Читать книгу Heavy Artillery Husband - Debra & Regan Webb & Black - Страница 8

Chapter Two

Sophia sent her daughter a quick text message while she waited for the valet to bring her rental car from the hotel parking garage. She breathed a sigh of relief at the quick, normal reply. She was sure this meeting was bogus and equally sure she couldn’t let it slide. Though she might be heading into the unknown alone, she intended to leave a trail of bread crumbs in case things went wrong. A lesson she’d learned from her husband—anticipate the best while creating a strategy to fend off the worst.

When the car arrived, she loaded her suitcase into the backseat and kept her purse up front. She left her cell phone on and synced it to the car’s system. When the navigation software had a route ready for her, she pulled away from the hotel.

Frank wouldn’t be there—couldn’t possibly be there—but she had yet to come up with a plausible reason why anyone would impersonate him to get her attention.

Darkness fell as she made her way along historic Route 66 and headlights winked on under the purpling sky in her rearview mirror. Having memorized the brief note, she let the cadence of the words play through her mind over and over. Rubbing a pressure point on her earlobe, she blinked back a sudden rush of tears.

She’d thought the well had run dry months ago. Those early days after Frank killed himself had been wave after wave of sobbing, until she thought she’d never breathe properly again. Throughout their marriage she’d been alone frequently, always with the confident knowledge that she’d see him again. While their daughter bitterly accused her of moving on too quickly in establishing the security business, the harsh, lonely truth of how much she missed Frank had thankfully been buried under a mountain of new career distractions.

A car rushed up behind her and passed her in a blur. She glanced down, confirming she was driving the speed limit, and forgot the other car as it surged into the distance. She had more important things to consider. Who would be waiting for her at Parkhurst and why? How would she handle the encounter?

Maybe she should call Frankie and put her on alert. You could be in danger wasn’t suitable for a text message. Sophia checked the clock. She could pull over and snap a picture of the notes with her phone and still arrive on time for the meeting.

That sort of move would only send her daughter and, by extension, the upper management of Leo Solutions into a tailspin of worry for Frankie and Sophia. Better to send an update when she had some facts about the situation rather than encourage useless conjecture that might stir up more trouble. Maintaining a good reputation within the industry of security services meant mitigating bad press.

The computerized voice of the navigation system announced the approaching exit number and instructions, and Sophia stayed in the right lane for the exit. As the voice related the next direction and turn, she continued around the curve of the ramp, merging onto the frontage road. She glanced ahead, noting the absolute darkness surrounding her destination. The Reserve Center would be long closed and the protected forest wouldn’t be lit, either. Whoever had brought her here would have to speak to her through the car window. She had no intention of getting out and making herself an easier target.

A screech and scream of tires against the pavement brought her attention back to the road immediately. A car in front of her squealed to an abrupt stop. She checked her mirrors, her options limited by the traffic in the other lane, and jerked the wheel. She swerved right onto the rough shoulder so she wouldn’t plow into the car. At nearly fifty miles per hour, her tires growled over the rumble strip cut into the pavement. She missed the stopped car by mere inches and braked hard, desperate to stop safely on the shoulder and catch her breath.

The driver in the stopped car suddenly gunned the engine and swerved to the shoulder, pushing his fender into her car. What the hell?

She couldn’t see the driver through the tinted windows, but there was no way he hadn’t seen her car. Dumbfounded, she swore again as she urged her car forward to escape. It didn’t work. She braked, hoping he’d drive by. No such luck. Metal scraped and she was caught, helpless, as the other car forced hers off the road and down into the tree-lined ditch.

As her car slid down the slope, the other driver left her. Sophia struggled to get her car level and back up to the safety of the roadway. With the car off balance, the rear end fishtailed as her tires lost traction in the longer grass. She tried turning one way, then the other, only to find a loose bit of terrain that sent her car sliding farther into a ditch she hadn’t seen. The seat belt grabbed at her, holding her tight until the car finally slid to a stop.

Thankfully the air bag didn’t deploy. The navigation system warned she was going the wrong way. With shaking hands she silenced the automated voice grating out route corrections. Her headlights were swallowed by the ditch while the lights of other vehicles cut through the darkness on the highway above.

She twisted in the seat, looking for any sign of the other car. Apparently, it was long gone. Furious, she unfastened her seat belt and leaned over to scoop up her phone and purse from the passenger-side floorboard.

Suddenly the passenger door opened and the bright beam of a flashlight made her wince and shy away. “Hurry, Sophie.” A hand stretched out to her from the other side of that glaring light.

