Kill Me Again (11 page)

“Miles. I'd like to put something a lot deadlier than miles between us and them.”

He frowned at her. “You're angry.”

“Of course I'm angry. You know, it's one thing for Tommy to send his thugs after me. I knew that was a risk I'd have to spend the rest of my life living with, and I chose to take it. But when he starts drugging my dog and hurting people I care about, then that's—” She bit her lip to shut herself up.

He was silent for a moment, too, and then he said, “You care about me.”

He didn't make it a question.

She shrugged. “You saved my life last night. And…Freddy likes you.”

It wasn't really an answer, but it was going to have to do.

“Is it because you're convinced I'm your favorite writer?”

She shrugged. “I don't know.” She looked at him. “You say that as if you're
not
convinced of it.”

And then it was his turn not to answer. Instead he said, “Once we get far enough away, we need to find a store. A
big
store.”

“Those supplies you keep whining about. Do you have a list somewhere, Aaron? Because I really don't know what we need besides a room for the night.”

He glanced her way and lifted one brow. “No room is going to be safe. We need a tent. Sleeping bags. A lantern—”

“Are you saying what I think you're saying?” she asked, and she searched his face, but he refused to look back at her.

“Oh, come on,” she said when he didn't reply. “I mean, really, come on. We're
not
…camping.”

“Yeah,” he said softly. “We are. And now I have one more thing to ask about, before I stop driving and let you try patching up my head.”

“What's that?” she asked.

He looked at her. “‘I'll dot your third eye'?” he said slowly. “What the hell kind of a taunt is that?”

“I don't know. It just…came out.”

“It was
terrible!
”

“I know,” she said, and her voice was oddly pitched,
because she was trying so hard not to laugh. She held it in until he grinned widely and said the line again, this time in a falsetto voice that was supposed to be hers.

“I'll dot your third eye for you, bucko!”

She burst out laughing, then, and so did he. “I never said bucko!”

“It was in your tone. There was definitely bucko in that tone.”

She had tears brimming in her eyes, unable to figure out how he could make her laugh at a time like this. He was laughing almost as hard as she was, and dabbing at his own eyes. “I almost lost it right there,” he said.

“I'm surprised the bad guys didn't.” She drew a breath, released it with a sigh. “That felt good. Laughing like that.”

“Yeah.” He looked at her. “You needed it. Been a while?”

“I don't think I've…ever laughed that hard.”

“You should,” he told her. “You deserve to.”

She tipped her head a little. “You can't know that.”

“Maybe not. But I trust my instincts.”

“So you keep telling me.”

T
he oversize “Super Center” had everything they could have wanted and more, and thanks to his companion's deep pockets, Aaron thought, they were able to pick up most of the items on his mental list. Tent. Sleeping bags. Lanterns and fuel, and a big blue metal coffeepot and saucepan.

While he was loading a cart with camping gear, Olivia had wandered off with her own plan in mind. And when they met again at the register, he noticed the things she'd picked up. Practical clothes, which included a warm jacket, an extra pair of jeans, some thick socks, a pair of suede hiking boots and some rubber flip-flops. Smart purchases, every last one of them.

He saw her noticing his purchases, too, which by then included food, a big cooler and a bag of ice. “You need clothes,” she said. “Who knows how long it'll be before we find out where you live, where all your stuff is?”

“Good point.” So he bought clothes. Jeans, T-shirts,
a hooded sweatshirt, everything else he thought of that he might need.

The total came to three hundred and change, but she didn't so much as bat an eye. Maybe she saw the necessity as much as he did. The girl behind the register looked out from behind big glasses at his bandaged forehead and Olivia's bruised face, and smiled a little. “Maybe you guys need a safer sport than camping,” she said.

He smiled. “Camping
is
the safer sport. We got this way rock climbing.”

“You fall?” she asked, eyes widening.

“Only forty feet,” Olivia told her. “It's really not as bad as it looks.”

She met his eyes, a flash of mischief in hers.

Hell, he was beginning to really
like
this woman.

An hour later they were driving again, in search of a wilderness area close enough to Shadow Falls for them to keep an eye on things, far enough away to be safe, where they could pitch their tent. He drove, and she played with the GPS system.

Eventually she said, “Got it. This thing will find all the campgrounds in whatever area we choose.”

“Try a fifty-mile radius from Shadow Falls,” he suggested. “We'll be a little more off the beaten path.”

“Okay.”

“We want the most remote area we can find.”

“Most remote is a difficult thing to tell from a GPS, but let's see…”

She played with the thing for a moment longer, then nodded. “I've got lots of campgrounds within fifty miles of us. Some of them seem like they're privately owned, though.”

“Those are always small and crowded. Look for state parks.”

