Unlawful Contact (15 page)

“Do you know this report really exists?”

Snap out of it, Alton!

Sophie jerked her gaze off Hunt, found Ken watching her. “Well, I…Yes, I do.”

“I asked you
how
you know it exists. Are you okay? You seem really nervous.” Ken’s eyebrows drew together in a concerned frown. He reached out, took her hand in his, gave her fingers a gentle squeeze.

Behind him, Hunt shot out of his chair, fists clenched.

For one terrible moment, she thought he was about to pick a jealous fight and get himself arrested or shot. Then he dropped some money on his table and strode stiffly away, his server running behind him with a takeout box.

Sophie took a deep breath, resisted the urge to jerk her hand from Ken’s grasp. “I just have a lot on my mind. I’m sorry, Ken. I’m not very good company, am I? But back to the report. I almost hesitate to ask, but do you think you can help me get a copy?”

S
OPHIE HURRIED THROUGH
the freezing wind back to her car, fuming.

It was bad enough that Hunt had followed her, but he’d tried to embarrass her, too, licking and sucking his sashimi as if he were licking and sucking some part of her. Did he really think she’d found that sexy? Okay, so maybe it had been erotic in a crude sort of way, and maybe some part of her had responded. But that didn’t mean she’d enjoyed it.

Did he understand how much trouble he’d have been in had Ken recognized him? Did he think he was invincible? Did he realize he’d made it harder for her to get a hold of the very thing he wanted—that bloody report?

Idiot! Jerk! Bastard!

She turned into the parking garage and started down the stairwell, grateful to be out of the biting wind and off the street. She needed to get back to work and talk to legal. Though Ken had promised to do his best to get the report, she wanted to have a plan in place in case they stonewalled him, too.

“I’ll do what I can, but I don’t have the ability to just walk in and take stuff out of their files. I have a process I have to go through, just like you,” he’d explained. “If someone is trying to conceal this report, they’ll probably do their best to make sure I don’t get it either.”

And not for the first time in her career, Sophie found herself wishing she could make herself invisible. She’d be able to walk in, search the files, and take whatever she needed without anyone knowing. Imagine the stories she could break!

She reached her floor, exited the stairwell, and walked to her car. A shiny, black Jaguar had pulled in beside her, its sleek paint job reflecting the overhead lights, its tinted windows reminding her of a limousine. She fished out her keys, half afraid to open her car door for fear of dinging the sleek sports car.

It’s probably worth more than you make in a year, Alton.

She had just stuck her key in the lock and was imaging how many credits of vet school an expensive vehicle like that would cover when the driver’s side door of the Jaguar opened.

“Get in.”

Hunt!

M
ARC SAW THE
astonished look on Sophie’s face and knew what she was going to say before she opened her pretty mouth.

“You stole this!”

“Actually, I borrowed it—from a very distant relative.”

It was the truth. Sort of.

Her eyes narrowed. “You ‘borrowed’ it?”

“We need to talk. Get in.”

“And if I refuse? Will you hold a gun to my head?”

He checked his temper, got out, and walked around to the passenger side of the car where she stood, leaning so close to her that he could smell her shampoo. “Please get in?”

“Fine.” Sophie ducked into the Jag. “But we stay here. I’m not going anywhere with you in this fancy G-ride. You need to steal something less conspicuous.”

“I told you—I didn’t steal it.” He shut the passenger door behind her and a moment later slipped into the driver’s seat beside her. “I borrowed it.”

She looked adorable in her outrage, her gaze fixed straight ahead, her arms crossed over her chest, those kissable lips bent in a frown. He couldn’t blame her for being pissed. He’d pretty much trashed her lunch date.

“You ought to thank me, you know. That guy you were with—”

“Was Megan’s parole officer.” She glared at him. “I was trying to get a copy of the report from him.”

Megan’s parole officer?

Now do you feel like an idiot, Hunter?

Actually, he felt relieved. The thought of Sophie being romantically involved with that middle-aged loser had almost made him hurl. “Why were you trying to get the report from him? I thought DOC had three days—”

“DOC is stalling. They say no such records exist.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“I know, but I can’t prove them wrong unless I have the document in my hand, and if they refuse to give it to me…well, you can see how this goes nowhere fast.”

“So you were trying to charm Megan’s parole officer—hideous mustache, by the way—into getting it for you?”

She was staring straight ahead again. “Yes—if that’s how you want to put it.”

“You were
flirting
with him.”

“Only a little, and he saw through it.” A troubled look crossed her face. “I think I hurt his feelings.”

Marc tried not to feel satisfied. “Is he going to help?”

“He says he’ll do what he can.”

And to think Marc had come close to taking the guy’s head off. He’d seen him take hold of Sophie’s hand, and he’d come out of his seat. Only when he’d realized he was acting like a lunatic had he found the presence of mind to pay the bill and get the hell out of there before he got himself arrested.

