Red Hot BOX SET: Complete Series 1-4: A Patrick & Steeves Suspense (4 page)

E
m woke
, disoriented, in the arms of a large man, in a room that looked like wine and champagne had been spewed on every surface. She lay still and quiet for several seconds allowing reality to creep into her consciousness. Once she was up to speed, she reached to the bedside table to check the time on her phone. Alarmed, she slid from beneath Sandal’s arm, careful not to wake him. He stirred and rolled onto his back, mouth slightly open. Man, he was built. She could easily see the firefighter in him.

She cocked her head. In a flash, she realized why he looked familiar. The firefighter auction she’d attended with her father a couple of years ago when she’d been on furlough. She’d gone kicking and screaming, but her father had insisted, and in the end, aside from the rubber chicken dinner, it had been a pretty good time. They’d had a ball laughing at the society women bidding on the hot men and women firefighters.

Secretly, she’d enjoyed ogling the men. Not that she didn’t see a lot of beefcake in the forces - she did - but there was something about the firefighters that wasn’t quite as … hmmm, stiff … as the military guys. In any case, at the time she’d been coming off a bad break up so just about anyone looked better than military guys.

She traced his jaw line with her gaze, his cheekbones, his shoulders. She remembered. He was Mr. November in the San Diego Firefighters Annual Calendar - her father bought her an autographed copy that night as a parting gift - and he’d garnered the largest bid ever in the history of the auction. The bejeweled cougar who won him, pranced happily to the stage in a pink Chanel suit while her peers clapped and failed at hiding their envy behind plastic smiles.

He’d made front page news the next morning - bottom of the fold, but still. Come on. Sure he’d earned a lot of money for the charity, but it was a puff piece. As beautiful as he was, surely bringing him home wasn’t a job for the Embassy. She was more than a little miffed. She was risking her life for a pin-up boy? Jack had some explaining to do.

* * *

T
he garage was
dark and cool. The phone rang at the other end only once before Jack answered. “Emily?”

“Yes, I wanted to check in.”

“I was expecting you back by now. I’ve been calling for hours.” His voice was tight and controlled. She could easily imagine steam coming out of his ears.

“We had a small set back.” She lifted a corner of the curtain and looked out into the driveway. Only one other curtain remained closed - the rest of the garages were empty. Where to begin?

“But you have him?”

“Yes, we’re holed up in an auto hotel north of town.”

“What the hell Patrick? You were supposed to sit by his bedside and wait for instructions.”

She straightened her back. This was no longer a conversation with her father’s best friend. “I had to make a tactical decision, sir.” She couldn’t restrain herself from putting a fine point on the “sir.”

“I’m all ears Patrick, let’s hear it.” At once she realized that the call was probably being monitored. His tone was too sharp, his words too carefully chosen.

“The short version, sir, is that Mr. Steeves may have witnessed a cartel murder. It seemed prudent to —”

“I’ll call you back on a secure line. Hang up. Now.”

Em stared at the phone in her hand and swallowed hard. What the hell was she mixed up in? When her father had called in a favor and gotten her this job, it was so she could get over the trauma she’d been through in Afghanistan. It was supposed to be a cushy, government job at the Embassy. Maybe shepherd a few citizens across the border from time to time, but primarily what she’d signed up for was a pencil-pushing, administrative post that she’d hoped would bore her to tears. Boring sounded delicious after all she’d been through.

She cracked the door open and peeked in at her charge. Still on his back, still sleeping. The natural color was coming back to his face - the ugly red apple glow fading. She leaned against the hood of her car and waited. For what, she wondered? She couldn’t change phones and she didn’t plan on going back to the highway to look for a pay phone. The phone rang and she pressed answer. “Jack?”

“Listen Patrick, give me the whole story. Keep it brief, I’ll end this call after two minutes. Clock is ticking - go.” So she told him, about Steeves yelling in the emergency room in his drug-induced state, about taking him out of the hospital and deciding, since it was near daylight, that it would be safer to wait for night fall to drive back to San Diego. If they were looking for him, he’d be an easy target on that highway.