She adjusted her search parameters and tried again. “Okay. Niquette Bay State Park.” She paused, moving her fingers over the screen. “It's forty-five minutes away. Looks like nice and big, too.”

“Sounds like it's worth a try.”

“You're sure we can't just go to a hotel?”

“I wouldn't have wasted an hour shopping for camping gear if I wasn't.” He glanced at her. “I'm trying to keep us alive here, Liv. You know that, right?”

She sighed, nodding. “Of course I know that.”

“So navigate, navigator.”

“Head for the highway. We're going west.”

“All right.”

“And we're in sad need of some music, I think.”

“I hear that,” he said.

She flipped on the radio, looked at the menu, then looked again. “Oh, my. Professor Mallory does have his priorities in order.”

“Why?” he asked, but he was more interested in the expression on her face than in what she had to say. When she smiled…God, she was something else when she smiled.

“Satellite radio,” she explained. “What kind of music do you like?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again and sent her a glance—a quick one, as he was driving—and shook his head. “I don't know. Isn't that a bitch? I don't even know what kind of music I like.”

“It's not—it's not even a problem.” She cranked up the volume a bit. “I'll browse, and you tell me when you hear something you feel like you could get into. In just a few minutes you'll know exactly what kind of music you like. Now how is that a problem?”

He slid his eyes toward her. “You're displaying a decidedly more optimistic attitude than usual here, Olivia. Is that your normal attitude and it's just finally returning to you, or is it something new?”

She tipped her head to one side, thinking about it. “It's new. I'm usually pretty realistic. Some people call that pessimistic, but I've never thought it was. I just like to see things as they are, then call them as I see them.”

“Um-hmm. And how do you see our current reality?” he asked, because he was honestly curious. The woman looked…alive. More color in her cheeks. More sparkle in her eyes than when he'd first met her. She was animated, talkative, though not cheerful. Of course, she would have to be an idiot to be cheerful, given the situation. But she was definitely…present in the moment, he thought.

“Our current reality?” she asked. “Well, obviously it's pretty bad. We don't know who you are. We
do
know someone wants you dead, and also that someone is after
me, looking to take the disks and either kill me or mess me up in the process. And they don't mind messing with my dog while they're at it, which is the ultimate sign of a truly evil person.”

“Someone who'd mess with a dog.”

“Yes.”

“Not someone who'd club a woman upside the head with a Glock?”

“Not as much.”

He glanced behind him. Freddy had sat up, as if he knew they were talking about him, and was looking from one of them to the other, mouth agape, a thin strand of drool hanging from each floppy jowl.

Aaron had to smile. You couldn't look at that dog and not smile.

“He's going to love camping way more than being in a motel,” Olivia said softly.

“And how about you?”

She shrugged. “I'll feel safer in the woods than in a hotel room. I didn't think I would at first, but the more I think about it, the more I realize I was wrong.” She shrugged. “Actually, it might be kind of fun.”

“Fun?” He frowned at her then. “Your mood really
is
lighter. I don't get it. Things just got a whole lot worse back there, didn't they? What am I missing?”

She shrugged. “I don't know, Aaron. I'm feeling oddly…relieved, I think.”

He thought about that for a moment. “You've been hiding from this ex for a long time, now. Living in fear
of him finding you. If he finally has, that fear is over. It's happened. You don't have to dread it anymore.”

“
Yes,
exactly. Now I have no choice. I can't run and hide anymore. He's forcing me to finally deal with him once and for all. And if I survive, I'll never have to be afraid again.” She shook her head slowly. “Maybe I should have confronted him a long time ago.”

“At least we know the reason your mood seems to have improved so radically,” he said.

She looked at him, then looked away. “Frankly, the company might have something to do with it, as well.”

The compliment was so unexpected that his reaction was unguarded and immediate. He felt a warm rush of pleasure surge through his chest, and a big smile flashed to life on his face.

She met it with one of her own and switched the radio dial. The soft strains that came from the speakers caught hold of him, and he held up a hand to tell her to stop right there.

Listening, she nodded. “That's Sammy Gold. You've got good taste in music. He's a country music legend.”

“That much I remember,” he said softly.

“It'll come back, Aaron. It'll all come back.” And with the tender certainty in her smile, he found himself believing her.

Ninety minutes later they stood in the middle of a hardwood forest on the shore of a glistening Lake Champlain bay, a tent spread out on the ground between them and a giant brindle mastiff standing smack in the middle
of it, refusing to budge. There were tent poles lying every which way, like a giant game of pick-up-sticks gone terribly wrong.

Olivia held the instruction sheet, unfolded, flipping and flapping with the breeze coming in off the bay. “I think the long ones go in first,” she said. Then she pointed. “Front left to back right, front right to back left, crossing in the middle. Come on, Freddy. Get off the tent. Come here now!”

