The Evasion (13 page)

“Why?”

Why?
Um, because you’re about to get blown up?
How was she supposed to answer? “Ma’am, please. We’re working on a training exercise. The bomb squad is detonating a bomb in the pond.”

“What? In the middle of the afternoon? Are they crazy? We paid good money for that pond. And what about the statue?”

“The county is reimbursing the town.”

Mark of a good lawyer. Fast on her feet.

“Well, in that case. It’s a shame though. We just got that statue.”

Jo sighed and waved the woman along before planting herself on the curb near the square. The sheriff would have to deal with the fallout of Jo’s lie, but someone dying would be a lot harder to explain.

A second police cruiser screamed around the corner, lights flashing, and a young—really young—deputy screeched to a halt in the middle of the street.

“You’ll need to barricade this street,” Jo said.

“Ma’am, you need to move.”

She patted her hand in the air, but she wasn’t moving until Gabe got rid of that bomb and came back with his big, beautiful body intact. “I know, Deputy. I know.”

In the square, the sheriff moved from bench to bench, clearing pedestrians. The last two were occupied, one by a couple, the second by a dark-haired man. Did they not see the sheriff shooing people? Or the giant man carrying a pipe bomb?

“People,” she hollered. “You need to leave this area!”

The couple looked at her and she pointed at Gabe moving closer to them. Their heads slowly swiveled and stopped. Any second now it would sink in.

Any.

Second.

Now.

And they’re off
. The couple bolted off the bench and ran like hell.
Finally
. Staying behind was the dark-haired man, who apparently had a death wish and wanted to watch Gabe blow the town square to smithereens. Unbelievable. Jo took two steps and he turned, facing her dead on.

Him.

Her chest locked up, the pressure building and building until the squeeze in her ribcage cut off her air and her heart damn near burst.

Martinson fast walked to the opposite end of the square.
Nuh, nuh, nuh.
Another three feet and Gabe would be at the pond. That timer had to be close now. Could Martinson even get out of the square before it went off? If he did, they’d be left hunting him all over again.

She tore into the square, running harder than she had in a long time, the sound of her loafer heels smacking against the bricks. Her gaze bounced between Gabe and Martinson.
Get him, get him, get him
. Just as she reached the edge of the pond, Gabe swung his arm, sending the pipe sailing.

Not much time.
Don’t get distracted
. Martinson cleared the opposite end of the square. Adrenaline kicked in, giving her an added push as her long legs devoured the space between her and Martinson. She’d never been a runner. Or any kind of an athlete for that matter, but this? Too much. This maniac had to pay.

Martinson glanced over his shoulder—catastrophic mistake. It slowed him down enough for her to get within a couple of feet.

“Jo,” Gabe shouted from behind her. “Get out of—”

Boom!

Huge flumes of water shot straight in the air, the blast knocking her to the ground with enough force that her loafers flew off her feet. When the wave broke, the weight of it landed like bricks pounding her back, over and over, making her gasp. Crushing pain swept through her. She opened her mouth but only sucked more water.
Drowning
.
Help me
. After a long span of time that could have been a minute or five seconds, the water stopped. She lifted her head, opened her mouth again and gagged, her chest and stomach wrenching as the trapped water gushed from her throat.

Her ears clanged and she shook her head, took stock of the sudden pain in her elbow. She’d fallen on it. Didn’t matter. One at a time, she waggled her feet, shifted her legs. All working. Nothing broken. Just the ringing. She scanned the space in front of her where Martinson lay, moving slowly but pushing himself to all fours. One of her shoes had landed beside him. Ferocious blast.

Get him
. Jo lunged, one giant leap to her feet before he could get away and she dove on him.

“Crazy bitch!”

He rolled and she countered by shifting to the side, forcing him back down. Height-wise he only had an inch on her but he definitely outweighed her. Could probably pin her if she let him, which she wouldn’t do because this jerk had humiliated her, made her look like a fool in front of the mayor of New York.

And he’d almost blown Gabe up.

You’re so dead
.

Martinson rolled again and knocked Jo off balance, her body half on him, half off. Her shoe, the Barelli loafer with the solid wood heel, lay inches away. She’d like to mash his skull with that heel. Just beat him senseless.

And why not? The man had terrorized her by locking her in a burning building
and
strapping a bomb to her.

She picked up the shoe, held it with the heel out and squeezed, let all her rage—the fire, the bomb, Gabe in danger—funnel into her hand.
Bastard
. She raised the shoe over her head, swung wide and the heel connected with a sickening
thunk
to the back of Martinson’s head.

“Ow!” he hollered.

Ow?
Ow
. He had no idea the pain she’d cause. No idea. “You think this hurts? You could have killed us. Stupid bastard.”

Bam!
She smacked him again, and then again. “You’re going to prison. I don’t care how long it takes.”
Bam!
“I love that man and you almost killed him.”

Bam!
Martinson lifted his hands to protect his head and she smacked the shoe against his knuckles. After what he’d put them through, she wanted him to feel pain, like fangs tearing at his skin, she wanted him to feel it.
Bam!
She hit him again.

A second later, an arm—Gabe’s—came around her waist and she went airborne, kicking out but failing.

“Relax, Counselor.”

Jo inhaled long and deep and an enormous pressure slammed against the back of her eyes.
I’m insane, right now
. Her vision blurred into hazy white lines and she exhaled, tried to focus on something, anything other than killing Martinson, now getting to his feet.

“He’s going,” she yelled.

Gabe set her down, reached across and grabbed Martinson by the shirt before shoving him to the ground and planting his knee in Martinson’s back. “If you move I’ll shoot you.”

“Shoot him anyway,” Jo muttered, breathing hard as the ringing in her ears clanged on. She stooped low and—
bam!
—whacked him again.

