low. Keep in cover.” He moved out, pulling her behind him, covering ground at a good clip. He needed to get her as far away as possible before the shock wore off and she started fighting him tooth and nail again.
He headed straight for the grove of trees that separated their development from the next, taking advantage of the burning house that captured the full attention of the people who were coming outside in robes and pajamas, looking stunned. Bailey blended right in with her silk pajamas. Which didn’t mean she wasn’t attention worthy. He was still trying hard not to look.
“We have to go back.” She did her best to stop him.
He kept going, pulling her completely into the trees. In thirty seconds, they were in a more upscale neighborhood, with mansions on a full acre each, lush green lawns and professionally done flower beds, a few of which showed off Bailey’s handmade garden-art pieces. He went around an oversize pool and up a few steps to a driveway, heading for the nearest car—a Cadillac Escalade.
Nobody stirred in the house. The power couple was probably golfing at the crack of dawn in their vintage Corvette that he had admired from afar. He had thoroughly checked out his new neighborhood and its surroundings before he had moved in, planning escape routes. Except he hadn’t planned on taking someone with him when and if he had to run. That changed things a little. Instead of going for his secret stash of weapons and circling back to see who had found him, he decided to keep Bailey Preston safe and book the hell out of here before anyone came after them.
The Escalade was unlocked. After two months of living out here, he still couldn’t believe people did that.
“What are you doing?” She was beginning to fight in earnest again, but he easily kept his hold on her slim wrist. “The police will want to talk to us.”
Just the thing they needed to avoid. “Get in.” He pushed her into the car and slid across the hood, bursting inside and catching her, pulling her back just as she was about to light out. He clicked on the childproof locks. “Hang on for a second.”
No keys above the visor. Even trusting suburbanites had their limits. A damn shame. Not that hotwiring the thing took all that long. They were pulling out of the driveway in less than a minute.
“Get down.”
“Where are we going?” Her voice still held tinges of shock and confusion, but her blue-violet eyes cleared as her gaze pinned him. “Why are you stealing a car?”
He kind of liked her dazed and confused—definitely easier to handle. Not that easy played a big part in his life. “Look, we need to go someplace safe.”
“I need to get back to my house.” Her voice now rang with resolution as she reached for the door again, grunting in frustration when it wouldn’t open. “What are you doing? You have to let me go.”
Clearly, she didn’t have a very good grasp on the situation. “The people who blew up the house are still out there.” He spelled it out for her. To be fair, this was likely the first time she had been shot at with a grenade launcher. He should cut her some slack.
“Gas explosion,” she said, with full conviction.
He wished. Wouldn’t that make his life so much simpler? “I don’t think so.” He scanned the street as he drove, looking for the van or any other vehicles or activity. He couldn’t be sure how many men were out there after him. Anyone he’d tangled with in the past would know him enough to come prepared.
“Nobody is trying to kill us, for crying out loud. What are you? An army veteran? What do they call it?” She furrowed her delicate brows. “Combat fatigue? Is that why you’re so paranoid?”
Combat fatigue? She was going to put him on the disabled roster? He didn’t think so.
“Maybe I think someone blew up the damn house on purpose because I saw the bastard aiming his grenade launcher. How is that?” Impatience showed in his words, but he didn’t care. He was supposed to be heading off to an important meeting with Abhi, dammit. A meeting he had put off for too long.
Or not long enough.
Had getting in touch with some of his old connections in the field triggered this attack? The timing was a little too close for comfort.
She was staring at him wide-eyed and speechless. Stayed that way for another full second. Had to be a record. “You—What? Who?”
“Damned if I know.” He glanced in the rearview mirror. “But we are not going back there until I figure out what’s going on.”
A few seconds of silence passed while she mulled that over. He expected her to issue another passionate argument for returning. But when she finally spoke, all she said was, “I don’t have clothes on.” And she crossed her arms in front of her.
Soft, silky skin and barely concealed curves. Just keep looking at the road.
“I noticed that.” Yes, sir. Certainly had. He cleared his throat before he chanced another glance at her.
Pink washed over her cheeks.
Wasn’t she just a surprise and a half? Looked like having her house blown up brought her defenses down.
His house, too. The full implications fully registered. His hideout. The one place he’d felt sure he would be safe. Where he’d planned on starting over.
Apparently not. A four-letter word slipped from his mouth with some vehemence.
She glared at him, but sirens sounding in the distance claimed her attention. “Who wants you dead?” she asked after a minute.
He considered the endless list in his head as he pulled out of the maze of developments and onto Route 1. The last batch of terrorists he’d tangled with had certainly promised to hunt him down and kill him like a dog. But they were only the latest addition to a large group. His occupation was what you’d call “conflict heavy.”
“Then again, the who doesn’t list is probably shorter,” she said, without waiting for his answer.
He bit back a grin. Her griping got on his nerves more often than not, but there was a sassy side to her that he found entertaining. Half the time he wanted her to win a trip to the moon. What he wanted the other half of the time was what kept him up at night.
Her bedroom was now fixed in his brain. Pink silk sheets. He could have lived without knowing that. Fortunately, he didn’t have much time to ponder it.
He considered the events of the morning. How much of what he knew and who he was should he share with her? As little as possible. He didn’t think she’d feel better if he told her that the tangos didn’t want him dead—yet. Otherwise they would have hit his bedroom and not the garage.
Two single garages sat side by side in the front of the duplex, right in the middle. From the speed with which the second explosion followed the first, it was clear to Cade that the hit went straight to the garage and then ignited the C4. Losing that hurt more than losing the house. Not that he thought the tangos knew he had an explosive stash. They just wanted to hit something other than the bedroom and give Cade time to rush outside so they could pick him up in the confusion.
But he’d seen them in time and made it out. And then, before
