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  Calling Trahern would have to wait until he was on his way to the tunnels, and he hoped his friend wasn’t in over his head. His gut feeling was that there was something seriously wrong, but that Trahern wasn’t the cause. His cold-eyed friend might just be the cure, God help them all.

  Blake had told her to give him five minutes after she ran for the car. That deadline had come and gone. She put the key in the ignition and the engine roared to life.

  Putting the car in drive, she pulled away from the curb, hoping that Trahern would materialize. Fear for him left a sick taste in her mouth. What had happened? Had he been captured? Was he lying bleeding or dead somewhere?

  She pushed the buttons that lowered the windows in case Blake saw her and yelled to get her attention. But as she passed by the road leading to the alley, the only noise she heard was several popping sounds—gunshots! Oh, Lord, they had come from the direction of her home. Blake’s orders had been very specific: she was to leave the area and call his friend in Seattle.

  A smart woman would do as he said, trusting that he would be able to save himself. But how could she live with herself if she left him to die without trying to help? Images of Blake laying dead or dying in the yard were enough to have her backing up and turning into the cross street. The tires squealed, making her curse. So much for sneaking up on them.

  More shots rang out, giving her second thoughts, but there was no turning back now. The alley was too narrow to do more than drive straight-arrow down the middle. She slowed as she approached the gate. She’d left it open, hoping to save Blake a second or two, but he was nowhere in sight. What if he was trapped in the house? Should she park and go back inside? No, she’d only provide another target for the shooters and complicate the situation.

  Craning her neck, she tried to catch a glimpse of what was going on. There was a flicker of motion at the kitchen window, but it was gone too quickly to make out who it was. Were the two detectives trying to bring Blake to bay in the kitchen?

  The car nosed beyond the fence on the far side of the yard, and two houses down a man stumbled out from behind a garage, waving his arms to get her attention. His sudden appearance startled a scream out of her, causing her to slam on the brakes. The car stopped inches from where Blake swayed, a blossom of bright crimson on his shoulder. She threw open her door to climb out.

  He stumbled to the car and growled, “Get back inside! They’re only a few seconds behind me.”

  He nearly fell into the car, wincing in pain. Sweat poured down his face as he tried to staunch the bleeding with his bare hand. “Get us out of here!”

  She peeled out.

  Where to go? A hotel was out of the question until she got the bleeding stopped and him into a clean shirt. Even cheap and sleazy motels frowned on their customers bleeding on the sheets. That thought had her giggling, an indication how close she was to hysteria.

  As she drove, she kept a wary eye on the rearview mirror, watching for anyone who might be following them. So far, the road was empty for several blocks.

  When she reached a major thoroughfare, she remembered the small park where she’d changed clothes. It would give them privacy while she assessed his injury and applied first aid.

  If he didn’t wake up soon, she’d call someone for help—either Jarvis or the friend in Seattle he’d mentioned. Devlin Bane was too far away to be of immediate help, but maybe he could tell her if she could trust Blake’s care to Jarvis.

  Blake moaned quietly as they went around a corner, and she saw the entrance to the park a short distance ahead. She crossed her fingers that no one else had chosen that moment to take a trip down lover’s lane. Luck was with them; the park was deserted. She followed the narrow road around to the solitary picnic table and parked.

  Blake stirred and tried to open his eyes. “Where?”

  “We’re paying another visit to your favorite picnic table, Blake.” She got out of the car and ran around to the other side. “I wanted to hear more about your youthful adventures.”

  She wasn’t sure, but she thought he might have smiled. He mumbled something that sounded like splinters, which was way too much information. She tugged on his good arm, trying to get him out of the car.

  “Come on, Trahern, I need to see how bad the wound is.”

  He blinked up at her. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll heal in a day, two at the most.”

  “Nobody heals that fast, big guy.”

  “We all do. Ask Jarvis or Devlin Bane.” He got a funny look on his face. Leaning closer to her, he whispered, “You know, everybody thinks I’m the big bad ass, but Devlin could take me out that fast.” He tried unsuccessfully to snap his fingers to demonstrate.

  She braced herself against the open door and tried again to tug him up out of the seat. “You can tell me all about how tough you are when we have you sitting down on the Blake Trahern Memorial Picnic Table.”

  He had the audacity to laugh at her. “Jealous, Brenna? We could give the old picnic table a quick spin if you’d like. I’m up for it.” His inadvertent double entendre cracked him up again.

  “Sorry, but my idea of a good time doesn’t include having someone bleed all over me. Come on, big guy, get out of the car.”

  It took all her strength to muscle him up out of the seat. He tried to help, but his height made it hard to keep her balance when he leaned on her for support.

  When at long last they reached the table, she eased him down on the bench. “Stay there.”

  She ran back to the car to get the first aid supplies they’d bought to bandage her arm. A few gauze pads and some surgical tape didn’t seem like a lot in the face of all that blood on his shirt, but it would have to do. He was already unbuttoning his shirt one-handed when she came back, but his attempts to help were more of a hindrance.

  She set her supplies on the table and then eased his shirt off his shoulder. Too bad they couldn’t just throw it away, but it could cause them both serious complications if someone were to find it and report it to the police. His T-shirt, now more red than white, was going to be harder to remove.

