Hard To Tame

Sara jerked, startled by the note of menace in Nick’s voice. She turned to see him standing nearby with two police officers she didn’t recognize, and the detective. Chatfield ushered them all to the table. “The gunman hasn’t been found, Miss Jennings. I’m sorry.”

Her stomach dropped at the detective’s words. Moistening her lips, she said, “But…he was wounded. How could he have…”

“We think he may have had a car waiting nearby. But that doesn’t mean we’re not going to find him. If he shows up at a clinic or hospital, we’ll get word of it.”

If. The word reverberated in her mind. And surely the gunman would avoid seeking medical attention for that very reason. Which made it all the more imperative that she vanish quickly. Completely. She’d escaped the hit man in Phoenix three years ago, hadn’t she? It was more comfortable to ignore the niggling inner voice that suggested maybe her escape that time had been sheer luck.

And maybe her luck was running out.

With a flick of his hand, Chatfield dismissed the officers and sank down in a chair opposite Sara, studying her gravely. “Miss Jennings, I want you to know there’s still a good chance we’re gonna catch this guy. I want you to go through a few books of mug shots, see if you recognize him. And I’ll follow up on that mistaken-identity lead, because it seems like we might have hit the jackpot on that one.”

Slowly, she raised her chin to look at him, dread circling in her stomach. “What do you mean?”

“I made a couple phone calls, checked some databases. There was a murder case about six years ago in Chicago, where the prime witness for the Justice Department disappeared. Her name was Sara Parker.”

Over the last half-dozen years Sara had become an accomplished actress, but it took all her abilities now to gaze steadily at the man, to fight the fear and panic welling up inside her. “So you think this guy today came hunting for that witness and almost killed me instead?”

Chatfield gave a slow nod. “It seems possible. But I don’t want you to worry. We’re giving this close attention, and we’ll have someone posted outside your apartment until we bring this guy in. Every effort will be made to guarantee your safety.”

She gave an unamused laugh. “You can’t really guarantee anything of the sort, can you, Detective? Nobody can.”

“We’ll do our best, ma’am.” He got up and crossed the room, came back carrying a stack of books. She didn’t bother telling him that his department’s best wouldn’t be enough. If the Department of Justice had failed so horribly, what could the New Orleans Police Department do? The answer was bleakly apparent.

Nothing.

Two hours later she flipped one of the books closed and rubbed her eyes. Chatfield looked up from his desk nearby. “Nobody familiar in there?”

“They’re starting to all look alike. Maybe we could finish this tomorrow.”

He got up and came to the table. “Sure. You’ve been through a lot today. I’ll have a uniform drive you home and I’ll tell Mr. Doucet you’re leaving.” Nick had stepped out to make some phone calls a few minutes earlier. It occurred to Sara that her departure couldn’t come at a better time.

She let the blanket slip from her shoulders, and concentrated on folding it neatly. “I’ll take the ride, but you don’t need to bother Mr. Doucet.”

The detective’s shrewd blue eyes observed her carefully. “Okay. I just thought…I guess I figured the two of you were together.”

“No.” Sara lay the folded blanket over the chair and reached for her purse. “We’re not together.”

The policeman who took her home went into her apartment ahead of her, checked it for intruders, then turned to go. The process reminded Sara of the precariousness of her position here, the need for a swift escape.

“Thank you for the ride, Officer.” Nerves stretched to the snapping point, she could barely conceal her impatience to have the man gone.

He seemed impervious to her tension, lingering in the doorway. “There’ll be a car right outside, ma’am. You don’t have to worry about a thing.”

She managed a wan smile, waited for him to close the door, and locked it after him. Then she flew into action. Her suitcase was dragged from beneath the bed, drawers opened, emptied into the bag. She spent little time on packing niceties; speed was of the essence. Swiftly, she cleared the closet of clothes. She didn’t have much. It didn’t make sense to spend the little money she had on things she’d only wear for a matter of months.

Each personality demanded a different wardrobe. She left the belly-showing sweaters and low-riding jeans. Amber Jennings had had an affection for the skimpy garments. Sara’s next identity would be Amber’s opposite.

