Hunt Me (Love Thieves #3) (9 page)

If Louis tracked her with any of this…. He paused and studied the car. “Tell you what. Take the car to 44
^th
and Lex downtown, talk to Mitch. Tell him you need an exterminator. He’ll take care of cleaning the car.”

Georgia’s eyes rounded, and she blinked at him owlishly. “Is there something wrong with my car?”

The proprietary note in her voice amused him. “Probably not, but it never hurts.” He handed her another hundred. “Consider it on me.”

She traded the phone for the hundred, and he carried all of it with him. He hoped Georgia listened, because Louis had time to put a tracking device on the car since he’d arrived at the airport first—but his arrival as soon as they departed suggested he’d
only
made it himself. Dropping her gear on the passenger seat, Jarod started his own car and kept an eye on Georgia. He sorted through everything in the bag—files, her digital tablet, a change of clothes, and a slim pack of tampons. Nothing to go on.

Her purse revealed even less. Her wallet was there, but she’d stripped the credit cards’ magnetic stripes. No I.D. card or passport—she either took them with her, left them on her plane, or maybe Georgia helped herself. He dismissed the last. Kit Kat had planned to go into the wind the minute she arrived in Los Angeles. But…she’d taken the time to fly to L.A.

So why Los Angeles? The bus he understood. But had she planned to use a bus from the beginning? No—the car.

Georgia talked on her own cell phone now, sitting in the car across from him. She hadn’t backed out of her parking space. The car had waited in the private hanger for Kit’s arrival. She’d planned to drive away from her plane, her security, and any other observers, in all likelihood, to another destination to pick up another car.

His phone rang. He recognized the number, so he hit the answer button. “Yes?”

“I’m at the Malibu estate. She’s not here. She hasn’t been here in some time. One of the field workers said she rarely stays at the estate even when she is in town, though.”

“Did he say why?”

“No, he mentioned she attended parties and social functions at the estate, but they always saw her leave as soon as the parties ended and she didn’t always return. His sister is one of the house maids, and Lady Hardwicke’s things are often packed by them and sent to the airport to be picked up by her plane.”

“How often does she visit?”

“One moment.” The voices on the other end of the phone muffled as though the caller covered the phone to ask a question. Jarod continued to study Kit’s vehicle while he waited. “Three to four times a year since age sixteen. Get this—her father threw a huge soiree here at the estate on her sixteenth birthday, but the guest of honor never made an appearance. The rumor here is she ran away…but a couple of weeks later, she returned, and everyone acted like nothing happened. Since then, she visits regularly but never stays.”

“See if you can find out anything more about that summer.”

“You got it.”

The man rang off, and Jarod started his car. Georgia backed out of her parking spot and waved as she drove off. He shook his head. He needed to head to the Hollywood bus terminal and review what, if any, security tapes they had. Which meant another call and another favor.

His Kit Kat became increasingly expensive.

Two hours later, he stared at three monitors. The Greyhound station had upgraded their surveillance since 9/11, but the angles were shit. He knew what time Kit met with Georgia on the boulevard, so he narrowed his search window to those two hours. How many people bought tickets or passed through the station at four in the morning?

Too many.

“Stop.” The tech hit the space bar at his word, and all three images froze. “Back camera three up ten seconds.”

The man complied. A leggy woman in skinny jeans and a red tank top sauntered across in slow motion. A black cap hid her hair, but he didn’t need to see it. She moved with absolute confidence and control. “Follow her.” He pointed to the screen.

The man nodded and started typing. The screens shifted. She walked from camera three onto four and then around the corner onto seven. At a locker, she inserted a key and pulled out a duffel bag. She opened it but blocked their view of the contents.

Leaving the locker, she followed a path which took her out of sight until they found her on camera six, four, and back to three. She disappeared again, for ten seconds, before appearing on camera one at the ticket window.

She paid cash.

Jarod had to admire her skill.

She was good.

“Can you tell me her destination?”

The third man in the booth, the station manager, nodded. “Give me a minute.” He swiveled to face another computer terminal and typed in some information.

