The Evasion Read online

  But she also knew he’d walk away. He’d do it for her. Some would call him a fool. She’d call him an honorable man. A man willing to sacrifice for his loved ones.

  I adore this man.

  And yet, she couldn’t let him give up the task force. Not when it could catapult his career. If the roles were reversed, she wouldn’t want to make that decision and she didn’t want him to either. Stuck. That’s what they were.

  “You look like you’re thinking. That always scares me.”

  She shrugged, held their joined hands in front of them. “It just bugs me that we can’t do this at home.”

  “I can leave the task force.”

  “No.”

  “Then why are we talking about this? There’s nothing we can do except catch this Martinson asshole.”

  Right. She waggled the fingers of her free hand in front of her. “Let me have that phone number. I’ll get one of the firm’s investigators on it. See who that phone is registered to.”

  “I was going to call Tom with it.”

  “It’ll be faster if I have one of my people do it. Besides, you’re the one who wants to do this quietly. Tom will ask questions.”

  He stopped walking and still holding her hand, squared off with her.

  “Gabe, you know I’m right. Tom will have a million questions.”

  He let go of her hand, dug the number from his pocket and handed it to her.

  “Thank you. By the time we get to the hotel, we’ll know who that phone is registered to. Count on it.”

  —:—

  Gabe parked the rental car in the small lot behind the hotel and stared up at the back of the old Victorian. In his world, this facility would be called a bed-and-breakfast. A hotel meant a Marriott or a Hilton and would be forty stories high with long, door-lined hallways. This hotel was a big ancient house dropped on the edge of town next to other big ancient houses.

  “Wow,” Jo said. “How fun is this?”

  He glanced at her, ready to jump in with an equally snide comment, but she stared out the windshield with a quiet sense of wonderment he didn’t always see on her. Conclusion: her comment wasn’t meant to be sarcastic.

  He sighed. “I hope our room has a king-sized bed.”

  Christ, he hated those midget beds that his giant feet hung off of.

  “Don’t be such a worry wart. I requested a king and the owner said it shouldn’t be a problem. I mean, how busy can this place be?”

  She didn’t sound too convinced and just as he was about to share that thought, her phone rang.

  “Ha!” she said. “That’s Sherry’s ringtone. Told you we’d have an answer fast.”

  Sherry, one of Jo’s investigators, scared the hell out of him even more than Jo with the risks she took. These women thought nothing of entering back rooms and basements of stores in their never ending quest to find counterfeit merchandise. As a cop, Gabe understood their motivation, their need to conquer the bad guy and all that crap. He got it. No problem. But as a man with street sense, he couldn’t wrap his mind around it.

  Jo took the call, rummaged in her purse for her notepad and made notes. A minute later, she punched off. “Okay, Mr. August, that phone number you stole belongs to a business here in town. TBR Industries. I have the address. We should check it out.”

  Gabe checked his watch. Almost nine. He could get Jo settled in and do a sneak-and-peek. He wouldn’t actually go into the building since they were already pushing the boundaries of investigating on their own, but maybe a drive-by and a look in the windows.

  Keeping silent, he eased out of the car.

  “Gabe, did you hear me?”

  “Sure did.”

  “Oh, come on.”

  This would make, what, the eight-hundredth time they’d had this argument? The one where he told her to keep that beautiful ass of hers inside and out of danger while she let him do his job. No matter how many times she agreed, she never could resist the pull of action.

  He didn’t blame her. If he had to sit at a desk all day, he’d take his service weapon and blow his brains out. Adrenaline freaks, the two of them.

  This sneak-and-peek, he supposed, was kindergarten stuff. If he took her along, he might score points for the next time he threw his weight around. Yeah, that’s a plan. He’d take her, but insist she stay in the car. Which she’d debate. No doubt there. Whether she’d realized it or not, they’d fallen into a rhythm. He’d give a little, remind her that he’d given a little and she’d give some too. Perfect harmony in their fucked up world.

  He closed the car door and headed to the trunk for their gear. “Here’s the deal. We get checked in and then we find this address. See what’s what. When we get there, if I think it’s safe to take a look, you wait in the car while I go in.”

