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  “Hmm. Well, I guess you’re still very much into it then, aren’t you?” Disappointment laced her words.

  Had she hoped he was out? Why would she care if she wanted nothing to do with him? The need to tell her what he hadn’t said aloud to anyone tugged at him. He crunched the plastic bottle in his hand. Exposing his deepest wants to Dani shouldn’t be so hard. But fuck, when she was around he felt exposed, vulnerable, and, hell, even pathetic.

  “What is it?” She watched him carefully.

  He shrugged. “You’re right, is all. I haven’t gotten out.” He picked at the label of the bottle with his thumb, keeping his gaze away from the heat of hers. “I don’t enjoy it anymore. The thrill is gone. Even when I started stealing from the trucks . . . it’s just not worth it.” He chortled. “It’s stupid. But I have nothing else I can do. I’ve been doing this so long, I don’t even know how to be different.”

  He peeked up. Her eyes had softened, but she didn’t say a word. He tossed the bottle in the recycling bin and rocked back against the desk. Silence stretched, and the need to explain himself further pulsed through him.

  “Milo and Serena . . . they have it figured out. He’s into renovating houses, she sells them. It’s a good gig. And they’re happy.”

  Dani stood and crossed the room. She stopped in front of him and folded her arms over her chest. “We—”

  Ring, ring

  He jumped as his phone burst out in song and then fished it from his pocket. Shit. “It’s Leland. I’ve got to get this.” He answered the call and pressed the device to his ear. “Hey—”

  “What the fuck, Brock! A dead body? Tell me you don’t know anything about this.”

  Brock mumbled a curse. Jesus. How could he have forgotten about the Interpol guy? “Man, I’m so sorry. There was a break-in and—”

  “Don’t give me that. Your friend, Danielle Metcalf, US citizen, is all over the news and wanted as a fucking terrorist.”

  Brock’s stomach lurched. “W-What?”

  “Turn on the TV.”

  He grabbed the remote off the desk and turned on the flat screen that hung on the wall. He flicked through the channels until he landed on the news.

  Danielle Metcalf is believed to be involved in a bioterrorism attack in Geneva, Switzerland. The twenty-eight-year-old United States citizen . . .

  Dani inhaled sharply behind him. “Oh my god.”

  He turned to face her. Leland’s voice droned on in his ear. “Is she there with you? You need to turn her in, Brock. You’re going to end up—”

  Dani’s face went from stark white to fluorescent green as two images of her—a social media profile picture and her driver’s license photo—filled the screen. Brock hung up the phone and caught her by the elbows as her knees gave out.

  . . . suspected of murdering Interpol agent Rudolph James. Police are investigating the agent’s reasons for being at the young American’s residence off duty.

  He wanted to ease her terror, to comfort her, but fear ate away at his attempts. One thing was for sure: they weren’t safe here anymore.

  * * *

  “Oh my god. Brock, I’m going to prison.” A sob tore through Dani’s chest. Brock crushed her against his body. She scrunched his shirt in her hands, anchoring herself to him. Her nails dug into his skin, but if he cared, he didn’t flinch.

  “I won’t let that happen. I promise.” The rough edge of his voice broke with doubt.

  “They’re going to find us. Just like the men at the library.” She backed out of his embrace and fisted her hands in the hair at her scalp. “I mean, how do they keep finding me? Ubrigg’s men, the Interpol agent, the guys from the library . . . It doesn’t make sense.”

  Brock straightened. “Where’s your phone? The non-encrypted one?”

  She went to her purse. “It’s here. But it’s off and I even pulled the battery. That makes it untraceable—right?”

  “Yeah. Far as I know.” He snapped off the back of the device. A small chip, no bigger than a SIM card, fell onto his lap.

  Her vision blurred and she reached out to grab the wall. “What’s that?”

  He pinched it between his thumb and forefinger and held it up. “It’s a tracking device. Get your stuff—now.”

  Ice coated her veins, making her skin pucker. Questions whipped through her mind. “How did that get there?” Still holding the device, Brock ushered her toward her suitcase. The fibers of her lungs cramped on every breath. Someone had been close. Close enough to plant the device—but why not kill her then?

