Trust Me: The Lassiter Group, Book 1 (4 page)

Makeover aside, he doubted anyone in her department would have pegged her as a murderer, but some people were damn good at masking their nastier sides. He wasn’t convinced she had killed Cara or he wouldn’t have been so nice about it up until this point, but he wasn’t about to hand over her gun and give her the opportunity to prove him wrong.

Once he got ahold of Tess, he could plan his next move. He wasn’t looking forward to pointing a gun at Max indefinitely, though, and that was probably the only way to ensure her reluctant cooperation.

Across the seat, she gave a good show of focusing on the road. Strong, slim fingers clenched the steering wheel, the only indication she was tense, and under his scrutiny, they too relaxed as though she suspected he was sizing her up.

“How did you find me?” Her velvet-edged voice still carried the unmistakable tone of someone used to getting what she wanted.

Lucas considered ignoring her then changed his mind, figuring he might as well push a button or two himself. “You made it rather easy.”

She arched a brow. “If it was so easy, how come it took so long to catch up with me?”

“I found you when I needed to,” he lied. “You should have done a better job of covering your tracks.” Lucas retrieved the gun and settled against the seat’s faded and worn upholstery.

Max shook her head, her knuckles turning a little white. “I covered my tracks—”

“Whatever you say.”

Her shoulders stiffened, but she let it go. “Where are we going?”

“Don’t worry about it. Just drive.”

“Is it much farther?”

He didn’t know if it was Max, his shoulder, or that he still couldn’t reach Tess—or any one else for that matter—that was testing his patience. “I’ll let you know.”

“I think—”

“You don’t need to think. You only need to drive.”

Right near the top of his to-do list was ditching the truck and finding something a little less conspicuous. The lemon-colored rust bucket stuck out like an original Volkswagen Bug parked between two brand new BMWs.

Finding something else might have to wait until morning, though. The secondary highway they were travelling on wasn’t exactly overflowing with potential vehicles. It wasn’t overflowing with much of anything except trees. At least the truck was getting them where they needed to go for the time being, which was far away from Riverbend.

As soon as the thought took root in his mind, the truck shuddered and rolled to a dead stop.

“Out of gas?” Lucas echoed a minute later, certain he couldn’t have understood Max’s faint murmur.

The barest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

“What do you mean by out of gas?” He crossed his arms, waiting. What kind of murder suspect on the run didn’t keep their vehicle filled up at all times?

“Well,” she began. “You see methods of transportation such as my truck here are powered by a fuel that some of us like to call
gasoline
. And when this—” she tapped on the fuel gauge, “—little arrow gets down on E, which coincidently stands for
empty
, you need to stop at a place that sells
gasoline
and fill up the tank.”

Lucas could only stare at her. “Are you finished?”

She shrugged. “That depends.”

He managed to stop himself from asking,
On what?
knowing the question would encourage her to keep talking. Seeing how quickly his good luck had gone to shit, he could do without inviting that kiss-my-ass attitude he heard in her voice.

Ignoring the drumming ache in his shoulder, he checked his phone—surprise, no signal—then stared out into the night.

No headlights cut through the darkness in either direction. Probably a good thing since flagging down a ride was a last resort. He was betting Max’s unpredictable streak ran at least a mile wide. Who knew what she’d pull if they managed to catch a ride.

“Trying to figure out your next move, huh?” She glanced over at him.

He wasn’t buying the innocent expression on her face for a second. If he was in her shoes, he’d be focused on using the unexpected development to his benefit. Which left him coming up with a plan
and
anticipating how she’d try to work it to her advantage.

Too bad his car was stuck back in Riverbend, though he doubted Max would have found being locked in a trunk with a very big gag over her mouth a more promising situation, even though according to some, she deserved a lot worse.

A crushing numbness squeezed his chest and grief over Cara’s death overwhelmed him. God, he missed her. When he caught up with the bastard who killed her…

Half his team was convinced Max did it, but the deeper he dug, the less sense things made. Of course sharing that opinion had pissed off a number of people, including Cara’s brother Caleb.

