At least let him finish his milk.”

“Take it to go.”

Polly placed a hand on my biceps and with the simple touch, heat seared through my T-shirt, up my arm and into my chest. She took a step toward me so there were only a few inches between us.

“I realize I haven’t been very…cooperative,” she said in a low voice. “But for Jayme’s sake, let him just enjoy this.”

Her eyes had a cagey look and I knew she was calculating another getaway.

“Time is a luxury we don’t have at the moment, Polly. Grab the kid and get in the car.”

“Please, Painter.”

“Do you really want to make a scene in here?”

“Do
you
?” she countered. “I’m not the one who has to worry about the police being alerted.”

“I know as well as you do that you don’t want the cops involved.”

Desperation crept into her voice. “I won’t let you have him.”

“Dammit, Polly. I need you to—”

She cut me off. “To obey you without question? To drop any hope I have for a normal life for me and my son? You’re as bad as he is!”

“Cohen and I are nothing alike!” I growled.

“You’re
exactly
alike! You’re both self-centred assholes who want to drag a
child
into Cohen’s world. My child!”

“I’m not taking you to Cohen.”

I didn’t know it was true until I said it, and relief washed through me as I spoke the words.

Polly’s face was wary. Hopeful, but wary.

“You’re not?” she asked carefully.

“Of course not.”

“Just like that?”

“Jesus. How many times have I told you I’m not a thug? The men I chase down for Cohen are criminals, Polly. Smugglers and drug dealers and pimps. They get what they deserve. I can justify taking them in, even if it’s not in the nicest way. But I’m not a monster. There’s no way in hell I’d endanger a child’s life.”

Without warning, Polly threw herself into my chest and wrapped her arms around my waist. Every curve pressed against me, making me ache. I brought my own arms up reflexively and pulled her even closer.

“Polly,” I said into her hair. “We still have to go. Cohen sent someone else after you.”

She stiffened but didn’t let me go. “Why would he do that? I thought you were his best guy.”

“I am,” I replied. “I don’t know if it’s because I wasn’t fast enough, or if it’s something more, but Cohen sent a guy named Gerry Smith to your house in Trent Falls.”

“Oh, my God. Misty’s family?”

“They’re fine,” I assured her. “But when this man gets a hold of
you
…he won’t care that you’re a woman or that Jayme’s a kid. He’ll do whatever it takes to drag you to Cohen.”

“Mommy?”

We broke off our embrace at Jayme’s tentative voice.

“Sorry, kiddo,” Polly said with an embarrassed flush. “Painter just gave me some good news and I got carried away.”

“You
never
get carried away,” her son protested.

Polly floundered for a second and shot me a helpless look.

I’d been watching the interaction warily. I’d very nearly turned the boy’s mother over to my cruel boss. I’d endangered both their lives. But instead of being angry at myself, I felt a need for redemption. So I jumped in.

“Do you like sports cars, Jayme?” I asked.

“My mom drives real slow,” the kid replied, punctuating his words with an eye roll that was all Polly.

I winked. “I know. That’s how I caught up to her so fast.”

“Hey!” Polly protested, but Jayme was grinning at me.

“Well,” I went on. “My good news is this. I’m about to take you and your mom for a ride in my sports car. And I promise you this…I do
not
drive like an old lady.”

The kid’s whole face lit up in a hundred-watt smile, and I knew he was sold.

Painter guided the car through the night, forcing cheerful conversation. Or at least my end of it was forced. Painter seemed perfectly content to lead Jayme through a round of twenty questions, and then a game of I spy.

I had too many things on my mind.

First was my terrible guilt at having put Misty and Mike and their son into a dangerous situation. It hadn’t occurred to me that I needed to protect anyone but Jayme. We’d never lived anywhere long enough to develop the kind of relationship that made it necessary. I shook my head at my own carelessness.

Thank God they’re all right.

And then there was Painter himself.

I stole a glance at him from the corner of my eye. He was more at ease than I’d seen him since our first night together. Even then, the wildness behind his lovemaking hinted at something darker. The passion in his eyes had been deep and soulful, but it didn’t hold any of the sincere playfulness I saw now.

Thirty-six hours ago, the man had been a one-night stand. An amazing, sexy, much-needed release from my day-to-day life. And just twelve hours ago, I’d been running as fast and far away from him as I could. With good reason. And it went far beyond the fact that every time I looked at him, I had to suppress a lingering desire to have him in my arms again.

And now…I was relying him to do what? Clean up my stupid mistakes? It wasn’t fair to Painter. Even if I tried to justify it by saying he’d put me directly on Cohen’s radar in the first place, I couldn’t quite convince myself it was okay.

“Hey.” His deep voice cut through my jumbled thoughts.

“Sorry,” I mumbled. “Are we all done with I spy? Are we starting a new game?”

The sides of Painter’s mouth turned up at the corners. “Not exactly. Jayme’s been asleep for about a half hour, and if your eyes weren’t open, I’d think you were, too.”

“I couldn’t sleep if I tried,” I told him.

“Scared?”

