Live-In Lover. Lyn Stone

She felt claustrophobic.

      “Can you see anything, Mama? I wonder what he’s doing.”

      “Don’t you trust him to look after us? He seems very capable to me.”

      “It’s not that,” Molly answered. “I just wonder where he went.”

      “I wouldn’t worry about that boy getting lost.”

      Molly huffed. “‘Boy’?”

      Brenda laughed again. “I like him.”

      So do I, Molly thought. Entirely too much. She stared out into the night, seeing and hearing absolutely nothing. “He must have eyes like a cat!”

      They sat silently for a few minutes listening to Sydney’s light snoring. That’s when Molly noticed the faint light flickering indirectly against the foliage on either side of the car.

      Something began bumping and scraping underneath, a sound that continued for some time. “What in the world is he doing?” she whispered.

      In the stillness, the sound grew louder, making its way around the entire vehicle. Then the beam of light reappeared, illuminating Damien’s face as he rapped on the glass with his knuckle.

      Her mother popped the locks and Damien got in. He handed her the penlight. “Hold this. Shine it on my hands.”

      “What are you doing?” Molly asked when she saw him open the pocket knife on his key chain.

      “Deactivating this,” he muttered. “Tracking device.”

      Seconds later he calmly fastened his seat belt. “All clear now.”

      He cranked up and slowly began backing out of the woods and onto the dirt road. Expertly, he maneuvered the car to the main highway, switched on the lights and continued as though nothing had happened. In the opposite direction.

      “What did you do to the car?” she asked.

      “I was looking for this,” he said, holding up a small black object he had been working on. “It was attached underneath the bumper. I knew Jensen wasn’t following us as we left the city. Not closely enough for me to detect, at any rate.”

      Brenda clicked her tongue against her teeth. “Now where the devil would Jack get a thing like that?”

      Damien shrugged. “It’s just a simple device, nothing sophisticated that he would need any real connections to obtain. Only a cut above a radar detector.”

      Molly scoffed. “I can’t believe he did this!”

      “First bit of evidence,” Damien said, dropping the gadget into his jacket pocket.

      Molly suddenly realized that Jack would have had to approach her house this very night to put the tracker in place. He would have been right there in her driveway, fiddling with Damien’s car while they sat in her house waiting to leave. He could have done worse. What if he had tampered with the brakes? Or put a bomb under the car?

      “But how did he know we were going anywhere? Could my house be bugged? Did he hear everything we said?”

      “No, I checked all the rooms for listening devices. Your phones, as well. Best guess is that he’s watching your place or has hired someone else to do it. I think he just wants to track you wherever you go and then turn up unexpectedly. I’d be willing to bet he’s had a tracker on your van for some time now. When I showed up, he probably decided to place one on this car for the same reason.”

      Molly pushed back in her seat and covered her face with her hands, willing her anger to overcome the fear. Then she looked up at the rearview mirror. The dash lights provided a dim reflection of Damien’s eyes, those wonderful blue eyes.

      How in the world could he calm and reassure her with a glance and create such turmoil in her at the same time?

      Shortly after one in the morning, Damien drove through Clarkston, the small town where he had rented the house for Brenda Devereaux and the baby. He swung into the parking lot of a Texaco station, chose a shadowy corner, and cut the engine.

      “They’ve rolled up the sidewalks, I see,” Brenda remarked, propping her elbow on the window and resting her head on her hand. “Don’t see a soul.”

      She sounded and looked exhausted. Hell, they were all fatigued except for the baby. Little Sydney slept on, unaware that her father had caused such a ruckus. Hopefully Jensen would never locate them in this place. Still, one could never be too careful.

      No cars cruised the streets. Even the convenience store opposite the gas station was closed for the night. Except for a few lighted windows in a house here and there—late-night readers or late show enthusiasts—it appeared the entire town of Clarkston was asleep.

      Satisfied they had not been followed or anticipated, Damien pulled out onto the street, counting the houses north from the first traffic light until he came to the one he sought.

      The streetlights illuminated the typical, small, Southern-town cottage, a modest one-story, its fat square columns supporting the roof of a wide front porch. The house sat near the end of Main Street, sandwiched between two others that appeared similar in style. An added benefit was the proximity to a three-man police station situated only two blocks away.

      Though everyone knew it was much easier to hide someone in a large city, Damien figured now was definitely the time to do the unexpected. Jensen probably wouldn’t bother looking for Brenda and the baby anyway when he realized Molly hadn’t accompanied them into hiding.

      He made a mental note to thank the local Bureau office and especially the agent whom he had contacted earlier. When he had explained the situation, and told her about Ford’s sister, Agent Kim Avery suggested this place and made the arrangements. It certainly fit all his specifications. The location was perfect.

      Even the rent had proved reasonable, though he would never tell Molly this came out of his pocket. As far as she knew, they were making use of a regular safe house.

      “Why, this looks lovely, Damien!” Brenda remarked as they pulled into the driveway and the car lights flashed the front of the structure.

      “All the comforts of home, I hope.” He shut off the car and got out, opened the back door first and lifted the baby out for Molly.

      Damien couldn’t deny how he looked forward to holding the child again. It wouldn’t do to dwell much on just why he felt that way. She was cute, that was all. Cuddly and sweet, like a puppy you could hand back to the owner once you’d admired it sufficiently.

      Such trust, to sleep in a stranger’s arms, Damien thought to himself. He could hardly credit it, even in one so young. He had rarely slept in the presence of another person, except in dorms and army barracks when he’d had no choice. Even then, he’d had to be all but comatose with exhaustion to do so.

      Under sedation in the hospital, he’d had no problem sleeping. Of course, at that time he had almost hoped someone would sneak in and put him out of his misery.

      He smiled inwardly, mocking the inborn caution he often carried to extremes. Damien sometimes wondered if he hadn’t embarked on professions that made his bogeymen very real, just so he could finally confront them face-to-face.

      He held the totally limp child, her tiny bum resting on his forearm and her head on his shoulder, until they reached the front door.

      “Better let me go in first,” he said. Quickly he shifted Sydney to her mother’s arms, knelt to retrieve the key from under the potted geranium where Kim had said she would leave it.

      “Wait here in the shadows where you can’t be seen from the street,” he ordered. The women did exactly as he said without any argument.

      He pulled his weapon, released the safety and unlocked the door. His search was not cursory, even though he didn’t believe there was any way Jack could have discovered their destination.

      When he found the place entirely safe as he’d