Trust Me: The Lassiter Group, Book 1 (3 page)

Her foot remained on the brake.
So go already.

She glanced once more over her shoulder wondering what the hell she was doing. The guy was armed and knew who she was. Clearly he wasn’t in the area to check out the hiking and fishing opportunities, and if he was a cop or belonged to some agency with an interest in Blackwater he would have said so.

Screw it
.

Max wrenched the gearshift into drive and punched the gas. The tires spun in the gravel before tearing across the lot.

Something thumped in the back of the truck, and she twisted around, not surprised to see the back of a black T-shirt pressed against the window.

Chapter Two

Who the hell was this guy?

Anxious to get some space between her and the biggest threat—Snake and Edward—she floored the pedal and zipped onto the main road. The sound of sirens made her turn down a side street and then another as she zigzagged her way out of the small town.

So much for keeping a low profile. And now she’d dragged Sherri into it. People were going to want to know what the hell had just happened in her shop, people like Constable Herring. She’d told Sherri as few details as possible, wanting to keep her out of it and now this.

God, if Sherri and the munchkin had been in the shop… Her stomach churned. Coming here had been such a mistake. If she’d thought for one minute they would have tracked her across the border, she would never have taken Sherri’s invitation to stay.

There hadn’t even been time to grab her phone off the counter so she could give Sherri a heads up. And once her friend caught a glimpse of the damage done to her shop and no Max, she’d really start to worry.

Knowing that only made Max’s stomach hurt worse.

Fifteen minutes later, the town miles behind her, her unwanted passenger knocked on the glass. Max ignored him. She was content to leave him there until she could figure out what he was after.

The moment he’d handed her the photo of herself, it was clear he recognized her. She just didn’t know what he wanted or why he’d bothered to go through the motions of buying something and making up the whole story about his nephew. If he’d been hired to take her out, why hadn’t he put a bullet in her head when they’d been alone in the shop?

She’d expected Blackwater to put a price on her head, had spent the better part of three months looking over her shoulder for any jerk-off out to make a few bucks or a name for himself.

“Hey!” He banged on the glass. “Pull over or I’m coming through the window.” The wind didn’t quite rob his words of the menacing tone, but it didn’t faze her. He was hardly in a position to make demands.

With one hand on the wheel, she tugged the inside windowpane open a crack to talk to him. That still left the screen for him to claw through if he wanted in, which, given his build and the size of the small window, would be interesting to watch. His gun wasn’t visible, but she didn’t doubt for a second he had it within reach.

“Who are you working for?” The rearview mirror kept her from having to look over her shoulder to see him.

“No one.” All traces of his earlier sexiness had faded. She’d seen a lot of street-hardened faces and cold eyes throughout her law enforcement career, but his were almost enough to give her chills. Almost.

“That’s the best answer you can come up with? I suppose you’re just some Good Samaritan passing through town and just happened to carry a gun and extra clips tucked in your pants? In case of emergency, right?”

“It doesn’t matter if you believe me or not. Pull over.”

Max shut the window, drowning him out. Maybe if she left him back there a while longer he’d come around.

The sun was only a thin strip of orange on the horizon now. The late October day that began unseasonably warm was quickly cooling off, and Max flicked the heat on. She blamed the need for warmth on her earlier adrenaline rush.

In the mirror she saw her passenger huddled against the back window. She slid the window open, not even a little bit tempted to pull over and let him into the cab.

“Why were you in the shop?”

No answer.

Max craned her neck to get a better look. His eyes were closed.

“Hey.” She knocked on the glass, dividing her attention between the road and the rearview mirror. “Wake up.”

Still no movement, but with a second glance over her shoulder she noticed the blood running down his bare arm. A lot of it.

Swearing under her breath, Max guided the truck to the shoulder of the road. She really didn’t need this right now. It was only a matter of time before the RCMP, Royal Canadian Mounted Police, started keeping an eye out for her truck.