“I guess I owe you an apology.”

“For what? For almost getting me killed? For putting me in a position where I have to keep secrets from my friends? For arranging your escape so that I would end up taking some of the blame? For breaking into my apartment? For following me like some crazed stalker? For embarrassing me during my lunch meeting?”

He listened to the inventory of his crimes, wishing it weren’t as bad as it sounded. “Wait a minute—who’s blaming you?”

“Haven’t you been watching the news?”

“No, I’ve spent most of my time on the streets.”

She took a deep breath. “DOC’s internal investigation holds me in part responsible for the fact that you got away. They say I broke protocol by not telling them about the anonymous call asking me to interview you.”

“That’s just DOC covering its own ass. Don’t let it get to you. It’s bullshit, and everyone knows it.”

“You need to listen to talk radio if that’s what you think. Even my publisher believes I did something wrong. For the first time in my career, people doubt me. I’ve worked so hard to get where I am, and I won’t let you ruin it!”

Her words were harsh, but it was despair he heard in her voice, not anger. A look of distress on her sweet face, she stared down at her hands, which were now clasped tightly in her lap. And for a moment he saw not the woman, but the teenage girl who’d once sat, crying and afraid, in the front seat of his old ’55 Chevy.

Something twisted in his chest. He reached over, brushed a stray lock of hair off her cheek, the split second of contact igniting a need for more. “I’m sorry, Sophie.”

She gave an almost inaudible gasp when he touched her, but she didn’t push his hand away. “You’d better be. And that stunt you pulled in the restaurant?”

“Which stunt?” Under some kind of spell, he leaned closer, pressed a kiss to her temple.

Her eyes drifted shut and she slanted toward him almost imperceptibly, apparently as caught up in the spell as he was. “The one where you ate your sashimi…”

He traced his lips over her cheek, caught the whorl of her ear with this tongue. She tasted so damned good. “As if I were eating you?”

She shivered. “It wasn’t sexy.”

He nibbled her earlobe. “Not at all?”

“Mmm.” She tilted her head to the side, gave him access to her throat. “N-no.”

He chuckled at her blatant lie, ran the tip of his tongue along the sensitive skin beneath her ear. “Then I’ll have to practice—on the real thing.”

Her lashes lifted to reveal dilated pupils. “Y-you can’t do that in a sports car!”

“Want to make a bet?” He kissed the corner of her mouth, his cock growing hard at the very idea of going down on her.

“I-I won’t be able to relax. We’re in public!”

“The windows are tinted. And, honey, you won’t have to relax.” He turned in his seat, intending to reach across her and recline her seat back, but his elbow hit the horn.

She gasped—and just like that the spell was broken.

She drew away from him as if he were toxic. “I-I need to get back to the office.”

Some part of him knew she’d be better off if she got into her own car and ditched his ass as fast as she could. The rest of him couldn’t think beyond how much it hurt to stop touching her. He caught her hand, held it, stroked her soft skin with his thumb. “You can’t run away from this, Sophie.”

She glared at him. “I’m not running away from anything.”

“Yes, you are. There’s still something between us—something strong. You want me as much as I want you. Getting out of this car won’t change that. It will just waste time, and time is something I don’t have.”

“I’ll e-mail you if I learn anything.” She jerked her hand free, opened the door, and stepped out of the car. “In the meantime, stay away from me, Marc Hunter.”

T
HERE’S STILL SOMETHING
between us—something strong. You want me as much as I want you. Getting out of this car won’t change that.

Sophie tossed a package of instant oatmeal into her shopping cart, then moved down the aisle, unable to get Hunt’s words out of her mind. It might not have been so difficult if it weren’t for the sinking feeling that what he’d said was true.

You know it’s true.

Okay, so she knew it was true. But that didn’t have to mean anything. She might be attracted to him, but she didn’t have to
act
on that attraction. Just as she’d done this afternoon, she could walk away from it, turn her back, stay focused on what was important—her career, her brother, her friends. There was no room for trouble in her life.

And Hunt was trouble—living, breathing, sexy trouble.

Trouble with a capital
T
—for tongue.

With a few flicks of that skilled body part, he’d turned eating sashimi into foreplay, firing her libido, making every nerve ending in her body wish he were licking and sucking her. She’d actually gotten wet watching him play with his food! And when he’d unleashed that killer mouth on
her
, she’d been a heartbeat away from begging him to go down on her in his “borrowed” Jag.

Thank God he’d bumped the horn!

She turned into the next aisle, stopped in front of the peanut butter, and reached for a jar of the store brand, trying not to notice the more expensive gourmet organic brands sitting a foot away. After David graduated, she’d eat all the organic peanut butter she wanted, but for now this was good enough. She put the jar in her cart and looked at her list to see what she had left.

Bread. Eggs. Milk. Yogurt. Detergent.

She turned her cart around and headed to the far corner, yielding for some poor mother with a very unhappy toddler.

