Hide and Seek (10 page)

When Caprice returned, perspiration dotted her forehead. "Where's Wayne?"

"He'll be back.” He studied her. “Feeling better?”

“A little, but what about Alan?” She set Wayne’s soda on the fender. “He could be close.”

“Unless he can see through buildings, we’re safe back here while I replace the hose.”

In a fluid movement, she swept her hair onto her head, exposing a slender neck. Holt fought a strong urge to lean forward and press his lips to her skin.
Hell.
How had this happened? He was supposed to be rid of this green-eyed sorceress by now, and he was determined to tell her exactly that. "Caprice, you need…”

Her brows lifted. “Yes?”

His lips curved and he half-laughed at himself. “Lady, the next time I'm at a stock show haggling over the price of a pedigree bull with a surly cowman maybe you could tag along. Wear that dress and bring your West Virginia drawl. Something tells me I'd get my price and a steak dinner."

Her features turned solemn. "I snapped at you earlier about the truck. I'm sorry."

"Forget it. I've been doing my share of barking too."

He considered her pointed, sculpted nose. What would it be like to kiss her there, then press his mouth to hers? Would she respond? Would her lips move under his?

The radiator's cooling metal ticked with a clock's incessant rhythm, reminding him that time was short. According to an early morning news report, Hurricane Gemma continued to churn toward the panhandle. He made a mental list: yard furniture, barn tools, and wheelbarrows. Anything hurricane force winds could toss or send flying would need storing or tying down. But what would he do with Caprice and Shawn?

"This is where we part ways," she said as if reading his thoughts. "We're in Georgia, where I want to be.” She gestured in the direction Wayne had left. “Wayne is friendly. He wears a wedding band too. Perhaps for cash, he and his wife could put us up for the night?”

“I don’t see that turning out very well.”

“Why? It’s an excellent idea.”

Sensing her mounting frustration, Holt shook his head and tamped a smile. “Because if his wife has even a lick of sense, she’ll take one look at you, and boot you, duffle and all to the curb.”

Color infused her cheeks and she looked away. “Then perhaps he could recommend a local bed-and-breakfast that accepts cash. In a few days, I’ll rent another car. By then it should be safe to return to Grace's."

For Holt, something akin to caring, snapped free, but surely caring and concern were not emotional investments. Like a row of tag-a-long seeds, Caprice was stuck fast to the hem of his jeans. He couldn't bear to just peel her off and abandon her, or Shawn, not under these dire circumstances, and not if he wanted to call himself a man. If Montero killed Murphy, surely he would want to permanently silence Caprice.

Holt shifted as all his protective instincts escaped from a shadowy cave. "Montero knows he could face murder charges. He’s desperate enough to keep someone posted at your sister’s house. Better come to Elixir with me.”

“I’d rather freeze to death in Bangor, Maine."

Her deadpan response struck a match to the oil of his anger. "Lady, right now, I'm your best damned bet."

"Are you? You're returning to Florida to prepare for a hurricane. I don't care to borrow more problems than I already have." She flushed. "Look, I appreciate your offer, but Alan won't give up. He'll just follow me there."

Her defeated tone pulverized his furor. "Listen, he doesn't know me, or where I live.”

"I disagree. He's probably recorded your license plate by now, and he’s informed his sources. Look how quickly Alan found my sister’s new home."

Holt reached to finger silken lengths of red-gold hair. "My home is remote and secure. And, despite what my father may have told you, my horses are quiet. They will be a great experience for Shawn.” Holt hated the worry filling her eyes. “Caprice, do it for Shawn’s sake.” He glanced at his watch. “We still have some daylight to travel a hundred miles before it’s time to den up.”

She tilted her head and her lips twisted. "Den up?"

"I told you, I’m just a harmless old dog.”

“I'm curious. Is your home an underground burrow as dimly lit as the motorhome?"

"Is that what you’ve pictured?" When she shrugged, he said, “From now on, we'll take state or county roads. And, we'll draw less attention if we continue to pose as a family." He recalled Wayne's open admiration. "People assume that about us anyway."

