Page 8 of Laura's Truth

Livid at being a pawn in a game she didn’t understand, she followed him, taking shelter behind the solid granite corner of the church. “We should separate,” she suggested. She had a backup revolver at her ankle. “I’ll call the police.”

“No.” His hand enveloped hers in a crushing grip. “The police can’t stop him. Just stick with me. Don’t make a scene,” he ordered, moving toward the sidewalk.

“You know him,” she accused. Using the reflections of store windows to check if the shooter was trailing them, she noticed Garner doing the same.

“Not personally. Just his type.”

Questions, options, and resolutions raced through her mind. The first problem she should’ve been working on was how to get the upper hand over Garner. She might’ve made that a priority under normal circumstances, but instead she was stuck on the minutiae. “He knew my name.”

“I heard.” Garner hurried her around a corner, walking so quickly she nearly had to jog to keep up with his longer stride. “This way.” He zigged and zagged around couples and families clogging the sidewalks in search of the next historical landmark, attraction, or restaurant.

“Let me go. I can circle back, get behind him.”

“Not a chance. I need you alive.”

She couldn’t effectively debate or demonstrate her ability to take care of herself without causing the very scene he wanted to avoid. He marched them up the stairs to the valet stand of a stately hotel and asked for a cab.

A minute later the shooter strolled by on the sidewalk without sparing them a glance, but she knew they’d been spotted. She hadn’t registered much beyond the gun and the voice in the churchyard, but out on the street, she forced herself to catalog each detail. Average height, dark aviator sunglasses, medium brown hair trimmed short. Wearing a polo shirt and khakis, he blended easily with the Charleston businessmen and tourists. In passing, he’d be interchangeable with Garner—before the blond hair.

When the cab pulled up, she intended to slide right across the seat and out the other rear passenger door, but between Garner’s hold and the shooter casually snapping pictures at the end of the drive, she stayed put.

“You’re pretty popular for a dead man,” she murmured.

Chapter 2

“Every damn day,” Drew replied. “The airport,” he directed the driver. As they pulled away from the hotel, he fought the urge to swivel around and see whether the shooter followed them.

Talbot didn’t have any such reservations. When she’d decided they weren’t being tailed, she turned to him, her hazel eyes cool and steady. “Did you set all of that up to scare me?”

The logical question didn’t make it easier to swallow. “I could ask the same of you.” He could see the wheels turning, the speculation and doubt in her eyes. It mirrored the same feelings coursing through his system along with the adrenaline.

The difference was he didn’t think she’d pull that kind of stunt and she was so damn sure he would. Well, she was right. To a point. Not that he planned to clear up the specific details yet. Having her on edge and a little afraid of him, as well as having her help him evade the bastard they’d just left behind, worked in his favor. He hoped.

“What now?” she asked.

“I figured you’d have some ideas, being from the area.”

“North and South Carolina are different areas, in case you’ve forgotten your domestic geography.”

“Pretty much.” Of course he knew they were different, but the states and capitals lessons from grade school were buried deep in his memory by necessity. Survival took precedence and immediate and thorough immersion into a global community mindset had been essential. He knew his way around Venice and Rome, knew the streets of Morocco and Kabul better than he knew anywhere in the US these days.

“You can’t be serious about the airport. He said your passport was flagged,” she murmured. “They’ll have someone waiting for you.”

He forced himself to meet her gaze. “Someone like you?”

“No. I told you I’m here alone. I came in peace, by the way.”

“But our friend back there knew both of us.”

“Or claims to,” she agreed, her eyebrows knitting in a hard scowl. “He didn’t seem all that worried about following us.”

“Give me your phone.” He extended his palm, but she shook her head. “At least toss it out the window.”

“Absolutely not.”

“I’ll replace it.”

“That’s not the point.”

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