  She folded her arms, watching him retrieve the bags. “If you’re with me, why can’t I get out?”

  “Uh, because someone might shoot us?”

  “Oh, stop it. Nobody knows we’re here. Who’s going to shoot us?”

  Stranger things had happened and he wasn’t risking it. That sheriff could be in bed with any number of people. “I’m not kidding. I could lock you in the hotel room. And you know I’ll do it. Take what you can get, Jo, and live with it.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Yeah, I would. My guess is this big Victorian has a nice, heavy bed I can cuff you to. I’m not talking for sexual reasons either, although, we should definitely explore that.” Definitely explore that. “That’s my offer, Counselor. Take it or leave it.”

  She bumped her fist against her leg. “I wouldn’t put it past you to confine me. You’re mean that way.”

  “If it keeps you out of harm’s way, you bet your ass I am.”

  Jo stood back while Gabe, being the macho man that he was, unlocked the hotel room door. Why not? This minor stuff gave him a sense of control and let him feel like a gentleman. Down deep, under her I’m-an-independent-woman attitude, she kinda liked having a man to rely on. Not that she’d ever admit that to anyone. Her inner feminist was already preparing to launch the first stone.

  Plus, there were other perks. Standing back like this gave her an exceptional view of Gabe’s equally exceptional jean-clad butt. Not to mention the way his rock hard shoulders angled into narrow hips and long legs. She focused on his right shoulder. Hidden under his shirt was the tattoo of an eagle, wings spread, holding a submachine gun in one talon and a lightning bolt in the other—the unofficial S.W.A.T. insignia that members of Specials Operations Groups often wore. They were a proud bunch, and no matter how they ribbed and argued, they always took care of their own. In many ways, they were a family.

  He shoved the door open and stepped in to do his little surveillance sweep.

  “There’s a king bed. As they say in the South, ‘thank you, Jesus!’”

  She entered the room, spotted the brick fireplace first, then the huge sleigh bed. And lucky her, or depending on how one looked at it—unlucky her, there were no posts to cuff her to. “You’re safe, sergeant.”

  Gabe didn’t fuss over much, but not having the right bed did him in. In his line of work, the man needed solid sleep. Thankfully, it seemed he’d get it in this room.

  If she didn’t distract him, which she’d most certainly do.

  He tossed her suitcase on the bed and swung around. “Nice room.”

  She waited, as she always did, for him to complete his inspection. The law enforcement officer in him wouldn’t let him enter a room without giving it a visual sweep. Instinctively, she never moved, preferring to stand just inside the doorway until he finished.

  His gaze slid to the fireplace, then to the tall dresser, the cute drum table in the corner where a large gift bag sat. There, he halted.

  “What—the hell?”

  He rushed to the bathroom, cleared it and then went to the table. Angling his head this way and that, he checked either side of the bag before peering inside.

  Jo huddled beside him. “What is
it?”

  “Can’t see. There’s a load of tissue paper. Were you expecting something?”

  “No.”

  She reached for one of the handles and he stopped her. “Don’t touch it.” After snagging latex gloves from his go-bag, he inched the mouth of the bag open. “Son of a bitch.”

  “What is it?”

  He turned back. “Well, shucks, honey, it looks like a knockoff Barelli bag.”

  “Stop it.”

  Crowding even closer, she looked in the bag. “Is there a note?”

  “In addition to the knife rammed through the purse? Yes, there’s a note.”

  Sharp, spidery pricks traveled up her neck. “There’s a knife?”

  How could this have happened? The only people who knew they were down here were the sheriff and the other task force members. Could they have a leak somewhere?

  Gabe held the bag wider, gestured with his chin for her to look. “Got tweezers? I’ll dig the note out.”

  “In my toiletry bag.”

  Tweezers retrieved, he lifted the note—a flat piece of stationary folded in half—out of the bag and nudged it open.

  The message couldn’t have been more simple. Welcome to South Carolina.

  —:—

  Gabe hauled ass down the creaky wooden steps leading to the lobby-slash-parlor below.

