Crossfire Christmas (10 page)

“Is that what your money’s for? Coats and hats?”

“It’s for whatever we need. I always keep a stash when I’m undercover so I don’t have to use credit cards or ATMs that can be traced.” He got out his phone and met her at the sink. If they were going to be a team, with her following his orders to the letter, then he was going to show her a little of that trust she’d asked for. He pulled her hand away from the dish towel she held and placed the cell in her palm, curling her fingers around it and holding on. “Call your supervisor and someone to cover your shift. Do everything I say, and I promise I will keep you alive. And I’ll do my damnedest to solve this case and have you home to your family and that hospital party by Christmas.”

She nodded, accepting the deal. He hoped. She pulled away, crossing to the dismantled wall phone to open the thick directory beneath it. “What about your family, Nash? Are they safe from the men who are after you? Do you need to warn them?”

“Ain’t nobody at home to call, Peewee. It’s one of the hazards of the job. No parents. No siblings. No girlfriend...”
Phone calls.
A nagging suspicion, one that should have registered sooner, finally worked its way through the pain and guilt and low-grade fever. He followed her to the phone book. “Why didn’t your brother mention your cell phone? You said you lost it, but I trashed it and left it on the floor of my truck. If he saw the blood in the seat, he would have seen that, too.”

Teresa shrugged. “AJ said there was nothing inside.”

Nash processed all the possible explanations, not liking a one of them. “So who cleaned up after we left?”

“The police?”

“AJ’s the police. If they found your cell, they could get your number from the computer chip inside. He’d know it was yours.”

She nodded, understanding his concern. “And if he knew that was my phone, especially in pieces like that, he’d have been on my case even more. Especially if he found it in a truck belonging to someone the police are looking for.”

“Someone else beat the cops to it.” And that someone could already be en route to Teresa’s apartment.

With a renewed urgency pumping through his blood, Nash crossed the living room to peek outside through the blinds again. He’d checked earlier for anything that seemed suspicious, but he was noting the details now. There was some slow-moving traffic, but the block was too long and there were too many trees along the winding road to know if anyone was circling around for a closer look. There were two parking lot entrances to Teresa’s place. Seventeen cars parked there and at the curb in front. More in the lot for the apartments across the street.

“Is something wrong?” Teresa’s voice at his shoulder startled him. “You’re scaring me a little bit.”

A bundled-up man was sweeping snow off the sidewalk across the street, showing no interest in anything except his task. Nash looked for occupied vehicles. A van in the parking lot had a mom strapping a child into a car seat in the back. The wind shifted, blowing the exhaust away from a black SUV parked across the street, revealing a dark-haired man behind the wheel, talking on his cell.

Nash didn’t startle when Teresa touched his arm, although his pulse still kicked into a higher gear. “What is it?”

He pulled her off to the side of the window, keeping her out of sight as he pointed out the black vehicle. “Is that your brother?”

She peeked through the blinds. “No. I don’t know who that is. AJ drives a Trans Am. Or Claire’s red Escalade when they have the kids.”

Taking her hand, Nash pulled her into step behind him. “Come on. We need to go.” He tossed Teresa her coat and hoisted his bag onto his good shoulder. “Is there a back entrance we can use to get to the parking lot?”

“Sure.” She slipped into her coat, pulled a backpack from the closet and loaded it with the thermos and food. Nash picked up her purse and dropped the whole thing into the knapsack’s main compartment when she started to pull out certain items, hurrying her along. “Do you think that man is here to kill you?”

“I’m not waiting around to find out. Let’s go.”

She stopped tying the backpack and snapped her fingers. “The first-aid kit.”

When she dashed past him, he grabbed her hand again and turned her toward the door. “We don’t have time. Vargas’s and Graciela’s thugs travel in packs.”

“Packs?” Her fingers shook as she unlocked the door.

“If that’s a cartel man, I don’t know where his partner is. He might already be in the building.” Nash entered the hallway first, scanning both directions to make sure they were alone while she locked her door behind him. The elevator at the front of the building hummed to life as the gears in the shaft engaged. Not good. “Someone’s on their way up.”

Teresa nodded toward the opposite end of the hall. “The back stairs are down there.”

