Stolen Heat (11 page)

Present day
Central Pennsylvania

The two plus hours it took to get to Williamsport felt like the longest of Kat’s life. The snow had lightened up the farther south they drove, but it was still slow going. The iced-over roads were slicker than snot.

Kat tried to sleep, but it didn’t work. Her mind was a tumble of activity. Shifting on the seat, she glanced at Pete through hooded lashes, and try as she might, she couldn’t help focusing on his bloodstained shirt. More than once she’d told him to pull over or lean forward so she could have a look, and more than once he’d told her he was fine.

Fine.

There was a word to focus on. Irritated, on edge, frustrated as hell…all described him way better than
fine.
But his emotional state wasn’t her problem anymore, was it?

Something loosened inside her chest as she watched his profile while he drove. Shafts of sunlight illuminated the shadowy beard on his jaw, the lines and angles of his face. He was older now, fine lines fanning out from his eyes, creasing the skin around his mouth, but he was still classically handsome in every sense of the word, even with that shiner.

She thought about the way he’d left her in that lot, then come back for her for no apparent reason. She knew
it wasn’t guilt driving him to take her to Philly, but if not that, then what? He could have just as easily driven away and never looked back. Then she remembered the ease with which he’d used that gun back at Marty’s farm. And knew the Peter Kauffman she’d loved years before was a far cry from the gun-toting car thief she sat beside now.

If she expected to understand him in any way, she was fooling herself.

His gaze drifted her way. “What?”

She straightened, bringing her seatback upright. “Nothing.”

He didn’t press her for a better answer, and she was glad she didn’t have to explain. She glanced out the front windshield again and told herself to stop wondering about whether he was innocent or guilty of being associated with those crimes in Egypt and focus on what really mattered. Namely, staying alive.

And she really needed to get in touch with Marty’s contact before they reached Philadelphia.

“I need to find a pay phone and a set of yellow pages,” he said, breaking the silence. “Hopefully there’s a car rental agency in this town.”

“A pay phone’s fine. I need to make a call, anyway.” She darted a look into the side mirror. “Do you think we lost them?”

Pete easily changed lanes and glanced in the rearview again like he’d done routinely the past few hours. “Yeah. For now. But just to be safe, let’s not dawdle.”

He eased the car into a gas station and killed the engine. While he went to look up the rental location, Kat slipped out of the vehicle and walked into the convenience store. A bell above her head jingled as she entered.

She didn’t waste any time. She grabbed a couple of sodas and an assortment of snack foods she hoped would last them the rest of the trip, then carried her selection to
the counter. As she reached for the cash in her pocket, she eyed a rack of T-shirts just to her right.

Outside, Pete was using the pay phone. A quick burst of panic washed over Kat when she stepped out into the cold and saw him standing with his back to her, the receiver pressed to his ear. Who could he be calling and why? A friend? A business contact? Was he telling someone where she was?

Then she had a sickening thought, one that oddly struck her as worse than knowing he might be turning on her. What if he was calling the woman from last night? The one in the limo.

Stomach flipping over, she deposited her purchases in the backseat, then climbed into the front and waited. Pete was deep in conversation with whoever was on the other end of the line. He waved his arm as he spoke, ran his hand through his hair and angled away from her so she couldn’t see his face.

The car door opened as she was studying a young mother holding a gallon of milk while dragging a toddler along with her through the parking lot. Pete slid behind the wheel, his sudden closeness breaking her train of thought. Her blood warmed, and she drew in a breath as she remembered the sensation of his skin against hers, his hands on her body, his lips capturing hers.

“There’s a Hertz dealer about ten blocks from here,” he said as he pulled the door closed.

“Girlfriend know you’re okay?”

“It wasn’t my girlfriend. It was my business partner. I was due back in Miami today.”

“Oh,” she said, hating she’d jumped to conclusions but still needing an answer as to who he’d been talking to. “What did you tell him?”

“Just that something came up. I figured the less he knew, the safer he’d be, in case your friends went looking for me in Miami.”