“Sound thinking Patrick. But I’m not sure you’ll be safe where you are. I’ll send you coordinates for a safe house in the country. You’re in a small town - it won’t take long for them to find you - leave as soon as you can. There should be some canned food and other dry goods at the house. I’ll make arrangements to get you out tonight, probably by air.”

“Oh— kay. I can do that. But Jack, who is this guy? I mean, besides the current situation, why was it so important that I come down here for a calendar boy?”

“Move, Patrick. I’ll fill you in later.” He hung up and she stared at the phone again. Are you freakin’ kidding me? He was supposed to fill her in last night. Jack’s years of experience aside, leaving here in broad daylight didn’t feel right. She’d rather sneak out under the cover of darkness. Maybe lie low here for a few hours. She could shower, have a bite to eat, watch some bad porn. Her phone chirped again. She didn’t recognize the number.

“Jack?”

She was greeted with silence at the other end. Then a voice, calm and deep, came over the line. “Miss Patrick, you have something we’re looking for.”

“Who is this?” The bottom fell out of her stomach. How the hell did they get her number? Right, she’d given it to the emergency clerk at the hospital last night when she’d first arrived. Damn it.

“Let me make this easy for you, Miss Patrick. The harder you make it for me to find Mr. Steeves, the more you are going to implicate yourself. Do you understand?”

She hit end and the line went dead. Her mouth was dry. Her heart pounded against her chest, roared in her ears. Pacing to the end of the garage, she looked into the driveway again. Still just one other curtain closed. Spinning back toward the room, her mind in over-drive, she shook Sandal awake. He started and groaned.

“We need to go.” She pulled his arm until he was half-sitting. “No time to waste, come on.”

His eyes were clear, the sleep had done him good. He studied her for a few seconds. “You’re from the Embassy, is that right?”

She nodded. “Please, get up, we need to go. Now.” She opened the back of her phone, ripped the battery out and threw both pieces into her backpack before passing him his phone and wallet from the night stand. He swung his legs over the bed and shoved the items in his back pockets.

“Why the rush?”

“Someone’s looking for us. We need to move.”

“Why should I trust you? I’m not even sure who you are. This whole thing doesn’t make sense to me.” He reached for the bottle of water on the nightstand and tipped it to his lips, emptying it.

“I know it doesn’t, but for now …” She crossed the room and started jamming the contents of the mini-fridge into her backpack, “I need you to trust me. Your life is in danger.”

“That seems a little melodramatic,” he said, but a cloud of doubt skittered across his features. “This about the driver of that truck?”

“Yes, yes, and bloody yes,” she hissed grabbing his arm. “Let’s get the fuck out of here. I’ll explain on the road.”

He stood without help or complaint, followed her out to the car and watched as she slid behind the wheel.

“Get the curtain, then get in.”

He raised a bushy brow. “Bossy when you’re stressed.”

Emily grit her teeth and turned the key in the ignition. She needed to keep her cool, but he wasn’t making it easy. She took a deep breath in through her nose and exhaled it slowly through her mouth. “Can we … Please. Just. Get. Going?”

He threw up his hands. “All right. Just sayin’ is all. We can do this the hard way, or we can do this the easy way.”

Yeah, that’s what the caller said, too.

“Get the hell in the car, Mr. November, so I can try to save your damn life.”

D
al fumbled
with his seat belt while Hottie Andretti peeled out of the hotel parking lot onto the service road. Damn, she really was hot. Long legs, tightly clad in soft black denim, expertly shifted between gears. Rare to find a woman driving stick these days. Point one for her.

“If you’re trying to keep a low profile, you might want to slow down.” He slid a glance over to her tight jaw and refrained from rolling his eyes. He had her number. She figured he was an air head because he looked good - apparently she knew about the calendar, and she wasn’t impressed. She was clearly on edge. No doubt. If she worked for the Embassy, she was probably a desk jockey, and was handling herself pretty damn well despite being tense.

