“THIS IS the last one. I’m not doing any more.” The man—almost defensively—scanned the paper Damien Malvetti pushed toward him.
He looked up at the slight tutting noise Malvetti was making and tried not to shiver. The involuntary swallow down his too-dry, too-tight throat was unavoidable.
“Now, now….” Malvetti steepled his fingers together, and the man’s eyes were drawn to the movement. He tried to shut out the image of the gun held in Malvetti’s hand the last time they’d had this conversation.
And what Malvetti had done with it.
“You agreed.” He tried to sound confident, assured, but it sounded pathetic—whiny—even to him.
“No.” Malvetti shook his head slowly. “You are mistaken. Why would I agree to end our mutually beneficial relationship? I get certain tasks performed by someone with specialized abilities, and you…. Well, do I really have to tell you what would happen if we suddenly found ourselves no longer friends?”
No, no he didn’t. With sickening acceptance, he took the address, his hands barely shaking.
OWEN WASN’T able to sleep again. And that was all kinds of stupid, considering he’d finally had the first chance to rest safely in what seemed like forever. He could still taste the smoke, smell it in Mia’s hair. She’d been too worn out for a bath, but that was going to be his first job this morning. He gazed at the rays of sunlight creeping through the curtains and looked around the room. Plain, functional. He’d been too tired last night to notice much of anything, but the kitchen seemed pretty much the same. The small house was pretty—it could be so pretty. It would barely need much. A few accent rugs, the odd picture.
Owen reined himself in. This wasn’t his house, and letting his imagination run away with him wouldn’t do him any good. He was thirsty, and he picked up the bottle of water Lucas had left him last night. Mia was still fast asleep in her cocoon of pillows. Without second-guessing himself, Owen swung his legs out of bed and grabbed the small sweatshirt he had worn yesterday. He wrinkled his nose as the smell of smoke hit him, and he decided that going downstairs cold was better than smelling of fire.
He opened the door quietly and shivered, then crept toward the stairs in case Lucas was still asleep. Maybe he and Mia should leave before Lucas demanded an explanation? At least the carpet was kind on his bare feet. He walked past what he assumed was the living room door and into the kitchen.
Lucas swung around as soon as he heard him, startled, as if he had forgotten they were here.
For a split second, Owen was disappointed he obviously hadn’t made that much of an impression, and then Lucas smiled. Lazily, as if he was genuinely pleased to see him, and that none of it—not the fire, not the rescue, not Owen invading his home—was that big a deal.
Owen scanned the big burly guy in front of him and randomly imagined him on one of the firefighter calendars he had drooled over once upon a time—cropped dark brown hair and brown, almost hazel, eyes when he looked up and the light caught them. His skin was dark around his chin, showing where he would need to shave. He would have to be shirtless and clutching a kitten or a puppy, but he’d make the best pin-up Owen had ever seen. He’d looked bad-ass in his uniform, but jeans and a shirt didn’t make him ooze any less competence.
In another life, maybe?
“You smelled the coffee?” Lucas waved his mug by way of a greeting.
Owen inhaled the welcoming aroma and shivered, even though the kitchen was warmer than the hall. Lucas frowned, noticing immediately. “Don’t you have anything warmer than that?” He gazed at Owen’s sweatpants and T-shirt.
Owen flushed slightly. “They all smell disgusting.” He picked at his clothes. “They loaned me these yesterday, but I still think everything smells of smoke.” It must be him, even though he’d scrubbed every inch of his skin last night. Maybe he was trying to erase more than the smoke.
Lucas nodded, looking apologetic. “Of course. We’ll throw them in the washer.” Then there was a pause as Owen tried not to squirm while Lucas gazed at him. Lucas bent to a laundry basket and grabbed a pair of rolled-up socks, then tossed them to him. “These just came out of the dryer.” Owen immediately sat down on one of the three wooden chairs next to a small table and pulled them on his feet, then glanced over at Lucas, who was filling another cup. “Milk? Sugar?”
“Just milk, please.”
Lucas handed him the cup and pushed an open carton of milk toward him. “I’m assuming Mia’s asleep?”