The beast obeyed her, sitting so close to her side that he was touching her from ankle to hip.

Not that Aaron particularly blamed him. He was feeling a compelling urge to get a little closer himself.

Instead, though, he knelt by the confusion of poles, and began sliding them through the loops and pockets of the tent. Soon they had a large X in front of them.

“Now,” she said, peering at the sheet in front of her, “we put the bottom of each pole into the pocket at the corner.” She dropped the instructions to the ground, placing a round rock on top to keep them from blowing away, then she started sticking poles into their designated pockets.

He grabbed the far end of one and said, “I have the feeling camping wasn't one of my hobbies.”

“I know it's never been one of mine,” she said. “But we'll get by. Come on.”

They moved, maneuvered, shoved, bowed and, finally, got the poles situated where they belonged, and
the little dome tent was suddenly up and tight and even quite roomy-looking.

“Okay, now we insert the side poles, the rain fly, stake it down and we're good,” she said, consulting the instructions once again.

She looked at the SUV, the back open, supplies piled inside. He followed her gaze and winced. Poor Freddy had been crowded on this latest leg of their insane journey.

“You know what?” she said. “This part looks fairly simple. I think Freddy and I can handle it, if you want to start unloading the rest of the, uh…survival gear.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Go ahead.”

“All right.” He went to the SUV and left her to it, thinking she was pretty damn handy. Not a helpless female. Not a needy one. Then again, her life would have been considerably shorter if she'd been either of those things. She'd had to stand on her own, take care of herself. And she'd done it in spades.

He had to wonder, though, what would happen to the happy life she'd created for herself if her secret ever got out. Just whose identity had she stolen? Where was that person now? She might even end up facing charges—fraud, that sort of thing—depending on what she'd had to do to pull off her identity switch and keep it intact for so long.

He unloaded a pair of folding camp chairs and removed them from their canvas storage bags, placing
them near a tiny stone circle that was obviously a fire pit. There was a metal grill leaning up against a pine tree nearby, for cooking over the fire, and a wobbly warped picnic table off to one side. Outhouses and showers were a mile up the twisting dirt road. They should have complete privacy here.

They'd signed in under false names, Jeff and Judy Jones. Just cute enough to be believable, he'd thought. And they'd paid in cash. He'd even altered the license plate number of the SUV when he'd written it in the register. Only one digit off, just in case.

By the time Olivia finished setting up the tent—she'd even unrolled the sleeping bags and placed their respective bundles of clothing inside—he had unloaded the SUV, gathered enough deadfall and limbs to feed the flames through the night, and had a cheerful fire burning in the stone fire pit. A little pot of water was on the grill, and two boil-in-the-bag camp meals were cooking. He had a tin cup ready for her when she took the vacant camp chair beside his own.

Night had fallen. Crickets and bullfrogs were chorusing so loudly that the noise could, he imagined, keep some people awake. Not him. It was going to sing him right to sleep. Particularly given the contents of his own tin cup.

She reached for hers, frowning.

He smiled, dropping one hand to the ground beside his chair and picking up the bottle he'd left there. “Found
this in the Expedition,” he said. “Your Professor Mallory has good taste.”

She read the label. “Imported Caribbean rum.” She picked up her cup, took a short drink, then another. “I really do like it better with Coke.”

“Well, we didn't buy any Coke.” He shrugged. “We can pick some up tomorrow.”

“Oh, this will be gone by tomorrow.”

He lifted his brows.
“Professor!”
he said in mock surprise.

She shrugged. “It's been a rough day, okay?” She slugged some more of the rum, then held her cup out to him for more.

“Uh, yeah, but…” He poured a large shot into her mug and then splashed some more into his own. “Just hold up for a second, would you?”

“No.” She took another drink. “I think I've been on hold my entire life—the last sixteen years of it, anyway. So what's for dinner?”

“Beef stew. But I think we ought to discuss the, uh—well, you know, the sleeping arrangements. Before you get too…you know…smashed.”

She smiled slowly at him, then leaned back in her chair and stared up at the stars, drained the rum and refilled the cup herself. “You better talk fast, then.”

She was in an odd mood, he thought. “What do you mean about your life being on hold?”

She sipped, watched the fire. “I mean…I was so afraid
he'd kill me, I did everything I did in order to stay alive. And then I didn't live at all. You know?”

“No.”

“I mean…here I am, sixteen years later. No kids. No man in my life. Just my job and my dog. Don't get me wrong. I love my dog. And I like my job pretty well, too. But I haven't been…living.”

She drained the cup again, leaned forward to set it on the ground and paused, still bent. “Whoa, that's some potent rum.”

“Yeah.”

Freddy lifted his head from his paws and sent her an adoring look, then sighed and lowered it again.