The voice... Impossible. Sophie? Only Frank had ever gotten away with calling her Sophie.

She froze, too startled to move or reply. Maybe she’d hit her head. Maybe she’d been killed and didn’t realize it yet.

“Move it!” The sharp command left no room for debate. “We have to get out of here right now.”

The urgency in his voice seemed at odds with what must be a hallucination. If, somewhere deep in her subconscious, she hoped for help from her dead husband, wouldn’t he be as calm as he’d been through every stress during their life together?

“Snap out of it.” He tugged on her free hand. “Or they’ll kill us both.”

She couldn’t see his face, though his touch felt familiar. “You’re already dead,” she whispered.

“Not anymore,” he said, his tone gentling.

First the notes, now this...

What was going on? A terrible hoax was the only explanation. Who would do such a thing? “Go away.” She resisted the warmth in his voice. The sense of awareness was a figment of her imagination. “Go away!” Panic swelled inside, expanding outward until she thought her skin would shred from the pressure. “Leave me alone!”

Engines roared closer and faded away, cars of all sizes going on about their business as if reality hadn’t spun her world out of control. She snatched up her purse and reached to open her door.

It was jammed. Of course it was jammed; the other car had damaged the driver’s side of her car.

“This way. Now!” The man who couldn’t be her husband swore as she continued to fight with the door that wouldn’t budge.

“That’s enough.” The flashlight went out. He grabbed her arm and dragged her across the seats and out of the car.

The crush of his fingers burned her skin with undeniable familiarity. She told herself to fight him, told herself she was delusional, and still her body refused to resist.

When her feet hit the ground, she wobbled a bit, whether a result of the shock, the panic or the uneven ground, she couldn’t be sure. Probably all of the above. Her determined rescuer steadied her body with his, and in the shadows she recognized the shape and scent of the man who’d been her partner in life for three decades. Impossible...

“Frank?” In the darkness it was hard to tell. Maybe her vision had been compromised along with her common sense. “How?”

“I’ll explain everything in a minute. Can you walk?”

“Of course.” Offended, she took a step as he did, then stopped short. “My suitcase!” Her computer was in there; she wouldn’t leave it behind. “It’s in the back.”

“At least you came prepared to run.” He sounded relieved as he returned to pull her suitcase out of the backseat. “Tell me you didn’t check out of the hotel.”

She hadn’t, though she refused to volunteer anything. “I don’t owe you any explanations.”

“True enough.”

She struggled to keep up with his longer stride even in her flats. Just like old times, she thought. At just over six foot he was eight inches taller than her, and those inches seemed to all be in his legs. Where were they going? Away from her car...back the way she’d come, she realized. The headlights of a car in the distance allowed her to make out a vehicle waiting in the ditch a few yards away. Black. SUV.

He opened the passenger-side door for her, the way he’d done at every opportunity since their first date. Her stomach churned as her heart floated on a silly, girlish burst of hope. Could this really be Frank, alive and apparently well? She squashed the fluttery sensations. If it was, her husband owed her a great many answers. “Where are you taking me?”

“Does it matter as long as you survive?”

“It might,” she replied. “I can take care of myself, you know.”

“One of the many things I love about you.”

Though he’d surely meant it as a comfort, his use of the present tense deflated her hopes and sent them crashing in an unwelcome thud in her chest. It couldn’t be true. If he still loved her, why had he let her suffer thinking he was dead? “The rental agreement is in the car,” she remembered, too late.

The SUV bumped and lurched along the ditch until he found enough of a rut to get them back up to the road. “Sophie, they know you were driving the car. You were run off the road because they were following your movements. They’ve targeted you.”

She studied what she could see of his hard profile, finally registering his all-black attire. In the dark sweater, cargo pants and matte jump boots, he’d dressed for an operation rather than a reunion. She suppressed the chill of concern about what he’d gotten himself tangled up in. “Who is ‘they’?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Then start talking.” How could this be happening?

“As soon as we’re safely out of here. The story I have to tell you is too important to be interrupted.”

“Convenient.” She crossed her arms. “You invite me to a conversation and then you won’t talk.”

“It’s better if you hear none of it rather than only some of it,” he insisted. “Keep an eye out for anyone on our tail.”

“Fine.” She wanted to ignore him and the outrageous situation, but she couldn’t afford such a childish indulgence. “At least tell me how you faked your death.”

“Soon, I promise.”

Anger surged through her, fueled by the adrenaline of sliding off the road into increasingly impossible circumstances. “Tell me now or take me back to the hotel.”