But Cara had been convinced her friend Max had a better handle on Blackwater and wanted to team up with her to bring the bastard down. That had been the last thing she’d said to him. A few hours later she was dead.

From the corner of his eye, he watched Max pick at the driver’s seat. If she was concerned at all over her present situation, she kept it under wraps. If she wasn’t worried about him, she should damn well be concerned that Blackwater’s men had tracked her here.

They needed to get the truck going or leave it.

“Why didn’t you say anything about needing gas?”

Max nibbled on her thumbnail. “I just did as I was told and drove. Besides, the gauge is broken.”

Lucas leaned over and confirmed the arrow still indicated the tank was full.

“Out,” he ordered.

She cocked her head to the side. “What?”

“Get out of the truck, Max.” He pointed the gun at her chest. “Now.”

Her answering sigh was quintessential drama queen, but she obeyed and hopped out.

“Hands on your head.”

“I suppose you want to frisk me too,” she quipped.

Lucas ignored her, clamping down on the frustration lodged in his chest. She wasn’t the first person to shoot her mouth off at him, and in his six years in Special Forces and three as part of the Lassiter group, most of those people had been more dangerous than Max. Heads of drug cartels, terrorists, arms dealers, even a who’s who on Interpol’s most wanted list.

But few who purposely goaded him had a fraction of the success she was having. Which meant he needed to get back in control and focus.

“Get the gas can out of the back of the truck.”

“What gas can?” she drawled.

“The one I saw back there a while ago.”

“It’s empty.”

“Get the can,” he growled.

“Whatever you say. You’re the one with the gun.” She flung a leg over the side and hauled herself up.

Lucas ignored the way her jeans molded snuggly to her ass. He might have helped her out with a soft push if she were anyone else.

Max picked up the can. “I told you, it’s empty.” She carried the orange jug to the edge and straddled the side of the truck, glaring at him. “Is that scratch on your arm leaving you a little slow on the uptake or are you always so thick headed?”

He checked the urge to drag her out of the truck. Barely. “Get. Down.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You could say please, you know.”

“Don’t push it.”

“Or what?” Max lifted her other leg over the side and jumped down. “No, wait, don’t tell me. It might be so terrifying I’ll pee my pants.”

“Listen, smart ass—” Lucas stopped at the widening of her eyes as she glanced past his shoulder.

“They found us,” she whispered.

Lucas followed her gaze but saw only darkness.

Too late, he realized the amateurish mistake. Pain ricocheted through his head. Stunned by the unexpected blow, Lucas staggered a few steps, tripping over the very full gas can she’d blindsided him with.

He fell against the truck, his injured arm taking the brunt of the impact. Pain sliced across his shoulder.

Fuck.

He was seriously going to enjoy restraining her.

It took him a few seconds to see past the blinking colored lights popping behind his eyes, and he raised his head. He caught a glimpse of Max’s pink sweater disappearing into the woods.
Shit.

Lucas stumbled after her, ignoring the way the world still dipped and wobbled. Judging by the pressure pounding at the back of his skull, like someone had slammed his head in a door a few times, he had a concussion to go along with his
scratch
.

Stepping into the woods, he paused to listen. Crickets, an owl hooting, something scampering over branches in a nearby tree.

Silently he slid between the trees, his eyes slower to adjust to the dark than he liked. Probably had something to do with getting nailed by a gas can.

Resourceful
was turning out to be pretty damn accurate.

Every few steps he stopped and listened before continuing. She couldn’t have gone far and she wasn’t tearing through the underbrush, meaning she had to be close, hiding somewhere in the surrounding shadows. Sooner or later she’d give herself away. She’d want to be on the move.

Another branch snapped, heightening his senses. Grateful for the clear night and full moon, he scanned the darkness, breath held as he waited…waited…

A muted crunch came from his left, then another. Watching his steps, he moved toward the sounds inch by inch. Dull scraping, like someone rubbing two sticks together to get a spark, echoed through the trees.

What the hell was she doing? Either she thought he was still clinging to the truck, trying to stop the stars from circling his head, or she wanted to draw him closer.