  “Give me your knife.” She ripped several strips off his shirt to hold the dressings in place.

  She successfully avoided looking directly at his wound until she finished stripping off his shirt. Most of the blood had soaked into the shirt, and she wiped the rest off as best she could, revealing a deep groove along the top of his shoulder. It had to be agonizing, but he seemed supremely indifferent to the pain.

  “I’m going to wash it first.” She poured some bottled water on a couple of gauze pads and dabbed at the wound. Blake grabbed her wrist and forced her to press harder.

  “You can’t hurt me, Brenna. Paladins have a high tolerance for pain.”

  She would have believed him more if his lips weren’t pressed together so hard that they were white along the edges. But he was right; she wasn’t doing him any good with her half-hearted efforts. She poured some water on the open wound, causing him to hiss in pain. After wiping away the dried blood, the area was as clean as she could make it. She applied a thick smear of antibiotic ointment.

  Then it was only a matter of covering the wound with more gauze pads and taping them in place. When that was done, she rooted through his duffel for another shirt. Pulling it on without jarring his shoulder took some effort and care. When he tried to help her she batted his hands away.

  Afterward, she gathered up the bloody shirts and the scraps of paper she’d torn off the gauze. Maybe she was catching his paranoia, but she wouldn’t leave any obvious signs that the two of them had been in the park.

  “All right. Let’s get you into the car.”

  He lurched to his feet, almost oversetting both of them. “Sorry,” he murmured as he leaned back against the table for balance.

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  Maybe she was grasping at straws, but his footsteps seemed to be more sure as they slowly returned to the car.

  When she had him settled in the front seat, she r
eached across him to fasten his seat belt. Heat was pouring off his body, but wasn’t it too soon for infection to have set in? She hoped so, or she’d have to call for medical help. And anyone who saw the bullet wound would have to report it to the police, which they didn’t want—not until they figured out who were the good guys and the bad guys.

  After she was behind the wheel, she wondered why the two police at the house hadn’t caught up with them. Several shots had been fired; had he killed them? God, she hoped not.

  “Blake, how did we manage to shake the police so easily?”

  He turned slightly and opened his eyes. Their silver gray darkened when he saw the real question in hers. “I shot their tires. They shot me.” He turned away to stare out the window, his face all hard lines and edges.

  “I’m sorry all of this happened, Blake. It seems like you’re getting sucked further and further into my problems.”

  He rode in silence for a few minutes. “It doesn’t matter. I would have killed them if it had been necessary, without second thoughts or regrets.”

  His words shocked her right through to her soul. “You don’t mean that.”

  He sighed, his eyes bleak but unwavering. “Honey, I’ve killed so many times that two more bodies wouldn’t even be noticed. It’s what I do. It’s who I am.”

  When he looked away this time, she was relieved.

  Chapter 7

  B renna drove west on Highway 44 for some distance before picking a random truck-stop motel. The place was swarming with semitrucks and cars, so the employees should be too busy to pay much attention to them.

  After paying for the room with cash, she drove their car around to park in front of their room. She’d asked for a first-floor room on the back side of the motel so their car couldn’t be spotted from the highway.

  It took her several tries to wake Blake up enough to get him out of the car, and she saw that he’d started bleeding again.

  “Come on, Blake, we’ve got to get you bandaged again.”

  He pushed her hands away. “It won’t kill me, and if it does, I won’t stay that way long.” He turned those hard gray eyes on her. “But if I do die, or pass out to the point you can’t wake me, tie me down. Chains would be best, but enough rope will work. Wait in the car until Jarvis gets here. He’ll know what to do.”

  “What are you talking about, Blake? I’m not going to tie you up.” The idea horrified her.

  “Promise me, Brenna. You have to do this or you won’t be safe.”

  “You’d never hurt me.” She was surprised by the strength of her belief.

  “I wouldn’t be me anymore.” He shuddered, his eyes the cold, hard gray of marble. “Now promise me!”

  He was so agitated, she worried that he’d make the bleeding worse. “I promise.”

  With that nonsense settled, he hauled himself up out of the car. She barely got him inside the door before he started to sink to the floor, but she managed to shove him to the nearest bed before he collapsed. She pulled down the covers, took off his shoes, and covered him up.

  Winded, she sat on the other bed to catch her breath and think. It had been hours since she’d eaten, and the truck stop café was bound to have something deliciously full of cholesterol and salt. Blake wasn’t going anywhere soon, and she had to keep up her strength to help him. She picked up her purse and walked out, locking the door behind her.

  Inside the noisy café, a gum-popping waitress led her to a booth in the back, right past two tables full of state troopers. One of them offered her a friendly smile, which she returned. Even if there had been an alert sent out by the St. Louis detectives, they’d be looking for a couple, not a woman traveling alone.

  There was always the chance that one of them would recognize her, but if she left now she’d only draw more attention to herself. She sat down and discreetly checked their table. When she was satisfied that they weren’t interested in her, she studied the menu.

  A middle-aged waitress appeared, coffeepot in hand. “What can I get you, hon?”

