Rachel Lee - The Hunted

“And now pills.”

She popped the bottle into a separate pocket. “They get their own space.” Then she touched a zippered pocket on the other side. “I forgot. Makeup. Lipstick. I don’t usually wear it, but sometimes…” She shrugged. “You do what you gotta do.”

Her hand wandered up to her neck, then slowly slid downward. “I feel naked without my press credentials.”

“I can imagine. About how I’d feel without my badge and gun.”

“We may be on the same wavelength. I can’t allow that to continue.”

He lifted a brow. “Why not?”

“’Cuz you’re a cop and I’m a reporter, which puts us on opposite sides of a huge divide.”

“Not really. I promise not to compromise your professional ethics.”

“You already have.”

He watched a look of mischief dart across her face. “How so?”

“I’m in a hotel room you paid for, about to eat food you’re paying for. That’s strictly a no-no. Print press never takes gifts, even if TV reporters do.”

“Ah.” He narrowed his eyes, trying not to smile. “Well, you’re not employed at the moment.”

“A saving grace.” She closed her eyes briefly, drew a deep breath, then opened them again. “I wish the guy with the jackhammer would clock out soon.”

“The pill should help send him on his way.”

“I hope. So.”

He raised his brows, waiting. That “so” had definitely been a segue.

“What are your bosses going to say about all this?” she asked, indicating the hotel room.

“That I exercised good sense.”

“Nice bosses.”

“Big expense account.”

A chuckle escaped her, causing her to wince. “I can’t believe you came all the way to Houston just to make sure I testified. You could have called the field office here and told them to keep an eye on me.”

“I knew you were going to be dangerous.”

She smiled. “It’s my job.”

“It’s your nature. Okay, I came partly because of you, and partly because there’s another case I’m working on.”

“I guess I got in the way of that. What’s the other case?”

He hesitated, unwilling and, in fact, unable to discuss an active investigation. But there was something she was withholding, something important, and he would never gain her trust if he didn’t give her some first.

“A teenage girl disappeared a few months ago.”

She cocked her head. “I don’t think I heard about it.”

“Most people wouldn’t. She was a runaway, working the streets. An older street woman had taken an interest in her. Called us when she went missing.”

Erin seemed almost to nod, yet barely moved her head. “You’re right, that’s not the kind of story that gets much coverage. Which is a damn shame.”

“I couldn’t agree more. Missing persons, especially children, are my specialty.”

Her eyes widened a bit. “You’re that agent I keep hearing about? The one who works all over the country on these cases?”

He nodded.

“Jeez, wouldn’t I love to interview you.”

“Maybe after we make sure you’re safe. But I can’t talk specifics about ongoing investigations.”

“I understand that. Still, you’ve got quite a rep.”

“Not enough that you recognized me right off, thank God.”

A half smile lit her face. “You haven’t quite reached your fifteen minutes of fame yet.”

“I hope I never do.”

A knock sounded at the door. In one fluid moment, Jerrod rose to his feet, indicated with one hand that she should go to the bedroom, and with the other unsnapped the guard on his belt holster. He was taking no chances.

Over the years, he’d realized something important about his psychology, and possibly the psychology of others: once the unthinkable happened in your life, there was never anything unthinkable again. Forever after, you always expected it.

And something about this situation had him at high alert. He and Erin McKenna needed to have a serious talk very soon.

“Be right there,” he called to the door, hand on his pistol butt. As soon as he was sure Erin was concealed in the bedroom, he went to answer the knock.

Erin kept the bedroom door open a crack so she could watch what happened. Part of her felt that all this was way over the top, utterly ridiculous, but then she remembered her apartment, and the throbbing from the back of her head reminded her that someone was pretty serious about something.

Maybe even serious enough to pursue her.

Still, it was a hard connection to make. She was one of those people who were accustomed to feeling comfortable and safe in almost any situation. Accustomed to believing she could take care of herself. The reporter in her was probably too bold by half.

In fact, she was sure of it. Her past held some episodes that made other people shake their heads and say, “Are you crazy?”

No, she was just a grade-A, dyed-in-the-wool adrenaline junkie. But while adrenaline helped the wise to flee, she had a tendency to walk where only angels dared to tread.

Knowing this about herself did not, of course, make her any more cautious. Nor did she want it to.

The room-service guy appeared to be on the up-and-up. Jerrod pulled the cart into the room without letting the waiter bring it in, and signed the slip. Moments later, the door was locked again.

Erin didn’t wait for permission to come out. She walked down the very short wannabe hallway past the kitchenette to the front room. “So what were you expecting? A team of ninjas?”

“I’m working very hard not to roll my eyes at you.”

“Don’t waste the energy. Roll away. I can take it.”

Instead he lifted the covers from the dishes. “Soup.” With a flourish, he offered her the bowl on a plate after she resumed her seat in the armchair. A napkin and soup spoon followed it.

She’d expected him to be a meat-and-potatoes kind of guy, but he’d chosen grilled salmon, salad and rice. He put his plates on the coffee table and leaned forward to eat.

“TV?” he asked.

“Why not.”

He glanced at her. “I suggested it because you don’t seem to want to talk about why someone busted into your apartment and stole anything that might contain information.”

“You sure of that?”

Holding his plate and fork, he smiled and leaned back. “You betcha.”

She set her soup on the end table. It smelled good, but her stomach rolled over nonetheless. “Maybe the court forgot to tell them I was testifying early. After all, I wasn’t supposed to testify until Monday.”

“You wouldn’t have anything on your computer that wasn’t already in the hands of the U.S. Attorney.”

“Damn, you’re good.”

“Don’t I know it.”

“I wonder if there’s any club soda on this planet.”

He set his plate down. “Stomach?”

“Awful.”

He leaned over and reached for the phone, then told room service to bring up a six-pack of club soda.

“So,” he said when he hung up and reached for his plate of salmon, “why don’t you tell me what it is about Erin McKenna that’s keeping her so calm in a situation that would have most people in hysterics.”

“I’m not the hysterical type.”

Now he did roll his eyes at her, but the way he did it was humorous. “I’d already gathered that,” he said with sarcasm so heavy it was obviously meant as a joke.

“I’m just weird,” she said finally. “I’ve always done things most sane people wouldn’t do. I’ve gone into burning rooms, walked out into forest fires, chased tornados, chatted up gangs for a mega-turd—”

“A what?”

“Mega-turd. Newsroom slang for those big in-depth pieces. The official name for them is enterprise stories.”