“She left here,” the guard scrolling the tapes said. “Right after she bought the ticket, she exited the station…maybe the buy was a distraction?”

Maybe.
Jarod waited for the manager.

“Seven a.m. departure for Half Moon Bay. It’s about seven hours north of here.”

“Run it forward.” Jarod glanced back at the screens, but the guard was already doing it. She appeared in the station at six fifty-five. They followed her route to the departure lanes, and, sure enough, she and her duffel bag boarded the bus. She didn’t give the duffel to the driver for storage, waving him off with a quick smile.

The bus left at seven in the morning, and it was after five now. She was in Half Moon Bay. “Call ahead to the bus station. Send them this photo and see if she boarded another bus.”

The manager nodded. “Should we warn the driver? I know she’s already left the one she booked on, but if she’s a credible threat….”

Jarod shook his head once. “No. I’ll take care of this, and I don’t want her knowing anyone is coming.” He relied on the call from his contact at Homeland Security to keep these guys in line. They’d been more than cooperative.

Pulling out his phone, he sent another text. He didn’t have a single asset in the area, but he could put researchers on trying to link Kit with Half Moon Bay. The small seaside town didn’t offer any direct clues. He couldn’t discount the possibility of false trails. The resourceful and intelligent woman knew someone hunted her.

“Do me a favor.” He leaned back down to the guard. “Can you tell if a bus is coming in from Half Moon Bay today?”

“It’s probably a round-trip service.” The guard nodded, switching his screen to the scheduler. He typed in the bus number. “And it’s due back here at eight fifteen.”

“Does the bus have a camera on board?”

The guard blinked. “Yeah, but we’re not supposed to—”

“Humor me. I’ll look away. Just tell me if she’s there.”

“Why would she be?”

“Humor me,” Jarod repeated.

The guard glanced over his shoulder toward the manager, and the man gave him an impatient nod, continuing to talk to the Half Moon Bay station. The guard glanced up at Jarod, and he made a point of turning away from the screens but watched instead via the overhead mirror. The man typed in a password, accessed a system and a stop motion feed came in from the bus. Several passengers were dozing in the dark. But each strike of the spacebar brought another section into focus.

“I don’t see her.” The guard actually sounded relieved.

But Jarod did see her. She’d changed clothes, added a pair of reading glasses and a green baseball cap rather than black. She sat three feet from the driver with the duffel bag on the seat next to her.

“Thanks.” He glanced at his watch. He had three hours before she arrived. “Does it make any more stops before it gets here?”

“Nope. Sorry she’s not there.”

The manager hung up the phone. “She arrived. They tracked her leaving the terminal. She didn’t board any other buses.”

“Thank you for your help, gentlemen.” He let the men off the hook and headed out. She’d set a false trail to Half Moon Bay, but if she maintained a locker at this bus terminal, she might have others along the route. He sent orders to an asset in San Francisco to drive there and check it out. He had time to change before she arrived back in Los Angeles.

Four to three, sweetheart.

Her ass ached by the time she descended the steps from the bus. The round-trip took her off the grid for most of the day, and if they did trace her path, they’d have trouble pinpointing her. She knew how to change her appearance so even if the security guards saw her, they’d see a college student or maybe an aspiring actress fresh off the farm. It didn’t really matter as long as they didn’t see Lady Katherine Hardwicke.

Duffel bag slung over her shoulder, she blended in with the shuffling crowd weaving through the terminal. Several diverted to the bathrooms, and still more raced out to the front to light up a cigarette. She gave the blue haze of nicotine addiction a wide berth and turned right to head up the boulevard.

She wanted food, a shower, and ten hours of sleep, not necessarily in that order. It was late on Saturday. She couldn’t pick up the keys she needed until lunchtime on Sunday. It would be Monday before she could drive to Bakersfield.

The ticking clock seemed to beat with every pulse of her heart. But she couldn’t move any faster. If she’d rushed to pick it up today with Louis and Jarod breathing down her neck, it would have cost her more time than the bus trip. Playing it cool and safe were her only options. She glanced at the watch on her wrist, almost nine. She didn’t want to stop anywhere for food, so she would order room service.