When she started to walk, Nash pressed his hand to the small of her back and hurried her into a jog. “Move it, darlin’.” The elevator might not be coming to the fourth floor, but no sense taking any chances on being seen. “Rule Three—avoiding a confrontation beats fighting your way out of one. I won’t get caught in the middle of a shoot-out with you here.”

“I’m okay with that rule.”

They were cutting this too close. “No wonder your brother didn’t ask you any questions about my truck.”

“What do you mean?” She reached the stairwell door and shoved it open.

He scooted in right after her. “KCPD would have run the Texas plates and ID’d that truck as mine. An alert would have gone over the wire. Headquarters in Houston should have answered the alert by identifying me as an agent, one in need of assistance with that blood on the scene.”

“AJ didn’t ask me any questions about the accident. If he’d suspected a fellow cop was in danger, he’d have asked me for details about what I’d seen. He wouldn’t have gone ballistic about me trying to help. He didn’t know your truck belonged to a cop.” The woman was smart. Thankfully, she was also sharp enough to check over the railing before heading down the stairs. “The mole in your office must have gotten that alert. And labeled you a fugitive.”

“Or buried it without a response.” Nash waited to peer through the closing crack of the door as the elevator opened. The dark-haired man he’d spotted out front stepped out. That bulge beneath his coat wasn’t his cell phone. The guy was armed. Despite the bandaged graze in Nash’s thigh, his legs felt solid as he raced down the stairs behind Teresa. “The cartels already have someone else here.”

“That guy out front?”

“The guy knocking on your apartment door right now.”

“My...?” When she stopped at the first-floor exit and spun around, he nearly plowed into her. “My email must have... What did I—?”

“Forget it.” The fear or apology or whatever had widened those beautiful dark eyes was too much. He palmed the back of her neck, tipped her face up and pressed a quick kiss to her mouth. “None of this is your fault.” When her lips softened beneath his, he lifted her onto her toes and leaned in to kiss her again. “None of it.”

The second kiss was almost as quick. But firmer. More satisfying. Less like an apology and more like a man testing his welcome with a woman he cared about.

And she wasn’t pushing him away.

He heard her soft catch of breath, felt her palm bracing against the thump of his heart, read the question in her upturned gaze and realized the import of what he’d just done. “What rule is that?” she whispered.

“Sorry.” Why didn’t she slap his face? Why had she responded to his kiss? Why couldn’t he keep his priorities straight around this woman? But those were all questions to be answered later.

Nash lowered her heels to the floor, released her and reached over her shoulder to push open the door. The blast of cold air that swept in instantly chilled his skin and cooled his roiling emotions. He nudged Teresa out the door, taking her hand and moving in front of her to lead her down the sidewalk to the corner of the building, where he paused to peek around and ensure their path was safe. He made certain there were no other unwanted visitors watching the parking lot or searching outside the building before he pulled her into a quick pace beside him. Her short legs had to do double time to keep up with his long strides, but she didn’t complain. She clicked the car’s remote start and had the doors unlocked when they got there.

“You drive.” Although he trusted his skills behind the wheel more than hers, she knew the city. Plus, she was 100 percent while his stamina and reflexes were still iffy. Nash swung open the back door and tossed his bag on the seat, pulling out the scraper to brush snow off the windows while she hurried around and climbed inside. “Get the car warmed up and drive out of here nice and normal so we don’t draw any attention to ourselves. We’ll make your calls on the road and pick up whatever supplies we need later.”

She had a blanket waiting for him when he got in beside her, then backed out of the parking space and shifted into Drive. “Where are we going?”

Breathing hard enough to make his shoulder ache, he pulled the cover up to his chin, partly to mask his face and the gun he set in his lap and partly to reclaim the body heat he’d lost outside. “Turn right. Not too fast. I want to get a look at that car.”

Nash pushed the seat all the way back and hunkered down as they passed the parked SUV. He didn’t see anyone else inside the vehicle. Possibly, they’d split up to pursue different leads to find him or Teresa. Or the man they’d spotted had been calling in backup and was scouting ahead.

“Do you see him?” she asked, catching him looking into the sideview mirror.

“Just getting the license plate.”

“Texas?”

“Local rental.”

He heard a throaty gasp, this one far different from that dreamy little sound she’d made after he’d kissed her. “Nash? Behind us.”

