Unlawful Contact (21 page)

It was strange to think that three weeks ago her biggest worry had been saving enough money to pay David’s spring tuition. Now she was on the brink of losing everything she’d worked for—her income, her seat on the I-Team, the respect of her peers. She was facing felony charges, spending tuition money on bail, hiding from both the good guys and the bad guys, having soul-shattering sex with a known fugitive, coming perilously close to falling in love with said fugitive, and lying to her friends—not to mention wigging out in a drugstore.

Her life was an out-of-control mess. What had happened?

Deodorant. Disposable razors. Shaving cream.

Of course, she knew what had happened, or rather
who
. He sat a block down the street in a
borrowed
black Jaguar looking criminally sexy in a pair of faded jeans, a denim jacket, and a black turtleneck, a loaded weapon in his pocket. Marc Hunter had forced his way into her life at gunpoint, bringing chaos and catastrophe with him, turning her world upside down, making her feel things for him she shouldn’t feel.

Damn you, Hunt! Damn you!

She didn’t mean it, not really. She couldn’t blame Hunt for her situation. Not entirely. He’d known someone was after his sister, had known no one would believe him, and he’d done what he had to do to protect Megan and her baby. It was desperation that had led him to put a gun to Sophie’s head and drag her into this nightmare, not a perverse desire to destroy her life. Now he seemed to think it was his job to protect her.

Of course, it wasn’t as if she herself were blameless. She could’ve gone back on her word and told Julian everything she knew about Hunt and Megan three weeks ago. She could’ve turned Hunt over to the police any number of times—when he’d broken into her apartment, when he’d followed her to the restaurant, when he’d showed up in the courtroom. He hadn’t been holding a gun to her head any of those times. No, she’d made her own decisions.

Hand lotion. Facial cleanser. Moisturizer.

Yes, she’d made her own decisions. Last night, she’d impulsively gotten in the car with him instead of going to Tessa and Julian’s house. Hunt hadn’t forced her to come. He hadn’t forced her to kiss him, and he certainly hadn’t forced her to make love with him. In fact, she had initiated that part of it on her own. She’d been so upset, so afraid, and he’d been there for her, listening to her, doing his best to comfort her, holding her, his body so hard and strong and warm, his embrace a refuge. And suddenly she’d wanted him so badly, needed him so badly, that nothing else had mattered.

It had been a mistake, a terrible mistake, but she couldn’t bring herself to regret it, probably because it hadn’t
felt
like a mistake. It had felt…so right. Astonishing. Perfect. Just as he’d done twelve years ago, Hunt had given her everything she’d needed and more, taking her to a place no other man had taken her.

You’re in love with him, Alton!

No! Oh, no! No, no, she wasn’t! Falling in love with him would be the stupidest thing she could possibly do. It didn’t matter that he had a body like a Greek statue and made love like a god. It didn’t matter that he was a strong and decent man who’d served his country, protected his sister, and turned himself in when he’d killed the man who’d raped her. It didn’t matter that the drugs had been a setup and that his sentence exceeded his crime. In the eyes of the law, he was a cold-blooded murderer, drug dealer, and an escaped fugitive.

And unless he was very lucky, the law would catch up with him.

Fighting back a wave of queasiness, Sophie glanced down at her list, suddenly unable to remember what she’d been looking for.
Shampoo.
Hair stuff.

She couldn’t stand the thought of Hunt being locked away in prison for the rest of his life. Other than answering her questions this morning, he hadn’t told her a thing about it, and yet she knew he carried more with him than just physical scars. He’d come unglued when she’d suggested that he’d had sex with men, all but admitting that he’d been assaulted. And this morning there’d been an edge to his voice, his pain so palpable that Sophie had hurt, too.

There are good days, and there are bad days, and then there are days where you think you might go fucking insane because you think of all the things you’ll never see and do again.

He’d done a terrible thing, yes, but what Cross had done had been even more terrible. And although Cross’s crimes didn’t justify Hunt’s violent response, what brother wouldn’t lose control or be tempted to pull the trigger under those circumstances?

Either he would get away to Mexico with Megan and Emily, or Sophie would do everything in her power to see that he got a new trial. It wouldn’t be easy for Megan to sit on the stand and tell the world what Cross and his accomplice had done to her, but it couldn’t be any worse than the life sentence her brother would endure otherwise. Surely Megan cared about what happened to Marc. That’s how brothers and sisters were.

