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Kate's heart twisted as she watched Jonas climb stiffly out of the trunk. She remembered all too well the level of pain during the first few days after a bullet wound, and she couldn't even begin to imagine how much worse it must be after the ride he'd endured.
He staggered, and she reached out a hand to steady him. He shook her off.
"I'm good," he muttered.
The edge in his voice said otherwise, but Kate didn't argue. She doubted she'd be feeling overly friendly after that ride, either. She plucked one of the blankets out of the trunk in case he needed it, then slammed down the lid.
She turned back to find Jonas with his arms stretched overhead, bending from side to side at the waist as far as his injury would allow. "Don't overdo," she warned. "I'd rather you didn't bleed all over my car."
Jonas shot her an oblique look and stretched a little further. Kate pressed her lips together and returned to the driver's seat. A moment later, Jonas slid in beside her. She started the car.
Neither of them spoke as she pulled out of the rest stop and back onto the highway, but when Jonas took out the painkillers and selected two, courtesy demanded she ask, "How bad is it?"
"Bad."
She looked over at him. Maybe he wasn't being taciturn just for the sake of it. Pale face, sweaty brow...
"There's a truck stop about ten kilometers from here. We'll take a break," she said. "Get some coffee."
Talk.
Her stomach rumbled.
"We'll get breakfast, too," she added. "When's the last time you ate?"
"No idea. But I'm fine, and we should keep going. They'll have the trace on your number any time now."
"All taken care of." Kate filled him in on what she'd sent Laura to do. This time, grudging admiration met her sideways glance.
"And because you've already left," he said, "they'll think I'm still in the area."
"That's the idea. When we get to the restaurant, I'll call Scott Dunham—the OPP officer who came to the house—for good measure. Tell him I remembered hearing something last night out near the barn, but I didn't investigate because of the storm."
The blue gaze regarded her for a moment before he murmured, "Not bad, Constable Dexter. You've earned yourself that coffee after all." Then, closing his eyes, he leaned his head back against the seat and said nothing more.
***
Kate chose a booth at the rear of the truck stop and took the side facing the door.
"I'm sure you'd much rather be sitting where you can see things, but I'm not half-smashed on painkillers," she said, sliding one of the laminated menus across the table to Jonas. “And the fewer people who see your face, the better.”
"Good points."
He set the menu aside, and Kate looked askance at him. Surely he must be hungry by—
Understanding dawned. She pushed the menu in front of him again.
"My treat," she said. "Next time I'm down your way, you can buy me dinner."
"You don't even know where my way is."
"I'm a cop. I'll find you." She pointed at the menu. "Eat."
Jonas looked as if he might continue arguing, but then his stomach rumbled. He picked up the menu as a skinny, teenaged waitress arrived at the table. Without so much as a muttered greeting, she filled their cups from the pot of coffee she carried, then sauntered off.
Jonas gazed after her. "I'm assuming she'll return for our order."
Watching the girl rejoin a lanky youth at the counter, Kate grimaced. "I wouldn't hold your breath."
"I won't, believe me. I had quite enough of that while I was riding in the damned trunk. You might want to have your exhaust system checked, by the way. I think it's leaking."
To Kate's surprise, a teasing light danced in his eyes, taking the growl out of the words. The man had a sense of humor after all, did he? She opened her mouth to respond in kind but snapped it shut again as, over Jonas's shoulder, she saw a dark sedan turn into the parking lot.
Her companion's gaze sharpened, and everything about him went still. "Trouble?" he asked.
Barely breathing, Kate watched a man and woman step out of the vehicle. Then the woman took a baby from the back seat. Kate's shoulders sagged. "It's nothing. A family."
But the intrusion of reality had shattered the tentative lightness of a moment before. Jonas twisted around to lean his back against the window and stretch his injured leg along the bench seat. His eyes darted up from the menu at every movement in the restaurant. Every sound.
Kate studied him over her own battered menu. A dark, heavy shadow covered the strong jaw, and tension coiled through every muscle of his body. He didn't look much more reputable by daylight than he had when covered in dirt and blood last night. He did, however, look every inch a man on the run. A man she was helping to run.
She scowled at the breakfast list. Now that the adrenaline of getting him away from the farm and through the roadblock had dissipated, the reality of her situation had begun to settle in. It wasn’t a very pleasant reality.
She was in so much trouble, it made her head spin. Aiding and abetting, interference in an investigation...and a dozen other charges, if she thought about it. Which she wasn't going to, because holy hell, those two alone were bad enough.
And for what? An uncorroborated, wild story from a complete stranger? That, and—
Please.