Owen smiled ruefully. “If she was awake, you’d know about it.” He clutched the warm cup in his cold hands and heard Lucas make a tutting noise just before he pulled his own sweatshirt off, revealing a plain white tee. Owen tried not to notice the flat abdomen liberally sprinkled with dark hair before Lucas lowered his arms and passed him the sweatshirt.
“Here, put this on before you freeze.”
Owen didn’t attempt to object and immediately put his cup down and pulled the soft thick sweatshirt on and inhaled. He wasn’t going to put a name to what he could smell, but it was settling. Male. Warm. “Thank you.”
Lucas was looking at him with a little amusement, and he flushed again. The sweatshirt was huge on him. Not that Owen wasn’t used to being looked at, but it wasn’t usually because he looked funny. No, the kind of entertainment he usually did involved taking clothes off, not putting them on.
Silence settled over the room, and Owen knew he should explain, that Lucas was waiting for him to talk. Luckily a harsh cry from Mia brought temporary relief, and he hurried upstairs. Lucas followed. “Shall I get a bath started for her?”
Owen nodded gratefully, and Lucas carried on to the bathroom while Owen ducked into his room. He smiled immediately as a very indignant Mia looked up at him. She was sitting up, and her brown curls seemed to have taken on a life of their own. Her huge blue eyes were a startling combination with the darker hair, and a pretty red bow mouth completed the stunning picture. She hadn’t started crawling yet, but she was rolling over. He suddenly realized she could have rolled out of bed, and guilt swamped him.
“Hey,” Owen choked out, gathering her up and wrinkling his nose at the same time. She smelled awful, and this time, it wasn’t smoke. He swallowed a laugh and grabbed some wipes he’d “borrowed” from the hospital. She might look innocent, but some of those diapers were plain evil. There didn’t seem any point in putting on a clean one since she was going straight in the bath, so he laid her on the bed and took it off, deftly wiping her and then taping the whole mess up. He would take it downstairs once she was dressed.
Lucas looked up as Owen walked into the bathroom carrying Mia. When she saw the water, she immediately started to babble excitedly. He couldn’t help grinning—she’d always loved the bath at home. He used to lie in the Jacuzzi and let the bubbles swirl around her legs as he cradled her. Every luxury one could possibly imagine had graced his ex’s show house. Or as it turned out, Owen’s prison, that Damien had gleefully decorated with gilded bars.
He pushed the memory away. He should be thankful Lucas had a tub. Some of the motels he had been in only had showers, and he’d had to bathe Mia in a sink more times than he could count.
Lucas turned the faucet off and stood. “I’ll leave you to it,” he said and stood up without looking at Mia.
Not that she noticed, and after Owen tried the water—which was perfect—he lowered her into the bath. She sat up, but it was awkward as he had nothing to hold her safely. He reached for the bottle of soap.
“Here,” Lucas said and passed it to him. Of course, then Mia started wriggling and splashing, and Owen had to grab her quickly, dropping the bottle. He heard a short sigh from Lucas and guessed they were outstaying their welcome.
“I’m sorry. As soon as she’s dry, we’ll be out of your hair.” He looked up to check that the words had registered, and stilled for a second. Lucas was staring at Mia, but not as if she was irritating—almost as if he was in pain. He moved before Owen could say anything.
“No,” Lucas said firmly, kneeling down and putting both hands under Mia’s arms to secure her. “This isn’t your fault.” He glanced up. “And you both need feeding before we do anything,” he added before looking down at Mia, who was smacking the water with the flat of her hand. Water was going everywhere, and Owen couldn’t help the smile. He let go and was able to use the soap liberally—which Mia loved and desperately needed.
“You take her,” Lucas instructed once she was rinsed. Lucas let go and soaped his hands and then ever so gently smoothed one over the soft brown curls, which sprang back up when he rinsed them with some water from the faucet. Owen didn’t seem able to think of anything to say as he watched greedily as Lucas carefully made sure Mia’s eyes were protected. Lucas rinsed her once again and slid his hands back under Owen’s. Owen jumped up to grab one of the soft blue towels warming on the rail and opened it out. Smoothly, Lucas lifted Mia out of the water and put her straight into Owen’s arms. Owen sat on the nearby stool and dried her, listening to her baby nonsense as Lucas left the room.