I readied a smart-ass retort, but when I caught his eye, I realized he wasn’t teasing me at all. I took a deep breath and admitted I was terrified.

“I thought I was safe,” I said softly. “It’s been so long since I’ve even
heard
something about Cohen, I let my guard down.”

“I’m going to take you some place where you’ll never have to hear about him again.”

Painter’s fierce tone made me want to believe him. Desperately. But when I spoke again, anxiety was still apparent in my voice.

“How? The man’s a relentless tyrant. And if he finds out you’re helping me, he’ll work twice as hard to find us.”

“I’m an expert at finding people who don’t want to be found,” he reminded me. “My dad was a cop. I worked as a PI. And I can’t deny that working for Cohen has taught me a few things, either. I can do things above board, below board, and I can ride the line right down the middle. So I’m going to take everything I know about finding people, and find a way to use it to hide you.”

“What if it’s not enough?”

“It will be.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Tell me how you stayed hidden for so long on your own,” Painter replied.

“The basics.” I shrugged. “Every six months or so, we moved. I changed my name each time. I took cash-paying jobs when I could and used a fake social when I couldn’t.”

“What changed?” he wanted to know.

“Jayme started preschool. And I figured out there was some stuff I couldn’t fake. At least not easily. Immunization records, progress reports…that kind of thing. I decided we could slow down a bit, maybe move at the end of every year instead of cutting out halfway through, but…” I trailed off.

“But you got comfortable,” Painter filled in.

I nodded. “And I got sick. Pneumonia, right at the end of the school year, so Jayme ended up starting kindergarten here.”

“What does he think of all this?”

I hesitated.

Now or never.

“When Jayme was three, he started having what the doctors thought were seizures, and they told me he had epilepsy. He’d had a brain injury when he was in utero, and they felt the symptoms fit,” I explained, trying to keep my voice even. “But when we moved here, we got a new doctor, and he immediately took Jayme off his medications. He diagnosed Jayme with a sleep disorder. Parasomnia, characterized by violent behaviour that he doesn’t remember when he wakes up.” I paused and touched my still tender black eye. “Stress can trigger it, or make it worse. We were moving so often that the stress was
always
there. After a year in Trent Falls, the episodes all but stopped. When I brought up leaving…they started all over again.”

I stopped talking, and I saw that Painter was gripping the steering wheel tightly, tension evident in the hard line of his jaw.

“This is my fault,” he growled.

I shook my head. “It’s not.”

“If I hadn’t come after you—”

I cut him off. “I’d have moved on, and Cohen would’ve sent someone else.”

He reached across the console and squeezed my hand.

“Goddamn Cohen Blue,” Painter snapped vehemently.

What did Cohen do to this man?
I wondered.
And what would he do to Painter now that he was on my side?

“You don’t have to do this.” I tried to say it softly so he would know I meant it.

“I’m making a choice,” he replied just as quietly. “And I know it’s the right one.”

“Painter—”

“I’m going to find a way to keep both of you safe,” he promised, and his voice was forceful enough to render me speechless.

Part of me wanted to be offended by his statement. After all, I had been taking care of Jayme on my own since the second he was born. But all I felt was relief. This man knew Cohen. He knew what living with him was like. And he wanted to help us.

We drove along in silence for a few more minutes before Painter cleared his throat.

“Can I ask you something?”

I heard the strain in his question, and my head tipped toward Jayme before I could stop it. I looked back to Painter.

I couldn’t quite keep the edge from my voice as I answered him. “No, he’s not Cohen’s son.”

Painter’s sharp inhale carried through the car. “That’s not what I was wondering.”

I looked down at my hands. “Yes it was. I saw the way you looked at him in the restaurant.”

“It’s none of my business.”

“You deserve the truth.”

“The truth? It’s been a long time since I saw things in black and white,” he told me. “Jayme’s
your
son, and right now that’s all that matters to me. I was just going to ask you what your real name is.”

“My real name?”

“Yes.”

“Legally…I guess I don’t have one anymore.”

I expected Painter to react with confusion or to argue that everyone had a legal name. But he just grinned.

“Well that explains it,” he said.

“Explains what?”

“Why I like you so much.”

My face heated up. “What does my legal name have to do with it?”

“It’s just one more thing we have in common,” Painter told me.

I frowned. “So that story about your mom being an artist was all made up?”

“No. It’s true. I was born with this name, but legally…” He trailed off as he glanced into the rearview mirror. “Oh, shit.”

I was instantly on guard. “What?”

“Don’t turn around,” Painter replied. “But have a look.”

He tilted the rearview toward me, and in the distance, I spotted the headlights of another vehicle, crawling along behind us.

“You think someone is following us?” I asked.

He nodded. “Look.”

With the rearview still faced my way, Painter stepped on the gas. I watched as the other car accelerated, too, keeping up, just barely in my vision. Then we slowed and the headlights backed off again.

Dammit.

He was right.

“Sloppy,” Painter muttered.

“You couldn’t have known.”

“Not me,” he corrected. “
Him.
Smith probably waited at your friend’s house for me to arrive, then followed me until I found you. But he lacks patience.”