Twisting to walk backwards, she lifted a hand and hailed a passing taxi three blocks from the bus station. The yellow cab swung in, and she opened the back door and slid in with her duffel. “The Westin Pasadena, please.”

“You got it.” The driver pulled back out into traffic with barely a glance at her.

Kit wrapped her fist around the duffel bag straps and stared out the window. The nightlife hopped on the boulevard, throngs of tourists thicker in some spots than others. She loved these types of churning city centers where a person could easily get lost amongst a sea of strangers. Three turns later, the taxi surged onto one of the dozen arteries serving the greater Los Angeles area. The drive from Hollywood to Pasadena would cost, but she had enough cash in the bag to take care of expenses through the weekend.

Thirty-five minutes later, a yawn splitting her jaw, she gave the driver an extra twenty for a tip and entered the hotel lobby. It took her fifteen minutes to get a room. She paid cash and used one of the three IDs hidden in the duffel. Tara Pelfrey would be burned after the trip, but she didn’t care.

“Can you go ahead and place an order with room service for me?” She went for charm with the clerk. The man assured her he could, so she asked for a shrimp and lobster pasta with water and a pot of coffee. She didn’t really need the caffeine, but she craved it.

The tenth floor room boasted one king-size bed, a forty-inch television screen, and a view of Los Angeles. She ignored all three and stripped to get in the shower. Washing away a day’s worth of sweat and bus smells went a long way toward restoring her mood. She wrapped a towel around her head and another around her body before sacking up the second set of clothes she would abandon. She’d left Georgia’s in a trash bin in Half Moon Bay. The shorts and
I heart L.A
. T-shirt in her bag would take care of tomorrow, and she could shop for anything else she needed.

Shoving the plastic bag of discarded clothes into the trashcan, she padded back to the closet. The Westin always provided robes. She’d barely tugged it from the hanger before someone knocked on the door. “Room service,” they called through.

“One moment.” She slipped on the robe and glanced through the peephole. A white shirt, black tie, and large tray filled her line of sight. Opening the door, she pulled it wide and pointed to the desk. “If you wouldn’t mind….”

“Not at all.” The waiter carried the tray in and set it down. She pulled the towel off her head and rubbed at her damp hair while he took the silver lids off the plates. Reaching into the bathroom, she pulled a ten off the stack of bills she had left and turned back to find the waiter standing between her and the door.

Every hair on her body stood up as she met the knowing brown eyes.

“Jarod.”

“Kit Kat.”

How the hell…?

Her gut churned. She mentally catalogued the room. Tenth floor. The balcony looked out over the city and the parking lot, not a pool. Jarod stood between her and the only other viable exit. He didn’t appear to be armed. She had a Taser in the bag, but not in direct reach.

Like a Mexican standoff, they stared at each other. She couldn’t process how the hell he’d found her. Her limited options narrowed down to fight, seduce, or surrender.

She wasn’t ready for any of them. “You’re not a banker.”

“No,” he agreed. “I’m not. Go sit down…and eat. You look tired.”

“Who are you?”

“I could ask you the same question.” He blew out a breath and held up a hand. “Go eat, Kit Kat, before you fall down. We can talk about everything when we’re done.”

She lifted her chin. She was not giving up. She had not come this far, worked this hard, to lose now. “You need to go.”

“After we talk.” He nodded again, very agreeable. But she recognized the tone. She used it all the time. Placate the upset one and do whatever after they calmed down.

“I could scream.” The warning didn’t seem to have any effect on him. If anything, the sensuous curve of his mouth turned up into a wolfish grin.

“You could. But if you were going to do it, you would have screamed already. I give you my word, I’m not here to hurt you.”

“Then get out. Walk out the door right now.”

“No.”

Her heart slammed against the cage of her ribs, beating faster than a mad hummingbird, desperate for escape. Time to switch tactics. She took a step toward him and forced her shoulders to relax. “Jarod.”

“If you try to kiss me again, I’ll spank you. Now go eat.” He probably meant to sound intimidating, but damn if his order didn’t turn her on. Liquid heat rolled through her blood, and she sucked in a breath.