  “I’ll have the bacon cheeseburger and fries, with an iced tea. I’d also like a bowl of soup to go, and two pieces of pie.”

  “I’d recommend either the apple or the cherry.”

  “Make it one of each.” Brenna handed back the menu.

  “I’ll be right back with your drink.”

  When the waitress returned with the iced tea, Brenna took a quick gulp. Rats, one of those fruit-flavored varieties. Whoever got the mistaken idea that raspberry and tea went together? Still, the cool glass felt good to the touch, soothing her tightly stretched nerves.

  In the silence, Blake’s words came back to her. She had worried that he was dead when they hadn’t heard from him for all those years. But if he were to be believed, her father had known all along where he was and hadn’t told her. To make matters worse, the two of them had belonged to some secret organization, one that had claimed her father’s life and now threatened Blake, as well.

  She felt betrayed by both men. Unexpected anger washed over her, surprising her with its intensity. The decisions that they had made without consulting her had thrown all of her hopes and dreams into chaos. She had planned to spend this summer researching her latest book. Instead, here she was on the run with a wounded man who thought he was immortal.

  Her temper faded as her eyes drifted back to where the state troopers where finishing up their late dinner. All her life, she’d been taught to respect the law and those who wore the badge. Most of them were good, honest people who could be trusted to enforce the law fairly. That was why her reaction to Detective Montgomery and his partner Detective Swan bothered her so much.

  From the first moment, she’d sensed something was wrong with their approach to solving her father’s murder. Were her gut instincts totally out of kilter? She trusted Blake—who talked like a crazy man about not dying and needing to be chained down. The two detectives wore badges, yet she didn’t want to be near them at all, especially until she and Blake found out what was in the envelope her father had left him.

  The waitress returned with her burger and fries. Picking up the hamburger, Brenna leaned forward to keep it from dripping grease on her blouse.

  The taste of charcoal-broiled beef filled her senses, reminding her how long it had been since she’d eaten. She slowed down, not wanting to wolf down her food. But she couldn’t afford to linger too long, with Blake alone and wounded. He’d likely sleep soundly for several hours, but his earlier ramblings about dying and chains had shaken her up.

  A sudden vibration startled her into almost dropping her burger. Wiping her fingers on the napkin, she reached into her front pocket and pulled out Blake’s cell phone. She’d forgotten all about it. Should she answer the call?

  Flipping the phone open, she read the number. The area code wasn’t local and the name showing with the number said DOC—most likely someone he knew back in Seattle. The only one he’d told her to trust was a man named Devlin Bane. Still…

  She pushed the answer button. “Hello.”

  The woman on the other end of the line sounded cautious. “May I speak to Blake Trahern, please?”

  “May I ask who is calling?”

  “Dr. Young. And you are?”

  “Brenna Nichols.”

  The coolness in the voice melted slightly. “I’m sorry about your father, Ms. Nichols. I know Trahern thought a lot of him.”

  “Thank you, Doctor.” She fumbled for what to say next. Maybe this woman knew Devlin Bane. “Would you know Devlin Bane by any chance?”

  “Yes, I do. Why do you ask?”

  “Would you ask him to call me?”

  The freeze was back. “Why do you need Devlin? And why didn’t Blake answer his phone himself?”

  She had to trust someone. Glancing around to make sure that no one was paying attention, she dropped her voice and went for broke. “Dr. Young, Blake was shot today trying to get us away from the police investigating my father’s death. He told me if I needed help, I
should call Devlin Bane.”

  “Is he hurt badly?” There was no mistaking the worry in the doctor’s voice.

  “The bullet caught him high in the shoulder. I don’t know much about bullet wounds, but I think it was more bloody than dangerous. I cleaned the wound and wrapped it. He’s sleeping right now.”

  “Ms. Nichols, listen to me very carefully. I want you to call Trahern’s friend Jarvis and tell him what you just told me. He can be trusted to get you any help that you might need. You should be all right for now, but if Trahern acts at all strange, get as far from him as fast as you can. Do you understand me?”

  Brenna frowned. “Explain yourself, Dr. Young.”

  “I can’t.”

  Annoyed, Brenna softly warned, “Listen, Doctor, I don’t appreciate you trying to scare me away from Blake. He’s already tried that with some ridiculous story about Paladins. I’ve known Blake since he was a teenager. He’d never hurt me, so there’s no use in trying to tell me different. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to finish my dinner.”

  She disconnected the call. Her food had grown cold while they had been talking, but it didn’t matter. The conversation had left her stomach unsettled. Catching the waitress’s attention, she signaled that she was ready for her bill and the take-out food.

  When the phone buzzed again out in the parking lot, she ignored it. After locking the motel room door, she turned on a lamp near Blake’s bed. As far as she could tell, he hadn’t moved while she’d been gone.

  “Blake, wake up. I’ve got some soup for you.”

  When he didn’t immediately respond, she tried again, louder, and reached out to touch his arm. He bolted upright, knocking her back into the other bed. He shook his head, his eyes wide-open and crazed looking. His hands were fisted and ready for battle. She fought down the urge to run for the door, sensing that to do so would only make him worse in some way.

  “Blake, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” And scare herself, either.