Avenging Angel (13 page)

So did passion.

Her cheeks colored. She hadn’t forgotten how it had felt to be kissed by him that morning. He had been warm and had tasted good, very good, despite her anger. She had liked the sureness of his tongue in her mouth, the heated tenderness of his lips and teeth grazing her skin. Enjoying his kiss had been part of what had made her so angry.

She cleared her throat in private embarrassment, not daring to look at him until she’d banished her illicit thoughts. When she was sure she had everything under control, she lifted her gaze and asked, “What’s in Seattle?”

“A friend, Charlie Holter, my ex-partner. I’ll leave you with him, and hopefully Austin will follow me.”

She watched him for a moment, then lowered her gaze to her plate, an action to match the sinking feeling she had inside. She didn’t want to think about leaving him alone to face Austin. The situation was too much her fault. The danger he was in was too much her responsibility.

Damn him. He’d had no business putting himself in the middle of her problems. She wasn’t at all sure why he had gotten involved, and she wasn’t at all sure she dared to find out, which left her feeling guilty and confused, and something else she didn’t want to name.

“Where will you go?” she asked, pushing her food around on her plate, her appetite having suddenly disappeared. She needed to know what he was going to do, where he was going to be. She couldn’t just walk away from him and pretend his problems were no longer hers.

“I’ll head for Mexico.” He cut off a piece of his chicken-fried steak and swirled it through his gravy. “Dane Erickson has a lot of connections down there.”

“Drug connections,” she said, not bothering to phrase the two words as a question. She knew what he was—a two-bit hood who had parlayed street toughness and a finely honed sense of criminality into an uptown career as a bodyguard. She would be wise not to forget that. Unfortunately wisdom seemed to be deserting her in direct proportion with the amount of time she spent with him.

Dylan paused with the piece of steak halfway to his mouth, hesitating as her words sank in. With a quick movement he finished off the bite. He’d be damned if he let her ruin his appetite.

Apparently, though, she wasn’t working under the same set of ground rules.

“Excuse me,” she said, pushing away from the table.

He’d grabbed her wrist before she had a chance to get her hand off the table.

“Where are you going?” he demanded quietly.

Her eyes flashed in irritation, and she answered him very slowly. “To the bathroom, if you don’t mind.”

He did mind. She hadn’t been out of his sight or control in nearly twenty-four hours, and that’s the way he liked things. She may have felt safe in the backwater wilderness of Pace, Montana, but he did not.

He kept his fingers firmly wrapped around her wrist. His gaze held hers, daring her to contradict his unspoken order to sit back down. Then, beneath his hand, he felt the tension leave her arm.

“Let go of me . . . please.”

There was that word again, so softly spoken, undermining his instincts and playing on his guilt. He knew he had to release her, but before he did, he tightened his grip for an instant and let his thumb slide across the tender skin of her inner wrist. The gesture was more of a caress than a threat, more of a caress than he’d meant to give. He pulled his hand back, disgusted with his inability to control his reaction to her.

Without a word, she left him, and he sank back into his chair. He had one more night to get through before he left her in Charlie’s care. After that, it would just be him against Austin.

He looked out the window fronting the restaurant, glad to be situated farther back in the recesses of the dining room. Bright parking lot lights from the adjacent gas station lit up the outside as if it were broad daylight. The people in the front row of booths were sitting ducks by his way of thinking.

He checked his watch, automatically timing her. He didn’t want to give her enough rope to hang herself, or give anybody else a chance to get to her. Until they made it to Seattle, she was his responsibility. Until they made it to Seattle, she was still his.

* * *

The Elk Café was part of a larger conglomerate including a gas station, convenience store, and gift shop. Johanna found the telephone next to the bathrooms near the back of the gift shop. Guilt assailed her again as she punched the buttons to place a collect call to the private club where she and Henry were members.

Guilt was ridiculous, she told herself. Nonetheless she also had to keep telling herself it was for Dylan’s own good too. She could help him more by using the law against Austin than she could ever help him on the run. Maybe she could even save him.

Save him from Austin just long enough to throw him in jail for your own reasons
. That’s what she’d threatened him with. That’s what she’d told Henry she was going to do. Now she knew she wouldn’t hound him into a jail cell. He’d been through enough on her account. More than enough.

Her finger paused above the last numeral in the club’s phone number. Her mouth tightened. Damn him for messing up her code of ethics. She knew the difference between right and wrong. Or rather, she used to know the difference. Dylan Jones had made her whole system of values look mighty gray.

She didn’t know what to do—but she knew what she would have done yesterday or any other day before he’d come back into her life. She punched in the last number and gave her name to the answering computer. The call was accepted by the first person who picked up the phone. The Boulder Club didn’t as a rule accept collect calls from its members, but Johanna knew Henry would have taken care of all the small details. What she didn’t expect was to be speaking to a police detective rather than her partner.

“Miss Lane, I’m Detective Campbell. We’ve been waiting for your call. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said, trying to hide her unease. “Is Henry Wayland there?”

“Yes. Are you still with Dane Erickson? Is he armed?”

“May I speak with Henry, please.” Dylan’s lack of faith in the police must have rubbed off on her, because she felt surprisingly uncomfortable talking to a detective—especially to one asking questions about him.

There was a moment’s silence.

“Miss Lane,” Detective Campbell began again, “we’ve been worried about you. I’d like you to give me your location so we can send someone to pick you up.”

“I would like to speak with Henry, please.”

A disgusted sigh was followed by the sound of muffled voices.

“Johanna.” Henry came on the line, blunt and to the point. “Where are you?”

“What’s going on, Henry?” she asked. It had sounded like a lot of people were huddled around the phone at the Boulder Club.