When Sophie had called David from the courthouse, he’d told her to do whatever she needed to do with the money she’d saved and not to worry about him. Then he’d offered to get on the next flight. But he’d already given up a week of his semester taking care of her, and she didn’t want her problems to impact him. She had insisted he stay in California and focus on horses. Each of them had been thinking of the other.

Certainly Marc had done all he could for Megan and then some. It was time for Megan to step up to do her part.

Shampoo. Conditioner. A brush and comb. Elastic bands. A barrette.

She glanced down at the list, then threaded her way back to the pharmacy counter, only one thing left on her list. “A packet of Plan B, please.”

She took the box from the pharmacist, grabbed a box of condoms, then carried the heavy basket to a checkout lane up front, the knot of dread in her chest growing tighter.

She didn’t want to do this. She didn’t want to lie to Tessa. She’d tried to make herself feel better reminding herself that Tessa had once lied to her, denying flat-out her plans to head into Aurora to question gang members despite the price on her head. If not for Julian, Tessa would have died that day, shot down in the streets. Sophie had shouted at her for a full five minutes when Tessa had finally checked in, shaken but unhurt.

But still the memory did nothing to assuage Sophie’s sense of guilt.

She watched the cashier ring up her order, then handed over her credit card.

“That’ll be one-ten-twenty-eight on your Visa.” The cashier ran the card, then handed Sophie the slip to sign.

Sophie scrawled her signature. And then it was time.

She carried her three plastic shopping bags toward the exit to the pay phones, then fished three quarters out of her coat pocket. She picked up the receiver, dropped the quarters in the slot, and dialed Tessa’s number, feeling almost sick.

The phone rang twice before Tessa answered.

“Hi, Tess. It’s Sophie.”

“Sophie? Oh, thank God! Where are you? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. I’m so sorry I never showed up yesterday. I decided to check into a hotel, and I fell asleep the moment I got into the room.” Why did it sound so convincing when Hunt said it, but so ridiculous when she said it?

“My God, Sophie! Do you know how worried we’ve been?” Tessa’s voice broke, and Sophie knew she must be close to tears. “After everything that’s happened I was afraid you were facedown in a ditch somewhere! Julian has the whole force looking for you!”

Sophie cringed at the anger in Tessa’s voice, knowing it was the result of hours of unnecessary worry. “I’m so sorry! The moment I woke up I realized what I’d done. I was just so upset when I left the paper. The new publisher suspended me, and I hadn’t slept at all in jail…I don’t even know what to say. I’m really sorry.”

Some of the anger left Tessa’s voice. “As long as you’re safe, that’s the important thing. God, I’m so relieved! Where are you? I’ll come pick you up so I can yell at you some more.”

“N-no, Tessa. I can’t stay with you. I don’t want you or the baby or Julian to get hurt.”

“Don’t be silly! Julian wouldn’t let anything happen to any of us. You know that.” Tessa paused. “If you’re at a hotel, why does my caller ID say ‘pay phone’? Where’s your cell? Sophie, what’s going on?”

It sucked trying to lie and keep secrets when your friends were investigative reporters.

“My cell battery ran out, and I just popped into the drugstore to buy a few things. I’m afraid to go home and just need to be someplace where no one can find me. It’s the only way any of us will be safe. I’ll check in when I can. I’m so sorry, Tessa. Tell Julian how sorry I am. I didn’t mean to cause you any trouble. I have to go now.”

“Sophie, wait! What—”

Tears pricking her eyes, Sophie hung up the phone, guilt making her empty stomach churn. It was for the best, she told herself. This way, Tessa and her baby wouldn’t be in danger, and she and Hunt would be able to work together to find Megan and Emily. Yes, it was best for everyone this way.

Then why do you feel like the world’s worst traitor, Alton?

Her vision blurred by tears, Sophie turned away from the phone, picked up her shopping bags, and hurried out into the cold wind.

M
ARC COULD SEE
she was crying even before she reached the car. He didn’t have to ask why. Twelve years ago, she’d been unwilling to lie to her grandmother about where she’d spent the night. Today, she’d had to lie to her best friend about the same thing—but for much different reasons. It wasn’t lost on Marc that both times revolved around him.

Bringing happiness to the people he cared most about—that’s what he did.

Yeah, you’re a ray of goddamned sunshine, Hunter.

He got out of the car, opened her door, and took the bags from her hands, dropping a kiss on her forehead. “It’s cold. Get in.”

