Secret Intentions. Paula Graves

Use it for cover as she fired off a couple of rounds, forcing the men behind the cars to duck. Then run like hell to Jesse’s car and hope she could get out of the line of fire before the ambushers got a chance to shoot back.

      She tugged the door handle but nothing happened. It was locked.

      She swallowed a frustrated curse and shoved the lock open. Gunfire split the air, making her flinch, but it seemed to come from behind her, so she made her move, swinging the door open.

      Scrambling out, she kept her body behind the door and rose just long enough to fire a couple of shots through the shattered window. Then she whipped around and started running.

      She spotted Jesse crouched behind his car door, his gun already firing a rapid fusillade of cover fire. Reaching the passenger door, she jerked it open and dived inside, hunkering on the floorboard.

      Jesse fired three more rounds, already sliding behind the steering wheel. He fired a final shot as he turned the key in the ignition and slammed into Reverse.

      Evie curled into a knot on the floorboard as they rocketed backward for a few endless seconds. Then the car whipped around, flinging her sideways into the door, and shot suddenly forward.

      “Stay down!” Jesse barked.

      She did as he asked, her pulse thundering in her ears, drowning out the roar of the car’s engine and the squeal of tires as Jesse navigated the winding mountain road at breakneck speed.

      After what seemed like hours, the car slowed to a normal speed, and Jesse spoke again, his voice hard and tense. “You can get in the seat now. Buckle up in case we have to make another run for it.”

      Slowly, she pushed herself up into the passenger seat, her leg muscles trembling as if she’d been running for miles. With shaking hands, she buckled her seat belt and stared at Jesse’s set profile, her breath coming in short, harsh gasps.

      “Are you okay?” he asked without looking away from the road.

      “Yeah,” she answered.

      He slanted a quick look at her, a hint of amusement in his dark eyes as he took in her state of undress. “You’re rough on clothes, Marsh.”

      She managed a shaky laugh that faded quickly as she saw the blood on her arms. “What do you think they’ll do with Mr. Wilson’s body?”

      He shook his head. “I don’t know. They might dispose of it to get rid of evidence.”

      She blinked back tears. “Damn it.”

      He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and pushed a speed-dial number. “We’ve got trouble,” he told whoever answered.

      Evie laid her head against the headrest and closed her eyes, trying not to give in to a sudden assault of nausea. The last seconds of Alan Wilson’s life played in her head like a skipping record, repeating the horror until she wanted to scream.

      She heard the engine downshift, felt the forward motion of Jesse’s car slow and opened her eyes. Jesse had pulled off the main road and headed down a narrow dirt track that seemed to lead right into the middle of the woods. He put the car in Park, killing the engine.

      “Do you need to throw up?” he asked flatly.

      She looked at him. “No.” She swallowed hard and regained control over her rebellious stomach.

      “It’s okay if you do.” He bent toward her, his body brushing hers as he opened the glove compartment and pulled out a small canvas bag. He handed it to her. “It’s a first-aid kit, but there are some wet wipes inside. Clean up—you’ll feel better.”

      She found the wipes and cleaned off the sticky evidence of Alan Wilson’s murder. “They’re fearless.”

      “I think the word you’re looking for is ruthless.”

      “They’re not afraid of the police. They’re not afraid of being caught.”

      “They don’t want to be caught. But they’re willing to take chances.”

      She struggled with tears, hating herself for her weakness. “We have to stop those sons of bitches. Whatever it takes.”

      Jesse turned to face her, reaching out one big hand to cup her chin. He made her look at him. “We will.”

      A horrifying thought occurred to her. “What if someone ambushed Rita or my parents?”

      “Rick’s following your parents. I just talked to him—they made it to the reception just fine. And Rita was already there, so she’s safe, too.”

      “Unless they go after them at the reception.”

      “I’m not sure they’ll want to take on that many people at once,” Jesse said. “But I’ve already called in reinforcements to cover the perimeter. Rick’s going to tell your family what’s going on.”

      “What happens now?”

      His hand lingered a moment, his fingers warm against her jawline. “We’re going to a safe house.”

      “We?”

      “You and me.”

      “Oh.”

      He cocked his head. “Is that a problem?”

      She shook her head. “No. No problem.”

      Except it was. It was a huge problem. It was hard enough getting over her lingering feelings for her boss when she passed him in the hallway at Cooper Security three or four times a week.

      How was she supposed to move on with her life stuck in a safe house with him 24/7?

      * * *

      T HE SAFE HOUSE TURNED OUT to be a modest A-frame house on the western shore of Gossamer Lake, miles across the water from Cooper Cove Marina, the marina and fishing camp run by Jesse’s uncle and cousins. “Cooper Security bought it last year through a third party so it can’t be easily traced to us,” Jesse had explained as he led Evie inside.

      There were three bedrooms. Jesse let her pick the one she wanted. She selected one of the two corner rooms, a surprisingly large and airy room with pleasant blue walls and simple navy curtains that blocked out the afternoon sunlight, sparing her still-aching eyes.

      There was a bathroom at one end of the room, well stocked with plain, soft towels, washcloths, and a selection of soaps and shampoos. She tugged off her bloodstained clothes quickly and took a long, hot shower, trying to scrub out the horrors of the afternoon.

      But only the blood washed away.

      In the bedroom closet, she found clothes and shoes. Looking through them, she discovered they were mostly women’s clothes, in a variety of sizes ranging from petite to tall. The shoes spanned several sizes as well—apparently Cooper Security liked to cover all its bases.

      She found a pair of jeans and a charcoal-gray T-shirt to replace her slip and half a bridesmaid dress. A pair of slip-on sandals replaced the rust-colored pumps that were making her feet hurt. She twisted her hair into a knot at the back of her head, anchoring it with a pencil she found on the writing desk by the bed.

      She checked her reflection in the dresser mirror. She looked a wreck, her red-rimmed eyes wide and haunted.

      Get control, Marsh. You can handle this.

      Taking a deep, bracing breath, she wiped the shell-shocked look from her face and went back to the front room to look for Jesse.

      She found him on his cell phone, talking to his brother. “Rick, tell Aaron we’ll both give him a statement as soon as we feel safe, but first, he has to find the shooters. I gave you the description.” Jesse looked up as she entered, his dark-eyed gaze typically inscrutable. Jesse was a cipher. Always had been, even as a young Marine recruit madly in love with a general’s daughter. Evie wasn’t sure Rita had realized just how complicated a man she’d fallen for, but Evie had known all along.

      It