Sin on the Run (6 page)

“Whatever works,” Maggie exclaimed, unrepentant. “If Christian and I had eloped, none of this would have happened.”

“And Blake would be dead.” Rhonda blew out a breath, the idea of the hit on Blake having been successful making her ill. “This isn't your fault, so cut it out. I'm going, aren't I? Stop the guilt trip.” Maggie had done it on purpose. Rhonda had been around her long enough to know the woman's tricks. And yet, her tactics worked.

The truck finally came to a stop. Maggie stood first, leading the way to the front. With a loud clatter, the doors rolled open. Christian stood on the other side, a smile lighting up his face when he saw his new wife.

“Hey, darlin'. How was the ride?”

“Teeth jarring,” Rhonda answered for her. “And it smells like a dorm after a frat party.”

“Glad I missed those.” Maggie made a face.

He reached up and plucked Maggie out of the delivery truck, giving her a quick kiss before holding his hands up to Rhonda.

“It's okay, lover boy, see to your bride. I can jump.”

Shaking his head, he swung an arm around Maggie's shoulders. “Are you sure the two of you aren't related?”

“You say that like it's an insult.” Maggie regarded him, daring him to agree.

“Never in a million years.” He kissed her again, this time harder, longer and like a man who hadn't been able to start his honeymoon yet.

Rhonda thought about looking away but didn't. “Hey, unless you want me to hurl, could you start the love fest when I'm not around? I'm going into hiding for witnessing one gruesome incident, let's not make it two.”

Maggie had the decency to try and push him off, but Christian wouldn't let himself be pushed. He finished the kiss and for a split second, Rhonda was envious.

Separating his mouth from hers, Christian motioned to the plane with his chin. “Blake's inside and, Rhonda, he'd kill me if he knew I told you this, but he's in a lot of pain. Go easy on him.”

She felt sorry for him, of course. Who wouldn't? But the last thing she ever wanted was someone else to take care of.
This wasn't his fault.
She resigned herself to the fact he'd need her help. “What else should I know? Does he have penicillin with him?”

“Yes. Here.” He handed her a bottle. “These are pain meds. He's stubborn about taking them. If I gave them to him, he'd have just tossed them out. The house will have everything else the three of you will need.” He passed her a notebook and a cellphone. “I made you a list of the do's and don'ts, everything to keep you safe and hidden. All the important numbers are programmed into the phone. Asterisk 911 will speed dial you to me. And the feds have a doctor in the area ready in case Blake gets worse. I hate to put this on you, but can you try and keep him quiet and rested? Hopefully, he'll be better sooner rather than later. He'll pretend like everything is all right. Don't let him fool you. You'll get a phone call when or if it's time to move. There's a contingency plan in effect just in case.”

“In case?” In case they were discovered? “Won't it be too late then?” How would they be able to run with one of them injured? How would they defend themselves? Run? Run where?

“Don't worry. The house is under surveillance. No one will get near it.”

Rhonda let herself breathe. Surveillance was good.

“It's more if you're discovered in New Orleans. You'll be pulled long before they make it out to the house.”

That didn't make her feel hunky dory. The reality of it all started to make her stomach hurt. She'd have an ulcer soon. “How is he really?”

Christian shrugged. “Anxious to see you.”

“Why?” Admittedly, she was eager to see him too. But just to see for herself that he was alive.

“He's worried about you. I had complete faith in my wife's talent of persuasion.” He kissed Maggie's temple. “But until you're on that plane . . . Shall we?” He motioned toward the airstairs.

Rhonda followed Christian and Maggie. What the hell had she gotten herself into? She could take care of herself. Always had, even when taking care of herself meant lying to the social workers who'd come sniffing around. Now, she'd have to put her faith in people she knew little about, except for the fact that they flew under police radar. And one of them was injured. Like it or not, she was going to have to play nursemaid again, the one thing she'd promised herself she'd never do. Her father was dead and God help or strike her down, whichever the case may be, she was thankful. She'd loved him, loved him with everything her young heart had been able to offer. But when he died, she'd been relieved. Her life was now her own. And she'd be damned if she'd relinquish that to anyone.

She heard Blake's concern before she made it through the door.

“Where is she?”

On seeing her, he visibly relaxed, his head falling back onto his neck rest. Her heart sank. He was pale, and from the sweat on his forehead, in obvious pain. She glanced around the luxurious cabin, looking for a place for him to lie down. Up front, four spacious leather chairs turned to face each other, and a long sofa in the same cream color flanked by two more seats with a table between them, took up the back.

“Rhonda, you've no idea how happy you just made me,” he said.

“I hear that a lot,” she answered in the sauciest tone she could muster. She was sure that fancy seat he sat in reclined. All this money, it must.

