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NASH EYED HIS GLOCK lying on the table. At least it was closer than in the car. He’d fetched it and brought it inside right before he’d heard someone entering the cabin. Mary Smith, or whatever her name was, didn’t appear to pose a threat. The way she’d eyed his gun, as if it were a coiled rattlesnake, said she wasn’t about to grab it.
He suppressed a smile at the way she’d marched into the room, barely five-two, he’d guess, a buck five soaking wet. Her short, dark hair didn’t need a cut. Maybe a comb. As if she’d caught his gaze, she scrubbed her fingers through her locks and gave her head a brisk shake. Didn’t look much different, but now it seemed ... styled. She had on jeans, cross-trainers, and a deep purple jacket zipped up to reveal the narrow ribbed neckband of a gray t-shirt.
Brown eyes a few shades lighter than the cabin’s siding. Wide mouth, lips with a glossy sheen, but no added color. The slight downturn of her nose kept her from being pixie-cute. A woman who knew what she wanted, and despite the almost foot difference in their heights, not afraid to stand up to him.
Hell, you put your gun down because she told you to. Not Blackthorne SOP. You’d think they cut out your brain, not a kidney.
“It’s getting late. You can stay the night.” His words surprised him as much as they appeared to surprise her. He expected her to refuse—why would any woman in her right mind agree to share a cabin with a stranger?—but he hoped she’d say yes.
Nash was tired of being with nurses, doctors, the physical therapist and psychologist, or the Blackthorne crew. It might be nice to spend a little time with someone who knew nothing about him. Wouldn’t try to help him.
She tapped her chin, her eyes moving back and forth between him and the bedroom door.
“I’ll take the sleeper,” he said. “In the morning, I can look at your car. You have any idea what’s wrong with it?”
“That won’t be necessary,” she said. “A lift into town would be nice, though. I can find a mechanic there.”
She’d said her car had broken down, which covered any number of possibilities, but no part of her story rang true. He pressed. “Thought you said you couldn’t afford one.”
Her cheeks flushed bright pink. “I—I hoped I’d find one who’d give me credit. Once I get ... settled, I’ll have access to funds.”
The pause before settled added credence to his assumption. Everything she’d said had as much substance as the morning mist over the Golden Gate. He needed to check in with T-Bone, see if he knew of anyone trying to find him, whether for good or for bad.
For that, he needed a cell signal. According to T-Bone, the nearest one was six miles away, near the gas station, mom-and-pop grocery store, and pizza joint that passed for the town of Spruce Hills. The nearest actual town, Deer Ridge, was another eight miles down the country road.
He wasn’t going to leave Mary here alone.
“Let me get my stuff out of my car, and then you’re coming with me,” he said.
She jerked to her feet. “Excuse me? You walk in here and start giving me orders?”
He tried to keep a straight face. “Who walked in to whose cabin? Since I’m the one who belongs here, you owe me answers, and I thought we’d discuss it—civilly—over pizza. In a public place,” he added.
She swallowed. “I suppose.”
She’d bolt. He knew it. He stood, winced as his hamstring protested. He grabbed the arm of the loveseat.
“Hey, are you okay?” Mary asked, extending a hand.
“Fine,” he snapped, then regretted his tone. She wasn’t one of his well-wishing do-gooders, and he planned to keep it that way. “Sitting too much today. Coach, middle seat. Then the drive.”
She lowered her arm. “I hear you.”
“Let me get my stuff.”
“Let me help.”
Good. That saved him from trying to secure her, not that he thought she’d rabbit until they got close to civilization. For all he knew, her car was fine, and she’d make a run for it. With his leg acting up, he didn’t think he’d be able to catch her.
He hadn’t brought much. One small rolling suitcase and the carton of food he’d stopped to buy in Deer Ridge. He handed her the box. “Can you manage?”
She balanced it against her hip. “Not a problem. Is that all?”
“I travel light.”
He let her lead the way, watching her hips sway as she moved up the steps with the box. Was she adding an extra wiggle? For his benefit? Did she think seduction was the route to his letting her stay here? Was she even trying to stay? She’d kept saying how she’d leave, but he got the sense her desire to do so was as false as her name.
Even if he’d responded to her—which he hadn’t, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that—he didn’t accept those kinds of favors as bargaining tools. He dragged his suitcase up the steps and set it beside the couch, then joined Mary and helped put away his foodstuffs. She’d already put the milk and the beer in the fridge, which was empty except for a few bottles of water. What was she living on?
He leaned against the counter, catching his breath and cursing that he wasn’t up to par. True, he’d come up six thousand feet from San Francisco, so the fatigue of a long travel day was magnified by the altitude. Or so he told himself.
Mary was unloading the carton, setting everything on the counter. “I’ll put it away, but you should tell me where you want it, so you can find it. There are shelves in the laundry closet.”
“Leave it. I’ll do it later. Or if it’s all on display, I can find what I need easy enough.”
Her frown said she didn’t like his haphazard system of organization, but she didn’t retort.
“I believe I offered you a pizza dinner,” he said.
“You didn’t exactly offer, but if you’re buying, I accept. Give me a minute to—freshen up, I believe is the conventional euphemism.”
She sauntered toward the bedroom, which Nash assumed led to the bathroom. He gave her a ten second head start, then ducked outside and around the building toward the open bedroom window. He didn’t think she’d try to escape, but he’d been wrong before.
*****
DANIKA HAD NO CLUE who this guy was, whether he actually owned the cabin, or was after her.