Still cursing, she rummaged through the glove box and pulled out a travel size first-aid kit. There was little sunlight left as she got out and climbed into the back of the truck, cautious in her approach toward the slumped form.

She set the kit aside, keeping one hand tight on her gun while she looked him over. The source of the bleeding was either his upper chest or shoulder.

“Hey, can you hear me?” Max waited, then kicked his foot. “Hey.” It wasn’t a good sign if he’d lost consciousness.

Keeping her weapon trained on him, she struggled to get his shirt out of the way to check the wound before finally deciding to set her gun aside. Being a person of interest was bad enough, but getting pulled over with a dead man in the back of her truck would really screw her over.

She tugged at his shirt, the drenched material sticking to his skin, and he moaned. His eyelids fluttered then stilled once more. Not dead apparently, but she wasn’t counting that as any kind of a bonus.

Finding only sculpted abs and some blood beneath his shirt, she frowned and turned her attention to his shoulder. Tearing up through the bloodied fabric, she found only a flesh wound in need of a few stitches.

Had she missed something? Had he caught a bullet in his back, one with no exit wound? She leaned in, and froze. Her gaze snapped to his face.

As she expected, his eyes were open, assessing. Her attention drifted down to the gun clutched in his hand.

Her gun.

Shit.

Rocking back on her heels, Max met his lethal stare with one of her own.

“Climb out and move very slowly. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

Max slowly lowered herself to the pavement, backing out of the way when he jumped effortlessly to the ground. Sneaky bastard.

“Walk around to the passenger side and get in,” he ordered.

Since he had her own weapon pointed at her, she
complied
and bit back the
Or what?
perched on her edge of her tongue. Barely.

Something on her face must have betrayed her thoughts because he motioned impatiently for her to slide behind the wheel.

“You’re driving and don’t get cute with me either.” He climbed in after her.

“That’s a shame, I do cute pretty well.”

He ignored her comment and waited for her to turn the ignition. The truck started up sweeter than a kitten’s purr. Naturally.

Once she’d maneuvered the beast of a vehicle back onto the quiet highway, she watched him from the corner of her eye. The fleeting grimace of pain as he shifted on the seat next to her didn’t escape her notice. Nor the fact his being injured was a definite advantage. Maybe her only one.

“So how much is he paying you?” she asked.

He stared straight ahead, giving her the impression he wasn’t interested in talking. Not that she cared. If talking provoked him, it just meant their confrontation would come around sooner rather than later.

“Whoever
he
is, it’s obviously not enough.”

“Right.” Max packed as much skepticism into that one word as she could manage.

“I only wanted to talk to you.”

“Really? Because where I’m from people usually strike up conversation with, ‘Hi, how are you?’ Pointing a gun in my face is sort of counterproductive if you want to exchange astrological signs and scary ex stories over beers.”

“I said talk to you, not hit on you. And spare me the sarcasm, Max. Do us both a favor and keep quiet so I can think.”

“What? Things not go as planned? Bummer.” Given how smoothly he’d taken the picture from Edward and acted as if he really knew Sherri, it was probably too much to hope that he was new to the professional killer gig.

Testing to see how jumpy he was, she deliberately stretched and adjusted the rearview mirror. “So what’s your name?”

Instead of answering her, he set the gun on the dashboard, freeing up both hands to inspect his shoulder. “Even if you try, I’ll still get to it before you,” he stated without looking at her.

Although not inclined to believe he was
that
good, it still wasn’t worth the risk. He had managed to lift her gun from beneath her nose. New or not, the guy was very slick.

Lips compressed, he examined the wound, then murmured something she didn’t catch.

“Lucas,” he repeated, awkwardly wrapping a ripped piece of his shirt around his arm.

“Well,
Lucas
—” Was she actually supposed to believe that was his real name? “—I assume you already know who I am.” She reached for the radio, testing him as much as to check if they’d made the local news yet.

His hand closed over hers, stopping her.