“Okay, Dozier's ready to go,” said Christian. “I gave Rhonda her own cellphone, just like you wanted. If you need anything once you land, go through Monty's secure website and he'll contact me or Ryan.”

Blake nodded. “I know the routine.”

Routine? They'd done this before?

Maggie pushed her way past her husband to give Rhonda a hug, hopefully not their last. “Now listen to what he tells you. Don't get in his face about this.”

Rhonda opened her mouth but one look from Maggie and she shut it.

“I know what you're like. But even injured, he's still the expert here. On the flip side, if he gives you any lip about his injury, you can let
him
have it. See, a trade. Your safety, his health.”

That should've made her feel better. It didn't. What if something went wrong? What if he got a horrible infection under her care? It'd be her safety, his death. “I just wish I knew how long this was going to last.”

“Me too, but you don't have a choice. So try and make the best of it.” Maggie's tone suggested something more than catching up on reading.

Rhonda's eyebrows shot up. If she didn't know better . . . nah, Maggie would never make that kind of innuendo. Shannon and the girls would, but Maggie? The idea of sleeping with him again had never even popped into her head. She'd been too busy remembering the first time. “How would you suggest I make the best of it?”

“Spend the time considering my job offer.” She smiled.

“Oh.” Rhonda now had to try and get the image of a naked Blake out of her head.

Months earlier, since the media had made Heart's Desire a household name, Maggie had begun managing the club from home. She relied on couriers to bring her the financial stuff and as Rhonda's injuries wouldn't allow her to dance, she took care of the rest of the girls. Maggie had competent managers to run the floor, but the press and even tourists made it hard for her to go to the club without a media frenzy. It was the kind of attention the women in Maggie's programs didn't need or want. A couple had run from not only places, but people. Their faces in the papers weren't welcome. Rhonda understood.

Maggie had once told her they weren't that different, she and Rhonda. On some level, Rhonda agreed, but where it counted they were. Maggie loved her maternal instincts and in fact thrived on them. Helping came so natural to her, she didn't think, just did. Rhonda, on the other hand, hated helping and would give anything never to do it again. If she could cut out that part of her that dragged her sorry ass into helping others, she would.

She was twenty-eight and had spent nearly all of those years taking care of someone else, putting what she wanted and needed aside. And if she had to do it over again, she would. She loved her father. He was what he was. But enough was enough. She glanced back at Blake. His eyes were closed, his lips drawn in a tight line. One more time, she told herself, and then no more. And the no more included Heart's Desire.

She didn't want to give Maggie another reason to worry. “I'll think about the job.”

Everyone said their goodbyes. When the Dozier told them they were ready for takeoff, she took the seat beside Blake.

“I'm really glad you're here,” he said.

“Yes, you said that.” She smiled weakly at him and looked away. At least one of them was glad.

“I couldn't live with myself if anything happened to you. I want you to know,” he put his hand over hers, “I'm sorry that you got mixed up in all of this. I won't say I regret what happened between the two of us, but if you hadn't been in my room—”

“You'd be dead,” she pointed out, meeting his eyes. “I saved your ass.”

“Yes,” he said, his laugh unable to hide the pain he was in. “I guess I owe you.”

“And I intend to collect, but not now. Now, you're going to pop one of these babies.” She pulled out the pill bottle she'd tucked into her jeans. “Then we'll figure out how to recline these suckers.” She patted her chair. “And you're going to nap, all the way to New Orleans. Got it? Go ahead. Argue. I dare you.” She'd put enough menace in her voice for him to take her seriously. She may not like mothering, but she was good at it.

“I don't do pain pills. They make me foggy and foggy I'm no good to you.”

“Hate to break it to you, bud, but you're no good to me anyway. Not like this. Bet you can't even see straight. Someone put a hole in your chest twenty-four hours ago. You should be in bed. You want to help? Get some rest.” She brushed away the hair on his forehead, a trick Mrs. Grekov had taught her, a way to check for fever. Instead, the cool feel of his skin beneath her fingertips stirred memories better forgotten. She'd remembered the way she'd wrapped herself around him. And from the look on his face, from the way he was staring straight in her eyes, he was sharing her thoughts. This wasn't good for either of them.

“Take the pill and go to sleep.” She opened the bottle and glared at him, daring him not to take it. He stared at the white capsule in her hand, looking like someone who hadn't gotten the memo on who was in charge. For now anyway. Rhonda called on her inner Black Opal. If nothing else, her stage persona at least knew how to take charge.

“Are you waiting for water? Or would you like me to shove it up your ass?” She plastered on the sweetest smile in her repertoire for dealing with ornery men, the one that said screw with me, and I'll stomp on your balls.

“T
here's a fully stocked bar behind the partition up front.” Blake took the pill from her hand.