“What’s going on?” Henry repeated, his voice rising. “What’s going on is that you’ve been kidnapped by a
certifiable criminal
. Dane Erickson has a rap sheet a
mile long
. Now I want you to quit analyzing the situation and just tell us where you are so we can
get you the hell out of there
.”

A woman walked into the alcove concealing the bathrooms and the telephone, and Johanna turned her face to the wall to keep the conversation private.

“Relax, Henry. I’m safe.”

“No, you’re not. You are definitely not safe. Your Dylan Jones, alias Dane Erickson, Daniel Erickson, and Marty Barnes, has been up on charges from car theft, to check bouncing, to three counts of assault. He’s never gone as far as kidnapping before, but it fits. He’s a dangerous man, Johanna.”

“I knew he was a car thief.”

“Are you listening to me?”

“Yes.”

“He’s been implicated in some very major drug dealings.”

“In Mexico, I know.”

“The police would
love
to pick this guy up, but they’re more concerned about your safety. I must have been deranged this morning to suggest that you stay with him.”

A man came out of the men’s room, and she turned her back the other way, keeping her eyes downcast and her voice low.

“I didn’t have a choice this morning, Henry. I was tied to him.”

“Right.” Henry sounded relieved that the decision had truly been out of his hands. “But you’re free now, thank God, and you need to tell us where you are. Don’t worry about Dane Erickson. He won’t be able to hurt you once the police have you. They are professionals, Johanna. They know how to handle men like him.”

Men like him. She dragged her hand back through her hair. Johanna didn’t even know where men like him came from, let alone how to handle them. She’d never met anyone more compelling or so quietly, seriously confident of his abilities, and she’d known both those things the very first time he’d walked into Austin’s office. She also knew she didn’t like the idea of turning him over to the police.

“Henry, I—”

A movement at the opening of the alcove caught her eye. She glanced up, and her heart stopped for an instant. When it started up again, it was beating too fast. Her mouth went dry. Dylan leaned back against the wall and slipped his hands into his front jeans pockets, watching her with a brooding gaze. His coat was draped over one arm, helping him hide the gun in his waistband.

“It’s a miracle he hasn’t done any jail time,” Henry continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “All I can think is that he’s got a damn good lawyer.”

Dylan shifted his position slightly, and Johanna stiffened, bracing herself. Henry said something else she didn’t catch. Her concentration was all on Dylan and what he might do next. The possibilities seemed endless and none too pleasant.

With effort, she held his gaze, until his lazy, dangerous perusal shifted to a more questioning, less condemning countenance. Then she had to look away. He was giving her infinitely more grace than she deserved. It was his life she was juggling, her net he’d gotten caught in, and she who had been caught red-handed betraying him.

She wanted to say she was sorry, but the words wouldn’t come. For a moment she was gratified she had at least a semblance of honor left, however fleeting. But a fleeting sense of honor wasn’t enough to save him. He’d turned her world upside down, and consequences would be paid. One word and she would be free of him. It was the only sensible thing to do, but she couldn’t remember when being sensible had ever seemed so wrong.

Her gaze moved back to his face. He was tired, weary. The strain of his life showed in the pinched lines at the corners of his eyes and in the unconscious movement of his hand upward to support a bruised rib. He breathed slowly, watching her, waiting for her to answer his silent question.

She was in emotional quicksand and sinking fast. She needed to leave him, but she couldn’t. He wouldn’t survive without her. Nothing could be simpler, or more compelling: He had saved her life; she had to try to save his.

“You’re right, Henry,” she said, lowering her gaze and speaking softly into the telephone. “He does have a damn good lawyer.”

“Jo—”

She hung up the receiver and faced Dylan with what she hoped wasn’t a look of pure, unadulterated guilt or total surrender. “I guess we better get going. I’m not sure if they traced the call or not.”

He took his time with an answer, letting his gaze drop partway down her body and come back up before he nodded and turned to leave.

The look made her nervous. It implied a willingness to accept a concession she was sure she hadn’t intended to make. Yet she wasn’t willing to change her decision.

Halfway across the parking lot, his steps slowed. She thought he was hurting and looked up at him in concern. He didn’t return her look, but surprised her by taking her arm and gently pulling her to a stop.

“There’s something I need to know.” He seemed strangely ill at ease, even shy in the way he failed to meet her eyes with his usual domineering attitude.

“I didn’t tell them where we were or where we were going. I promise,” she said.

“Why not?” he asked, tilting his head to face her, and she realized that was the question he wanted answered. “You had the chance. I wasn’t going to stop you.”

She stared up at him for a long moment, then lowered her lashes. A pale flush of color came into her cheeks.

It was apparently all the answer he needed. He released her arm and touched her once, lightly, on the shoulder, guiding her toward the ear.

Johanna was mortified. She wasn’t sure what he’d read into her reaction, but she was sure embarrassment was an appropriate response on her part. She should have given him her reasons in a straightforward, professional manner. Instead she’d equivocated and given him a free field to come up with his own answers.

“I believe you’re with the FBI,” she said belatedly, trying to salvage her reputation as a woman with above-average intelligence.

“Good.”

“Henry checked you out. He didn’t come up with the FBI, but he said you’ve never done any jail time. I drew my own conclusion.”

“Correctly,” he added, reaching for the passenger door on the gray sedan.

Too late Johanna realized what he was doing. She inhaled sharply and whirled around, throwing herself against him and almost knocking him down. It had been her intention but he was too quick, too steady on his feet. His arms came around her, holding her tight, and she buried her face against his chest, holding her breath for the instant it would take for a blast of sound and pressure to end their lives.