Captivating as Caprice was, it would behoove him to keep his perspective. Already he regretted his invitation. How would he manage with a woman and a boy living underfoot, making noises and constant demands? On the other hand, hadn’t he insisted that Melissa and the girls come live at the ranch? Yet, his nieces already knew his rules, concerning the cattle and the horses.

Nevertheless he wanted straight answers from Caprice. "What else do you know about the plane crash?"

"Plenty. The National Transportation Safety Board ordered a full-scale investigation when they discovered that both of the Piper’s gas floats were bent and wired to make each tank read as if they were full. Somehow Vincent had just enough fuel to get him air born and over the mountains.”

“Okay, so he lost engine power. Couldn’t he have glided that bird right in?”

She shook her head. "As a pilot, Vincent wasn’t that experienced. He was over the Allegheny Mountains. There was no place to land.”

Despite Caprice's grave expression, he sensed she was still holding back. "I know you can identify Montero’s handwriting and notes, but how can you prove he wired the Piper?”

“He didn’t.”

“Explain.”

From inside the motorhome, something fell with a thud. “Mom!”

“My son needs me.”

When she turned, Holt caught her arm. His gaze lowered as the material of her dress, pulled across the rounded thrusts of her breasts. “Caprice, where’s the planner?”

“In a safe place.”

Were her cheeks pink from the sun, or his probing? He couldn’t tell. What witchery cranked through her head? "Dammit! I've never met a more evasive female.”

"I've answered several questions! What happened to Wayne?"

He studied her freckled cheekbones. “There's something else."

Her eyes widened with guileless appeal. "What else do you want?"

"Honesty. And a woman I can..."

Her eyes flashed. "What? Control?"

"I've had a belly full of runaway women I can't depend on."

"And I'm through with men who want to crush me into submission."

He hated that she would lump him with Montero. "Forcing a woman is wrong as it is distasteful, Caprice, but willing submission…” He smiled as her skin darkened. “Now, that's something I like."

"You would."

Her lips were still twitching with suppressed humor as an exuberant Wayne rounded the corner. He held up the hose. "Buddy, you're in luck. This was the last one."

Holt retained her gaze. “Come home with me.”

****

An orange sun roosted in the tree tops when they stopped at a wooded campground in western Georgia. After Holt had hooked up to the site’s water and electricity, he stepped into the motorhome just as Caprice backed down from the bunk. She turned to look at him and her foot missed the narrow step.

"Watch out!" Moving fast, he caught her around the middle. She gripped his shoulder then turned in his arms.

"Thanks. You startled me." Her voice was throaty, affected, and he wanted to hold her even closer. Yet, her half-truths and fabrications grated and bred more questions. Was Montero pursuing Caprice in order to learn the planner's whereabouts, or did she have it?

An image of Caprice's drawn features at the Raleigh-Durham airport as she grasped the duffle's worn, red strap appeared with clarity. "Damn!" Releasing her, he shoved the bunk’s curtains aside and grabbed the duffle. "Where’s the planner, Caprice? In here?"

“Don't touch my things!"

He unzipped the bag, reached inside its stuffed confines then nailed her with a hard stare. "You've had it all along."

Chapter Six

With an efficient snap of her wrist, Caprice regained the duffle and sliced him with an incinerating glare. “What right do you have to invade my privacy?”

Fear for her safety and anger at her persistent elusiveness fueled his determination. "Lady, apparently you have evidence that could incarcerate Montero for a life term which could make him desperate enough to kill again. Now, hand me the planner, or..."

"Or…what?" She raised her chin. "I can't forgive being bullied."

"And, I can't forgive being compared to a man who would send a woman on the run, much less forsake his blood child.”

His remark about Shawn must have hit a nerve because her expression softened. Some inner battle had been waged and lost. “Okay. I’ll show you the planner.”

As Caprice rummaged through her bag, Holt turned to consider Shawn who sat watching them. The boy should be outside, running with other children.

An ache jarred Holt’s chest. He wondered again about his child robbed before birth. It happened that way sometimes…without warning.

Boy or girl? He'd never know. He swept a hand down his face, his thoughts careening to his responsibilities with Gemma ready to strike in less than twenty-four hours.

Caprice cleared her throat. “Here.”