Having been blindsided once this evening, he sure as hell wasn’t going to make it easy for her to surprise him. Even unarmed and with the gas can abandoned by the truck, she was still dangerous. He wasn’t about to make underestimating her his second mistake of the evening. Third if he counted not getting that shop door locked the second he recognized her.

Circling a massive pine tree, he approached from the opposite direction. Each time the scraping sound stopped, he did too, edging forward only when the noise masked his approach.

A few minutes later, he reached a small clearing less than twenty feet across. A small blur zipped along the ground. A fat raccoon paused, eyes glittering like torches in the dark before the animal growled and darted under a bush.

Great, he’d been stalking a raccoon. Definitely a detail he’d be leaving out in his update if he ever got his cell phone to work.

The hair on the back of his neck rose to attention.

Something changed, a shift in the air, and he glanced up to see a blur of pink bearing down on him.

Chapter Three

Max ignored her cramping legs, her grip on the tree branch so tight she was half convinced she’d never be able to peel her fingers off the bark.

Ten feet down, maybe less, Lucas stepped from the cover of trees. He closed in on the same raccoon that had growled at her moments ago from the opposite end of the branch she presently occupied.

Too bad the furry little bugger didn’t take his friend with him. The second raccoon was smaller, but that didn’t make his claws or teeth any less sharp. And when faced with going head-to-head with the nocturnal creature stalking toward her or the guy circling below, she’d take Lucas.

She didn’t know what exactly he was after or how much she could possibly be worth that he’d covered her back at Sherri’s shop, but either way he was going home empty-handed.

The raccoon snarled and lunged forward, and God help her, she jumped.

Either the raccoon had impeccable timing or fate was on her side, because she hit Lucas dead-on.

He grunted in surprise and his knees buckled, pitching him forward and taking her with him. She landed on her side, the impact knocking the breath from her lungs. Recovering quickly, she rolled to her feet and kicked the gun Lucas had dropped out of his reach.

He glared up at her, already to his knees. She pivoted on instinct, snapping her leg around to deliver a kick to the jaw. Lucas blocked her with his forearms, then caught her ankle and shoved her backward.

Off-balance, she stumbled and hit the ground, but drove the heel of her boot into his stomach before he could pin her. Doubled over, he still managed to snatch a handful of her sweater and jerked her toward him.

Son of a bitch.

“You keep this up and one of us is going to get hurt.”

“Worried?” Snapping her elbow back, she caught his bad shoulder, but damn it he was fast and managed to wrench her arm behind her back.

“Not really.”

“Wait,” she breathed, the white-hot pain running from wrist to shoulder turning the last syllable into a wince.

“Are you done playing games, Max?”

“Absolutely.” She didn’t give him a chance to wonder if she meant it. She smashed her head back into his, then twisted free.

Grabbing his shirt, she spun and shoved him at the tree only a couple feet away. He couldn’t get a hand up in time to prevent a full-on collision and skidded across the bark before hitting the ground.

It should have been enough of a head start. Maybe if she’d managed to keep out of range of the kick that caught her across the thigh as he dropped. She stayed on her feet, but he rolled and tripped her before she got another foot of space between them.

Her back had barely touched the ground and he was on her, using every inch of his solid frame to trap her beneath him.

Breathing hard, she glared at up at him, cursing the fucking raccoon that had forced her to jump when she’d been prepared to stay up there all night if she had to. Or until Lucas gave up and moved on, whichever came first.

“Okay. Now I’m done.”

His body didn’t give an inch. “Somehow I doubt that.”

She cracked a smile that probably fell miles short of sincere. “Maybe I’m ready to cooperate.”

Surprisingly, he didn’t call her on the lie, and since he had blood dripping into his eye from the scrape on his forehead and running down his arm from his flesh wound, she knew there wasn’t a hope in hell he believed her.

Between breaths, he shoved her onto her stomach, planting his knee in the center of her back.

“Take it easy, damn it.” She sank her teeth into her bottom lip when he yanked both arms back and cold metal encircled her wrists with a deafening click.