He watched as she went to find water, a man divided. He was grateful she was here. She was right and he wasn't much help to her, not like this. Dozier would have to watch out for them both. Not that he didn't trust the ex-pro football player, ex-marine with his life, but Blake would much prefer to do it himself. He'd gotten her into this mess and he needed to make certain he got her out.

She returned with an open bottle of water.

“Thanks.” He accepted the water and swallowed his pill.

“You be a good little patient and we'll get along just fine. Now, there must be some fancy little button that makes that seat recline. If not, there's a sofa in the back.”

“Actually, that sofa turns into a bed. This is Ryan's jet. He entertains a lot.” He left it at that, figuring she'd understand his meaning.

“Good for him,” she said. “Why squeeze into an airplane toilet when you can fly with your own bed?”

“I can't tell. Are you being sarcastic?” She'd said it with such a straight face, he wasn't sure.

“No. Why?”

“Some women might find it offensive. This plane is always fueled and ready to go. Maggie blushed when Christian pointed it out.”

“That's 'cause you were here.
Her
friends make Christian blush. It's kind of funny, actually. But what other women are willing to do is none of my business. I work in a strip club, remember?”

It had to be the pain pill kicking in and making him loopy because for the first time, he realized other men had seen Rhonda naked, and he didn't like it. Didn't like it one bit. He closed his eyes. He was a moron.

“Chair it is,” he heard her say. Then his seat reclined and the last thing he saw was Rhonda, the naughty smirk she wore when she danced with all her long hair covering breasts he'd come to learn were perfect.

“Blake?”

Something warm touched his face.

“Blake?”

A hand. A soft hand.

“Blake, you need to wake up.”

He groaned. Someone had wallpapered his tongue to the roof of his mouth. Why would anyone do that? The soft skin left his cheek, leaving behind an unwelcome coolness. He wanted it back.

“Blake, we're here. You need to wake up.”

“Pretty boy still sleeping?” The gruff voice jarred Blake and he peeled open one eyelid. Dozier stood over him, arms crossed. “Come on, sleeping beauty. Your chariot awaits.”

“Be nice,” he heard someone scold from behind the bulldozer of a man. “He's been shot.” Dozier was shoved aside and Rhonda stood in his place. Blake opened the other eye.

“Here.” She handed him a water bottle. “Pasty mouth sucks.”

He drank, trying to clear his head at the same time. “I hate meds.”

“Yup, I know. You told me. How's your pain level?”

His chest still hurt, but the sweats had stopped. “Not bad.”

“You got a little color back. I'm glad. Attila here says we should get off the plane. We're inside a hangar and there's a UPS truck waiting to take us to the house. Can you get up? Do you need help?”

He nodded, but was disappointed when she stepped aside and motioned for Dozier to come forward. He could get up just fine. He'd just wanted a chance to have her close, feel her heat next to his. In normal circumstances, that would be pushing his luck, but he was injured and didn't all sick men want some loving?
Man
, was he loopy.

Dozier put an arm under his shoulder and helped him to his feet. Good thing too, because the moment he stood, his knees gave out. “I'm not popping any more meds,” he said through gritted teeth.

“No worries,” Rhonda said, surprising him. “There are other orifices. And I'm sure your friend will be only too happy to help.”

“You're mean. Anyone ever tell you that?”

“I guess you haven't seen my act.” She smiled, gently patting his cheek. “Men line up for miles to watch me be mean.”

She was right. She'd been one of the club's biggest acts. When she performed, men would fill the club just on the off-chance she'd growl in their direction. He wasn't sure if it was the effects of the pain meds or the thought of men drooling over Rhonda, but waves of nausea made him stagger.

Dozier half-walked, half-carried him down the short flight of airstairs. Thank God for the low step into the delivery truck. He'd have never made it in otherwise. Inside, the van was empty except for a couple of lounge chairs. He was never more grateful than when Dozier dropped his ass in one.

“Ma'am.” Dozier pointed to the empty chair. “I'm goin' to drive.”

Rhonda took a seat. “Great,” she said, her smile stiff. “But please, call me Rhonda or Ronnie, not ma'am.”

“Sure.” Dozier nodded then turned his attention to Blake. “You, close your eyes, man. You look like you're about to pass out.”

“Damn meds.” Blake scrubbed a hand over his face. He'd have to find a way to get those pills away from her. He doubted she'd let him get away with not taking them but no way in hell was he going to spend another day whacked out of his mind.

Dozier looked at Rhonda, then laughed. “How many orifices did you say there were?”

“Traitor.” Blake shut his eyes.

“Blake?” Rhonda's voice carried through the fog in his brain.

“Mmm?”

“We're here.”

His eyes popped open. “What?”

“You fell asleep again.”

“What the bloody hell is wrong with me?”

“You were shot, you moron,” she said completely unapologetically. “You need your rest. Your body should be exerting energy to heal, and the best way to do that is not to give it anything else to focus on—hence, sleep. Are you going to be a pain in the ass over this? Because let me tell you, I am a pro at dealing with
pains in the ass
.”