That made sense. And it meant he wasn’t turning her in. At least not yet.

“Turn around,” she said quickly to give her something else to focus on. “I need to check your back.”

“I don’t think now—”

“There’s never going to be a good time. It’ll just take a minute.” She reached into the backseat and grabbed the first-aid kit and shirt she’d bought. “Besides, you can’t go walking around with those bloodstains all over your sweatshirt. People will notice and ask questions.”

With a frown of reluctance he took the shirt she offered, turned away and lifted the cotton over his head. The unease in Kat’s stomach was quickly replaced with a rolling heat that trickled through her limbs with every inch of skin revealed.

Narrow waist, roped muscles, broad bare shoulders and golden brown skin from hours in the sun. She drew in a sharp breath and reached out to see if he was as soft as she remembered.

“That bad?” Pete asked, angling his head over his shoulder to get a look himself.

Kat flinched at his words and stopped millimeters from touching him. Embarrassed that she’d almost forgotten what she’d set out to do, she dropped her hand and quickly rifled through the first-aid kit for the supplies she needed. “No, it’s fine. Just a few cuts. They look like they’re already starting to scab over.”

In silence she used an antiseptic wipe to clean the few cuts, then gently applied a topical antibiotic just to be safe. Since the wounds didn’t need bandages, she blew on them gently to air-dry the antibiotic.

Pete’s back arched. Goose bumps broke out on his flesh. And something between a gasp and a moan slipped from his lips, a sound that kicked Kat’s pulse up at least two notches. Though he hadn’t flinched or reacted at all when she’d touched the cuts with her fingertips, the
sensation of her breath against his skin had obviously affected him.

And her, too.

Oh, boy. She was playing with fire here.

“There. Um, you’re done.” She held up the tube of antibiotic cream with fingers she tried to keep from shaking as he turned to face forward. “You might need more of this later, though.”

“Thanks.” Pete pulled the plain black tee over his head, and Kat caught a quick glimpse of rock-hard abs, chiseled pecs and a body she’d once kissed and licked just about every inch of.

Lord, she didn’t need that image in her head. She ran a hand over her brow.

Oblivious to what he was doing to her, Pete repositioned himself in his seat, but his voice was hard when he spoke. “If you need to use the phone, make it quick. I want to get back on the road.”

Kat quickly opened the car door, thankful for the chance to get away from him. “I got a few things, in case you’re hungry.” She headed for the pay phone as he turned to look in the backseat.

She dialed the number Marty had given her, careful not to look back. The line rang twice before a male voice answered and asked for her by name.

Confusion rushed through her, but then she remembered Marty had probably called ahead.

“Are you being followed?” he asked.

The man was direct and to the point, which for some reason calmed her. She turned to look around the sparse parking lot. “No, not that I’m aware, Agent…”

“Just David. Technically I’m retired, and if anyone but Marty had called, I’d have said no to this little meeting.”

“I see.” Though she really didn’t. She wasn’t even sure which agency this
David
worked for. She knew Marty was CIA. In the short time she’d dated him and through the
course of their lasting friendship, though, he’d never talked about his colleagues or connections, and certainly hadn’t ever mentioned this man to her in their brief conversations.

“You’re sure it was Busir last night?” he asked.

Like she could ever forget that face. “Yes. Absolutely.”

“Describe the other one.”

She went through Busir’s accomplice’s description. Keys clicked in the background.

“Minyawi,” he finally said. “Has to be. His involvement with Busir is new, and interesting. Busir disappeared from radar about two weeks ago. Intel’s been monitoring his location for some time. The fact he’s with Minyawi can’t be good.”

She wanted to ask
Intel from where?
but bit her tongue. That kind of question could get her into trouble. And she already had enough trouble to last a lifetime.

“There were more.” She told him about what had happened at Marty’s farm.

“Well, now,” he muttered in a surprised tone. “You’re one popular woman, Ms. Meyer. This is about more than tracking down one measly female witness to a decade-old crime, isn’t it?”

