18

Skylar couldn’t wait any longer. When Slade finished his business inside the garage he’d be taking her to his cabin where she’d have little, if any privacy. She should’ve called Uncle Winston from the office as soon as she’d discovered the missing money, but she’d panicked, and she hadn’t known she would be kidnapped. She hadn’t known a lot of things were about to happen. As if trapped in quicksand, the longer she waited, the deeper she got sucked into the mire.

After casting a quick peek through the sedan’s window to ensure the men were still inside the garage, Skylar dialed her uncle’s estate. The phone rang five times before the voicemail picked up. Disappointment rushed over her and she disconnected. She tried his cellphone, but he didn’t answer that either.

She had to get through to him. She typed in a text message. Company savings account has been compromised. It’s not what it looks like. Call me. I would never…

Skylar hesitated. She erased the last three words before pressing send. She couldn’t claim she would never steal, because she had. Lord, please forgive me. She rehashed the prayer for what must be the thousandth time, yet guilt lingered. Would her mistakes mark her soul forever?

I forgave you the first time you asked. The gentle whisper resounded in her heart. Get ready. He needs you.

Skylar popped open eyes she hadn’t realized she’d closed. Had Slade’s cover been compromised? She’d been feeling sorry for herself, regretting past sins she’d already been forgiven for while Slade faced the present danger head-on.

But how could she help? If she went inside the garage, Barnes would see her. He’d know she was still alive. Then Slade’s cover would definitely be blown. As she contemplated what to do, the sounds of approaching footsteps alerted her to potential danger. She grabbed the gun—the cold steel a shock against her warm palms—and whispered, “Lord, help me.”

The driver’s side door swung open and Slade’s broad shouldered form filled the doorway. Relieved, she removed her finger from the trigger. Their gazes met as he climbed into the seat. His face pinched into a tight scowl. “I’m going to need that gun.”

Skylar handed it over, glad to be rid of it. “What happened?”

Slade tucked the weapon into his waistband. “Barnes is no longer after Willow Hayworth. The money he’d planned to ransom her for is gone.”

Aston had targeted the charity savings account. But if he hadn’t taken the money, who had? “So, Willow’s no longer in danger?”

“No, but we are. Barnes suspects that you stole the money and then bribed me with it in exchange for your life.”

“W-why would he think that? I didn’t move that money. I discovered the compromised account just before Ike wrestled me from the sidewalk and into the van.” Would Slade believe her? Would he leave her to deal with this on her own? She shook aside the unbidden thoughts. Slade was nothing like her ex-fiancé who had abandoned her at the first sign of trouble. “I thought Aston trusted you. Why would he suspect you’d take a bribe? Did they find out I’m still alive?”

“He’s suspicious because I gave him reason to doubt me.” Slade started the sedan’s engine, turned on the heat. He clasped the wheel with white knuckled intensity as he pulled out of the parking lot. After a moment, he glanced her way. “I never thought you took the money. And I told them as much. That’s where I messed up. Barnes wanted to know why I defended you.”

In spite of the precarious situation, Skylar’s skin heated and her cheeks flushed. No one, since her grandmother had passed, had stood up for her. But would Slade have done the same if he’d known her history?

“It was a gut reaction. I compromised your safety. I’m sorry.” He paused. “The money is what you wanted to talk to Hayworth about, isn’t it? Why is it so personal?”

What was she supposed to say? That she’d been a thief before she’d become a Christian? That she’d known stealing was wrong, but she’d done it anyway and now she feared being falsely accused? The confession stuck deep inside, unwilling to surface. But there were things she could explain. “I stayed at work late yesterday to finish up loose ends before the weekend. The last task on my list was to process the donation to the women’s shelter, as I do the first Friday of every month. Except this time the money was gone. I traced the transfer back to my computer, and I panicked and ran out, planning to go straight to my uncle.”

Slade was silent a moment. “What were you afraid of? You weren’t responsible for the transfer.”

“You’re an ex-detective. You know how it works. Evidence speaks for itself. My password-protected computer was used to transfer the money. I was afraid I’d be blamed for it.”

“If I was investigating, you wouldn’t be my prime suspect.” His voice softened. “You wouldn’t be a suspect at all.”

She’d like to think that was true but with a quick search of police databases he would discover her record. She’d be number one, even on his list.

“How hard could it be to prove your innocence?”

Harder than you might imagine. Tears stung the backs of her eyes. She blinked, fast, keeping drops from spilling over. She searched for a way to change the subject before giving too much away. “Can I get off the floor now?”

Slade turned the wheel as they rounded a curve. “Yes, we’re far enough away from the garage to where they can’t see you.”

Thankful she could stretch a little, Skylar climbed into the front passenger seat and buckled into the seat belt. She massaged her legs, working circulation back into them. As she bent forward, her gaze landed on the weapon pressed to Slade’s side. He’d said he was going to need it. But for what? They weren’t being chased—which brought up another question…

“If Aston suspects you let me live, why did he allow you to leave?”

The intense look Slade gave her triggered goose bumps. He pulled off the road into the woods and cut the engine. Tall pines flanked the vehicle, pressing in on both sides and blocking much of the sun’s rays. The engine ticked as it cooled, creating an unsettling break in the strained silence.

Slade’s cobalt eyes held hints of regret. “He wants me to bring back proof that you’re dead.” His voice lowered as his hand came to rest on the gun’s handle. “I’m real sorry it’s come to this, Sky. I wish there was another way.”