“Do you want coffee?” Harris asked, breaking into her thoughts.
Carey focused on the conversation in the kitchen, her mouth watering at the smell of fresh-ground coffee wafting amidst the scents of bacon and sausage. “Yes, please.”
Harris poured her a cup, handed it to her and nodded toward the sugar and creamer on the end of the table. Carey closed her eyes and inhaled, bringing the cup to her lips. It had been a long time since she’d had real, fresh coffee, instead of the swill they served at the convenience store across from her apartment.
She took a sip of the black liquid, letting it roll over her tongue and down her throat, warming her insides.
A shotgun blast shuddered against the windows and Carey jumped, dropping her coffee mug and splattering hot liquid on her sweatpants as she hit the ground and covered her head. The coffee mug shattered, spraying pieces of ceramic across the tiled kitchen floor.
They’d found her. Mark was already here.
Jane was at her side in a minute, stroking her back. “It’s okay. We have hunters in the area.”
Palms flat on the floor, Carey looked up at Jane and felt the penetrating gazes of Harris and Doc on her. Her face burned nearly as hot as the pain in her ribs and arm. The rest of the family was still in their seats, staring at her as if she had flipped off the Pope.
“I’m sorry for the mess,” she mumbled, maneuvering to her knees.
Reilly chose that moment to enter the kitchen from outside, stomping his boots on the welcome mat set at the back door. Awareness arced between them. Assessing the situation with that focused look of his, his eyes locked on Carey crouched on the ground. She stood with trembling legs, her knees threatening to fold beneath her. Coffee was everywhere, some absorbed into her clothes and some splashed on the cabinets and floor.
“What happened?” he asked, looking between her and Jane in confusion. His gaze skipped down her body. Reilly wasn’t just looking at the coffee stains. The sizzle and burn of forbidden attraction swept over her, raising her body temperature.
Jane answered for her. “A gunshot startled her. She’s okay.” Jane patted her shoulder.
Carey mentally thanked the Trumans for not making a big deal about this. She was embarrassed enough and, with Reilly’s stare pinned on her, aware of how this must look.
“I should have warned you about hunters. It echoes out here with nothing to absorb the sound. They won’t come on the property.” Reilly’s concern remained etched on his face. “I checked the grounds. There’s no one on the ranch.”
As tired as he had to be, he’d gotten up early to take a look around outside. Guilt swamped her, mingling with appreciation for what he’d done. For what they were doing to protect her.
“Let me get some paper towels to clean this up,” Carey said.
Jane shook her head. “No, I’ve got this. You get yourself changed.”
Carey looked down at her ruined clothes. Maybe she could put some soap on the brown marks and scrub them out. “Okay, that sounds good.”
She fled upstairs and into her room, rummaging in her duffel for a dry pair of pants and another shapeless T-shirt. When she redressed, she opened the door to her room and found Reilly standing in the hallway waiting for her.
“Feel better?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. Something came into his eyes, a deep, sensual hunger. His biceps flexed and she recognized how sexy the stance was, how delicious he looked.
It took most of her focus to ignore it. “Yes, much. Do you think your mom will mind if I wash my clothes? At the rate I’m ruining them, I’ll need a new wardrobe in a few days.”
His gaze again wandered down her body, slower this time, steady, building heat in her chest with every passing second. “Wouldn’t hurt.”
His stare burned like a brand. “What wouldn’t hurt?”
“Getting a new wardrobe.”
Well then. Had she been imagining desire in place of scrutiny? Indignation had her lifting her chin. “What’s wrong with my clothes?” She refused to mourn lost luxuries like expensive couture and leather handbags.
His appraisal swept over her. “Your clothes are too big and I know it’s not because you find them comfortable.”
Did he like what he saw? “How can you know what I find comfortable?”
Reilly stepped closer to her, the maleness of him nearly causing her to take a step back. Attraction sizzled and burned in the air between them. “I’m good at watching people. And I’ve been watching you quite a bit in the last two days. You dropped a
Vogue
magazine in the alley during the attack. CSI picked it up.”