He stuck the bags in the back, then got behind the wheel, started the engine, and pulled an illegal U-turn to keep the Jag off the drugstore’s outdoor surveillance cameras. Beside him, Sophie sat in silence, huddled in her coat, tears glistening on her cheeks.

He cranked the heater. “How’d it go?”

She shook her head, sniffed, wiped the tears from her face. “Tessa was really upset. I don’t think she believed me. She started asking questions, and…
I hung up on her
.”

Her voice dropped to a distressed whisper at the end, her unhappiness an indictment.

He let go of the gearshift, took her cold hand in his, gave it a squeeze. “You’ve got good friends. At least you know that she and her baby are safe.”

“Yeah.”

“That Julian is one determined cop.” Determined was only half of it. The man obviously had the instincts of a wolf and didn’t hesitate to follow them. “Look.”

From around the corner came two squad cars, running silent, lights flashing. They were headed straight for the drugstore.

Sophie’s eyes went wide with surprise as the cars tore past them. Then she looked over at Marc, a stunned look on her sweet face. She was having trouble keeping up with the situation, he knew. She wasn’t used to this, wasn’t used to living on the other side of the law. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to make a mistake that would cost both of them.

It was time to get down to business.

Marc downshifted and pulled to a stop at a red light. “I know your head must be spinning, Sophie, but we need to talk.”

S
OPHIE COMBED THE
tangles from her towel-dried hair. It felt weird to use some stranger’s bathroom like this—what was with all the blue plastic fish on the wall?—but she was grateful finally to have had a hot shower, even a stolen one. She’d still been able to smell jail on her skin, even after a night of sleeping in Hunt’s arms. It was heaven to be clean again—and to have time to think things through.

Hunt had taken time on the drive back from the drugstore to bring her up to date on reality, dragging the shadows she’d held at the periphery of her thoughts to center stage. She couldn’t leave the house alone for any reason. She couldn’t open the curtains or play loud music. She couldn’t use her cell phone or the landline. All communication with her attorney, her friends, and the newspaper would have to take place via the Internet relay Hunt had set up. She couldn’t use her credit card. In short, she couldn’t do anything that would lead anyone to her—or to this address.

“I’ve looked for Megan everywhere, and I haven’t found her. Somewhere in this house, there must be information about Megan’s childhood, something that might tell us where she’s hiding. You can help me find it. We’ll search room by room, tear this place apart if we have to.”

“What if we find nothing?”

He’d ignored her question. “In the meantime, we stay out of sight except to follow solid leads or bring home supplies. This is the real thing, Sophie. If the good guys find us, I go back to prison and Megan ends up dead. If the bad guys find us, we’re all dead. Think of this as protective custody.”

Protective custody.

She knew Hunt wanted her with him so he could keep her safe. She knew, too, that she needed protection. If the heroin in her car hadn’t driven that point home, then the midnight visit in jail certainly had. But staying with Hunt meant she was breaking the law—several laws, actually. Of course, Hunt’s solution for that problem was as irritating as it was simple. If the cops caught up with them, she’d become his hostage again. Sophie didn’t like that plan one bit, despite Hunt’s insistence that the cops couldn’t do anything to him they hadn’t already done.

“They can shoot you,” she’d pointed out. “They can kill you.”

Julian already suspected Hunt was at the heart of this. He probably believed that Hunt was coercing her in some way. And that meant he believed Hunt was in Denver
and
that he would have men on the streets looking for him. Not a good thing. If the two of them ever faced each other…

God, she couldn’t even think about that.

She couldn’t stop thinking about that.

Hunt wouldn’t pull the trigger unless he felt he had no choice, but that wasn’t going to matter. Julian had a hard-earned grudge against criminals who hurt women. Knowing Hunt was armed, Julian wouldn’t hesitate to shoot if given cause—like the sight of Hunt holding a gun to her head—and that meant things were likely to get deadly fast.

She couldn’t let that happen.

It was time she got focused again. The only way she could help Hunt or Megan or herself was to find the man who’d helped Cross brutalize Megan—and expose him. She couldn’t do that if she was feeling sorry for herself or obsessing about things that might never happen. She was an investigative journalist, and it was time she went back to treating this like she would any other investigation.

She would sit down this afternoon, go through her notes, and talk through them with Hunt, getting his impressions and ideas. Then she’d e-mail Tom and find out whether DOC had responded to her request for the report. She was willing to bet they hadn’t. The moment they’d heard of her arrest, they’d probably tossed her CORA request in the trash. If so, that was their mistake.