“Try these,” Lucas said, coming back, and Owen looked up, puzzled at the folded baby clothes he was holding out. “They might be a bit big.” Lucas shrugged, then turned and left again.
Owen heard him jog down the stairs. He pulled Mia securely to him to free his hands and picked up the clothes Lucas had placed on the side of the sink and opened them out. They were for a boy. He looked at the label—eighteen months. They would be big. He bent down to Mia. “I guess the two of us are playing dress-up, huh, sweetie?”
They were more than a little big, even over the diaper. The fact that Mia wasn’t walking and he could roll up the legs on the cute fleece pants was good. The matching blue sweater with a picture of Lightning McQueen fitted even better. There was even a pair of matching socks.
Why? It seemed a strange thing for Lucas to have lying around, but maybe he had family who visited. Mia giggled again and tried to pull at the towel before he could puzzle out where the clothes had come from, and he quickly finished dressing her.
He used the last diaper he had. He had stopped briefly in Loveland on Saturday, trying to find a store, when Paulo had seen them. He knew Paulo was one of the enforcers Damien had sent after him. Luckily, Owen had already been in the car, and a bus had pulled out straight after him, giving him the precious few minutes he had needed to get out of sight. He’d turned off as soon as he could, using side roads so he was less likely to be seen. Finally he’d ended up at the half-constructed vacation area. It was already getting dark, and he’d managed to bunk down in one of the intact cabins. He’d heard the fire trucks, but they had all seemed to be going in the opposite direction. The next day, he had seen the smoke in the distance, but he hadn’t thought it was an immediate threat. City life hadn’t prepared him for forest fires, and the chance he had taken in staying another night had nearly killed them both.
And it wasn’t even the thought of his own death that bothered him. It was the thought of his ex, Damien, getting his hands on Mia again—that was enough to end Owen right there and then. He dropped a kiss on Mia’s damp curls and swung her up. He quickly rinsed the bath clean with a small jug he found, then ducked into the room they had stayed in to get the dirty diaper and headed downstairs, looking around as he walked. Not so much as a photo. Then again, Lucas said he lived alone. Maybe he had just moved in, or maybe he wasn’t the sort to put up pictures? Owen was carrying the only family he had.
Or the only family that counted.
He walked into the kitchen just as Lucas was stirring something on the stove. Lucas glanced up. “I made eggs. Is that okay? Anything she can’t eat?”
“Thank you.” Owen was touched, and he hoped Lucas couldn’t hear the rumbling noises coming from his belly.
Lucas pointed to the chair. “I thought she could just sit on your knee. That okay?”
Owen pulled the chair out and sat down. Lucas put a cup of coffee where Owen could get it but out of Mia’s reach.
“What does she drink? I have water, milk, juice.”
“Just water, please. I need to go to the store and get her some things—milk, diapers definitely.” That was very urgent.
Lucas put a dish of fluffy eggs and a bigger plate of buttered toast down. “I thought you could share.”
Mia shrieked and immediately tried to grab the dish. Lucas chuckled and moved it out of her reach. They ate in comfortableish silence… or as quiet as it could be with a seven-month-old who loudly told Daddy to feed her, or at least, that’s what it sounded like. Lucas looked at his own plate when it was half-empty. “I put mushrooms, peppers, and ham in mine. I never thought you might have liked some of this.”
“It’s fine, thank you. This is great.” Owen didn’t add that he was a vegetarian. They probably wouldn’t be eating together again, anyway. Lucas took another two huge mouthfuls and stood up to get a small dry towel from a drawer. He rinsed it under the faucet and then put it next to Owen. “Sticky hands,” he said in explanation when he saw Owen had given up with the spoon and was letting Mia hold her own bits of toast to suck on.