“Tookie! Tookie!” Fat tears rolled down the little girl’s rosy cheeks.

“Hush, Maddy, you’ve already had your free cookie!”

Sophie couldn’t help but smile—sometimes a girl just needed another cookie—until she found herself wondering what her children would look like if Hunt were their father. The thought came out of nowhere, taking her by surprise, and she might have worried about her sanity if she hadn’t remembered Holly’s rule. She could fantasize about anything—as long as she didn’t truly want it.

She certainly didn’t want Hunt to father her children. What woman would? He might be drop-dead sexy, ripped, and phenomenal in bed, but he wasn’t father material. He was an escaped convict, a lifer. Tomorrow or next week or next month the cops would catch up with him and send him back to prison, and that would be the end of everything. The next time he left the state pen, he’d be in a casket.

Time is something I don’t have.

The full meaning of his words hit her, and suddenly it seemed so bitterly tragic—Hunt’s entire life and everything he might have been forfeit because of one terrible, impulsive act. He’d shot Cross in a moment of wild rage and had given up his only defense in order to spare his sister the special humiliation society reserved for rape victims. He’d given up his future out of love for a sister who’d turned his sacrifice into nothing by giving in to addiction.

It was so brutally unfair.

If only there were some way to reopen the case. If only Megan would step forward and tell the court what Cross had done to her. If only there were enough evidence to force the court into giving Hunt a new trial.

And that’s why you need to get a hold of that report.

Megan wouldn’t be safe until the man who was after her had been exposed, and Hunt wouldn’t be able to reclaim any part of his life until Megan felt safe enough to speak out. In the meantime, both Hunt and Megan—and little Emily—lived every day on the edge.

Sophie pulled up into the checkout lane, feeling a renewed sense of urgency. She would call Allyson tomorrow, threaten DOC with a lawsuit. Maybe she’d just show up at the office and demand to search—

“Paper or plastic?”

“Hmm? I have my own bags.” Sophie grabbed the bundle of used plastic bags out of the cart and handed them to the sacker. At five cents per bag, it didn’t save much, but every dime counted when David’s tuition came due.

She paid her grocery bill, pushed the cart out to her rental car, and loaded her groceries into the trunk. Then she crawled into the front seat, started the engine, and headed home, trying to think up other ways she might be able to get the information in the DOC report. She had just turned out of the parking lot and onto East Ninth Street, when the overheads of a police cruiser flashed red and blue in her rearview mirror.

She pulled over so that the squad car could pass—only to find it drawing to a stop behind her. Had she been so deep in thought that she’d run the stop sign? Had she been speeding? Was one of the car’s taillights out?

She fished her driver’s license out of her purse, then leaned over to get her insurance card and rental car agreement out of the glove compartment, the glare of the squad car’s takedown light eliminating any need to turn on her interior lights.

An officer appeared at the front passenger window, flashlight in hand.

Sophie rolled down the window and offered him the required documents. “Good evening, officer. Did I run the stop sign? I hope not!”

Without a word, the officer took the papers and her license and examined them under his flashlight. “Stay in the car, ma’am.”

He turned and walked back to his vehicle to run her license.

“Great.” Sophie sat, doing her best to be patient and wondering what she’d done and how much it would cost her. She hadn’t had a speeding ticket for two years, so maybe he’d let her off with a warning. She couldn’t afford to spend seventy-five dollars on nothing.

Another squad car approached and pulled to the curb in front of her, overheads flashing. Then another. An officer stepped out of each of the new arrivals and converged near the hood of her car, talking quietly to each other and huddling in their jackets.

Three squad cars for a routine traffic stop? Weren’t there any criminals to chase?

After what felt like forever, the officer who’d taken her license reappeared, this time at the driver’s window. “Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to step out of the car.”

And suddenly this routine traffic stop no longer seemed so routine.

Her pulse picking up, Sophie unbuckled her seat belt and did as the officer asked. “Is something wrong?”

But he didn’t answer her. “We’d like your permission to search your vehicle.”

She shivered in her coat. “Search it? Sure, okay. It’s a rental car, but it’s fine with me if you search it. I have groceries in the trunk. Watch out for the eggs.”

One of the other officers guided her to the side of the road and stood beside her. “We’ll need you to stand over here, ma’am.”

Feeling strangely uneasy, Sophie watched as two officers wearing nitrile gloves opened every hatch and door on the vehicle and then stood back to make way for an officer guiding a German shepherd.

A K-9 unit?

They were searching her car for drugs.

The realization was somehow reassuring. If they’d been looking for overdue library books or past-due parking tickets, she might have been nervous. But she’d never done drugs.

Maybe the last person to rent the car had used it to run dope. Maybe that’s why they had pulled her over. The last driver had done something illegal, and the license plate number was on some kind of list. Maybe the cop had pulled her over because she’d done a sloppy job of stopping, and then the plate number had popped when he’d called it in.