Carey had forgotten about the fashion magazine she’d had tucked beneath her sweatshirt. She’d read it at work on her breaks, both as an escape from her bland life and as a tool to keep anyone from talking to her. “I get the old ones free from the Dumpster.” It ached to admit it. Yes, she had crawled into the Dumpster behind her building when she saw the shiny gloss of the magazine from her bedroom window.
If he was disgusted by her admission, it didn’t show on his face. “You were looking at Vanessa’s suit like you were dying to touch it,” Reilly said, ticking the facts off on his hand.
Carey narrowed her eyes. “It was couture.”
Reilly smiled smugly. “And my last and final proof that you’d much prefer something more feminine is that I saw you in your underwear.”
The reminder wreaked havoc on her libido. Her pulse beat erratically. She strove for indifference. “I’ll take it as a compliment it made such an impression.”
His eyes glimmered with heat and Carey’s body overreacted the way it always did when he looked at her. “Oh, it made an impression. I’ve had that image, along with a few others, burned into my mind.”
Forget indifference. She couldn’t pull it off. “Like what?” she asked, her mouth feeling too dry.
His eyes filled with intense heat. “You dancing in my arms. Kissing you. You in my lap last night.”
Longing singed her. Trying to understand Reilly was impossible. One moment he was shutting down, the next he was drawing her into a conversation about their relationship, making her feel hot and achy.
“Come on, Carey, we’ve got to talk about this thing between us. Ignoring it isn’t working for me, and last night I went to bed with you on my skin, on my tongue, in my head. I had the most frustrating dreams about you.”
A thrill of excitement swept over her. Confusion followed close on its heels. “You did?”
Reilly nodded once. “If we face it, the mystery is over and we can move past this.”
A douse of cold water. Maybe he was right and she should scrub away any feelings she had for him. She’d known from the beginning this was a temporary situation. “What do you want me to say? We know this has an expiration date.” The best they could have was a temporary, heated affair that would end when she ran.
“You seem to think everything in your life has an expiration date.”
On some level, he had to understand why she thought in those terms. She wasn’t letting herself imagine a future. She kept her response simple. “That’s been the case.”
Reilly shook his head. “You’re selling yourself short. You could find a man, make a life with him and be happy.”
His optimism stung. Not only was he being unrealistic, he’d drawn a line between them. Finding a man meant “not him.” “I know my limits. I don’t want to worry about the future.”
“Is it so hard for you to believe that you could be happy? That you could have a future that doesn’t include running?” Reilly asked.
Since the moment she’d decided to go on the run, she’d known she couldn’t plan a future with Reilly or anyone else. Why then the disappointment spreading over her chest? On some level she had been letting herself fantasize about a connection with Reilly. “Experience tells me otherwise.” Mark would pursue her. Relentlessly.
“I’m going to prove you wrong. You will have a future with someone,” Reilly said. The quiet seriousness in his voice shook her.
Carey wouldn’t let him convince her she had choices. That could only lead to more letdowns. “You can give it your best shot.” She turned away before he could see the hurt on her face and question it. For a conversation he’d started to make the situation between them more clear, it had led to more confusion. She reaffirmed what she knew to be true—she had to run to keep herself and the people around her safe.
They returned to the kitchen and Carey filled her plate to heaping. Anxiety about her future, and disappointment that she’d left herself unguarded with Reilly, didn’t curb her appetite, and eating gave her something to do besides avoid eye contact with Reilly. She sat at the table and then poured herself another cup of coffee. Jane had cleaned up the mess, and Carey carried her refilled mug with two hands, careful not to spill.
Harris turned on the television in the corner of the room, keeping the volume low. When his mother shot him a look, he shrugged. “I need my news fix. I want to know what’s happening in the world.”
Carey took a forkful of scrambled eggs, parts of her conversation with Reilly replaying in her mind. They hadn’t resolved anything, except to clarify they were on different pages. Had she made the right decision by coming here with Reilly? Had she let things go too far? She was second-guessing every decision she’d made.
The TV news program flipped to Denver with an update on the Vagabond Killer case. Carey tensed. Would they show her picture, the one of her leaving the DPD, the one that had led Mark to connect her to Reilly?