Making a to-do list in her head, she finished combing her hair, put on her makeup, and slipped into the blue cotton T-shirt and gray boxer briefs Hunt had given her to wear until her clothes made it through the washer and dryer. Then she took the packet of Plan B out of the bag and opened it, reading quickly through the directions.

She’d never had to use it before because she’d always been ultracareful—no mistakes, no lapses, no slipups. But last night had taken her completely by surprise in so many ways—how badly she’d needed him, how intense the sex had been, how connected she’d felt to him from the first kiss until she’d fallen asleep with his arms wrapped around her. She hadn’t thought about protection until this morning.

Which is probably why they call it the morning-after pill.

She read the directions, then walked out to the kitchen to get a glass of water, pill pack in hand, the grinding beat of Nine Inch Nails drifting up from the basement where Hunt was lifting weights. She searched the cupboards till she found a drinking glass, filled it with water, and popped the first pill from the packet into her hand. The drug wasn’t foolproof, but it was her only option now that…

I always wanted…to be a father…to have a family.

She brought the pill to her lips, then hesitated, Hunt’s words coming back to her. Once the police caught him—and it could happen at any moment—it would be over. He would never have another chance to do what they’d done last night. He would never again have the chance to make love, to lose himself inside a woman, to make her pregnant. He would never have another chance to be father, and she would never have another chance to…

Have Hunt’s baby?

God, she could
not
be thinking what she was thinking!

The pounding of her pulse, the little wave of dizziness told her that she was.

But she couldn’t have a baby now. Her entire life was a mess. Bad guys, good guys, heroin, prison, guns—all that stuff. If she lost her job, if she lost her career, she wouldn’t even have the means to support a child. And if she was exonerated and got her job back, how would she handle working at the paper with a newborn? If she went to prison…

She stared at the pill where it lay, bright white, in her palm.

What if right now egg and little spermy were on a collision course? What if they were about to merge? What if she was only hours away from becoming pregnant?

This pill could stop it all.

That’s what she wanted, wasn’t it? Of course, it was!

No
way
had she gone to college to wind up being some man’s babymama, even if that man were Hunt. Hadn’t she thought through this the other night at the grocery store? Yes, she had—although pregnancy had been part of a little fantasy then, not a real possibility.

Sophie put her hand on her belly, imagined it getting big and round like Tessa’s, Hunt’s baby growing inside her. Her womb clenched, signaling its approval, a shiver of something like desire pulsing through her pelvis. Obviously, her biological self was into the idea.

But what about the baby? He or she would grow up without a father, either because daddy was living in Mexico or rotting in prison…or worse. Sophie had witnessed firsthand the shame that children of inmates carried with them—the stigma, the anger, the isolation. It wouldn’t be fair to bring a baby into this mess.

There’s no “happily ever after” for us, sprite. There’s now. Only now.

She raised her hand to her mouth, dropped the pill onto her tongue, took a mouthful of water…and spat it in the sink.

The pill slid into the garbage disposal and was irretrievably gone.

Quickly, as if afraid she might change her mind, Sophie popped the second pill from the packet and dropped it into the sink, too. Then she turned on the faucet.

Heart pounding, she shut off the water, turned away from the sink, and leaned back against the counter, trying to catch her breath and wondering if she was crazy.

God, what had she just done?

C
OVERED WITH SWEAT
, still feeling the burn in his muscles, Marc headed upstairs to the kitchen and found Sophie in journalist mode, arranging manila folders, newspaper clippings, and documents on the dining room table, a determined look on her face. His old T-shirt was baggy on her, but she was wearing the
hell
out of his boxers, the curves of her ass putting a stretch on that cotton that knocked the breath from his lungs.
Jesus!

He walked over to the sink, filled a glass with cold water, and guzzled, trying to get his mind back where he needed it to be. He’d have thought that making love with her last night would have taken some of the edge off his raging libido. Instead, it seemed to have made that edge sharper, his senses fine-tuned to her—her scent, her mood, every move she made. He was more sexually revved than he’d ever been, as if finally tasting sex after six years had sent his balls into testosterone overload.

Bullshit, Hunter. This is about Sophie. You’re in love with her.