Lucas watched her for a few seconds and then pushed his plate away unfinished, as if something had put him off. Owen understood. They needed to go. Where, he didn’t know, but outstaying his welcome wasn’t the way to thank this generous man. He wiped Mia’s hands carefully and looked up at the intense eyes that were gazing at him. He stood, holding Mia. “I’ll just go get our things and be out of your way.” The hospital had given them a change of clothes and that was it.
Lucas’s eyebrows went up. “Where you gonna go?”
Owen glanced at him. A heartbeat went by. “Away from here.”
Lucas nodded and stood. “How about we go into the living room and talk first? It’s safe for her to crawl around in there.”
Owen blinked but acquiesced. He didn’t want to have to explain anything, but he owed Lucas. Once for saving his life and, well, probably for saving their lives a second time. He knew Damien’s men were searching all the shelters periodically, to say nothing of the cops and the marshals.
They followed Lucas into a bright living room. There was just enough room for a small couch and a separate large old leather chair. He looked around. No pictures, no photos—just like the rest of the place. “Have you lived here long?” He set Mia on the floor, and she immediately rolled over.
“About twelve years.”
Owen gaped a little before he realized he was probably being rude. It wasn’t his business how other people lived their lives. He thought of all the priceless antiques he had hated in the casa he had run from. Lucas’s house was a million times better than that.
Lucas sat in the leather chair, looking completely at home. “You promised me an explanation.”
He had. “It might be safer for you if you don’t get one,” he replied baldly. Two dead marshals were a stark reminder of that.
Lucas didn’t react. “I recognized you. It took me a while, but I remember you being at the station.”
Owen’s shoulders sagged a little, but he didn’t deny it. “It feels like all that happened to someone else.”
“The marshals said you were a witness,” Lucas continued in a steady voice. “They also said your marshals had been shot and killed and that you’ve been on the run ever since. They mentioned something about a leak but didn’t elaborate. I’m guessing that’s the reason you’re running from them.”
Owen closed his eyes. Sometimes the fight was too hard. He felt a touch on his leg and opened his eyes to see Mia grabbing his sweatpants. Smiling. He smiled back. Or maybe, sometimes to protect those you loved, the fight wasn’t hard enough.
“I don’t know who to trust,” he admitted. “We were in an apartment—some kind of safe house they used—and Terry got a call. I didn’t even get a chance to ask who was on the line because I’ve never seen people move so fast in all my life. Terry grabbed the diaper bag, Barry lifted Mia from the small cot we had and handed her to me, and what seemed like only two minutes later, we were running from the building.” And being fired upon. He swallowed. “I’ve never been so scared in all my life. Barry got hit as we came out—”
“You were shot at?” Lucas interrupted, sounding shocked.
“Yes. There was more than one shooter. Terry bundled me between two cars. It was dark, around midnight, and pretty deserted.”
“Where were you?”
“Just north of Old Town in Fort Collins, but it was a Tuesday and really quiet.” Not like the weekends, which were kind of wild. “Mia woke up at the sound of gunfire. She started crying, so it was obvious where we were. There were footsteps, and Terry just stood up and started firing. He shouted for me to run. His truck was only a few feet away, but he was shot.” It hadn’t been the first time Owen had seen someone killed by a bullet, but he hoped to God it was the last.
Something told him that was unlikely.
“Terry must have shot them. I don’t know if they were killed, but they didn’t come after me.”
“Why are people shooting at you?”
And there it was—the question he had been expecting since yesterday and still didn’t know how to answer. “Are you sure you really want to know?”
Lucas didn’t reply, but then he didn’t have to. His confidence, some deep assurance on a different level screamed the answer to Owen. Trust me.
He glanced down at Mia, not only for the little bolt of courage he needed, but to remind himself of why he was here and why he would fight to his last breath to keep her safe. “Because I saw my ex-boyfriend kill her mother.” Lucas’s eyes widened a little, but he still kept silent. Waiting. Owen half smiled. “That’s a good interrogation technique you’ve got going on there.”
“Patience?” Lucas’s lips tilted upward at the corner, and from out of nowhere, Owen suddenly had the desperate urge to press his lips to that spot. Shocked, he jerked back a little.
“Did you know her?”
