Jack laughed. Meg stopped walking and crossed her arms. Damn, he was right. She was freezing.
“Give me your jacket,” she said.
He did. She almost felt bad, except that he was still laughing as he handed it over.
She wished she hadn’t taken his leather jacket. Sure, it was warm, but it smelled like Jack Kincaid. All male. She wanted to sink into his jacket and close her eyes, feeling as if Jack himself was wrapped around her.
“I have it all taken care of.” He walked across the dark airstrip. Megan wanted to protest and demand information; instead she followed.
They’d walked in silence half a mile and came upon a four-wheel-drive pickup. Jack stopped just out of sight of the pickup, then nodded. “It’s Princeton.”
“Who?”
“George Price. Princeton is what Padre called him.”
Megan stopped walking. “He could be a killer. You should have warned me.”
“The killers were in Riverside County this morning. In a vehicle. They couldn’t have driven here in ten hours.”
“Maybe they had a plane!” She didn’t like being brushed off, and she really hated not knowing the game plan. “You should have told me the plan.”
“Padre talked to a mutual friend of Price’s who said he hasn’t left the mountain in years.”
Megan said, “I’m not taking any chances, Jack.”
“Trust me on this one.”
She didn’t want to trust Jack. He wasn’t a cop, he wasn’t a federal agent, and she was the one responsible for stopping these killers before they hurt anyone else.
“I have your back, Blondie.”
“Be careful,” she said.
The corner of his mouth tilted up. The half-smile on Jack’s hard-lined face almost made her heart melt. Almost. She could withstand his overwhelming sex appeal.
That’s what she told herself as she quickly looked away, flushed, and approached the man who might be the real George Price.
Jack reached the truck first, opened the door, and used it as a shield. “Princeton?”
Price looked more or less like the photo the army sent this morning but bald instead of a standard military cut. He sported a gray mustache and trimmed goatee and wore a diamond stud in his left ear, which had certainly not been there five years before.
“You’re not Frank.”
Price had a gun in his hand fast; so did Megan. She aimed it at Price’s head. He had his gun aimed at Jack through the window.
“Don’t even think about it, bitch.”
Jack said, “Jack Kincaid.”
“Kincaid,” Price murmured. “I know of you. And the cop?”
How did he know she was a cop?
“Megan Elliott,” Jack said. “I give you my word no one will know you’re here.”
“I’ve already packed up,” he said, gesturing toward the back of the pickup. “I’m on my way to Timbuktu. You have five minutes. That is, if the cop puts her gun away.”
“You first,” Megan said.
Price didn’t move.
Jack hit Megan’s wrist and disarmed her. She wasn’t expecting it-her entire focus was on Price. She felt betrayed and hurt.
And genuinely pissed off.
Jack had her gun and held it butt out to Price. The AWOL soldier nodded with a half grin, and Jack returned the gun to her. “Put it away, Megan.”
“Ten minutes,” Price said. “Only because I like her.”
Jack and Megan got into the pickup. She found herself sandwiched between two Neanderthals.
“Sorry about the war games,” Price said as he started up the vehicle. “I can’t be too careful.”
“I understand,” Jack said, then added, “but next time you pull a gun on me or mine, I’ll break every fucking bone in your hand.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Ethan’s head pounded. The six ibuprofen and four Tylenol he’d taken over the last two hours had done little to diminish the pain. He needed to sleep, even if his sleep wasn’t real. Sleep for him was a movie of the past. It left him not only unrested, but panicky.
“You’re a fool.” She slapped him. Slapped him. “Hold on, Ethan. It’s almost over.”
“Where’s Hackett?”
“He’s coming,” she said. “Trust me.” She looked around the rented cabin, foot tapping, angry at him. Ethan didn’t know why.
He took one of his needles and absentmindedly pushed it into his palm. The accompanying pain masked the ache in his head. He pulled the needle out, rolling it between his fingers. “We should have gone to his house. I told you we should have gone to his house.”
“I shouldn’t have to explain to you again why that’s impossible. Too many people, a good security system. Hackett comes here every third Thursday. This is the best place to take him.”
“It’s too open. Too public.” He looked out the window toward the beach.
“He always gets a cabin, not a room in the main lodge.”
“That doesn’t matter. It’s still too public.”
“We’ll stuff a rag in his mouth like the guy in Vegas,” she said. “You just have to focus. No more mistakes, okay?”
He crossed his arms. The sun was setting. He could hear the ocean, but couldn’t see it under the reflecting shimmer of the light. He didn’t want to be here. He wanted to go home to Pennsylvania. Would his mother even recognize him? He hadn’t talked to her in five years. When he came back from Afghanistan, she’d cried. He couldn’t handle her tears. Her pain. Any pain, except his own.
“This is the end, Ethan. You know that, right?”
“There’s more.”
“No there isn’t.” She kissed his neck. He barely felt it. “After Hackett, you’ll finally have peace.”
“They aren’t all dead.”
“That’s okay.”
He pushed her away. “It’s not okay!”
“Can you do this? Or are you backing out now?”
“Of course I can do it,” he snapped, rubbing his temples. “Too much sun. I hate the beach.”
She shook her head. He didn’t know why hating the beach made her look at him with contempt. Was it important?
“I need to be able to trust you, Ethan. This is the last one.”
“We left Frank Cardenas alive.”
“We’ve talked about this.”
“I’m not done talking.”
“I am.” Stepping toward him, she touched his face softly. A caress. “Honey, I need to know that you’re with me. That you’re ready. This is the riskiest of them all.”
“I’m ready.” He nodded to emphasize how ready he was.
She started toward the door. “When I call-”
“What?” he asked. Where was she going? “Don’t leave me.”
“I have to. He’ll be here. Do not leave this room. Okay?”
She smiled and Ethan blinked rapidly. Did he see fangs in her mouth? No, it had been a trick of the light.
She said, “It won’t be long. Be ready when I call.”
He straightened. “I will be.”
His head pounded. Something wasn’t right, but he didn’t know what. Maybe it was just him. He was wrong. He was very, very wrong. He laughed, then squeezed his eyes shut with the pain.
She was still in the room. “Don’t do anything, go anywhere, talk to anyone. Not until I call you.”
Ethan picked up a vase and aimed for the wall, but she grabbed it out of his hands and slapped him. The familiar sting comforted him as much as the sound of her palm hitting his flesh.
“You’ve already jeopardized everything! Don’t cause a scene just because you can’t have your way.”
“I didn’t do anything wrong.” He didn’t think he had. She’d taught him to think on his feet, and he always did. Those people at the rest stop could have identified them, so he’d taken care of it.
“Don’t go there, Ethan.”
“They were witnesses. And you were listening to that fool.” He stared out the windows. The sun had disappeared. Maybe it had drowned in the ocean. All that was left was bleeding pools of orange, pitiful remnants of the dead sun.
“Do you know how many times I begged for mercy?” He didn’t know he’d spoken out loud until he heard his voice ringing in his ears. Still, he doubted. Had his lips moved? Had his throat vibrated?