Vickie Taylor - The Renegade Steals A Lady

The trooper’s steps led around the front of the car. Marco’s heart shot into overdrive. His brain screamed for oxygen, but he didn’t dare breathe. He fingered the gun in his pocket.

Hell, if it went down like this, it was going to get ugly. Paige’s fingers curled in the collar of his jumpsuit. Her eyes implored him.

Looking away from her, he brought the gun to his side, his fingers stiff with dread.

The trooper stopped just short of coming around the corner of the Ford where he could see them. Another man, lighter on his feet, joined him.

They were so close Marco could smell the smoke of the cigarette one of them lit. The smoldering match landed just inches from Marco’s hand.

For the first time in a lot of months, Marco prayed, silently but fervently.

“Getting here kinda late, aren’t you?” The question came from the trooper’s position.

“Had to find a sitter for my little girl,” the other man grumbled. Riley Townsend. The voice was unmistakable, disgruntled as it was. Riley rounded out the Port Kingston canine squad at three, with Paige and her brother, Matt. If he got his dog out of his car, it was all over.

“It’s supposed to be my night off,” Riley finished, sounding no happier than he had before.

Marco didn’t blame the man. He’d seen Riley’s daughter, Alyssa, at a department picnic once. If he’d been called away from a kid like that to traipse around the woods all night, Marco wouldn’t have been too happy about it, either.

Paige recognized the voice, too. Marco felt tension spiral through her. It must have been hell for her, knowing help was so close, and not being able to call for it.

He pushed away his empathy for her. Help came in a lot of forms. A lot of packages. Sometimes people didn’t recognize it.

After a moment’s silence, Riley asked, in a make-peace tone, “So what’s the deal here? Anybody got a trail yet?”

“On your boy Angelosi? Nah. But we’ll get him.”

“He’s not my boy,” Riley said. “And you sound like you’re enjoying this.”

“To tell the truth, some of us are right looking forward to ridin’ him down. Don’t like what he did. One bad cop makes us all look like a bunch of thievin’ dopeheads, you know?”

There was a pause. Paige’s gaze turned up to Marco’s and he looked away, choking on the tattered remains of his pride. It was bad enough to hear condemnation like that. Worse to have to look in her eyes as she heard it, too.

“He was a good cop, once,” Riley said.

“Well, he ain’t no cop no more, is he?”

Riley’s pause was shorter this time. “No. I guess not.”

The trooper rocked heel-to-toe. “Damn straight. He’s just a con on the run.”

Riley snorted disgustedly. “He’s a minimum security walk-away. Nothing to get your shorts in a wad about.”

The trooper went still. “You didn’t hear the squawk?”

“What squawk?”

The trooper’s weight eased back as if he’d lifted his head or squared his shoulders. Marco heard him tap out another cigarette. “Got a light?” Shiny Shoes asked.

“Those things’ll kill you,” Riley answered. “What squawk?”

Sweat chilled along Marco’s spine, that and apprehension making his skin crawl. He needed to get out of there. Get Paige out of there. But he also needed to hear what the police were saying about him. He had a feeling it wasn’t good. Cops didn’t tell stories without milking them for all they were worth. The bigger the buildup, the better the punch line.

This one was getting a pretty big buildup.

The trooper hitched up his pants. A second later, Marco heard the strike of a match. A sulfurous scent mingled with the crisp fog. The trooper puffed, then blew out a slow breath. “Your boy Angelosi walked away, all right. Walked away from a burning van with a guard and a driver still pinned inside.”

Paige jolted in Marco’s arms. This time he couldn’t look away. In her eyes, he saw the horror, the flames she must be imagining. In his mind he smelled the smoke.

Heard the screams.

Dull blades of pain tore through him at the memory.

“They’re dead?” Riley asked.

“Uh-huh,” the trooper said. His voice bubbled with hatred. “Don’t know about you canine types, but for us troopers, that makes Angelosi a murderer.”

Paige’s nails dug into Marco’s chest. Her pulse galloped beneath his fingertips. Even in the near dark, he could see the sheen of revulsion in her eyes. She was going to call for help. Despite the danger to herself, she was going to give him up.

Her lips parted. The urge to press his own mouth over them hit him like a bolt from the heavens.

Her body arched as she pushed against him. The soft mounds of her breasts pressed against the hard planes of his chest. She pulled in a deep breath, ready to scream.

Aw, hell.

Just before the sound welled out of her, he crushed her to him and stopped the noise.

Paige’s lungs burned with the need for air. When her head began to swim, she bit the hand Marco had clamped over her mouth. He flinched, but didn’t let her go. His other hand caressed the nape of her neck, stroking maddeningly.

A promise, or a threat?

Two sets of footsteps crunched across the gravel behind her, then receded into the darkness. A car door thunked, and an engine roared to life. Paige slumped back to the ground at the grind of tires over rock, headed the other way. Dully, she recognized the noise as the sound of hope pulling away. Dignity. For as Marco carried her to her truck and sat her behind the steering wheel, she realized she had none left.

He was going to use her again, and there was nothing she could do about it.

Yet.

Marco put Bravo in the back, then circled to the passenger door, climbed inside and handed her the keys. “Get on the radio,” he said. “Tell them you’re leaving.”

She reached for the microphone with an unsteady hand. “Matt won’t buy it.”

“Make up an excuse. Make it good.” Marco shifted her Glock in his hand, an unsubtle warning. “You don’t want your brother coming after us, do you?”

Her breath shuddering at that thought, she did as Marco said. “Adam four-niner,” she said, giving her call sign. “I’m ten-six to the vet’s office. Sorry, guys.”

“Adam four-niner, S-six. Where the hell have you been?”

“Ah…” She looked at Marco. “I must have slipped out of my grid. Got a little lost.”

“Why weren’t you answering calls?” Matt asked, sounding suspicious.

Paige poured confidence into her voice. She couldn’t live with herself if Matt was hurt because of her. “My hand-held went on the fritz. I’m in my vehicle now.”

There was a moment of silence, then Matt’s deep voice rumbled across the radio again. “What’s up with Bravo?”

“S-six, he stepped on some glass. I don’t think it’s serious, but I’m going to have it checked out.”

Matt sighed. “Roger, four-niner. Get him back out here later if he can work. We need all the help we can get.”

“Will do.” Paige returned the microphone to its clip with more than a little relief pouring through her.

Until she looked at Marco.

He smiled at her sickly. “Piece of cake.” Shoving the Glock back into his coat pocket, he said, “Let’s go.”

As soon as they cleared the search perimeter, Marco insisted on pulling over so that he could drive. They were twenty minutes down the highway before either of them spoke again.

“Where are we going?” she asked, rolling her forehead off the passenger-side window to look at him. The green lights of the dashboard gave his face an eerie cast.

“You still have the Miata?”

“Yes.” Her head ached too much to see any advantage in lying.