but she couldn’t be sure which one. The newspaper’s office was located within a few minutes of a half-dozen different interstates near downtown Houston. But since she couldn’t see out the windows, she had no idea of where they were.
Sloan suddenly reached his long arm over and grabbed her by the front of her sweater, pulling her up and onto the seat. “Buckle up, Ms. Gardner.”
Lainie yelped in protest at being so roughly buffeted, but she turned around and did exactly what she’d been told. After buckling her seat belt, she hung on to the door handle with one hand while bracing herself against the seat with the other. The scenery whizzed by in a blur.
She wasn’t sure she could catch her breath, and silently begged him to stop this madness and pull over. When he did, she owed him a piece of her mind. His driving was scarier than whoever was chasing them.
He whirled his truck past a few speeding cars as if they were standing still, whipping in and out of all three lanes. Lainie checked him out with a speculative glance.
His jaw was set, his dark eyes concentrated on the road. But even in profile, she could see he was easy to look at. If it had been any other time, she’d be interested in getting to know a man who looked as good as this one. With a hard but handsome face, he looked strong and slightly dangerous. Just the way a lawman should. The thought gave her a little thrill, but this wasn’t the time for that, either.
She watched him check the rearview mirror again, and automatically shot a glance behind her through the back window. Sure enough, a plain black van was keeping up with them, just a few cars back.
Yikes! Was this whole thing really connected to the nasty letters she’d been receiving? Lainie had thought they were just a joke—one in very bad taste to be sure, but not terribly scary.
The Houston Police Department hadn’t thought this stalker business was very serious, either. Because, although they’d taken statements from Lainie, her staff and family, the police told her there wasn’t too much they could do unless the writer made an overt move to harm someone. That practical stance had seemed reasonable at the time.
But all this shooting and chasing was certainly overt enough for her now. Silently she thanked heaven for her mother’s old friend, Chet Johnson. At least he’d taken the threat seriously enough to insist on finding a man to be her bodyguard in his off-duty hours.
The idea of a bodyguard had initially seemed silly. She didn’t have time or the patience for such nonsense. In fact, she’d been surprised that her mother made such a big deal over something she’d considered so unimportant.
Maybe Lainie would consider apologizing to her mom now. But it still seemed a little overboard.
“Pros,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “Hang on. We’re about to shake them loose.”
He put his foot on the gas and sped out of the left lane, making the next exit ramp on two wheels and with no room to spare. Without bothering to stop for the light at the bottom of the ramp, he made two quick left turns and headed up the on-ramp going in the opposite direction.
Positive they must’ve lost the van with that move, Lainie caught her breath. Looking into the setting sun, she realized for the first time that they’d been heading east toward Louisiana. And now they were headed…where? Back to the city?
“Where are we going?” she croaked past a dry mouth.
Ignoring her question, he reached inside his jacket and pulled out a mobile phone. He punched in one number, then threw her a narrowed look as he spoke.
She overheard him making some reference to her and the Houston police, and guessed that he was speaking to his boss, Captain Johnson. Lainie was desperate to speak to Chet, too.
“Right. Code twenty-seven. Got it,” he said into the phone. Then he flipped it shut and stashed it.
“Wait! I wanted to talk to him.” She swiveled in her seat and glared at the side of Sloan’s head.
“Sorry.” He didn’t turn but continued to pay attention to the road ahead. “The captain said the Houston police want to talk to us, but they’re going to have to wait until tomorrow. It’s too risky for you to show up at one of the substations right now. Too obvious.”
“But you didn’t ask about my sister. I have to know what happened to her…to everyone.” Lainie was unaccustomed to being out of control.
“The most important thing now is to get you out of sight and keep you alive. The shooting stopped back there when you were removed from the scene.”
She took a calming breath and steadied her voice. “So where are we going?”
“We’re going to ground,” he told her. “Find a nice quiet place. Somewhere no one would think to look for you.”
“Home?” That sounded like a great plan to her. No one would think to look for her at the one place where she should be.
His mouth cracked into a near smile. “Not likely, Ms. Gardner. I think you’ve been visible enough for one day.” He didn’t look at her but swung the wheel in another fast exit. “We’re going to find a sleazy little motel so we can regroup and get to know each other better.”
Sloan chuckled when he’d spotted the look of absolute terror on Lainie’s face as he mentioned the sleazy motel. Her wide green eyes were filled with shock. Either she was afraid of stepping down a rung on her social ladder by checking into a fleabag joint, or she was terrified at the thought of getting to know him any better.
But for him, as he’d said the words, a picture had formed in his mind of her looking up at him from a motel bed, glistening with sweat, panting and breathless from having been completely loved—by him. Oh, and he would do a very thorough job of loving her, too. That was a pure fact. But now was not the time for those thoughts.
He forced himself to push aside the lustful images and concentrated instead on trolling the surface streets, backtracking and sidetracking to make sure the tail was gone. Trying not to think about how close she’d come to being killed, Sloan instead considered why a stalker would’ve hired professional killers.
That mode of operation certainly didn’t fit the profile of an ordinary nutcase. Most stalkers who took the time to send a warning letter generally wanted to see the face of their intended victims when they finally made a move.
Nothing about this case added up.
He found what he’d been searching for in a rundown dump located a few blocks off Westheimer in an area that had seen better days. The End of the Trail Motel had a parking lot in back where he could pull in under overhanging trees and hopefully not be spotted.
Cutting the engine, he turned to Lainie and nearly lost his breath. The woman’s sleeves were covered in blood and her hair glittered with tiny shards of glass. He wondered if he should be taking her to the nearest hospital, not to some dirty joint with peeling stucco walls and half-graveled driveways.
“You never answered me before, Lainie.” His voice cracked as he tried to sound calm. “Where are you hurt? Did any of the bullets hit you?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t get a chance to answer you, or even get two words in for that matter. And I’ll be surprised if I’m not totally black and blue from that wild ride. But no…I don’t