Silently, he took the planner from her and sat on the sofa. He rested a booted foot over his knee and withdrew his glasses from his top pocket. A. I. M. was embossed in gold script on the black leather.

Her expression grim, Caprice sat beside him. With her freckled knees pressed primly together, she exuded a certain innocence. There were bruises on her forearms. Were there more concealed under her dress? Holt's blood turned caustic as the yellow, dehorning paste he used on his calves. Given a chance, he would gladly face Montero and go one-on-one…LeBerger style, of course.

Her gaze met his, and he could have plunged into those verdant pools. Instead he looked away. He had sunk lower than a bovine's hoof. He shouldn't have rummaged through her duffle and breached her privacy. There were kinder ways to handle Caprice.

"I'll show you what I discovered." She took the book from him, set it on her lap and began flipping through pages. She released a pent breath then pointed with an oval-shaped nail at what appeared to be indecipherable scribbling.

“There,” she said. “Alan had meetings with the plane’s mechanic, Thad Camas, starting last January. According to what I was able to glean from his short-hand and these dates, Alan hired Mr. Camas to sabotage Murphy’s Seneca.”

Scissoring her hair between her pointer and middle fingers, she tossed a silken, red-gold shank over her shoulder. "There. T. C." She tapped the page. "Thad’s initials. And here they are again in February. Alan recorded a balance due beside the dates.” She turned several more pages then stopped and pointed. "Look at this entry for April fifth.”

“What does
ten percent b.p.
mean?”

“Balance paid with the last ten percent. The five hundred written here must mean five hundred thousand dollars.” She exhaled. “And, Vincent's twin-engine had crashed the previous day.”

Caprice’s bleak words settled like a pall over Holt, because more than ever, he feared for her life. “Darlin’, that’s some ugly business.”

"Vincent was on his way to a press conference with information he claimed would infuriate the tax payers about Alan’s real estate deals. He left behind a wife and two teenage boys.” She hesitated. “And, there's something else."

Holt met her earnest gaze. For once, Caprice wasn’t keeping any secrets.

"Those information brokers Alan knows will discover all sorts of private data about you. They’ll access your social security number and find bank balances.” Her gaze turned solemn. “I didn’t want anyone, especially you involved because I was concerned for your safety.”

"I can handle myself. It's you I'm worried about." Realizing he was standing hip deep in a murky morass of trouble, Holt took her hand and was rewarded when she didn't flinch or draw away.

"I should never have called Alan, but I was enraged for Vincent's family, for their pain.”

“I’ve seen your bruises. You should have reported him for any abuse."

“I tried, but several West Virginia police departments and municipalities owe Alan for favors and hundreds of thousands of dollars in financial support. Any complaints I filed were lost or deleted." Her eyes narrowed, glinting with resolve as they stood and faced one another. "Alan ruined the lives of Vincent's family, and West Virginia voters are enchanted by his charisma. I won’t rest until he is exposed.”

Holt reached to grip her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Do you plan to save all of West Virginia?"

"If you mean by submitting the planner, then yes I do. If I am asked to testify against him, I will do that too.”

"I have a friend, Daniel Adder. He’s a rancher and a State of Florida representative. Before he got involved in politics, he was a legal advisor for the FBI. He’ll know who to contact." Holt’s mind reeled with some new implications. "My cell phone is dead. If they have one, I’ll need to use the campground’s pay phone."

"Will you call Mr. Adder?"

"No. Scott Perry. He’s a good friend and neighbor,” he said, but doubt clouded her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

"Your father said you spent time in jail. Did your arrest have anything to do with a gun? I mean, people use guns to rob banks, or to intimidate others."

Holt’s ears burned. He could cheerfully wring his father's neck. There were unpleasant episodes in his past he sure as hell wanted to forget. "I made some stupid mistakes, but no gun was involved."

When she smiled, he felt Caprice had just granted him a reprieve.

In the camp store, Holt pressed the pay phone’s receiver to his ear and dropped his voice as he explained Caprice's situation to Scott. Caprice’s back was turned to Holt, so he had a view of auburn hair that cascaded in shimmering waves past her shoulders' narrow width as she selected items from the freezer. His gaze traveled to her waist and lower still, over her hips and a tight bottom he longed to…