Linda Howard - Kill and Tell

One of the glass doors opened, and Hayes came out of the apartment building. Raymond slid farther down in the seat, so that even if Hayes noticed the car, it would look empty. He heard a car start and sneaked a quick look over the dashboard. Quickly, he started his own car, sighing with relief as cool air washed from the vents, and watched as Hayes drove out of the parking lot. Raymond waited a few seconds, let another vehicle get between them, then pulled out behind Hayes's rental car.

Ahead of Raymond, Hayes checked his mirrors. There were two cars behind him. One was the car that had been approaching when he pulled out into the street, the other was one he hadn't seen before. That didn't necessarily mean anything. The car could have pulled out of a side street while he wasn't watching, but safe was better than sorry.

He speeded up and kept careful watch behind him. The second car made no attempt to pass the first car and catch up with him. Naw, there was nothing to it, just old habits and jumpy nerves. Still, it wouldn't hurt anything to take a leisurely drive before going to Buckeye Stockit and Lockit, just to make certain he didn't have a tail.

Raymond flipped open his secure cell phone and dialed the senator's cellular. "He searched the apartment, and I'm following him now."

"Where are you?"

Patiently, Raymond gave the street and direction. "Just one street over from you, but don't fall in behind me. Don't let him see your car. He may take some evasive action whether or not he thinks he has a tail, just as a matter of course. I'll hang back, keep him from getting a good look at me, let him do some ducking and weaving. He hasn't spotted me yet, and I followed him all day yesterday."

"For all the good it did," Senator Lake said fretfully.

Raymond didn't reply. Mr. Stephen had been very disappointed when Raymond's search of Hayes's

home hadn't turned up anything interesting. In Raymond's estimation, Hayes was a careful man. He wouldn't keep any incriminating papers in his home.

Up ahead, Hayes took an abrupt right turn. Raymond fell out to pass the car ahead of him, putting that vehicle between him and Hayes's line of sight as they drove past the bisecting street. If Hayes followed his previous pattern, the right turn would be followed by two lefts, then a right back into this street. Child's play, Raymond thought.

"Did you see anyone?" Karen asked as she and Marc climbed into their rental car.

"I spotted a red cap. I suspect he let me see him, because I haven't been able to pick him up since." He shrugged out of his lightweight jacket, which he had worn only to cover the pistol clipped to his belt, and tossed it into the backseat. Otherwise, he was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, and so was Karen. She didn't remember exactly which box she had placed the papers in; they were going to have to dig around in the storage unit in the hot sun, and it had seemed wise to dress as comfortably as possible.

"While we're here, I want to call Detective Suter. Maybe I can pick up some more of my clothes. I need to check on Piper, too, and let my supervisor know—how long will I be gone, by the way?" Marc reached for her hand. "We'll talk about this after we find that box, okay?" He didn't think even that much contact would be safe, until this was over. She squeezed his hand. She had been trying to hide how nervous she was, but she didn't know how good a job she was doing. Logically, she knew she probably hadn't even been traced to New Orleans yet, much less back to Columbus. She had the key to the storage unit on her keychain, so she didn't have to retrieve it from her apartment—or, rather, Marc didn't have to retrieve it. If the police hadn't completed their investigation, the apartment would still be secured. He probably wouldn't ask the CPD for permission, but neither would he have let her be the one to go in.

They were safe. She tried to tell herself that. They could slip in and out of the city without anyone knowing she was there, except for Mr. McPherson and the man he had following them.

"You're worrying," Marc said. "Stop it."

"I shouldn't have dragged you into this. I've put you in danger—" He gave a bark of laughter. "Darlin'," he drawled, "if you hadn't turned up in New Orleans yesterday, I would already be at your apartment this morning. Not only would I be very upset, but if anyone was watching your apartment, he would have made me for sure. Get the tag number, call the rental company, and he would not only have my name but my address."

Despite her worry, Karen caught her breath at the way "Nooawlins" sounded when said in that black magic voice of his. If Piper ever heard him, she might bump Karen off herself just to clear out the competition.

The traffic was heavy, the pace slow. The summer sun glared at them from a milky sky. She watched Marc drive, marveling at how physically fascinating she found him. She felt almost sick with apprehension, and yet that somehow intensified her fascination. She studied his hands, strong and well

shaped, the way he gripped the steering wheel. His wrists were twice as thick as hers, and small, almost colorless hairs glinted in the sun. What if something happened to him? What if this were the last time she would be able to watch his hands move, study his profile, reach out and touch him?

She couldn't let herself think such things. He was a cop, though, thank God, he wasn't in narcotics or on the SWAT team, where his life would be at risk on a daily basis. But as a cop, a homicide detective, he obviously dealt with people who were capable of killing other people. Murder was what he saw every day, and at any time a suspect could turn on him. She couldn't hamper him emotionally by letting herself get paralyzed with fear every time he went out the door.

"On the other hand," he said, "maybe we should talk about it now."

"What?" She blinked at him, not quite following.

"The entire situation. Your job. Let's get this out in the open. I don't want you living in Columbus while I live in New Orleans, not even for a little while." He slanted a quick look at her, gray eyes brilliant. "And maybe I should wait until I can get down on one knee, but I think now is the time. Karen, will you marry me?"

Her heart leaped into her throat. "Yes," she said. Then, "Take this exit." He obeyed, glancing over his shoulder to check the traffic before easing into the right lane and then taking the exit ramp. "I know I'm rushing you, not giving you time to get used to me, to the idea of a steady relationship. But I don't want room for any misunderstanding, either. We can have a long engagement, if you want—but I don't want you to live here. I want you in New Orleans. Specifically, my house."

"Okay." She could barely speak. Funny. She had expected they would get married eventually, perhaps even soon, but hearing him actually say it out loud was a shocker.

"Okay?" he echoed, giving her another of those fast glances. "Is that all you have to say?"

"Well, I could say I love you."

He muttered a curse under his breath, then very evenly said, "Yes, why don't you?"

"I love you."

Another curse, one that turned into a laugh. He looked at her. She was grinning. "I love you, too." She touched his arm, wanting to throw herself at him. He was the most considerate man she'd ever met, and the hell of it was he was so damn alpha . She hadn't known the two qualities could blend together so wonderfully. There he was, brimming over with testosterone, a gun-toting macho cop, who danced with her on a balcony and prepared breakfast for her.

"Do you mind moving to New Orleans?" he asked.

"No," she gently reassured him. "I'll miss my friends, but I don't have any family here, or a house. I can be a nurse just as well in Louisiana as in Ohio. You have roots and that marvelous old house in New Orleans. Of course, I'll move there. Besides, I would hate for you to lose your accent. Turn left at the next traffic light."