We drove on for a few minutes more, the newly tense air punctuated by Painter’s thumb, tapping rhythmically against the steering wheel. The headlights behind us flickered into view every few seconds, making my heart pound in my chest.

“Polly?”

Painter’s voice made me jump in my seat. “Yes?”

“How sound of a sleeper is Jayme?”

“When he’s out, he’s out,” I replied, and touched my bruised eye again.

Painter accelerated, tiny bit by tiny bit. The car hummed as the speedometer climbed.

Was his plan to outrun the other man?

But as we passed a cut out in the road, Painter slammed on the brakes and pulled a tight U-turn. We came to a dead stop in the middle of the road.

“Ready?” he asked.

I nodded and gripped the sides of my seat tightly, bracing for the burst of speed I knew was coming. The tires kicked up rocks as he shifted gears and tore across the pavement in the other direction.

“Eyes ahead,” Painter cautioned.

Moments later, we sailed past Smith’s navy sedan. I held my breath until I couldn’t see him in the side view mirror anymore. Then I took in a relieved gulp of air and turned to Painter.

“Did we get away?”

“We weren’t trying to get away,” he replied.

“What do you mean?”

Painter slowed down well below the speed limit and flicked on the turn signal. Worry trickled through me.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Giving him lots of time to catch up and see that we’re pulling over.”

“S-s-smith?” The other man’s name came out in startled stutter.

“Yes.”

“We’re just going to
let
him catch us?” My voice rose a little at the end of the question.

His hands were tight on the steering wheel. “No. We’re going to bait him into following us.”

“For God’s sake, why?”

“I know it’s crazy to ask you this,” he said. “But do you trust me?”

Painter’s eyes left the road for a moment and he sought out my gaze. My pulse thrummed involuntarily at the openness I found there. Trust was a luxury. A privilege. A gigantic leap of faith. Could I give it to this man?

A battle waged in my heart. As long as Cohen was alive, he’d hunt Jayme and I down. The moment he realized Painter had switched sides, he’d come after him, too.

Painter is putting his life on the line for us,
I realized.

He risked everything just to give Jayme and me a chance. He made himself vulnerable and asked for nothing in return.

The blood rushing through my body surged, then calmed.

And in spite of the fact that just a few hours earlier, this man still worked for Cohen Blue, I couldn’t help but nod. Relief flooded Painter’s face.

Then he did a quick shoulder check and gripped the steering wheel.

“Hang on,” he said a little grimly.

We swerved off the road, and I gasped before realizing we weren’t headed directly into the trees, but between them onto a barely visible dirt road.

How did he even notice it?
I wondered before remembering that Painter got paid to be observant.

Trees and shrubs flashed by in the glow of the headlights and bushes snapped against the sides of the Mustang. In the backseat, Jayme stirred, but didn’t wake. For the first time ever, I was thankful for the sleep disorder that made him capable of staying conked out through almost anything.

The dirt road widened into an overgrown clearing laced with sparse gravel, and Painter slowed the car as we approached what looked like a dilapidated outhouse.

“When we park, I need you to pretend to be asleep, too, okay? No matter what you hear, don’t move and don’t open your eyes.”

“What am I going to hear?”

“Hopefully nothing. But just in case…” He trailed off and I tried not to shiver. “Just promise me to you’ll sit tight.”

“Okay.”

“Good. Now reach under the seat and pull out what’s under there.”

Obediently, I did. My hands found a chilly black case, about the length of my forearm. I dragged it out and set it on my knees.

Painter eased the Mustang into the makeshift parking lot. He positioned the car diagonally in front of the run-down building, leaving no room for anyone to go around us without being noticed. He yanked the keys from the ignition and held them out. My hand closed over his hesitantly, and he didn’t let go right away. There wasn’t anything affectionate or sexual about the prolonged hold, and when he finally released the keys, fear sent a chill up my spine.

“See the one with the funny shape?” he asked.

I looked down. One key, shorter and thinner than any of the others, stood out. I plucked it free.

“This one?”

He nodded. “It opens that little safe on your lap. Inside it is a gun.”

My mouth went dry. “I don’t know anything about guns, Painter.”

“This is an easy one, okay? And you’re not going to have to use it.” He met my eyes. “But I want you to be ready anyway. If something goes wrong, you won’t have much time, so you need to listen carefully. Just unlock the case, slide out the magazine, slip it into the gun, and flip off the safety. I promise, it’s as simple as it sounds.”

“Okay,” I whispered.

“Smith doesn’t like women, and he’ll underestimate you. He’ll believe you’re an easy target. Too easy for him to bother with. I know how he works. He’ll come after me first. If the worst happens, he’ll smash the window and try to get to you before he even looks at Jayme. You’ll be scared, and that’s okay, because he won’t be expecting the gun. You’ll have the advantage.”

“What if I can’t do it?”

“You can,” Painter assured me. “Because you’ll be doing what you do best. Protecting Jayme.”

He leaned over me to lock my door, pressed his lips to my forehead, and then jumped out.