“We’re outside the Denver police station, where we’ve learned more about the measures the police are taking to track down the man known as the Vagabond Killer.” The sketch she had helped create flashed on the screen. “A witness has come forward and provided this sketch of the suspect. Anyone with information is urged to the call the tip line, which is being manned twenty-four hours a day.” An eight hundred number appeared at the bottom of the screen.
“Harris, please turn that off,” Jane said. “We don’t need to listen to that over breakfast.”
Harris turned off the television, giving Carey an apologetic smile.
She’d been pretending the case was a world away. But she was naive to believe she’d escaped it. Curiosity getting the best of her, she finished her breakfast and retreated to Reilly’s bedroom. Knowing she shouldn’t, she turned on the small television on top of his dresser, switching the volume low.
Seeking news about the Vagabond Killer case wouldn’t help her sleep better at night, but she had to know if the situation had changed.
She flipped the channel, and the face that appeared on the screen was more chilling than the Vagabond Killer’s. Carey’s hands shook so hard she dropped the remote.
Mark. Why was he on national television? Quieting the scream of terror in her mind, she stared at the screen.
As if speaking to her, Mark looked straight into the camera, his suit and tie crisp and clean. “We’re committed to this merger that will make our winery the largest on the west coast, and we won’t let anyone stand in our way. We have one legal issue we’re close to eliminating and then it’s full steam ahead.”
Bile rose in Carey’s throat. One legal issue. Eliminating. Meaning her. It was a thinly veiled threat.
Mark knew it was probable she’d be watching the news and no doubt had pulled strings to get the news of his business merger on TV. He’d found a way to terrorize her without having any direct contact with her.
Her time was limited. Mark would find a way to get to her. She’d been photographed with Reilly, and Mark had contacted Reilly looking for her. Was he digging into Reilly’s background, searching for places she might be?
Terror tightened her throat and Carey fought the dizzying panic. Mark was going to find her. She had to leave. Where could she go? Was anywhere safe?
She checked her duffel bag again, needing the reassurance she was ready to run when she came up with a solid plan and found transportation to another city.
At the knock on her bedroom door, Carey scrambled to zip her duffel closed and turn off the television. She took a deep breath, trying to relax her face and shoulders to give the appearance nothing was wrong.
She pulled open the door. “Hi, Reilly.” She tried for casual and missed the mark by a mile.
He inclined his head. “What’s the matter?”
He had no doubt read her panicked expression. “Nothing.” Nothing she was willing to discuss.
Reilly’s eyes darkened, but he didn’t press her further. “My mom is making Christmas cookies if you’re interested in helping.”
Making cookies beat hiding in Reilly’s room and worrying. “That sounds fun.”
Carey could pretend everything was fine. Especially when she was with the Truman family.
* * *
Over the next few days, each of the Truman men took turns patrolling the premises, and Harris and Doc had driven into town one morning to pick up extra camera equipment Doc had ordered. Reilly, Harris and Doc had set up the new equipment that afternoon.
The knot of fear in Carey’s stomach had loosened. She couldn’t hide forever, but for the first time in nearly a year, she didn’t live with dread twisting in her gut every moment. Mark hadn’t contacted Reilly again nor had he shown up at the ranch.
Carey lay in bed in Reilly’s old bedroom for the fourth night in a row, staring at the ceiling. She hadn’t come up with a safe plan to leave, in part because she didn’t want to. She craved more time with the Trumans—their lively conversation, their easy manners and their acceptance of her, making her feel like part of their family.
And Reilly. He returned to her thoughts again and again. She sometimes caught herself watching him, loving to see him laugh, the gentle way he treated his family and his thoughtfulness with her. As many times as she reminded herself they couldn’t have a future, it didn’t stop her from thinking about how it would feel to kiss him again. Be held by him. Make love with him. She could handle a brief, steamy affair with him, couldn’t she?
It was now or never. She couldn’t stay much longer. Every moment she remained was another moment she risked bringing Mark to the Truman Ranch.
Carey rolled onto her side, pulling the thick blankets to her neck. She didn’t want to leave. She was growing attached to Reilly and his family. But that was the reason she
had
to leave. Every moment she stayed with the Trumans increased the chances that Mark would find her.