Unease pooled on the bottom of her stomach. A flock of confused thoughts circled in her head, too fast for her to grab and articulate any. “Who are you?”
“Put on your seat belt. Did you get a chance to look at them?”
“Not really.” She’d been thinking about her grocery list when she’d heard the first bullets and got down. She hadn’t had time to look around. The only things she could remember were the silhouettes in the van’s window. “I think they wore masks.”
“Keep your head down.” His deep voice was hard, his face tight with concentration, as in a fluid motion he reached over her with his well-muscled arm and pulled a gun from the glove compartment into his lap.
She congratulated herself for not peeing her pants on the spot, then ducked as she’d been told and peeked around from her awkward position. The car was suspiciously free of holes. Bulletproof? She’d been in enough of them, during another life as the sheltered daughter of a U.S. ambassador, but why did the guy from the gym have a bulletproof car? And who was shooting at him?
Who was shooting at her? He had only darted into the picture to supposedly save her—or was he doing something far more sinister? Her father was a senator now. She considered for a moment whether the man’s appearance out of nowhere had been a coincidence or part of a well-orchestrated plot.
“Am I being kidnapped?” She straightened again, determined not to follow any more of his instructions until she assured herself they were for her benefit.
He glanced at her, surprise flashing across his hard-set face, and swore. “No. Damn it, Nicola, keep your head down.”
He knew her name.
She swallowed and sat on her shaking hands. No need to let him see how scared she was. He’d probably been stalking her at the gym. God, how stupid could she be? She had liked him, had even entertained some thoughts of walking up to him someday and maybe getting to know him better.
She glanced at the gun. Sinister-looking firearms had definitely not been part of her plan.
As a kid, during her father’s ambassadorship in China, they’d lived under constant guard, and she had often daydreamed about what she would do if something like this happened. She had imagined rebels breaking through the embassy gates. Since she was the smallest person in the compound, only she could escape, crawling through vent holes to the roof. She would go for help and save the hostages inside. Then her father would have come to her in tears of happiness and gratitude to tell her how proud she made him.
So much for the childish fantasy. Her limbs numb with fear, it took all her willpower not to whimper.
The car swerved, and she hung on for dear life. She was only twenty-five. Too young to die. Then do something about it, her mother’s voice said in her head. Her mother had been the strong one in the family. Strong enough even to stand up to her father. But she hadn’t inherited much of her mother’s character. Maybe if they had spent more time together, some of it would have rubbed off. But there hadn’t been time. Breast cancer had ripped her mother out of her young life with ruthless efficiency.
What would her mother say if she could see her now? Don’t let him intimidate you, the little voice spoke again, and it certainly sounded like her mother. Nobody had intimidated Lillian Barrington. Nicola looked at her kidnapper. “Who are you?”
“I’m here to protect you.”
“Right. What’s your name?”
“Alex,” he said it in a way that discouraged further inquiry.
She took in his wide shoulders and well-built body, the scars on the back of his hand, the gun. “Where are we going?” she pushed.
He grabbed his cell phone, flipped it open and dialed. “We had an incident at the Devon Farmers’ Market. Shooting. She’s fine. Brown van, 1990 Ford Econoliner. New York plates.” He glanced at his phone and punched a button then read off a plate number from the screen.
When did he have the time to get that?
“Still in pursuit, going north on Route 202. Got anything open?” He paused. “Will do.”
“Who was that?” she asked as he hung up the phone.
“My boss.”
“Where are you taking me?”
“To a safe house, once we lose the tail.” He swerved to the left.
It sounded utterly ridiculous. He looked the opposite of safe. She considered opening the door and hurling herself onto the pavement.
The passenger side mirror blew out, and she slid further down in the seat.
“The main body is bulletproof but the rest isn’t.” He swerved again. “I’m going to have to pick up some speed to get rid of them. Don’t want to give them a chance to shoot out the tires.”
He took a sharp turn and she slammed against the door, the seat belt cutting into her stomach.
He barely spared her a glance. “Nothing to worry about. I work for the United States government. I’m here to ensure your safety.”
For a second, confusion so overwhelmed her she couldn’t process his words. Then in an awful moment of comprehension it all began to make sense. She would have preferred a kidnapper. “Does my father know about this?”
“Senator Barrington is aware we’re in a situation where something like this may develop.”
Of course he was. He was bloody aware of everything. He handled everything. Behind her back. Who cared if it concerned her life? At that moment she hated him more than she hated the men shooting at her.
“I don’t want your protection.” She despised the idea of getting sucked back into her father’s life again.
“Let me take you someplace safe, bring you up to date. Then, if you still want, you’re free to go.”
“I am?” She stared at him, the wind taken out of her sails. He was logical and had given her the freedom of choice, two things she valued above all others.
“You’re not a prisoner.” He looked at her, and for the first time she noticed his eyes. They were black or nearly so, bottomless pools devoid of emotion. She looked away first.
“Where are we going?”
He crossed two lanes of traffic, ran off the road, crossed the few yards of grass that served as divider and got on Route 202 going the opposite direction without once putting his foot on the brake. “Lancaster.”
She looked back just in time to see the brown van follow and nearly flip over as it hit the divider. Unfortunately, the vehicle slowed for only seconds before resuming the pursuit at full speed. Her fingers fused to the edge of her seat. “To the Amish?”
“Kind of.” Swerving across lanes, he executed one evasive maneuver after the other, with the slightest hint of a smile at the corner of his lips.
He probably liked his job. The thought seemed incomprehensible, but must have had at least some truth
