Kimberly Meter - The Past Between Us

His car.

And his prisoner.

Somehow, cuffed and without keys, she’d stolen his car.

He muttered a stream of swear words that would’ve earned him a bar of soap back in the day and shoved the packaged salad and three different choices of dressing he’d purchased for her into the trash.

If it were possible, he could almost see the steam rising from his ears into the chill air. In glaring detail he knew where he’d screwed up. He hadn’t checked her cuffs after she’d emerged from the bathroom. Somehow she’d gotten them loose. He’d made sure they were tight when he put them on, which meant she’d sprung the lock when she was out of sight and banked on the fact that he would be distracted by her in general. And she’d banked right.

The weight of his keys resting in his pocket told him that she’d hot-wired the car. Shit. His cell phone was in the car but he had his wallet, badge and gun. He had two choices: Call it in and have an APB put out on her but risk the ridicule of every one of his peers as well as the ire of his superior. Or he could just go after her.

Like there was a choice.

He spied a pay phone and strode to it. He lifted the receiver, swiped his ATM card and punched in his cell number. He doubted she’d answer but if she did, he had an earful for the runaway, former society girl. The phone rang four times before transferring to his voice mail. He hung up and stared at the road where she’d disappeared. Whatever tender nostalgic feelings he’d had for her withered and died.

This time when he caught her—he’d show no mercy.

CASSI KNEW SHE DIDN’T HAVE much of a head start on Tommy, maybe an hour at best, as he probably wasted little time in finding a rental car to chase after her. She also couldn’t afford to get pulled over driving a government vehicle so while it grated on her nerves to drive so slowly, she kept her speed at the limit and obeyed all traffic rules.

Tommy’s cell phone buzzed to life at her hip in the console but she ignored it. No good would come from answering that phone, even if she were tempted to apologize for putting him in a bad spot. She bit her lip and wondered if this was something he could get fired for. He was probably a very good agent. He’d always held such a rigid concept of morality that she’d half wondered how he was ever going to survive high school—particularly theirs—but those smoking good looks of his hadn’t hurt and he’d done just fine, even if he never paid much attention to the politics of his peers.

Unlike her. She settled into the seat and set the cruise control. She’d been such an idiot. All the things she’d thought were important had turned out to be as insubstantial as shadows on the wall. No one really cared that she’d been voted Biggest Flirt their senior year or that she’d been named Prom Queen over Tiffani Jenkins in what had been the biggest coup de grâce Winston High School had ever seen. If only high school cred had extended to something that really mattered, such as getting someone to listen to you when you told them your stepfather had killed your mother but made it look like an accident so no one believed you.

She hadn’t realized how much she’d taken her family’s money and connections for granted until it’d all been yanked away. Two years was a lifetime to wander in exile.

Some days she couldn’t quite believe the life she was living.

But if she could put together the scattered puzzle pieces of Lionel Vissher then the whole picture of deception would become clear. At least that’s what she hoped would happen.

Her biggest fear, though, was that, even if she managed to prove that Lionel wasn’t who he said he was, no one would care and nothing would change. Lionel would continue blowing through her family’s fortune and she’d end up in prison.

A chill puckered her skin and she rubbed at her forearm. Just thinking it made her sick to her stomach.

She may have been born a spoiled princess but she’d become a soldier and she wasn’t about to let Lionel win this war.

“Sorry, Tommy,” she whispered and then pushed the thought of her childhood friend far away. She didn’t have the luxury of nostalgia.

THOMAS HURTLED DOWN the freeway, back to the city, his mind working quickly to assess the situation. He had to regroup, get his head on straight and apprehend the target. It was likely she was returning to her apartment to get whatever she’d left behind—probably the date book she’d asked about—and then she’d take off again. He wasn’t going to waste time going back to her apartment. By the time he reached the city, she’d have cleaned out her essentials and moved on, and he could expect to find his vehicle dumped somewhere. He’d already called in the theft, leaving out the part that it was his target who had stolen it. She would need transportation. The closest bus station to her apartment or her place of employment was the best bet as she’d need someplace quick and easily accessible if things got hot.

He grabbed the disposable phone he’d purchased and quickly dialed someone he trusted. Owen, his foster brother and someone he knew would keep things between them, picked up the line.

“Who is this?” Owen asked. It was nearing midnight in California but Owen was still awake, no doubt crunching numbers on some project or deal for his logging company.

“It’s me. I need a favor.”

“Tommy? What number are you calling from? You okay? You sound funny.”

“I’m fine but I have a bit of a situation I’m dealing with and lost my phone. I’m on one of those disposable things.”

“Like the ones drug dealers and pimps use so it can’t be traced back to them? Must be one helluva situation you’re in. So what’s the favor?” Owen asked, getting straight to the point. “I’ll help if I can.”

“You near a computer?”

“Yeah.”

“I need you to text me the addresses of the bus stations nearest to Gorkey and Landon Streets in New York City.”

“Going on a trip?”

“Not recreationally.”

“You sure you’re okay?”

“Everything’s fine.” Or at least it would be once he caught that little escape artist who had managed to make him look like a rookie and a dumb ass with one shot. “I’d do it myself but this disposable isn’t internet capable and I don’t have time to locate a computer.”

“This sounds personal,” Owen murmured, and Tommy didn’t waste time denying it even if it wasn’t exactly true. But Owen didn’t press for details, either, which was another reason Tommy picked him instead of Christian, who lived in Manhattan and was always interested in getting the dirt. “All right. Sent. Anything else?”

“No,” he answered, a short satisfied smile following as the cell dinged with an arriving text message. “That’ll do it. Thanks, man. I’ll explain later.”

“Can’t wait,” Owen returned dryly but then added, “Be safe.”

“Always.”

The line went dead and Thomas tossed the cell on the seat beside him. Both his brothers were solid guys in different ways. They didn’t share a drop of blood but Tommy knew Owen and Christian would have his back just as he would always have theirs. That’s how Mama Jo had raised them. He missed spending time with them, but the past few months had been consumed with tracking down Cassi, leaving little time to socialize and catch up. Besides, he wasn’t the only one whose personal life was submarined by the job. Christian was a bartender at some swanky place, pulling down more money a year than he was, while Owen had his hands full over in the wilds of the Santa Cruz Mountains in California trying to keep his logging company alive in an economy that had determined logging was something of a dirty word.