Guilty Pleasures

“No.”

She’d ditched her cell phone on Day One. If the battery was in, it was transmitting, no matter if it was on or off. She’d thought about picking up another one that couldn’t be traced back to her, but until she had an actual need for one, what was the use?

He tossed the cell back to the seat between them. “So I’m left to your word.”

“Yes.”

He slowed the car’s speed, but whether it was because he was considering his options or the speed limit had changed, she couldn’t say. He was as easy to read as a murky, rain-swollen brook on a stormy day.

When he pulled up in front of the sheriff’s office moments later, her heart pitched.

There it was, then.

Damn.

She waited for the will to fight to return, fire up her own personal engine. But everything remained eerily silent.

Did it have something to do with him? Had she been hoping against hope that he’d listen to her? Change his mind? Take her at her word? Trust not only that what she was saying was true, but trust, period?

Who could say? She was so tired. Not only for sleep. She was tired of running on what seemed to be a never-ending treadmill.

With no one to rely on.

It was one thing to know a man you had once loved had set you up for murder.

Another to know he’d also put out a hit on you.

She realized Reece had yet to make a move. She looked to find him staring forward, but not really at the sheriff’s office, itself. The engine was still running.

His hands were still on the steering wheel. The gear was in Park.

Hope sparked.

Then he looked at her, shut down the engine, pocketed the keys and got out.

“I’ll leave the keys with the desk sergeant.”

He got out and rounded the front of the car to her side. “Gee, thanks,” she said.

He opened her door and helped her out.

He led her toward the curb, grasping on to her wrists behind her back. His hold both touched and angered her in its gentleness and control.