“If I take you back to the hotel, they’ll kill you tonight,” he claimed. “And Frankie tomorrow.”

That got her attention and put her focus back on point. She pulled her cell phone out of her purse, her fingers brushing, in the process, the notes he’d written. Goose bumps surged up and down her arms. “I’m calling Victoria. She’ll send someone to pick us up.”

He shook his head. “No. Turn it off. Please,” he added, softening the order to a request. “There’s no such thing as safe if they can track you.”

She’d deactivated the GPS signal, but he didn’t need to know that. Until she could trust him, she wouldn’t give him any more advantages. Let him worry that she could turn on her phone at any time and get help immediately. “Give me a good reason to trust anything coming out of your mouth.”

“I’m your husband,” he stated. “You’ve always been my top priority.”

She laughed. “I might believe such a statement if you were still officially alive.” Headlights flashed in the side mirror, and her heart rate kicked up. She hoped it was just a speeder and not more trouble.

“Then how about this?” He spared her a quick glance. “I’m the only living person who understands what we’re up against.”

The “we’re” stood out to her, a beacon slicing through the fog of his words. Reluctantly, she cooperated, turning off her phone and dropping it into her purse again.

“You’re angry.” He checked his mirrors. “You should be. And I’m more sorry than any words can accurately convey.”

“That sounds like a cop-out.” She ignored the little voice in her head that wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. Faking a suicide fell into the category of drastic measures. Frank wasn’t the sort to take such a step without good cause. She fisted her hands in her lap, her fingernails digging into her palms. If she left her hands loose, she would no doubt reach out to him just to see if he was real.

“At the time, it was necessary,” he said as if he knew what she was thinking. “I knew you’d be okay, better off without me dragging you down.”

What did that mean? She heard the bitterness underscoring his words. If she was so much better off, why storm back into her life? Why were she and Frankie in danger? “Being a widow hasn’t been peaches and cream, Frank.” Her emotions leaped wildly with every heartbeat, unable to settle between joy that he was alive and outrage that he’d chosen a fake death rather than trust her with his secrets. How dare he!

“Yeah, well, being dead isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, either.”

“You’ve put Frankie and me through terrible heartache. She needed you.” I needed you. She kept the admission to herself, unwilling to let him have that much of her again. Not before she understood how this had happened.

“You both need me right now.” He sighed and in the light of oncoming headlights she caught the tic in his jaw.

“Arrogant as ever.” She couldn’t resist baiting him. That supreme confidence had been simultaneously one of his most attractive and most frustrating traits when they were young and eager to get out and conquer the world. Together. So much for that philosophy serving as the cornerstone of their marriage and family.

False or not, death had parted them, and he’d left her alone to find her own way through the consequences of his mistakes. “You know I can keep a secret,” she said, hating the tremor in her voice. “You had no right to keep the truth from me.”

“I know.” He stretched a hand toward her as he used to do on road trips. “I’m so sorry, dolcezza.”

She didn’t take that hand, though refusing it cost her. She wanted to touch him so badly. “You’re going to tell me the whole story.” He’d never been a fan of her using an inflection that carried the same gravity and certainty of his general’s tone of command, but if any situation required it, this was the one.

“I am,” he replied, with both hands on the steering wheel once more. “You’re not going to like it.”

“I already don’t like it, Frank.”

He’d saved her life tonight. In theory, anyway. For all she knew, he’d hired the driver to run her off the road so he could look like a hero. She gave herself a mental shake. Regardless of circumstances, she couldn’t believe he would willfully risk her safety under any circumstances.

“Give me one thing,” she said. “One detail to go on, or I will call Victoria and Frankie and tell them you’ve kidnapped me.”

He muttered an oath, knowing she would follow through. Between the Colby Agency and Leo Solutions, Frank wouldn’t have anywhere to hide if they knew he was alive.

“The man following you was one of the top snipers in the Afghanistan military. One word from his boss and your life is over.”

She sucked in a breath. “Why?” Who would make her a target?

“That’s one detail. I swear to you, as soon as I’m sure we’re out of harm’s way, I’ll tell you everything.”

“Harm’s way or not, you’ll tell me everything tonight.” He wasn’t the only one who could issue orders.

With a short nod, he rolled his broad shoulders, shifting in the seat as he followed the signs toward Chicago Midway International Airport.

She remembered the feel of those shoulders under her hands after a tough day at work when she’d help him work out the kinks...or late at night in the heat of passion. Oh, how she wanted to trust him, to be sure she could trust him. It scared her—more than being run off the road—just how much she wanted to believe in Frank Leone again.