Tense looked good on her. Determination did too. He imagined just about anything would. Like him - he’d look good on her.

She slanted a look in his direction, but let off on the gas until they were just above the speed limit. “Oh shit,” she mumbled.

He checked over his shoulder, looking for someone following them. “What is it?”

“I took the battery out of my phone so they couldn’t track us, but I need a text with the GPS coordinates.”

“So who can’t track us?” His head was pounding, and his body felt like it had been through a thrasher. Or worse. What the hell had he been thinking going back into that fire? Fuck that thought. As if he could have lived with any other choice.

She glanced out the window and bit her lip. Looked like she was trying to figure out how much to tell him.

“Let’s start with your name,” he prompted. “You know mine, I’m at a disadvantage.”

He was rewarded with a tight grin. “Not much of a disadvantage. What I know is you’re American and for some crazy reason decided to run into a burning truck.” She paused. “But you are a firefighter, so I guess that’s second nature?”

He stared at her, struggling to keep a straight face. “Name?”

“Emily. Patrick.” She reached behind his seat and grabbed a black backpack which she threw in his lap. “Can you put the battery back in my phone? It’s in the front pocket.”

He took the phone out, plucked the cover off and dropped the battery in. “Are you sure about this? Didn’t you say they could track us this way?”

She shrugged. “We’ll have to chance it before we get much farther. Can you find the last text that came in and send it to your phone?”

Hmmm, pretty and smart. He scrolled through, forwarded the text to his own phone and when he heard the ding, he pulled the battery out of her phone again. “Done,” he said, stuffing the items back in her bag. “You said my life’s in danger. Who’s chasing us?”

“I assume it’s one of the local cartels. They phoned me this morning.”

“How long ago?” There was a hell of a lot he didn’t know and he needed to get up to speed. The gash in the driver’s throat floated back into his vision. What he’d stumbled on hadn’t been an accident. He had a faint memory of the EMTs scrambling to get him out of there, insisting they drive out without headlights, but after that … pretty much nothing. Except pain, bright lights and the merciful floating sensation of the pain being taken away.

“About a minute before I woke you up.” She pulled over to the curb as they approached the exit onto the highway, and held her hand out for his phone. He found the text and passed it over.

He pushed his hand back through his hair, toying with the fringe around his forehead that was fried in the fire. He knew if he looked in a mirror his eyelashes and probably eyebrows would also be singed. At least he knew they’d grow back in the next couple of months. War wounds. He was so fair, they were barely noticeable anyway. “Where are we headed? Can’t we just make a run for the border?”

“We’ll be too exposed on this highway.” Her head was down, studying the text. “How’s your memory?”

He chuckled. “In general, not too bad. But if you’re asking about last night, it’s pretty fuzzy.”

“No, just keep these numbers in your head while I switch apps.” She called out the co-ordinates and swiped left. “Now give them back to me.” He did and she punched them into the GPS. “We’re good to go - you navigate.” When she passed the phone back, her fingers brushed his. Color flared in her cheek. She might be all business but she was also all woman. He shifted in his seat as his body reacted. She dropped the little Toyota into gear and entered traffic on the highway. At the first opportunity, she turned south back the way they’d come.

Dal studied the screen. They were heading east to the mountains. “This route is going to take us east, not north. Where are you taking me?

“My boss is sending us to a safe house.”

“But this route will take us right through town. Is that wise?”

“I don’t think we have a choice. The town is basically a grid. So we’ll come in a couple of blocks north or a couple of blocks south of the main drag. That will give us some cover. Oh shit.”

He followed her gaze. Ahead, on the far side of the highway, stood the auto hotel where they’d spent the last few hours. Two black SUVs, completely tricked out with additional chrome and fully tinted windows, roared down the service road and spun into the hotel. “Jesus.”

She stomped on the accelerator and dropped the car into fifth. He didn’t say a word. This time, he was all for more speed.