She yanked her hand back, surprised at the warmth she felt beneath his touch. Professional killers should not have warm hands.

Lucas went back to adjusting his makeshift bandage, giving her an opportunity to study him further.

His dark brown hair tapered neatly to his collar, a few damp strands curling across his forehead. Beneath them, two dark brows were pulled together in concentration. Already she knew he had dark green eyes that betrayed little of what he was thinking. If eyes truly were mirrors to the soul, Lucas might not have one. Considering his profession, it wasn’t surprising.

Relaxing back into the seat as much as she could, she temporarily gave up on trying to read him. Until Lucas made his intentions clear, nothing could be gained by trying to guess what he had planned, except maybe a migraine. Considering the pressure thumping between her temples, one wasn’t far off.

Determined to keep a cool head, she stared straight ahead and made no further attempts at conversation. Sooner or later he’d say or do something that would give her an opening, and she didn’t plan on missing it.

Cursing under his breath, Lucas shoved his cell phone back in his pocket. He hadn’t been able to get a decent signal for the last fifteen minutes and he needed to talk to Tess. Needed to know what other players might be in the area looking for the woman next to him.

As pissed as Joe Lassiter was going to be with him for going solo on this, he and the rest of the team needed to know he had the only person tied to Cara’s death. Keeping ahold of her until secure travel arrangements back to headquarters in Boston could be made would be the tricky part.

Resourceful. Max’s commanding officers had used that word a lot in his file on her. Even without him there to cover her—and getting shot in the process—she likely would have ditched Blackwater’s men. She’d been one step ahead of them for the last three months. One step ahead of everyone.

He eyed the dark hair and painted nails. Resourceful, determined and creative. The goth girl image might have made it harder to fully blend into the small tourist community, but on the surface it was a better disguise than many. If he’d passed her on the street, he might have missed recognizing her.

He had meant what he said about wanting to talk. He just didn’t mention that he’d planned for that conversation to take place in his rental car. The one still parked a few blocks down from the shop. Once the tourists cleared out for the night and his car remained on the street, it was bound to draw attention.

Just one more reason he needed to get ahold of Tess. Nothing in the car could be linked to him or the Lassiter Group, even the passport in his bag was under an alias in case Joe had decided to follow up on his whereabouts, but it didn’t hurt to see if Tess could make the rental information disappear.

He planned on being long gone before the local law officials, in this case the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, went looking for the owner. The fact that he’d rented the car in Maine before he’d crossed the border would slow them down. Still, he’d feel better knowing they’d have little to go on when they got to that point.

Not that any of that was going to happen unless he started getting some cell phone reception.

“Turn here.” He motioned with his injured arm, and clenched his jaw at the flair of pain that burned through his shoulder.

If he’d arrived five minutes earlier, not only might he have gotten the shop door locked before Snake and Edward Blackwater arrived and avoided being shot, he might have had an easier time of getting Max to talk to him.

After the way she’d nearly left him in her dust back in Riverbend, he wasn’t holding his breath that she’d spill her guts about what went down the night Cara died. And no matter what story he came up with, the odds of her trusting him on even a superficial level fell somewhere between not in this lifetime and when hell freezes over.

Running short on some of that earlier good luck he’d been enjoying, he indulged in a small victory when she made the turn without objection.

He didn’t intimidate her at all unless he had a gun pointed at her, and even then he could see her mind working behind those stormy blue eyes. Eyes he knew from the hours he’d spent going over her file, wanting to get a handle on her. Eyes that turned out to be far more striking in person.

That wasn’t the part that worried him, though. He’d come across plenty of attractive women on assignment, some when he’d still been in the military and running an op, and although he’d entertained a thought or two about a handful of them, it took more than pretty eyes to pull his head out of the game.

It was that jolt of awareness that slid through him when she’d turned around at the counter and he got his first up close look at her that made him wary. That and the subtle kiss-my-ass attitude of hers that had trouble written all over it. Especially when the attitude belonged to a woman wanted for his partner’s murder.