Guilty Pleasures. Tori Carrington

they’ll have something you like at the county lockup.”

      He started the car and did a one-eighty, heading back the way they’d come.

      Mara swallowed hard, turning her face into the hot wind coming in through the window.

      The car wasn’t the only thing that had done a one-eighty. Her mindset had taken a noticeable nosedive since he’d slapped the cuffs back on her.

      That was a lie. It had gone south when she’d spotted the gunman back at the warehouse.

      Frenemies. Wasn’t that a new word spawned recently? Although, what she was in the middle of had nothing to do with petty bickering over who had borrowed what or stolen whose boyfriend: this was a matter of life or death.

      Namely, her own.

      And then there was Reece….

      Ironic that she’d been searching for an enemy presence on her car when it had been right in front of her.

      The sun ignited the western horizon, setting the sky on fire. But she barely saw it. Instead, she imagined what waited for her at the other end of their journey.

      She’d been running on pure adrenaline since she’d originally returned to her apartment three days ago to find FBI agents waiting for her. She hadn’t had a clue what they’d wanted then, but she hadn’t been about to stick around to find out. At least not from them. So she’d run. And found out soon enough what she was wanted for.

      And understood immediately why.

      “Who were those guys back there?”

      She blinked to look at Reece.

      “At your place. The one guy had militia written all over him.”

      She stared out the window, deciding not to answer him.

      What had he said? He hadn’t asked if she’d committed the crime for what reason? Oh, yes. Because he didn’t care.

      He messed around with his cell phone, then cursed loudly and tried again. She guessed the battery was dead. Not surprising, considering how many times it had vibrated since the moment she’d restrained him back at the warehouse.

      She closed her eyes again, feeling sweat beginning to bead between her breasts under her T-shirt.

      “You can’t turn me over to the local authorities,” she said quietly.

      He probably hadn’t heard her over the roar of the engine and his own rant at his dead cell.

      He gave her a long look, proving otherwise. “Oh? Why? Coffee not up to snuff?”

      She didn’t answer for a long moment, then turned her head where it lay against the backrest, feeling exhaustion saturate her every molecule. It was more than the lack of sleep or even the lull after the adrenaline rush. This was … was …

      Antipathy.

      Complete and utter disenchantment with the world at large and specifically the people in it.

      She’d experienced it only one other time….

      She forcibly ousted the memory from her mind and instead focused on the here and now.

      Which was looking pretty bleak.

      She took a deep breath and told him, “Because you’ll be directly responsible for my death if you do, that’s why.”

      Mara wasn’t given to drama or exaggeration. She didn’t even like saying the words because they sounded too much like both. But in this case, well, the truth was the truth.

      “That’s for a jury to decide.”

      She jerked her head to stare at him, feeling her blood warm again. “Trust me, you take me to the sheriff’s? I won’t ever step inside a courtroom.”

      The militia was so well connected throughout the local and federal law enforcement communities, not to mention plugged into the electronic highway, period, that the instant her name was entered into any computer, the countdown would begin.

      Mara watched as the city limits loomed ahead. The sheriff’s office lay on the main drag, five, maybe eight minutes away. Off to the west, the sun was quickly sinking into the sand so the sky to the east was already dark. She yanked on her cuffs. There was nowhere near enough time for her to figure out how to pick them and free herself before they got there. At least not in the mental state she was presently in.

      Reece grabbed his cell phone again as if it might have magically recharged itself in the time since he put it down.

      “Do you have a phone?” he asked.

      Her answer was a stare.

      “Yes or no.”

      “No.”

      She’d ditched her cell phone on Day One. If the battery was in, it was transmitting, no matter if it was on or off. She’d thought about picking up another one that couldn’t be traced back to her, but until she had an actual need for one, what was the use?

      He tossed the cell back to the seat between them. “So I’m left to your word.”

      “Yes.”

      He slowed the car’s speed, but whether it was because he was considering his options or the speed limit had changed, she couldn’t say. He was as easy to read as a murky, rain-swollen brook on a stormy day.

      When he pulled up in front of the sheriff’s office moments later, her heart pitched.

      There it was, then.

      Damn.

      She waited for the will to fight to return, fire up her own personal engine. But everything remained eerily silent.

      Did it have something to do with him? Had she been hoping against hope that he’d listen to her? Change his mind? Take her at her word? Trust not only that what she was saying was true, but trust, period?

      Who could say? She was so tired. Not only for sleep. She was tired of running on what seemed to be a never-ending treadmill.

      With no one to rely on.

      It was one thing to know a man you had once loved had set you up for murder.

      Another to know he’d also put out a hit on you.

      She realized Reece had yet to make a move. She looked to find him staring forward, but not really at the sheriff’s office, itself. The engine was still running.

      His hands were still on the steering wheel. The gear was in Park.

      Hope sparked.

      Then he looked at her, shut down the engine, pocketed the keys and got out.

      “I’ll leave the keys with the desk sergeant.”

      He got out and rounded the front of the car to her side. “Gee, thanks,” she said.

      He opened her door and helped her out.

      He led her toward the curb, grasping on to her wrists behind her back. His hold both touched and angered her in its gentleness and control.