car. Did the woman know more than she’d revealed? Who were the Mexicans who came onto the scene? Were they working with Chad? Chad’s killers would’ve pursued her and killed her—unless they died at the scene themselves.
Trust Chad to involve a woman. He probably slept with her. Chad could just about get any woman to do anything for him after he took her to bed. In their line of work that talent definitely had its uses.
Justin eyed her slender form half buried in the trunk as she clawed through its contents, probably searching for the dead man. Chad always did have good taste in women.
Her head popped up, a tangled mass of blond curls framing her flushed face. “He was in here. I swear.”
He said, “Maybe he wasn’t dead. Maybe he just walked away. Did you see any wounds on the body, any blood? You check his pulse?”
Her deep blue eyes mirrored her confusion. “No, I didn’t want to touch him.”
He shot back, “Then how’d you know he was dead?”
She raked her hand through her hair. “I—I…He was in the trunk,” she finished lamely.
“So?” The woman had about as much sense as a kitten in the rain. He squelched an urge to brush a lock of hair from her eye. The sooner he sent her on her way, the better.
Glancing back down at the gaping trunk now disgorging its contents, she asked, “Why would he be in the trunk otherwise?”
He surveyed the fins, oxygen tank and mask spilling out of the car. Chad didn’t dive. “A man in the trunk of a car close to the U.S.–Mexican border isn’t all that unusual. Maybe he climbed into the trunk when you stopped for food.”
Her brow cleared as she nodded. “I get it. You and Chad aren’t drug smugglers, you’re people smugglers.”
“We are not,” he snapped. Actually, he had a sinking suspicion that the man in the trunk was Chad’s informant. If so, they walked right into a trap. Did the informant somehow escape from the trunk? He had to find him, get information from him.
She smoothed her hands over her face and emerged with a frown tugging at the corners of her full lips. Ever since she’d intruded on his space, her emotions had been galloping across her face in an everchanging kaleidoscope. An unwelcome stab of guilt pricked Justin’s conscience, and an even more unwelcome jolt of desire knotted his gut.
“The less you know about us, the safer it is for you. I’ll help you collect your things from Chad’s car and give you a lift home. Your role in this little drama is over.”
He examined the trunk’s broken lock, which showed signs of tampering. Did the informant escape or did someone follow the woman here and remove him from the trunk? Icy fingers tripped up his spine.
“There’s a trace of blood in here.” As he ran his hands over the inside of the trunk, he heard the rumble of an engine build, its low roar coming closer until tires screeched around the corner. His head shot up. A dark sedan rocketed down the street toward them.
He yelled, “Get down.”
Dragging a bag out of the trunk, she looked up, mouth agape. He tackled her. The car slowed down. He stuffed her under Chad’s car with one hand, reaching for his Glock with the other. A bullet pierced the air, slamming into the curb beside him. He leveled his weapon at the hooded figure leaning out the car window and shot back.
Another bullet whizzed past his ear and clanged against the bumper. The soft body beneath him jerked. He fired once more at the retreating car before it sped around the corner, choking the air with exhaust.
The woman raised her head, her eyes occupying half her face. “Who was that? What’s going on?”
He pulled her up. “Looks like you were followed after all or picked up at the border. Or that’s your dead man taking revenge for his mode of transportation. You okay?”
Before she could answer, a man stepped out on his porch and yelled, “What the hell is going on out here?”
Justin waved his arm. “Just some kids lighting some leftover firecrackers. I chased them off.”
“Damn kids.” The man retreated, banging his screen door behind him.
Still clutching his gun at his side, Justin propelled the woman across the street and into his house. He yanked a duffel bag out of the closet and started shoveling clothes into it.
He said over his shoulder, “We have to get out of here.” Turning, he saw her standing in the middle of the room knotting her hands in front of her.
He had no intention of becoming this woman’s white knight, but he could show her a little courtesy for her trouble. He stopped packing. “Sit down. I’ll get you a soda or something.”
She shot a glance at the window, her breath coming in short spurts. “Will they come back?”
“Not now. They’ll be afraid the gunshots will attract the police, but they won’t stay away for long.” He handed her a can of soda, and she gulped it. He studied her face, its delicate planes creased with anxiety. Damn Chad.
She lifted her eyes to his and the trust shining from them chipped at a hard corner of his heart. “Where are we going?” she asked.
“To safety. Is there anyone expecting you, family, husband?” He held his breath.
Her long, golden lashes swept down to veil her eyes for a moment. “No, I’m not expected back from Mexico for another week.” A grin twisted her lips. “I left early to get a jump on recording my research.”
He returned the grin then finished packing. After dropping his bag by the door, he disconnected his laptop and stowed it in its case. He gave the small house a final glance. He’d have to abandon it, just as he had a few others along the way.
His gaze shifted to the woman on his couch, her feet curled beneath her long tanned legs. She held the can of soda pressed against her cheek, her eyes closed. He realized with a start he didn’t even know her name. How did Chad address her in the letter? Lisa? Lily?
They had a long drive ahead of them, and he had to call her something. “What’s your name?”
She drained the can of soda and answered, “Lila Monroe.” She hesitated. “Justin, why do I have to come with you? Why can’t you just take me home?”
The sound of his name on her lips touched him, and he felt his face shutting down, his barriers rising. He wouldn’t allow himself any messy emotional attachments. He just had a job to do. “We’re not dealing with ordinary criminals here. You don’t want these people discovering who you are, where you live, where your family lives. If I dropped you off at your home now and they followed us, you’d never be safe.”
She breathed out, “I’m scared.”
He stood rooted to the floor, fighting impulses he’d long held at bay. The sincerity of her emotions touched a core within him, a core he guarded and protected with a hardened shell. How had she insinuated herself there so easily?
He picked up his bags. “We need to leave, Lila. You’ll be safe where I’m taking you. Get another soda for the