She pulled her backpack containing all the belongings she’d brought from under the bed. She climbed onto the bed, raised the sash on the window high enough to clamber out, and tossed her backpack out. Danika swung a leg out the window, then twisted around, grabbed the frame and maneuvered herself until she was facing the cabin so she couldn’t see the drop.
She lowered herself as far as she could, took a breath, and let go. She landed with a thud and a grunt—had whoever-he-was heard?—and groped for her backpack.
“You looking for this?” Mr. Whoever-he-was held out her pack.
Busted.
Danika’s face flamed. She extended a hand. He handed over her pack. She hung her head. “Does the offer of pizza still stand?”
“You’re not going to run, are you?”
“No.”
He took her by the wrist, escorted her through the back door and into the bedroom, and closed the window. “Letting in outside air is counterproductive to running the heat.”
This was his circus now, so she did what she was told and got into his Subaru. New. Clean. He didn’t seem like a new, clean car kind of guy. Rental, she assumed, since he’d said he’d flown in.
They drove in silence to the wide spot in the road that called itself Spruce Hills. Danika stared at the potholes in the asphalt as they walked across the small parking lot to O’Flannery’s, the sports bar boasting wood-oven fired pizza. Even from outside, the aromas of tomato, garlic, and spices engulfed her. Danika’s stomach rumbled.
A cheery woman in an orange polo with a matching streak in her light brown hair greeted them as they entered. “Dining room or bar?”
“Either is fine,” Danika glanced at her companion. “Your call.”
“Booth if you have one,” he said.
“Plenty of room.” The hostess picked up two menus from a stack by the register. “Everyone’s watching the game.”
Monday night football on three huge television screens. What else would someone who lived around here do?
Danika followed the hostess. The feather-light touch of the man’s hand at the small of her back was an I’m sticking close, don’t try anything message, but it sent an unexpected tingle through her.
The hostess dropped the menus on the table. “Erica will be with you in a moment.”
After perusing the menu, her companion slash captor said, “Doesn’t have to be pizza.”
Danica gazed at the chalkboard proclaiming today’s pizza special was the O’Flannery’s Feast, but she decided a pizza with corned beef and cabbage didn’t make sense. She perused the menu. Since he’d offered, she checked prices, chose a Shepherd’s pie. Not the most, not the least expensive.
“Water’s fine,” Danika said when their server showed up to take drink orders. She needed a clear head around the man sitting across from her.
“What about you, sir?”
He barely glanced up. “Coffee. Black.”
Orders placed—he was having roast chicken with a baked potato and a salad—she folded her hands on the table and waited for him to speak.
“Nash Hanley,” he said.
Truth in names. Or semi-truths. “Danika. Still Smith. My parents were a little more creative than I said before. Boring last name, more interesting up front.” If someone was tracking her, why make it too easy?
“Let me see your license,” he said.
Busted. Again. She thought she’d developed decent prevarication skills as a reporter, but this guy—Nash—seemed to see inside her brain.
“You show me yours, I’ll show you mine,” she said.
He hoisted a hip, took a wallet out of his pocket and opened it to his license. Danika studied the clean-shaven, shorter-haired man in the picture. Driver’s license pictures never did anyone justice, but this guy was the exception. An eight, at least. Make that an eight point five. Heaving a sigh, she unzipped the outside pocket of her pack and fished out her card case.
She extracted her license from its sleeve and flicked it across the table with a forefinger. He scooped it up and, stroking his beard, repeated the comparison process, eyes darting between her and her ID. Four years ago, when her picture was taken, she’d had long hair, colored ash-blonde, with copper highlights.
“I like your current persona better, Danika Payton. Suits you.” He shot her license at her. She snatched it, replaced it in its sleeve, and put it into her pack.
“I prefer your past,” she said, heat spreading across her neck.
Their server arrived with Nash’s coffee. He cupped the steaming mug, raised it to his lips, inhaled, then set it down. “You already criticized my hair. You don’t like the beard, either?”
“Doesn’t matter what I think, but it looks like you’re hiding.”
Did she detect a hint of pink on his cheeks above the beard? Had she asked the right question? Her instincts hadn’t evaporated simply because she’d lost her job. Nash dropped his gaze. Bingo. She’d hit a target she hadn’t known she was aiming at.
“Maybe I don’t like shaving,” he said.
“Nnnyaahh.” She did her best impression of a Wrong Answer buzzer.
“Your hairstyle and my facial hair aren’t open for further discussion. As for hiding, my money says it’s you who’s laying low. Why?”
“Lying low,” she said. “I mean, if I was hiding, that’s the correct grammatical usage. But I’m not hiding. I’m regrouping.”
Their food arrived, and Danika’s mouth watered at the sight of her first real meal in days. She picked up her fork, watching Nash. Was he going to eat his food, or simply smell it the way he’d done with his coffee? She moved aside a corner of the mashed potato topping and inhaled the rich, savory aroma before tasting. Beneath the crust, her lamb was succulent.
Nash cut into his chicken, forked up a generous mouthful. He seemed as hungry as she was, which made sense if he’d been flying. Airlines didn’t feed you anymore.
Attempts at mutual interrogation stopped while they ate.
A cheer went up throughout the restaurant. Nash didn’t stop eating to look up. Not a football fan? Was that legal for guys?
He wiped his mouth, leaving a quarter of his chicken uneaten, and glared at her. “If I use the men’s room, can I trust you to stay put? Or do I have to drag you in with me?”