One Tough Marine. Paula Graves

mind racing. “You know, I don’t know how long those men were in my apartment—”

      Luke opened the driver’s door of the Mustang and shoved back the driver’s seat. Hearing Stevie’s soft whimper, she raced around to the passenger door. “What are you doing?” she demanded, glaring at Luke across the backseat.

      Luke’s expression of horror was almost comical. “God, I’m sorry—I wasn’t—” He laid his hand on Stevie’s head, stroking his damp curls. “Sorry about wakin’ you up there, Little Bit.”

      Stevie’s snuffling subsided. “Firsty.”

      “You’re thirsty, huh?” He glanced at Abby.

      “I’ll get him an apple juice.” She ran to the food mart, grabbed an apple juice from one of the coolers and added it to the gas purchase. Back at the car, Luke stood by the driver’s side door, Stevie cradled in his arms. Abby faltered, her heart stuttering at the sight of Luke’s big, muscular arms wrapped around their son.

      She was going to have to tell him the truth. Soon.

      Luke’s gaze locked with hers as she reached the Mustang. He held up a black device a little smaller than a credit card. “Found it inside Mr. Hoppy.” He nodded toward the small animatronic stuffed rabbit sitting on the roof of the car, its ears still wiggling and nose twitching. “Inside the pouch where the batteries are. I guess they put it there when they trashed your house.”

      Her heart lurched. “So they know where we are.”

      He nodded. “No wonder they didn’t risk a wreck to follow us off the interstate. They can pick us up wherever we go.”

      “Throw it away!” The sensation of being watched made her skin crawl.

      Luke shook his head. “I have a better idea.”

      THE BUDGET ARMS MOTEL was the sort of nondescript, vaguely shabby motel a motorist could find near almost any major interstate exit. Walk-ins were welcome if there were vacancies, and some of the places didn’t even require identification as long as you could pay cash up front for the room. The only amenities would be basic cable and local phone service, if that.

      Luke had stayed in worse places.

      Abby, apparently, had not, judging by the look of horror on her face when Luke pulled into the motel parking lot.

      “This is your better idea?”

      “Wait here,” he said, parking in front of the motel office. As Abby started to protest, he leaned toward her, cupping her chin in his palm. “Trust me, Abs. I know what I’m doing.”

      He could see the struggle in her blue-eyed gaze, but her expression finally cleared and she gave a little nod.

      He handed her the keys before he got out. “Any sign of trouble and you get the hell out of here, understand me? Just go. I’ve got the tracker, so they can’t find you that way.”

      She nodded again, worry flooding back into her eyes.

      He pocketed the GPS tracker as he got out of the Mustang and headed up the uneven concrete walk to the office. Inside he found a dark-haired man reading a bodybuilding magazine. He looked up with a hint of annoyance as Luke entered.

      “I need a room for a couple of nights.” Luke pulled his wallet from his jacket pocket.

      The desk clerk handed him a register. “Sign here.”

      Luke knew better than to sign his own name. The people following him would smell that kind of trap a mile away. But for his purposes, he needed to pick a name that could, with a little research, be connected to him. He settled on Cal Trimble, the name of his old drill sergeant at Parris Island. Obscure, but not so obscure that people with resources couldn’t connect it to him with a little effort.

      It served his purposes for the people who were following them to think they’d finally found them.

      Paying the fee for two nights, he pocketed the room key the clerk handed him and headed back outside to a pay phone attached to the office facade. He put coins into the slot to make a call he knew might end up being traced, as well. That was okay, too. It wasn’t as if he didn’t make calls to his family now and then.

      His sister answered, her voice groggy. “Yeah?”

      “Hey, Hannah, it’s Luke.”

      “Hey, stranger.” A smile tinted her sleepy voice, and he heard a low-pitched murmur on the other end of the line. “It’s Luke,” he heard Hannah say in response.

      “I need to speak to your husband,” Luke said.

      “You need to speak to Riley?” Hannah sounded puzzled. Luke couldn’t blame her; he’d yet to meet her husband, despite the fact that she’d been married to the former Wyoming cop for over a year. A couple of months earlier, she’d given birth to her first child, a little boy they’d named Cody.

      He missed her like hell. He’d stayed away from home far too long, let too many milestones go unwitnessed. Hannah’s wedding. Jake’s whirlwind romance with his pretty wife, Mariah. Sam’s return to Gossamer Ridge after years away, and his recent marriage. His niece Cissy’s graduation.

      He’d missed all of it because going home had seemed too big a risk. But wasn’t what he was doing now even more dangerous? Cordero or the black-clad thugs—what was the difference?

      Was he doing the wrong thing again?

      “Is something wrong?” Hannah asked.

      He shook off his doubts. He needed help. He knew he could count on his family for backup. End of story. “Let me talk to Riley and then he can explain.”

      “Okay.” He heard the reluctance in his sister’s voice as she passed the phone to her husband.

      “Hi, Luke.” Riley Patterson’s voice was a low rumble tinged with a Wyoming twang. “Something up?”

      A lot was up, but he didn’t have time to do anything but get to the point. “Do your parents still live in Yuma?”

      “HAVE YOU EVEN met them before?” Abby resisted the urge to look out the window of the motel. She was pretty sure that whoever had been following them on I-8 had found them by now. Luke had assured her more than once that letting the bad guys find them was all part of his plan.

      She wished she could feel quite so confident.

      “No, I haven’t met them. I haven’t even met Riley.”

      She looked away from the closed curtains. “You haven’t met your brother-in-law? Not even at the wedding?”

      A flicker of pain crossed Luke’s face before his features settled into a carefully neutral expression. “I told you, I haven’t been home in ten years.”

      Abby shook her head and turned back toward the window. Luke had no idea how lucky he was to have a big family to go home to. “What makes you sure you can trust him?”

      “Hannah trusts him. She’s always been a good judge of character. A lot better than any of her hardheaded brothers.”

      She smiled a little at the confidence in his voice. For a guy who’d been avoiding home for so long, he clearly loved his family dearly. What in his secret past could have kept him away from them for ten years?

      Outside the motel room, a new sound interrupted the faint drone of traffic on the interstate—the low-pitched purr of a car engine. The sound died too suddenly for a passing car. Someone had entered the motel parking lot and shut off the engine. Was it the people they were waiting for?

      Abby looked at Luke, her pulse quickening. His expression didn’t change as he crossed calmly to the tiny dressing room vanity and picked up the scuffed plastic ice bucket.

      “Showtime,” he said, nodding toward the door near the back of the room. He’d already made quick work of the simple locks separating their room from