Okay, he could knock
that
shit off right now. Even if it were true, Sophie would never feel the same thing for him—a convict with a life sentence. She wasn’t stupid. The last thing she needed was some
loser
hanging on her. And no matter what he felt for her, he hadn’t broken out of prison to find romance. He was supposed to be finding Megan and Emily.

Get your priorities straight.

That’s obviously what Sophie was doing. She looked up from her work and gave him a little smile. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Marc filled his glass again, his gaze drawn to her ass, heat skimming through his belly. “Looks like you’re getting organized.”

She nodded. “I’m trying, anyway. I’m just hoping I brought everything with me. I was so upset when I left the paper that I couldn’t think straight.”

Marc leaned back against the counter and drank, listening as she worried out loud about the files she wished she’d downloaded from her computer. When he sat the glass down, his hand brushed over something. He glanced down and saw a torn purple and green packet.

It looked vaguely familiar, so he picked it up, turning it over in his fingers, reading the label:
Plan B Levonorgestrel Emergency Contraceptive.

She must have brought it from home. Except that she hadn’t been home.

Shit.

He held it up, cut off whatever she was saying. “Please tell me you didn’t buy this at the drugstore this morning.”

She glanced over, then her eyes went wide. She looked toward the sink, then away. “Of course, I did. It was my only option—”

“God, I wish you’d asked me first!”

Her gaze snapped back to his. “
Asked
you? I hardly think I need your permission.”

She didn’t get it. She didn’t understand.

Marc took a deep breath. “That’s not what I mean. God knows, I wouldn’t blame you for doing everything possible to prevent yourself from having a baby by me. In fact, I owe you an apology. I should have used a condom last night, and I’m sorry I failed you, Sophie.”

She hugged her arms across her chest, as if to soothe herself. “You’re not the only one to blame. I should have—”

“No, condoms are the man’s responsibility.”

She blinked, turned pinker. “Well, I, um…I bought some of those, too.”

He groaned, wishing to God he’d thought to warn her. He walked over to her, put his hands on her shoulders. “Do you realize that your friend Julian now knows you’re with a man?”

Her eyes went wide again, and she paled. “What?”

“The surveillance tapes. The pharmacist.” Marc watched understanding dawn on her face. “If Julian viewed the tapes or had his men question the staff, and I’m certain he did, he knows what you bought. He knows you’re with a man, and I’ll bet my ass he suspects it’s me.”

She dropped her forehead against his sweaty chest. “God, I’m an idiot!”

He stroked her hair, kissed it, the feminine scent of her shampoo sending another pulse of heat through him. “No, you’re not. This is just different than anything you’ve done before. All you had to do was ask, and I’d have gone out last night or early this morning to get whatever you needed. This isn’t about me controlling you; it’s about staying safe. If they find us together, I’ve got no choice now but to play out the hostage scenario. I won’t let them punish you for this.”

“And I won’t hide behind you.”

“I knew you were going to say something stupid like that. But, sweetheart, here’s the thing about hostages: they don’t get a choice.”

“I
THINK THAT’S
everything.” Sophie studied the time line she and Hunt had put together on a sheet of poster board she’d found in the basement. “Chronology is our friend.”

Hunt sat at the dining table beside her, wearing nothing but a pair of faded, low-slung jeans and aftershave, his hair tousled from his shower. He read through the time line, a thoughtful frown on his clean-shaven face, while she tried hard not to ogle him. “What’s next?”

“Now we go through each event, listing questions, observations, and ideas and see if anything connects. After that, we ought to know which leads we want to follow first.”

“Okay.” He nodded, an almost amused look on his face. As a former agent, he was indulging her, she knew. He was letting her show him how she handled an investigation.

Sophie fought to keep her mind on their work. “The first thing that pops for me is the whole cocaine-in-the-crawl-space thing. The police searched your home the day you killed Cross, didn’t they?”

He leaned back and stretched one powerful arm across the chair to his right, exposing his army crest tattoo and revealing his chest and six-pack in their full, heart-stopping glory. Did he know what he was doing to her, or was he as oblivious as he seemed? “Yes, they searched it. The first time they found nothing, but they didn’t enter the crawl space, and they didn’t use dogs. That’s how they managed to convince the jury it had been there all along.”

Sophie stood, walked into the kitchen as much to make herself another cup of tea as to escape the shimmering cloud of sexual heat that seemed to surround him. “So someone planted it there after the shooting and then orchestrated a second search with dogs—maybe called in a tip or pretended to have new evidence against you.”