Linda Jones - Hot On His Trail

He nodded. “I know what you mean. You be careful, though. When I came on duty I heard a murderer from Huntsville escaped this afternoon.” Billy shook his head, a quite large head on a long, narrow neck, she noticed.

“Really?”

“I hear it was all over the news, but since I’m on night shift I slept right through it.” He gave her a crooked smile. “Didn’t you see nothing about it?”

“Nope. I guess I was busy packing for the trip when the news was on.”

The trooper looked through the window to the truck, where Taggert stirred. Just a little.

“I’d better get moving. In a couple of hours it’ll be my turn to sleep and Pookie will have to do the driving.” Pookie? What was she thinking! “He’ll expect to find us a ways down the road when that happens.”

Shea shuffled the drinks and Moon Pies to make sure they were secure in her hands, said good-night to the clerk and the trooper, and escaped into the muggy night air with a sigh of relief. He hadn’t recognized her! Would he later, when he saw her picture on television or in the newspaper? Maybe. Maybe not.

She climbed into the truck and placed her purchases on the seat between her and Taggert. He opened his eyes, just slightly, and reached up to remove the ball cap.

And the trooper left the store with a cup of coffee in his hand.

Taggert leaned forward, moving slowly toward her, his lips parted to speak. The trooper was just about to pass in front of the truck, and his head rotated in their direction. After her heart leaped into her throat, Shea drew a deep breath and followed her instincts.

She took Taggert’s face in her hands and pulled his mouth to hers, kissing him to hide his face from the trooper. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Billy smile as he passed. She watched the trooper turn his attention to his patrol car, his smile still in place, and all the while her lips were glued to Taggert’s.

Feeling the danger was past when Billy stepped into his car, she started to pull away, but Taggert grabbed the back of her head with tender fingers and held her in place. His mouth moved over hers, soft and tender, as his tongue tasted her lower lip. Heavens, he was warm, softly arousing, close and intimate. There was no searing demand in the kiss, in fact it was quite sweet, but as it continued, she instinctively kissed him back, and something deep within her stirred. Something that didn’t need stirring, thank you very much.

Taggert’s hand slipped down and settled at the back of her neck, and a low growl escaped from deep in his throat as he continued to kiss her quite thoroughly. He didn’t touch her anywhere else, but Shea felt that kiss all through her body. Her nipples hardened, her knees shook, she felt her heart rate increase.

The trooper pulled away, and Shea turned her head to remove her lips from Taggert’s. He didn’t fight, but instead let his head fall heavily onto her shoulder. “Did I tell you how good you smell?” he whispered. “Fresh and clean and feminine. I didn’t know I would miss the way a woman smells,” he said in a low, groggy voice.

“Go back to sleep, Taggert,” Shea said, placing her hands on his shoulders and forcing him gently into his corner of the truck. “With any luck, you won’t even remember this.”

“Nick,” he said as he settled back with his eyes drifting closed. “Any woman who kisses like you do should call me Nick.”

“Nick,” she said softly, placing the baseball cap on his head. He immediately removed it and tossed it to the floor, where it landed on a small stack of T-shirts Lenny had contributed to the cause.

She sighed heavily and started the rumbling engine, pulling away from the pumps and onto the two-lane road. Heavens. If that trooper ever did recognize her and realize who the man in the truck was, she would be in deep. Way too deep.

About a mile down the road, she took the cell phone from her purse and switched it on. Mark was on speed dial. This would be her last chance to use the phone. Once they got where they were going it wouldn’t be safe. The cellular company could trace them to this area, but right now they were on the move. From here they could go anywhere. Georgia, Florida. South Alabama.

“Mark,” she said, when her cameraman answered the phone. “It’s me.”

“Shea?” he shouted. “Oh my, are you all right? Did he hurt you? Where are you? I’ll come—”

“Mark, I just have a minute,” she interrupted. “Listen carefully.”

She heard him breathing, but he said nothing. “First of all, call Boone in Birmingham and tell him to call my folks and Clint and Dean and tell them I’m all right.”

“Are you?” Mark asked softly.

“Yes, I’m fine,” Shea assured him. “Ask Boone to check into the Taggert trial and the Winkler murder and see if he finds anything odd.”

“Done,” Mark said, all-business.

“Then call my friend Grace Madigan and see if she’ll do the same. She and Boone will take different tacks, so they might come up with different results.” Grace’s husband was a private investigator in Huntsville, and she’d been working for him for months. Mark and Boone and Grace. Shea didn’t trust anyone else.

“Okay. Shea? What’s going on?”

“Just…trust me, Mark.”

She heard his uncertain sigh over the crackling line.

“Do you have caller ID yet?” she asked.

“Nope.”

“Don’t get it,” she said. “I’ll call you in a few days and this will only work if you don’t know where I am.”

“Jeez, Shea,” he said in a low voice. “This sounds dangerous.”

She glanced at the man sleeping beside her. “It is,” she said softly.

Tara, Nick thought dizzily as he opened his eyes. A gravel driveway crunched beneath the slow-moving truck tires, and the moonlight shone brightly on…Tara.

“You’re awake,” the weathergirl said in a low voice. “That’s good. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to rouse you, and I really do not want to spend the night in this truck.”

He’d been out for hours. Plenty of time for Shea Sinclair to reconsider her foolish plan and drive him directly to the nearest police station.

But she hadn’t. “Where are we?”

“Marion,” she said with a smile. “My aunt’s house. They’re on vacation. My cousin Susan lives in California, and her first baby is due in a couple of days. Aunt Irene and Uncle Henry won’t be home for weeks.”

The gravel drive circled the house, and Shea stopped before the back door. Not Tara, Nick thought as he looked at the peeling white paint and overgrown garden. But not a police station, either. It was such a relief to know that someone, anyone, believed in his innocence. He might be a good story to the weathergirl, but she had to believe…. She wouldn’t bring him here if she thought he was guilty. She wouldn’t stay with him if she thought he was a cold-blooded killer.

She didn’t kill the engine, but jumped out of the driver’s seat to circle the truck and open his door. She offered an arm in assistance, and he took it and stepped down.

“You wait here,” she said softly, “while I hide the truck in the barn.”

“There’s a barn?” He leaned on her and remembered…something. The way she smelled, the way she tasted. The way she tasted?

“It’s pretty far back on the property and hidden from the road, so I don’t think anyone will even think to look for the truck there. It’s too far for you to walk, though.” She left him leaning against the kitchen door and hurried back to the truck. As it rumbled away, he watched the tail lights. When he couldn’t see them anymore, he closed his eyes and slumped to the ground. How did he know what she tasted like?

The next thing he knew Shea was there again, and he was sitting on the porch with his back against the door. He’d fallen asleep, or passed out, while she’d been taking care of hiding the truck. She lifted a potted plant and reached beneath it, pulling out a key. What kind of a town was this?