  Don’t yell, don’t yell, don’t yell. But—son of a bitch—this asshole Martinson was not going to terrorize Jo. And if someone’s ass needed to get kicked to make that happen, well, Gabe would get the job done. No question.

  “Don’t start yelling,” she called from somewhere behind him.

  At the landing, he strode to the giant reception desk and banged—ding, ding, ding—on the obnoxious bell.

  “Gabe, calm down. You going off won’t help us.”

  He held his hand up, shushing her, knowing goddamned well that she’d hate that and give him an earful, but he’d deal with it later. More pressing matters to handle now.

  Hello? Was no one going to answer this fucking bell?

  He smacked it again just as Jo came up beside him and set her hand over his. “Please calm down.”

  No. He would not calm down. Not when someone got into their room and left a taunting message. And the only person who supposedly knew their true identities was that backwoods sheriff. From this moment he’d been renamed Sheriff Dead Meat.

  Dead. Meat.

  Mrs. Jenkins, the hotel’s owner, entered the reception area from the door on the far corner. “Is there a problem?”

  “You bet there is,” Gabe said. “There’s a bag in our room. A gift bag. Who put it there?”

  The woman slid her eyes to Jo and back. “I did.”

  She did. Terrific. “And you got it where?”

  “Um…” She looked at Jo again. Came back to Gabe. “It was delivered earlier.”

  “By who?”

  “Whom.”

  What. The. Hell. Harsh, brutal pounding filled his head, the strain so intense his eyes might be bleeding. He turned to Jo with his—is-she-fucking-kidding-me?—face. Jo grabbed his wrist and squeezed—code for don’t yell—and that small touch, the connection of warm skin, released some of the pressure.

  “Mrs. Jenkins,” she said her voice even and direct, “was it a messenger service that delivered it?”

  The woman glanced at him again, then shifted her body to Jo. “In a way.”

  Right there, Gabe thought his head would shoot straight off. Just bam! He clenched his muscles. Don’t yell, don’t yell, don’t yell. Jo squeezed his wrist again. He inhaled a massive breath, hoping the overdose of oxygen would settle his temper.

  “It was little Timmy Thompson,” Mrs. Jenkins said. “Though, that boy isn’t so little anymore. No, sir, he’s a grown man now. Got a baby on the way too.”

  Gabe slapped his hand over his face and the sound cracked the air. Don’t strangle her.

  “Is there a problem?” Mrs. Jenkins asked.

  He dropped his hand. “Big problem. I need to talk to Little Timmy.”

  “It’s rather late now.”

  Nine o’clock?

  Done deal. Time to go to guns. He reached into his front pocket, slid the leather case out and flashed his badge.

  The woman’s eyebrows shot high. Yeah, thought so.

  Jo cleared her throat and gave Gabe the stink-eye. “Mrs. Jenkins, would you please get us Timmy’s phone number? We have a quick question.” She pinched her thumb and index finger together. “Teensy question.”

  After eyeballing that badge, the woman checked the phone book she kept behind the desk. “If you’re sure it can’t wait—”

  “It can’t,” Gabe half hollered.

  The woman dialed the number, spent a good two minutes on the hello-how-are-you routine—apparently with Little Timmy’s wife—before turning the phone over to Gabe.

  “Calm,” Jo said.

  Sure. Right. On it. “Timmy, this is Sergeant Gabe Townsend from the New York City police department. You delivered a gift bag to the hotel this afternoon. I need to know who paid you to deliver that item.”

  “Yes, sir. I understand. But I’m sorry, I can’t share that with you. It’s confidential.”

  Oh, Timmy. Gabe cracked his neck. Organized his thoughts. “Do you have a lawyer?”

  “Sir?”

  “Preferably a criminal lawyer, because by the time I get through with you, you’ll be walking into a prison shower. Alone. Are you getting my drift? You feel me, dog?”

  Beside him, Jo threw up her hands. Sorry, babe.

  “Sir?” Timmy said again.

  What was with this kid? “You want to stay out of jail, right?”

  “Uh.”

  “That bag contained an illegal item. Are you an accessory to this crime?”