He wanted to argue, wanted to tell her he didn't need mothering. But it was his fault she was here. His fault she'd had to come into hiding with him. “No. I get it. I need sleep.”

“That's better. Now let's get you inside.”

He looked around the delivery truck and realized they were alone. “Dozier?”

“He went in, said he'd be back in a few minutes.” She stood, bending to slide an arm beneath his shoulder. “Can you do this with me or should we wait?”

“No, I'm fine. Let's do this.” He only prayed he wouldn't embarrass himself by landing flat on his face.

It took more effort than he thought but he managed not to puke or lose his balance. Rhonda, trooper that she was, kept him steady. Inside the old plantation-home's gates, Dozier met them in the courtyard.

“I'll take it from here.” Dozier exchanged places with Rhonda.

It was for the best, his size making it awkward for Rhonda to help him up the stairs. Still, Blake resented Dozier's intervention. The woman felt too good in his arms, even if she was only there to lend support. Then he hoped, prayed, it was the meds controlling his thoughts because if he wanted to survive being secluded with Rhonda he'd better stop caring how good she felt.

“I put your bag upstairs,” Dozier told her. “I'll stay on the first floor, in the room behind the kitchen. Take any room you want. They've all been made up.”

“How many does this place have?”

“Ten, excluding the carriage and pool houses,” Blake answered. “The carriage house was converted into a separate apartment along with the rest of the stables. There are two rooms in the pool house as well.”

“Wow.” Money didn't impress Rhonda. She made a lot of it at the club and had been saving for her own place one day, when she figured out what she wanted to do with her life. But like any woman, she liked nice things. And this place fit that bill. Plus this estate had history, not all of it good, but it had its place in the world. Unlike Rhonda.

She decided to go exploring while Dozier tucked Blake in for the night. She'd never been to New Orleans. Not sure she wanted to wander outside without Dozier, she kept her snooping to the inside of the old plantation.

The kitchen was right out of a magazine, old-fashioned soap stone sinks and counters, and Shaker cupboards. The rest of the house was exactly what you'd expect an historical home to be. Six-inch cypress floorboards, thick walls, massive doors, and antiques everywhere you looked.

“Most of the modern amenities are hidden.” Dozier entered the kitchen. “There's a computer screen in every room. You just have to know which button to push on the remotes. You'll find those either sitting on a table or mounted on a wall. Go surfing if you want, but nothing personal, okay? No emails, no Facebook, no Twitter. Nothing they can use to pinpoint our location.”

“I know. Before we left, Christian gave me the do's and don'ts. I don't have many friends beyond the club.” Not any who'd care if she went missing for weeks . . . or months. “And Christian mentioned Blake could contact Maggie through a secure channel.”

“Yeah, pretty boy is a little more techy than Christian. He's not all face. Even though Ryan pretends to forget that. It drives Blake insane.” Dozier laughed, piquing Rhonda's curiosity.

“What do you mean, pretends to forget?”

Dozier snorted. “Sorry, it's not nice to laugh at a guy when he's down. But I'm just glad it's him and not me Ryan abuses.”

Now he really had her curious. “Go on.”

“Blake is smart. Real smart. Ryan knows that, hell everyone knows that, but he gives him assignments that require . . . mmm . . . let's say a certain knack. Nah, that's not it. Oh shit, he uses Blake's looks against him. I shouldn't be telling you this, but since you're here and stuck in the middle of this, I figure you'll be hearing a lot worse. Ryan once assigned him a case that required Blake to escort a seventy-five-year-old woman all over town.”

“So?”

“The key word there was
escort
.”

Rhonda's mouth fell open. “He pimped him out? That's disgusting.” Dozier laughed again, making Rhonda want to slug him. “It's not funny.”

“Yeah, it kind of is. Don't worry. Blake came out of it unscathed. Barely. You see, the woman kept trying to share him with her friends. I mean it was bad enough to try and stay out of her bed, but add the rest of her socialite bridge club and I've never seen Blake solve a case faster. But don't fret. Blake got even with Ryan.”

She'd heard Ryan Sheppard was some kind of philanthropist. “Goes to show.”

“That he's good at his job?”

“No, that you can't judge a book by how much money they give to charity.”

“Am I missing something?” Dozier asked.

“Just that your boss is an asshole.”

“Wow, and you haven't even met him yet. Ha,” he said, giving her a quick hug. “You and I are gonna be great pals. Now how about we go get something to eat, dance partner?”

“Sure. I'll even cook.” She let Dozier lead her to the kitchen, her thoughts with Blake and wondering what other kind of torture his boss had subjected him to. She realized then that Blake might understand something few other men could—what it was like to be objectified.