Kat didn’t answer as she glanced backward at Pete, who was watching her carefully through the windshield. Marty may trust Halloway, but her instincts screamed not to reveal too much to this man too soon. Especially not over the phone. And she wasn’t entirely sure where this would all lead. It wasn’t just her safety on the line here.

“You could say that.”

Computer keys clicked again. “We’ll meet at Fairmount Park, Lincoln Parking Area. There’s a footpath that leads out from the parking lot. Follow that. I’ll be waiting at the bridge. How soon can you get here?”

She turned back toward the storefront. “If the weather holds, about three hours, I think.”

“Three hours.” He recited another phone number. “You can’t make it, you call this number and I’ll give you a new rendezvous point. And, Ms. Meyer?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t jerk me around. I’m going out on a limb here simply by stepping out in the open on this one. If you even suspect you’re being followed, you don’t show. Do you understand?”

Something in his tone sent a chill down Kat’s spine. Just how high did this run if an ex-CIA operative—assuming that was what he was—was wary of being seen in public with her?

The line went dead before she could ask.

A shiver of foreboding rushed over Kat’s skin as she hung up the phone and walked back to the car. “Three hours,” she said after she climbed in. “Fairmount Park.”

Pete eyed her a long minute like he wanted to ask what else they’d discussed, then finally started the ignition and backed out onto the street without another word.

What would happen in Philadelphia? Would this David be able to help them? And would Pete go in with her or leave?

“Stay here,” Pete said as he parked in the shadow of a large tree in the corner of the car rental lot and killed the engine. “I’ll be right back.”

Kat did as she was told only because it was easier and was relieved when he came out of the office ten minutes later with a key dangling from his fingers.

He pulled open the back door. “Grab everything you brought with you. The car’s in the lot around back. I’m going to ditch this thing on a side street and meet you back there in a minute.” He reached into the backseat for the small bag of groceries.

“And here I thought you’d grown attached to this thing,” she said as she climbed out. “Just where did you learn to hot-wire a car anyway?”

He held the car door open for her with one hand. Hesitated long enough to make her think he wasn’t going to answer, then surprised her when he said, “I had a friend in high school who taught me a thing or two.”

“Your parents didn’t care?”

“My parents were dead.”

His declaration was so matter-of-fact, it made her pause. It also made her realize they’d never talked much about family. At least not about his.

He grasped her arm to help her out of the vehicle. “It’s no big deal. My grandmother was too busy with her volunteer work and social clubs to pay much attention. And child rearing was the last thing my grandfather had in mind during his retirement. He spent most of his time on the golf course.”

“What happened to your parents?” she asked in what she knew was a shocked voice.

“Car accident. They were killed coming home from a political fund-raiser when I was fourteen. Lauren was nine.”

“Lauren?”

“My sister.”

He had a sister? How could she have never known that?

And then it hit her. She hadn’t known because in all the months they’d been together, they’d either been in bed or talking about being in bed.

A lump formed in her throat. “Your parents were in politics?”

“No. One of Dad’s friends. My father ran a fledgling art gallery in St. Petersburg. Oils, mostly. A few watercolors. Nothing spectacular. When he died, we went to live with his folks.”

That explained his love of art. “What happened to his gallery?”

“It closed up. My grandparents never really supported it. No one even noticed it was gone.”

There was more to it than that. But in the silence she thought she understood. His father’s dismal success and ultimate lack of legacy had obviously stuck with Pete.

“That’s…” Kat searched for a word that fit how she felt hearing about his past. She couldn’t help imagining him as a renegade teen, missing his parents, running with the wrong crowd, hot-wiring cars to gain attention from his uninvolved grandparents. When she couldn’t think of a single word that worked, she finally settled on one she’d heard time and again about her own childhood. “Sad.”

He shrugged. “Depends who you ask. Things hadn’t gone down they way they had for me and Lauren, we wouldn’t be who we are today.”

Wasn’t that the truth?

His sister’s name finally clicked, and her eyes snapped to his. “Lauren Kauffman? As in, Lauren Kauffman the underwear model?”