  “Oh, shee-it,” the guy said, his voice high enough to crack glass.

  “All I need is a name. Give me that name and I don’t call the sheriff. Or a prosecutor.” The threat couldn’t hurt.

  “Okay, okay. No need for that. I was hired to deliver it by Thelma.”

  “Thelma who?”

  “I don’t know. She has an office on the edge of town. I do deliveries for her every now and again. Just local stuff. She called me tonight, maybe six-thirty, paid me double to deliver the bag ASAP.”

  “What’s Thelma’s address?”

  “I don’t know the exact. It’s at the corner of Chamberlain and Hedge. The Canary building.”

  “The Canary building?” Gabe shot a look at Mrs. Jenkins, who nodded. “Thank you, Timmy. That’s all for now.”

  “Am I in trouble?”

  “If this turns out to help apprehend a fugitive, probably not. I may need to talk to you again.” Gabe handed Mrs. Jenkins the phone and started for the stairs. “Chamberlain and Hedge,” he said to Jo. “The Canary building. I need car keys.”

  Her heels clacked against the wood as she ran up the stairs behind him. “You didn’t need to scare the crap out of the poor guy.”

  “Yeah. I did. Chamberlain and Hedge, babe. You stay here.”

  “Wait. Chamberlain. The address Sherry gave me is on Chamberlain.”

  “There you go. How convenient.”

  She tugged on the back of his shirt. “I’m coming with you.”

  “No. I’m not screwing with you on this. I don’t know what’s in that building.”

  “Yeah, but then you have to leave me alone here. After someone left that threatening package.”

  He reached the hotel room, shoved the key into the door—he sure as hell wasn’t gonna leave that door unlocked after their delivery—and pushed.

  She’s got a point there.

  “Fine. Let’s go. But you do exactly as I say.” The minute the words left him, he held his hand up. “Scratch that. You won’t agree to it anyway. I know this. Why do I bother?”

  He grabbed his sidearm and holster out of his duffle and shoved them both under his T-shirt.

  “We should call the sheriff,” Jo s
aid.

  “Sure. From the car. I want to get there before he does. If he even decides this is worthy of him rolling out of bed.” Gabe stopped, heaved a breath and looked down at her. “I don’t trust that guy.”

  Chapter Five

  The cruise around the Canary building—aptly named for its neon yellow color, turned out to be a bust. And not the kind of bust Gabe liked.

  All they’d found was a locked, two-story unit that, in his citified opinion, didn’t measure up to being called a building. That thing was no wider than a convenience store. Half of it was occupied by an insurance guy and the other was marked TBR industries.

  TBR Industries, whatever the hell that was, had him all kinds of pissed off. And when he got pissed, he didn’t sleep. Thus, he’d spent the last minutes ripping off pre-dawn push-ups beside the bed where Jo slept, her soft breathing timed perfectly with every other push-up. After this, he’d do crunches, maybe some squats. A few pull-ups if he could find something in this room to hang from.

  He’d love a run. A body-pounding, mind-numbing one that would clear him of the mutilating rage. But after finding that knife in the Barelli bag, leaving Jo alone down here, maybe anywhere, would never happen. He pushed up. Not. Lowered himself. Gonna. Pushed up again. Happen. It would be a debate, as usual. As convincing as she could be, the idea of that knife sticking out of her chest, which Gabe felt one-hundred percent, rock-solid sure, was the implied message, rocked him like nothing ever had. Even seeing her trapped in a burning building hadn’t ignited this fury in him.

  That was weeks ago. Before they’d spent nearly every free moment of their time together. Then was then, now was now. He loved this woman and with all his experience, he’d repeatedly failed to control her, to keep her safe.

  “Hey, Mr. Atlas,” Jo grumbled.

  She rolled to her side, rested her head and the wild blond hair against his pillow, and that same fire he’d felt the moment he’d first seen her tore into him. Should have known then she’d drive me bat-shit.

  Gabe busted off the last push-up and switched to crunches. “Morning. Sorry to wake you.”

  “You were muttering. Something about a dumb ass. What’s on your mind?”