  “We need to get as far from here as we can. We’ll discuss it later.”

  His words popped the bubble of gray that wanted to suck her into oblivion. She grabbed the stray garments on the chair then ran to the bathroom for her toiletries. By the time she’d zipped up her go bag, Brock had his suitcase upright and was scanning the perimeter of the room. He slapped his hands to his pockets. “Got your passport?”

  “Still in my bag.” She slung it over her shoulder. “Why? It’s not like I can use it. We’ll be lucky if we make it out of the hotel without someone calling the cops.”

  “Damn it. You need a disguise.” He pinched his chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Can you do anything with your hair?”

  She toyed with the strands confined in a ponytail. “Like color my hair? I don’t have any dye.”

  “Nah. We don’t have time for that. Maybe later. I have a hat—can you tuck it under?”

  “I think so.”

  He pulled a baseball cap from his bag and handed it to her. She freed her hair from the elastic, wound up the strands on top of her head, and fit the baseball cap overtop. Then she tucked the wayward strands under the rim.

  Brock dug deeper in his bag and pulled out a sweatshirt. “Wear this instead. It’ll hide your frame. The yoga pants still give away that you’re a woman, but with your face hidden, you won’t draw that much attention.”

  She fit the sweatshirt over her head and turned to the mirror. Whoa. The hat and lack of hair framing her face made her features appear sharper. And makeup-free face and the men’s sweatshirt certainly aided in making her look less feminine.

  “Still beautiful.”

  She snapped her gaze to Brock’s in the mirror. She had to tip her head back an inch to take in his full height. He stepped behind her and his body towered over hers, his frame easily twice her width. He brought his hand to the nape of her neck. A tingling sensation rippled over her skin. He planted a kiss on the top of the cap and squeezed her shoulder.

  “Time to go.”

  She nodded and followed him out of the room. In the elevator, he hit the button for the garage.

  “Where are we going if I can’t use my passport?”

  He leaned his back against the elevator wall and grinned. “You’re forgetting where we came from.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Brock rubbed his hands on the steering wheel as they sat in Jardin Anglais park overlooking Lake Geneva.

  “You can’t be serious,” Dani said. “How can you tell who’s a tourist?”

  He tapped his thumbs on the bottom of the wheel. “So little faith,” he murmured, watching couples strolling in the park. The sun split open the early afternoon sky and the temperature had risen to its highest degree since he landed.

  Dani huffed. Even with every supple curve of her upper body buried in material and her hair hidden underneath his hat, she still turned him on. Maybe it was her temper—or the fact that no disguise could wipe the memory of her smoking-hot body from his head.

  “You’ll get arrested.”

  He turned to glare at her. “Really? I’ve been stealing for over twenty years, sweetheart. I think I can pick a pocket for god’s sake.”

  “You’re not picking a pocket for a wallet. You’re swiping a passport. When was the last time you did that? And I sure hope you haven’t picked an innocent citizen’s pocket recently. That’s a new low.”

  “Do you have a better idea?”

&n
bsp; “Well, considering we’re going to Sven’s place in France and we’re traveling within the Schengen zone, we don’t need a passport.”

  “That’s if we don’t get stopped. Authorities are looking for a terrorist—you don’t think they’ll ask for passports from anyone who fits your description?”

  “I guess you’re right.”

  “Of course I am. Stealing a passport will be a cinch. Watch and learn.”

  She flicked her hand to shoo him out of the car. “Go ahead. At least it will be amusing to watch.”

  He caught her fingers in his hand and tilted his head back on a chuckle. “Oh great. Now I’ll have to keep a straight face knowing you’re sitting here laughing your ass off.”

  She flashed him a smile, and a dimple clefted the corner of her mouth. He used to love kissing that dimple. “At least you won’t be able to hear me from way over there.”

  “Ha, ha. Very funny.” He unbuckled his seatbelt and bit back another grin. If he failed at stealing a passport for her, at least he’d succeed at making her smile. “The hardest part is we’ll need one for each of us. Hopefully we can get out of the country before they find out my identity and make the connection between us, but we won’t have long, given the library incident.” He nodded at the keys in the ignition. “Keep a lookout. If you see anyone suspicious, get the hell out of here and head to the parkade if possible.”