For the same reason, she ignored the collection of cat statues placed carefully on the windowsills. She’d picked the whole set up at a flea market. Hailey, Carla, Amy—whoever she became next—wouldn’t be a cat lover, but perhaps an avid sports fan.

On her hands and knees, she reached for the hem of the comforter, flipped it up. Searching for the pocket she’d carefully sewn in the fabric, she withdrew the bills she’d stuffed inside and jammed them in her purse.

Still on her knees, she froze when a knock sounded at the door. She wasn’t proud of the first blinding wave of panic that washed over her. Nor the second emotion, which followed closely when she heard a voice call out, “Amber, it’s Nick.”

She closed her eyes, let her breath out with a rush. Nick. It was too much to ask that he wouldn’t follow her home, but another five minutes and she could have missed him completely. It was also useless to damn fate. She’d learned that years ago.

Closing the suitcase, she shoved it beneath the bed, out of sight. “I’m getting ready to turn in.”

“I need to talk to you, Amber. Open the door.”

Sara threw a quick glance around to check that there was nothing to give her plans away, and then resigned herself to the inevitable. Moving swiftly, she went to the door, unlocked it. He hadn’t changed his clothes; he’d come directly from the police station. For the first time it occurred to her that before they’d been caught in the storm, she’d never seen him look less than immaculate. His obviously custom-tailored clothes were wrinkled now, his expensive shoes probably ruined. But it didn’t lessen the impact of his appearance. Didn’t detract from the aura of latent power that surrounded him.

He pressed the flat of his hand against the door, as if expecting her to try to keep it closed against him. The idea had merit, but she knew it would be futile to try. Letting him push it open, she stepped back, and he followed her in. Immediately he shrank the apartment with his presence, and she knew that if she hadn’t been leaving, she would have been reminded of him in this space each time she was in it.

“You haven’t changed.” His gaze raked her soggy clothes, then made a quick survey of the apartment, before returning to her. “Have you eaten?”

“I…no. I’m not hungry.”

He let the door latch behind him, came farther into the room. “So if you haven’t been eating or standing under a hot shower, what have you been doing?”

Because she didn’t want to answer the question, she asked one of her own. “Why are you here, Nick?”

He slipped his hands in his pockets. “I’m not sure you should be left alone tonight.”

She deliberately misunderstood his words. “I’m not alone. The officer who brought me home said there would be a car out front.” She was counting on that, in fact, when she slipped out the back. “It’s been a long day, and I’m exhausted.”

He paid no attention to her words. “This room is freezing.” Crossing the room, he went to close the window near her bed she routinely kept open. When his hands went to the sash she blurted, “Don’t shut that!”

The alarm in her voice was unmistakable, so she swallowed, forced a calmer tone. “I like it open.” She didn’t miss the assessing look in his eyes as he stepped away from it slowly, nor the shift in his attention when he saw the flipped-up comforter that she’d forgotten to smooth back into place.

With a feeling of inevitability, she watched him go down on one knee, look at the edge of the suitcase partially revealed. Glancing at her again, he cocked an eyebrow. “Going somewhere?”

“Where would I be going?” Her shrug was deliberately casual. “I keep some of my clothes in that, because the space in here is limited…Nick!” He was pulling the suitcase out, popping its lid. He surveyed its full contents for a moment before rising, turning to her.

His voice was soft, almost inaudible. “Where are you going, Amber?”

She’d always had the ability to recognize when to cut her losses. Her chin tipped upward. “I’m not sticking around to be used as target practice in some crazy man’s six-year-old vendetta.”

He seemed to choose his words carefully. “If they find the guy they’ll need you to identify him.”

“They have to find him first, though, don’t they?” She wasn’t acting now. The words, the situation, was all too real. “Excuse me for not being a dutiful citizen. I have no intention of being used as live bait for a killer.”

“And you were expecting to sneak by the NOPD with suitcase in hand?”

“There’s a back door,” she snapped.

“And another car posted there.”

His words struck her hard in the chest. Stunned, she could only stare at him.