LITMIR.BIZ

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me God knows where against my will. Explain to me why we can’t go to the police.”

      “This is beyond the police. As soon as I can be sure that it’s safe to let you go, I will. Put on your seat belt.”

      So she couldn’t easily jump from the car when he stopped for a light? Not a chance. “What do you mean, beyond the police?”

      He ignored her, which made her want to beat him over the head with something. Just her luck that he’d stolen a car without as much as a baseball bat on the backseat. “Where are we going?”

      He took a sharp turn, and she slid hard into the door. She shot him a glare before reaching for her seat belt.

      “Stay low.” He picked up speed, then took two turns in quick succession, watching the rearview mirror more closely than the road ahead of them.

      Oh. Her mouth went dry as she gripped her seat. All she could think of was the way he had said “grenade launcher” with that dark look on his face just a short while ago. Her heart skipped a beat. “Are they following us?”

      Long moments passed before he responded, slowing the car at last. “We’re fine. For a second I thought—”

      “You gave me a heart attack for nothing?” She went for the door lock again. When he reached over and grabbed her hand, she shoved hard against him. Not that he took any notice. “Want to tell me where you’re taking me?”

      “We need a new car and some weapons.” He pulled up to the post office and parked.

      How did they get here? Clearly, he knew more back roads than she did. Maybe he wasn’t as new to the neighborhood as he’d claimed. Although she’d never seen him before he’d shown up three months ago just to annoy her to death.

      “Come on. We’re going in.”

      “In pajamas? Barefoot?” Her mind suddenly caught up with what he’d said. “Weapons?” Her voice was a touch weaker on that last word.

      “It’s not even seven in the morning. Nobody is going to be in there. You’re fine.”

      Obviously he wasn’t the kind of man who worried much about propriety. But he was right; the building was empty. The post office wasn’t open yet, but the room with the P.O. boxes was. He went straight to the stainless-steel sorting table that housed forms of all sizes and colors, reached under it, searched for a second and then came up with a small key. He opened one of the larger, business-size P.O. boxes on the opposite wall and retrieved a box that held a black gym bag.

      Once they returned to the car, he tossed the bag in the back and indicated that she should get in. “You should be able to find something in there to wear. You can change here.”

       Huh?

      Getting naked with Cade Palmer nearby wasn’t on her it-might-happen-in-this-lifetime list. Although there had been that dream…. Okay, maybe more than one. But she was not going to think about them—not now, not ever. She opened the bag and saw a soft, extra-large T-shirt on top. She would be less conspicuous in that than in her slinky pajama top.

      “Fine. Don’t look.” She turned her back to him.

      He started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. “I try not to make promises I can’t keep.”

      She could tell from his voice that he was grinning.

      Insufferable.

      She grabbed the bottom of her top. Stalled. Looked back at him. He lifted his gaze to the rearview mirror.

      “Don’t look!”

      “You turned around. I thought you wanted something from me.” He turned his attention back to the road. She was right—he was grinning.

      She yanked her silk top off. No big deal. He had probably seen a naked woman or two before, anyway. It would have been easier to leave the top on under the T-shirt, but it was the middle of a heat wave, the temperature nearing ninety already—not a day for layers.

      She glanced down at her body. With his long T-shirt on top, the silk shorts almost passed for street wear. She dug into the bag, hoping for something for her feet. Her soles were scratched and bruised from him dragging her—barefoot—through all that landscaping.

      Flip-flops would have been great. Instead, she found a Ziploc bag full of IDs and bank cards, and a wad of cash held together by a rubber band.

      And a gun.

      Her fingertips went cold, the air suddenly froze in her lungs, and clothing became the least of her problems. His mentioning weapons was one thing; sitting next to a nasty-looking firearm was another. It brought the severity of her situation into sharp focus.

      “I’ll take that.” He held his hand out and, when after a moment of hesitation, she gingerly gave him the gun, he said, “See if you can find some bullets in the front pocket.”

      She did. A whole box of them. She handed them over, and he started to load the handgun without slowing down or taking his eyes off the road, driving with one elbow. Like he was one of those guys in spy movies who practice taking apart and putting together their weapons while blindfolded. If she weren’t so scared, she would have been impressed.

      She considered staying in the backseat, as far from him as possible. But she had questions, and she wanted to look at his face while he answered them to see if he was lying to her.

      She climbed to the front, nearly knocking him out with her left knee when she slipped—which she didn’t feel too bad about, to be honest—then fastened herself in. First things first. “Why is the Mafia after you?” She braced herself for some grizzly story. It had to be something pretty serious.

      He gave her a blank look.

      “Witness protection?” she prompted.

      The tanned skin around his caramel eyes crinkled. “I never said anything about the Mafia.”

      She thought back. True. She’d assumed.

      “You did witness a crime, right? That’s how people get into witness protection.” What did she know about that, anyway? Whatever she’d seen on TV. And real cops always said how those shows were wildly inaccurate.

      Still, if he was in the program, there had to be a good reason for it. She hoped he wasn’t a criminal who’d rolled over on his buddies. She pulled as far away from him as possible without being too obvious about it, and put on the best poker face she could, preparing for his answer.

      “I’m not in witness protection.”

      She glared. “You said—”

      “I said kind of.”

      She really should have asked more questions before she handed him the gun. Oh, God. She’d just armed the man who had kidnapped her. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She was so far out of her element, she couldn’t keep up, couldn’t think fast enough. She had to start using her head to gain some information and make some decisions. “Any ideas on who is after you?” Would he tell her?

      “Take your pick. Could be a drug lord, weapons smugglers, terrorists…”

      Okay, so that was probably the truth. Nobody would make up a list like that. The options were enough to give anyone heart palpitations, yet he was oddly nonchalant. Like a professional. He did know how to handle that gun. He was either a bad guy who’d ticked off some other bad guys, or a good guy with a lot of enemies. She decided to be optimistic. She desperately needed some hope to cling to, even if for only a few more moments. “You were in law enforcement?”

       Say yes. Please say yes.

      “Kind of.”

      Her nerves were as frayed as the cuffs of his jeans. “If you say kind of one more time, I’m going to scream.”

      “Nothing I haven’t heard before,” he said, humor glinting in his eyes.

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