She’d turned her head to the mirror on her side of the car. Nash glanced back over the seat and sat up straight. He saw it, too. A second black SUV, pulling out of the parking lot across the street and picking up speed. Closing the gap between them.

Forget stealth. “Get us out of here.”

He pushed the blanket aside and loaded a bullet into the firing chamber of his gun. Teresa’s sedan picked up a little speed, heading down the winding residential street toward some lake or creek at the bottom of the hill. The driver was talking on his cell. That meant he was reporting to... Nash glanced back to the right to see the first man burst through the front door of Teresa’s building and charge straight through the snow toward their position on the street.

The man swapped out his phone for his gun and opened fire.

Thunk.
The sedan lurched. “Oh, my God! Is he shooting at us?”

“Faster, Peewee.” Nash spared a moment to make sure she hadn’t been hit as he rolled down his window. The guy popped off two more shots, which pinged off a parked car as they whizzed past and took out one of her taillights.

Nash stuck his arm out the window and fired a pair of warning shots, forcing the man to dive into the snow. He pushed himself halfway out the window and twisted back to take aim at the SUV speeding up behind them. But there were too many civilian targets to risk a shot. The man with the broom. Kids building a snowman. Parked cars and too many trees messed with his line of sight.

But the other driver had no such compunction. He pointed a weapon out the driver’s-side door and fired wildly at Teresa’s car. A lucky shot clipped the trunk, and Teresa screamed. Her car zigzagged through a patch of slush, and chips of ice flew up, biting into Nash’s face. He recoiled from the stinging assault, wrenching his shoulder.

His luck was going from bad to worse. A block behind him, the other SUV whipped out of its parking spot and spun in a U-turn to join the chase. Nash dropped back into his seat, swearing in pain and frustration.

They weren’t going fast enough. “Floor it!”

He stretched his long leg out and stomped on Teresa’s foot, pushing the accelerator to go faster. They hit a bump in the road and sailed into the air for a split second before coming down hard and scraping the undercarriage against the pavement.

“What are you doing?” Teresa bounced against the binding of her seat belt. They were passing newer houses now, fewer trees and cars. The road widened, making them easier targets.

“Turn!”

“At this speed?”

Nash grabbed the wheel and jerked it to the right, keeping his foot on the gas when her instinct was to slow down. “Where’s the nearest highway?”

“Not close.”

They bounced across a bridge over a frozen lake and hit a roundabout intersection. Ah, hell. They were circling back toward the oncoming SUV! Teresa cursed when she saw the gun leveled at them. But the driver hit the same bump they had and lost his grip on the gun. He quickly pulled both hands back to regain control of his vehicle. But as he slowed, the second SUV picked up speed and passed him.

Nash reached for the steering wheel again. “Get us out of this neighborhood!”

“I’ve got it.” Teresa smacked his hand away and stepped on the accelerator. “I’ve got it!”

She gripped the wheel in both fists and hunched forward. The car careened away from the roundabout, plowing through a drift and careening off the curb as she sped past a stop sign. “I know where we can lose them.”

With oncoming cars pulling to the side and the SUVs in hot pursuit, Nash rebuckled his seat belt and braced his hand against the door as Teresa drove through a neighborhood gate and wheeled the car in a sharp right, then sped up the hill to the north. She honked the horn and flew around a slower vehicle. The two SUVs lost a little more distance when she cut through a corner convenience store lot and came out on a four-lane highway heading east, merging with heavier traffic.

One SUV followed the same path but got stuck a few cars back. The driver darted from lane to lane, trying to get around the cars between them. The second SUV was nowhere to be seen. And by the time they’d doubled back through a massive shopping center parking lot near the intersection of two highways, they’d lost both cars following them.

A few minutes later, they were cruising up and down the snow-covered hills of 40 Highway, matching the flow of traffic. With no sinister pursuers reflected in any mirror, Nash holstered his Smith & Wesson and leaned back against the headrest, taking note of his aching shoulder and the slightly winded cadence of his breathing. That encounter had been too close. He was clearly off his game. Yes, they’d gotten away—for now. But they’d have to ditch this damaged car that the cartel thugs could identify as Teresa’s now.