  She nodded. He opened the car door and stepped out, but a tug on his shirt pulled him back to face her.

  “Brock . . . be careful.”

  He clapped his hand over hers and ignored the terror darkening her irises. If he stared too long, he’d get sucked in and there’d be no way in hell he’d leave her to get the document they needed.

  The shimmer of a tear at the corner of her eye undid him. He reached across the seat and swiped it away with his thumb. She sniffed and rubbed the tip of her reddening nose with her knuckle.

  “I’m fine.” Her lip trembled and he breathed a curse.

  He couldn’t not comfort her. Couldn’t not try to take away even a fraction of her pain. He circled his fingers over her jaw, stopping at her chin. She tried to duck to avoid his eye contact, but he held fast.

  “Hey, this will all be over soon. I promise.”

  She sniffed again. “Yeah, and it might end with both of us in the ground.”

  He bit his tongue. He couldn’t deny that the same fear coursed through him. Not so much for himself. Nah, he’d face whatever fate he had coming. But Dani . . . He couldn’t, wouldn’t, let anyone harm a hair on her head. The memory of her kidnapping kicked him in the gut. Until that moment he’d thought he’d seen every emotion on her face: rage, humiliation, hate, hunger, love. Every damn one. But the day he’d seen the video call of the kidnapper beating her, his heart had ripped through his chest. The Dani he’d loved and grown up with had been broken, and in her place was a terrified, bloodied woman he’d barely recognized.

  “What are you thinking?”

  He refocused his gaze on her face and shook his head. He couldn’t bring it up. “Just that I would never let anyone hurt you. Trust me, okay?” He leaned forward until his lips hovered an inch from hers. “I know you said to keep our distance, but if I’m about to die like you believe, can you send me with a good memory?”

  Her laugh split the silence of the car and she shoved at his chest. “Oh, please. You’re not going to war.”

  He caught her hand, which still lingered on his pec, and kissed her palm. “No.” A beat passed, and he tried to suck back the words dangling on his tongue, but the defiant muscle let them slide. “But for you I would.” He dropped her hand and exited the car.

  He didn’t dare look back.

  * * *

  Dani watched as Brock jogged up to a middle-aged couple taking a selfie with the lake at their backs.

  No, no, no!

  She bit down on her lip. The woman had dark hair and was easily ten years older than she was. If she tried to use that woman’s passport, she’d end up in jail before they got out of the country. He accepted their phone, snapped a picture, and returned it to the gentleman. She narrowed her eyes. Had it just been a kind deed? Sure didn’t look like he’d stolen anything. He continued down the path toward the lake, stopped at the rocks on the shore, and pulled out his own phone to take a selfie. She rolled her eyes. He couldn’t be serious.

  Another couple approached him and he smiled jovially, pointed at the lake, and said something to them. He stepped closer to the dark-haired woman, who wore a purse across her shoulder. Dani tracked his hand movements. His right arm hovered at his side, hidden between their bodies.

  Brock accepted the man’s cell phone and motioned for them to back up. After a few snaps, he got close to the woman’s side again and showed them the screen. Then Brock gave them his phone and they returned the favor. From her angle, Dani couldn’t see if he’d obtained anything. She leaned closer to the window as they handed back his phone. His right elbow moved at his hip. Ah-ha. She stared while that hand crept up and then pointed at the mountains. To anyone else, nothing would be amiss, but she’d bet her last dollar he’d just grabbed the woman’s passport. He hadn’t gotten close enough to the man, though.

  He walked farther down the sidewalk and said something to a guy with his young family. Several minutes later, Brock strode toward their vehicle, his hands shoved in his front pockets, his head down. She sat forward in her seat as he slid in next to her. He shut the door, turned the key in the ignition, and pulled away.

  “Well?”

  He sat erect, his hand looped over the top of the steering wheel. Rather than answer her, he checked the rearview mirror. She pinched his bicep. He yelped and shook his arm.

