One Tough Marine. Paula Graves

and Abby exhaled.

      Exchanging a quick look with her, Luke tucked Stevie close and joined her at the door to the adjoining room.

      “What if they jump you outside?” Abby paused with her hand on the doorknob, fear freezing her insides.

      “They won’t go after me when I have Stevie. These people may be ruthless, but they don’t really want to hurt a kid.”

      She reached out to stroke her son’s silky hair. Fear crystallized in the pit of her belly. “You hope.”

      “I think.” His expression softened, and he started to lift the hand holding the ice bucket. He let it drop again, a little wrinkle of frustration forming between his eyes.

      Abby wondered what that aborted gesture meant. Had he been planning to touch her? She was alarmed by how much she craved his touch right now. How gladly she’d have walked into his arms had he spread them open to welcome her.

      “I’ll protect him with my life, Abs. Nobody’s going to hurt him on my watch.”

      Nobody was better prepared to follow through on the promise he’d just made. But she’d seen their pursuers in action. They were equally skilled, and unlike Luke, they had plenty of resources backing them up.

      “I know you’re afraid,” Luke added. “But this is our best chance to go to ground awhile to get them off our trail.”

      She met his steady gaze, struggling to draw strength from his confidence. “I’ll be waiting for your knock.”

      He smiled briefly as she opened the door and entered the adjoining room. As she locked the door behind her, she heard Luke doing the same thing to the door on their side.

      The people after them were as capable of picking locks as Luke—if they’d even bother with stealth. But two locked doors would at least give her a head start on escaping.

      She resisted the urge to watch through the narrow gap in the curtains, not wanting to alert their pursuers to her presence in the second room. Instead, she sat on the edge of the bed in the dark, counting every frantic heartbeat to pass the time while she waited for Luke’s signal.

      LUKE STAYED CLOSE to the motel facade, keeping to the shadows, not because he thought that such a maneuver would help him evade detection but because he knew it wouldn’t. He was dealing with pros who apparently knew a lot about his background. If he didn’t at least try to avoid being seen, they’d know he was setting a trap.

      His plan, long shot that it was, depended on the enemy believing he didn’t have a plan.

      Against his shoulder, Stevie stirred as the cold November air slid under the blanket tucked around him. “Mama?”

      “Shh,” Luke murmured, tucking him closer. Knowing the little boy’s sleepy whimpers would carry in the crisp night breeze, Luke made a show of trying to quiet him, but he didn’t really mind if anyone heard. Trying to walk a restless child into falling back to sleep created a pretty good reason for him to be outside the room at this time of night. Fortunately, Stevie settled right back to sleep.

      He took his time walking to the ice machine near the motel office, keeping his eyes peeled for any sign of movement. He caught the flicker of light coming from inside a dark sedan parked near the end of the parking lot, so faint that almost anyone else might assume he’d just imagined it. But in a glance, Luke assured himself that the parked vehicle was the one that had been following them for miles.

      Reaching the corner, he turned, heading down the narrow breezeway to where the ice machine and a couple of drink vending machines filled a small alcove hidden from view of the parking lot. But instead of turning into the alcove, he continued on past the ice machine to the rear of the motel.

      A narrow dirt alley ran behind the building, an access point for trash retrieval from the large Dumpster located behind the front office. Luke headed quickly down the alley, rounded the office and edged his way along the side of the building until he had a decent view of the parking lot from the shadows.

      He saw a dark figure glide silently across the parking lot and disappear into the gloom under the eaves of the brick building, heading in the direction of Luke’s motel room.

      Bold bastards, he thought.

      The black-clad man looked shorter and stockier than the two who’d invaded Luke’s house earlier that evening. He’d been right. The people who were after what Matt stole had resources and, apparently, plenty of willing operatives.

      This almost had to be about Voices for Villages and Janis Meeks. Had Matt found evidence tying Barton Reid to the arms-for-drugs deals? It was an open secret in foreign policy circles that Reid had a philosophical affinity with El Cambio and their political aims. Had Matt found some sort of evidence to prove that one of the State Department’s top men put his personal leanings over the stated foreign policy of his own government to the point of arming narco-terrorists?