She stifled a curse, slamming a mental lid on the plea that kept returning to haunt her. The worst possible reason of all.
"I'd offer you a penny if I had one." Jonas's quiet voice broke in on her thoughts.
Kate shook her head. "Even if you had the necessary funds, I don't think you'd want to know."
"That anxious to get rid of me?"
"That transparent?" she countered, surprising a chuckle from him. He had a nice laugh. Rich. And speaking of rich...
She set aside the menu. "We need to talk."
***
Jonas stayed silent for a moment, toying with the plastic clip that held the daily specials list in place. He studied the woman across the table. From golden cat's eyes and tumbled blond curls to slender shoulders and hands so slim they bordered on delicate, Kate Dexter looked nothing like a cop. At least not one tough or experienced enough to get involved with the shit-storm his life had become. She lacked so much as a hint of the edge that marked a veteran of the job.
Convincing her to disengage, however, wouldn't be easy. Not with that iron core of stubbornness he'd seen. He'd have to tread lightly.
"Fire away," he said.
"It's not just the money," she said. "You've been accused of murder, too."
He let out a hiss. "Son of a—" He caught himself mid-curse and darted a quick glance around them. He lowered his voice to a snarl. "Who?"
"The target they say you stole the money from."
Those bastards.
For a heartbeat, a crimson cloud of pure, unadulterated rage clouded Jonas's vision. Ramirez and Lewis had set him up so well, so thoroughly—and he'd walked right into it. Those absolute bastards.
He placed the menu on the table. Blinked back the haze. Pushed away the sick sense of betrayal. Then he unlocked his jaw.
"How much?" he asked.
"One point five million."
He stared out the window.
After a moment, Kate cleared her throat. "You need to tell me what went down, Jonas. If I'm going to help you—"
"No."
"Pardon?"
"I said no. You're not going to help me. These people—the ones who set me up for this—they're not going to stop until they find me, Kate. You cannot get involved."
"Let me get this straight." Kate leaned back in her seat. "You've been shot, there's an international warrant out for your arrest, you've been accused of murder, and I don't know you from Adam, but you think I should just take your word for it that you're innocent and turn you loose? Is that what you'd do if the tables were turned? Really?"
Jonas's gut twisted at the suggestion. At the thought of her bleeding from a bullet wound. In pain. Hunted by her colleagues.
Turn her loose? More like find the pricks who'd hurt her and—
He gave himself a mental shake.
"If I knew as much as I do? Yes," he lied.
"Therein lies the problem, because I don't know as much as you do, because you're not goddamn telling me."
Touché.
And stalemate.
Jonas shifted his weight on the bench seat and eased his leg into a less uncomfortable position. Silently, he cursed the fire that had steadily grown in his side during his stint in Kate's car trunk and the painkillers that weren't doing nearly as good a job as he needed them to.
"Look," he said patiently. "There's nothing you can do. If you go to your higher-ups with my story, they'll demand you turn me in. If you don't turn me in, you'll be charged. If you do, the Canadian authorities have no choice but to hand me over to the ATF. No matter how you come at this, Kate, you can't—"
"All right," she snapped. "I get it." She rested an elbow on the table and ran restless fingers through her hair, chewing absently at her bottom lip. Cat's eyes glared at him. "What about proof? There must be something somewhere."
"New Jersey. If I'm in custody, I'll never get to it."
"What about someone? A partner? A friend in the agency?"
Rick Honeyman. Jonas dismissed the name as soon as it whispered through his mind. If his handler started poking through files, Lewis and Ramirez would only go after him as well, and Honeyman didn’t stand a chance against them. Not in his condition. Jonas shook his head.
"I won't put anyone else in the line of fire," he said. "This is my battle."
Kate's gaze narrowed, and he saw a thousand and one arguments milling behind it. But for the first time, he also saw a hint of uncertainty. He seized on it.
"Do you believe I did it?" he asked. "Killed someone? Took the money?"
"It doesn't matter what I believe."
"Humor me."
Kate met his gaze evenly, her eyes assessing, considering. Dishes rattled loudly somewhere in the restaurant behind him, and a baby wailed in protest. You tell 'em, kid.
He waited for Kate's response.
"No," she said at last. "I don't think you did it."
"Then you need to trust me on this. Get me somewhere safe today, then walk away. Plausible deniability, remember? Go back to your life, Kate. While you still can."
Indecision flickered over her face. He saw the words I can't forming on her lips.
"Please," he said wearily. "Just...please."
Kate's mouth snapped shut and the golden eyes turned dark. Abruptly, she slid out of the booth and stood up.
"I have to call Scott," she growled. "If that waitress ever comes back, order me a ham and cheese on brown. No fries."