“Ow!”

“What the hell is wrong with you? Smuggling counterfeit merchandise is one thing, but you could have blown half this town away. Idiot.” She smacked him on the non-bloody side of his head and he lifted his hands to shelter himself from another attack.

She may have looked like a lunatic clubbing him with a shoe, but by the blood seeping from the back of his head, she’d gotten her point across. Martinson, his hands still hovering, lowered his cheek to the ground.

“Okay,” Gabe said. “Crazy blonde lady, you need to back off.” He shooed her back. “Go on.”

Seeing the hard look in his eyes, recognizing it as the one that happened right before his famous temper blew, she obliged. He wasn’t fun when mad. A shout came from behind and she turned, taking in the destruction. Instead of gently swaying water, only a giant, muddy puddle remained. The edge of the pond, amazingly enough, remained mostly intact. Thankfully, the blast had been contained. The sheriff stood in the street, where the brass statue she’d admired had landed on his deputy’s cruiser, the impact crushing the roof.

Holy moly, that was a sight.

Somehow, they’d managed to get through the explosion with no injuries. Her ears might ring for days, but she was alive.

And so was Gabe.

“Sheriff!” Gabe shouted “Handcuffs!”

They’d finally caught Martinson and didn’t have anything to cuff him with. At some point she might find it funny. “Seriously? No handcuffs?”

“They’re in my go-bag. I had a bomb in my hands and was busy saving your life. What was I supposed to do?”

Point there.

Under Gabe’s knee, Martinson squirmed.

“Keep wiggling,” Jo said, “and I’ve got another shoe begging for a crack at you.”

Gabe grinned. So she was crazy.
Sue me
.

Across the expanse of the square, the sheriff got his mojo on and did some kind of quasi run-walk thing. Really, she didn’t care. She just wanted a vision of Martinson in cuffs.

As he approached, the sheriff spotted Martinson’s bloody and matted hair, halted and gave Gabe a heated look.

Oh, no. Jo wanted credit for this one. “He didn’t touch him.” She reached down, pulled her shoe off and waved it. “That was all me.”

“Jo, stop talking. Now.”

Said the hot sergeant to the lawyer.
This is a switch
. “No. He’s not going to blame you for this.”

The sheriff stared up at the sky and shook his head before signaling Gabe off their prisoner. “Let me cuff him.”

Gabe rose to his feet, let the sheriff step in. “All yours.”

She flapped her hand. “Sheriff, don’t give that slippery bastard an inch of room.”

Not appreciating her comment, Gabe shushed her. “Swear to god, if you hadn’t just escaped death, I’d kill you.”

What? “I’m just saying.”

The sheriff grunted. “Both y’all need to pipe down.”

Within seconds, the sheriff hauled Martinson to his feet, Mirandized him and glanced back at them, his face an array of interesting colors. “I should wrench y’all with a hosepipe.”

Gabe’s bottom lip curved out and he tilted his head as the sheriff pushed Martinson toward the street, where a crowd of rubberneckers gathered.

Hosepipe.
What the heck? “What do you suppose he means by that?”

“How should I know? They speak a different fucking language down here. It’s like being in a foreign country.”

She stepped closer, linked her arm through his and snuggled in as she swept her gaze over the crater of mud where the pond had been just minutes ago. Slowly, the full force of what they’d done sunk in and the cold punch of a fist rammed her in the chest, trapping her air. She opened her mouth, rasped out a breath.

They’d almost failed. Almost lost it all.

Gabe freed his arm, slid his hand over her waist to her back and squeezed. “You okay?”

At the entrance to the square, the sheriff angled Martinson toward his car—the undamaged one. She watched him load his prisoner into the vehicle and for the first time, wondered if nabbing Martinson had been worth all they’d almost lost.

What’s wrong with me?

Six weeks ago, she’d have risked anything to catch the elusive smuggler. Now? Looking at Gabe, hero that he was, the man that fit her better than Barelli loafers, she wasn’t sure how far was too far.

Mr. August had ruined her.

“Jo?”

She nodded. “I’m good. I love you. That’s all.”

He dipped his head low and kissed her. Soon they’d go home and all this PDA would be tamped down, locked away again. Pity that. But they’d agreed to make changes. To go out more, take weekends outside of the city. Meet the folks.

Progress. Even if it was small.

Gabe pulled back from the kiss, ran his hand over her hair and gently tugged. “I love you too. Let’s go home.”

Chapter Ten

“You were damned lucky, that’s all.”

Tom was well into the ten-minute mark of a scathing lecture. Gabe and Jo sat in front of his desk, absorbing the reprimand like bad children in the principal’s office. With the way Tom speared his index finger at them, that digit might require physical therapy when this was over.

Less than twenty-four hours ago, they’d captured Martinson, who was now caught in a dogfight between the states of New York and South Carolina over whose justice system would have the first crack at him.

For Gabe, it didn’t matter. All he knew was Martinson, along with his assistant, Thelma, was behind bars, their huge shipment of counterfeit goods seized and their smuggling operation brought to a halt.

Not bad.

“It was my fault,” Jo said.

Gabe shot her a look. With Tom, there were times to speak and times to shut the hell up. This would be one of the times to shut the hell up.

“Your fault?” Tom mocked.

Yep.
Here we go.

“Well, Joanna—
Ms.
Pomeroy—I appreciate that, but let’s analyze this. My sergeant, an appointed member of a mayoral task force, escorted you to South Carolina. The two of you were supposed to
assist
local law enforcement. I believe that was fairly clear.”

Ouch.
This getting reamed by the boss was starting to get old.

“Instead,” Tom continued, “the two of you went off on your own, investigating, threatening witnesses, blowing up a town square, destroying police property and, for your final act, almost getting killed.”