Joanna Wayne - Live Ammo

“You’d be lugging groceries.”

“A carton of milk, a loaf of bread and a kokalat bar?”

“I bought more than that.”

“Not much.”

Because she’d be leaving town before the detective had his fingerprints and she’d be traveling light. And if Tague really knew her, he’d be running for the hills instead of offering to hang around.

“Far be it for me to offend the manhood of my chauffeur,” she said, handing Tommy over.

A niggling uneasiness crept deep inside her as Tommy stirred and then resettled with his head resting against Tague’s chest. It was the first time any man had held him since they’d fled Los Angeles in the middle of a dark, smoke-filled night.

She reached into the backseat for the groceries.

“Just get the chocolate so it doesn’t melt,” Tague said. “I’ll come back for the rest as soon as I put Tommy down.”

“I can easily manage two bags.”

“And leave my six-pack to boil? Besides, you’ve got to come up with a key. Do you have one hidden somewhere or will you need to have a manager let you in?”

“I’ll need to have a key reissued.” She would have never risked leaving a key where it could be found. She grabbed her two bags of groceries. The beer could stay where it was and go home with Tague.

She didn’t have time for company now. She had to find a way to get her hands on a vehicle that would get her out of town.

Tague stared at the three flights of stairs.

“I’m on the second floor,” she said. “Apartment 212, just up those steps and turn right at the top.” She motioned to the covered walkway that ran from one corner of the building to the other. “Two doors down. There’s an elevator at the west end of the building, but I never take it.”

“No wonder you’re in such terrific shape.”

She turned to hide the unexpected blush that burned in her cheeks. It was just an offhanded compliment. It shouldn’t have affected her at all, especially with all she had on her mind.

Tague started toward the stairs.

“You should probably go with me to the leasing office so that you can wait in the air-conditioning,” she said. “It may take a few minutes to get a key. It all depends on how busy they are.”

“We’re right behind you.”

She hurried to the first-floor office. Fortunately, one of the leasing agents was readily available and eager to accommodate. Alexis only told her she’d lost the keys, omitting any reference to the carjacking incident.

Once she had a replacement key in hand, she climbed the stairs with Tague at her side. The day’s developments, including his presence, were mind-boggling.

A day that had started out as normal—or at least as normal as any of Alexis’s days ever were—had quickly deteriorated. When that thug had driven off with Tommy, the terror had consumed her. The same way it had when another maniac had threatened Tommy’s life.

That fear still haunted her every waking moment and created a never-ending nightmare. No hunky cowboy had ever ridden to the rescue in that nightmare. And no matter how genial and accommodating Tague seemed, she didn’t dare trust him to play that role now.

They were almost up the stairs when she noticed an unfamiliar man leaning against the railing near her door. Tall, with red hair, a modest paunch, and ruddy skin. His stance and stare were intimidating.

Her muscles tensed and her arm tightened about the bags she was carrying, forcing a couple of oranges over the rim of the paper bag. They rolled for a few seconds before bouncing their way down the stairs like squishy orange balls.

“Are you Alexis Beranger?”

She left his question unanswered. “Who are you?”

“Detective Gerald Hampton with the Dallas Police Department.” He flashed a badge and an ID. “I

understand your vehicle was carjacked and then wrecked today.”

Her muscles relaxed until she was no longer grinding her teeth. “I was a carjacking victim, but I’ve already told Officer Whitfield all I know.”

“I’ve seen Whitfield’s report,” Hampton said. “But I’d still like to talk to you. This shouldn’t take more than a half hour.”

She juggled the groceries so that she could poke her key into the lock.

Keep cool, she reminded herself. Don’t do anything to arouse suspicions. She was the victim, not a suspect. She had to keep it that way.

Amazingly, the conversation didn’t wake Tommy. Apparently the day had taken a lot out of him, as well. “Just have a seat anywhere,” she said, as they entered the small and sparsely furnished living area. “I’ll put my son to bed so that he can finish his nap.”

Tague followed her to the bedroom and lay Tommy in his toddler bed. When she bent over her son, her arm brushed Tague’s. Awareness created a quivering sensation in her stomach. Was she now so desperate for a man to lean on that even a kind act affected her senses?

“Thanks,” she whispered as she backed away from the bed. “You handled putting him down like a pro. He didn’t even open an eye.”

“Beginner’s luck,” he assured her once they’d stepped into the narrow hallway. “Only kid I’ve been around is my brother and sister-in-law’s foster daughter Belle and she’s only a few months old.”

Alexis started back to the living area, but Tague stepped in her path. He leaned in so close she felt his warm breath on her neck. The quivery sensations in the pit of her stomach became more intense.

“Are you nervous about talking to the detective or am I misreading something?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You were literally shaking when you spotted him outside your door.”

“It’s just been a very difficult day.”

“I can sit in on your meeting with the detective, if you like.”

“It’s not necessary.” In fact, it was downright dangerous.

At this point, Tague was likely a bigger threat to her anonymity than the detective was.

Yet, the truth was, she didn’t want him to leave her alone with a man who might recognize her at any moment and pull out his cuffs. Tague might only be a pseudo friend, but that was better than nothing.

“Stick around if you want, though,” she said. “I promised you a sandwich. Wouldn’t want to send you back to your cows on an empty stomach.”

“Good thinking. I’ll grab the rest of the groceries before they spoil in the heat and be right back.”

He gave her hand a quick squeeze. He was nice to have around. Nonetheless, when he left today, she’d have to make sure their bond was irreparably severed.

She joined the detective in the living room, choosing a chair opposite where he sat on the worn sofa she’d picked up at a secondhand store.

“I’d like you to start at the beginning and tell me exactly what happened, step by step, leaving nothing out no matter how insignificant it may seem,” the detective urged.

“I’ve already done that.”

“Sometimes people remember more after the crisis is over. Every detail is important. We can’t get the carjacker off the street unless we can identify him.”

“You’ll have fingerprints,” Alexis said, all too aware of how damaging that would be.

“We can’t count on that. It’s a lot more difficult to get usable prints than you’d think from watching TV crime shows.”

That offered little consolation. Her prints were undoubtedly all over the car. Some were surely distinct. She went through the particulars again. “I tried to scratch his eyes out,” she admitted. “I brought blood and I’m sure I left scars.”

“Did you tell Whitfield that?”

“I think so. I don’t remember.”

“It’s not in his report,” Hampton said. “But it is important. It’s possible you have traces of the perpetrator’s DNA under your fingernails.”