  “Ouch, dammit. Yes, I’ve got them.” He lifted his right ass cheek, reached into his pocket, and slapped two passports in her hand. “Take a look. There’s no exchange policy so you’d better be happy with them.”

  She flipped open the first book. “Darren Porter?” She scanned Brock’s body. He didn’t look like a Darren. She opened the other book.

  “Mildred Anderson?”

  Brock’s laugh filled the vehicle. “I didn’t know her name, I swear.” His shoulders shook and he rubbed his mouth with his knuckle.

  “Great. I have the name of an eighty-year-old.”

  He dropped his hand to her thigh and squeezed it. “How about I call you Millie?”

  A chuckle tickled her throat. “Shut up.”

  “You’re the cutest Mildred I’ve ever met.” He retracted his hand, but his words stayed behind, curling around her heart.

  “Yeah, well. Don’t get used to it.” She tucked the passports in her bag and shuffled further back in her seat. “Now what?”

  “We’ve got one more thing to do.” He pulled into the parking lot of a pharmacy. “Wait here.” He disappeared inside and returned with a small bag.

  “What’s that?”

  “Your new look.”

  She opened the bag and her stomach jumped. She shouldn’t care. It was only hair, after all. But she had virgin blonde hair. Dying it would suck. Among the hair dye was a ton of makeup in various shades.

  “I didn’t know what kind of makeup to get, so I got a little of everything. I know it’s not much of a disguise, but hopefully it will make a difference. And don’t worry. When all this is over you can get your natural color back,” he said with a wink. She didn’t bother explaining to him that one couldn’t just “get” their natural hair color back. Such a guy thing to assume.

  Once in their room at the cheap motel Brock had checked them into, Dani carefully laid the bag’s contents on the vanity in the bathroom. She started on her hair, sloshing the inky dye on her roots and working it through the strands all the way to the end. The harsh smell of chemicals burned her nose and made her eyes water. Twenty minutes later, she scrubbed out the dye with the travel-sized shampoo and conditioner Brock had selected.

  Grabbing a towel, she squeezed the strands until the excess moi
sture was gone. Then taking a deep breath, she shook out her hair and faced the mirror.

  Holy shit. She gulped, fingered the tresses, and then dropped them as if she’d been burned. At least now she looked more like Mildred in the passport photo.

  It’s just hair, relax.

  Needing a distraction from the shock, she worked on her makeup. She had to pencil in darker eyebrows since her dirty-blonde ones looked ridiculous against the nearly ebony locks. She picked up the contouring kit and snorted. As if. She was so not venturing into that district right now. Using the regular powder foundation, she worked it over her skin and then selected neutral eyeshadow and black mascara. Finally, she grabbed the hair dryer and fluffed out the strands. Without a hair straightener, her hair had more volume and bounce than usual, but the effect of her new look was . . . exotic.

  She swallowed, gripped the door handle, and stepped out of the bathroom.

  Brock’s long form was stretched out on the bed. He was watching TV, his arms folded behind his head and his ankles crossed. His gaze swept to her casually, as if he’d forgotten she’d been in the bathroom for the last hour giving herself a makeover.

  His jaw unhinged and slowly, he sat up. His eyes moved over her face, to her hair, then to her eyes. He stood, took three strides, and stopped in front of her.

  “Holy shit.”

  Heat swarmed up her chest and her cheeks tingled with fire. She twisted her fingers in front of her abdomen. This was stupid, being on display in front of him, fearful of his opinion. When had she become so hung up on what he thought of her appearance?

  “You’re gorgeous.” He took another step, closing the distance between them. He reached out and caught a piece of her hair, tugging it. “Jesus.” His knuckle moved to her neutral-toned bottom lip, and he touched the corner of her mouth.

  She moved her lips to one side. “I’m not sure if I should be happy or insulted that you like the fact that I look so different.” She compressed her embrace around her breasts and rocked onto the sides of her feet.

  He didn’t laugh. His gaze darkened and he rolled his jaw. “It’s not that you look so different. You’re still you. Still sexy as ever, still gorgeous.”