Owen refocused himself, pushing the inexplicable urge away. “She was my friend.” And he was the reason she was dead.
Lucas waited again, but Owen knew he had to answer. He would see the disappointment on Lucas’s face. Maybe even judgment. Disgust was a given, but he might as well get it over with. He shouldn’t forget that Lucas had saved his life yesterday, and even though Owen had sometimes been in that strange halfway place between fighting for your life and being ready to give up, he was the only thing keeping Mia from Damien. And if there was one thing he absolutely had to do for his best friend, it was to keep her daughter safe. Especially since he had failed so spectacularly at being a friend.
“I met Mary two days after I left home. A couple of guys followed me after I had used the cash machine.” He had been so clueless. “One pinned me, and the other took my cash and card. He wanted the PIN number, and I thought I’d be hard-core and refuse. Turned out they had a knife.” And really shaky hands. He would never forget the press of metal against his throat and the sheer terror he’d felt as it slid across his skin. “I thought they were gonna kill me, even after I told them, but Mary walked into the alley and called them by name. Told them to stop fucking with me.” And they laughed. He had thought he was going to die, and they had thought it was funny. “They took all the money I had left, but Mary stayed.” She’d even gotten him some water after he had puked his guts up. “That was four years ago.”
He glanced out the window, praying Lucas wasn’t going to want it all. He wasn’t ready for that.
“How did you get a car?”
Owen shot Lucas a grateful glance. Lucas could easily push, and Owen was in no position to say no, but as he focused on the deep understanding in Lucas’s gaze, he knew Lucas was giving him a breather. “I stole it.” He watched Lucas carefully, but again, there was no reaction. “I wish I’d gotten a better one, but it wasn’t even locked, and old cars are easier to hot-wire.”
Lucas’s eyes crinkled with sudden humor, and he laughed quietly. “I’m not surprised, if it was that blue Ford Taurus from the cabins. I think rust was holding it together.”
Owen stared. Lucas didn’t seem to be judging him. He’d done a lot of things over the years he wasn’t proud of.
“How long have you got to wait to give evidence?”
“I was supposed to give evidence to the grand jury three weeks ago so they could indict Damien, before we had to run. Now I’m not sure what will happen.” He didn’t know how he was going to last that long on his own. “I just want to disappear.”
“Not easy with a baby,” Lucas said doubtfully.
“I know.” Owen knew he was right. “But I don’t know who to trust.”
“Have you met Deputies DuPree and O’Connor? They’re the two who came to see me in the ER.”
“I like DuPree. She said her niece was called Mia.” He wasn’t sure about O’Connor, though. “I saw her with Terry a couple of times, once just after we left their offices the first time. I have absolutely no idea if I can trust either of them.”
“They can’t all be dirty. Jacko—remember him from the fire? African American? Big guy?”
Owen couldn’t help a short laugh. “You’re all big guys.”
“Well, Jacko comes from a family of cops. His dad and two brothers are on the force, and his uncle is a vice detective.” Lucas grinned. “It took months before his old man forgave him for becoming a firefighter. Anyway, we could ask Jacko to ask his uncle to check into the situation.”
That might work. It was just such a huge risk.
“You can’t run forever.” Lucas pointed to Mia, where she was chewing her fist. “Not with her, anyway.”
No. “So what? You’ll talk to Jacko?”
“How about this? You stay here with me while I sound things out. I don’t even have to mention your name—”
“No? How many witnesses running for their lives do you usually keep around—” Owen clamped his lips closed. He was joking, but his throat had suddenly gotten really tight.
Lucas’s face softened. He’d seen. Owen had a feeling Lucas didn’t miss much. “Why don’t you both plan to stay—at least for today. I don’t think you’re going to be any worse off, and you both need a rest.”
Owen nearly laughed. He possibly would have, if he hadn’t been keeping his lips clamped shut. A rest? When was the last time he’d had that? “I need some things for Mia.”
Lucas stood up. “Help yourself to anything in the fridge for her and make me a list.”
A loving home.
A father who knows what he’s doing.
But they’d start with diapers and milk.