Page 83 of Dangerous Lover

He could see the lampposts along the street—the snowstorm was easing up slightly. Deaver was out there, moving from cover to cover and inside a few minutes, he’d reach Caroline. Deaver didn’t need for her to bolt. All he had to do was sneak up behind her, snake an arm around her neck, and call for Jack to put down his weapon.

Jack would do it, too. Even knowing that certain death would follow, he’d do it to save Caroline. Only he wouldn’t save her. She’d be next.

Jack swallowed the surge of bile in his throat, thetaste of defeat.

There!Something flitted between the trees, a ghost of movement. Deaver. Coming closer.

Caroline couldn’t stay there, she’d be dead inside of five minutes. And Deaver had filled her head with so many lies, she wouldn’t run to him.

She had to get away,now!

Jack dug into his jeans pocket and tossed a mass of metal towards Caroline. Even in the dusk and in the snow, he had an excellent aim. It fell at her feet, sinking instantly into the snow.

She bent and picked it up, turning it over in her hand. He could see her clearly now. She raised her eyes and saw him. His heart clenched at the expression on her face—sorrow and fear and grief.

“Caroline,” he said urgently. “Those are the keys to the Explorer. It’s parked on Harrison. Get in and drive, just as fast as you can. Head for Seattle or Spokane. There’s a couple of thousand dollars in the glove compartment, use that. Just get yourself away from here. If something—if something happens to me, get in contact with Philip Napier. He’s an estate lawyer on Hewitt. I’ve left my will with him. You’ll inherit everything I own. Have him wire you the money and disappear. Don’t ever come back here. Deaver will kill you if you do.”

She stared into his eyes. “Where did the money come from?” she whispered.

Another glimpse of a shape, barely visible, taking refuge behind the concrete walls of the public toilets before Jackcould aim. He was moving towards the bandstand. Jack could see the barrel of Deaver’s gun jutting out from the right-hand corner of the wall. Caroline was on the other side of the bandstand. He’d figure it out in a moment, and would rush her. She had only minutes left.

“Listen carefully, sweetheart. The money didn’t come from the diamonds, I swear. I sold my father’s company and my house. Use it and stay far away from here. Promise me you’ll go. I need to know you’re safe.”

“You had photographs of me.” Tears were rolling down her cheeks. “You know Greenbriar inside out. Whoareyou?”

He had to get her away, now. Only the truth would work.

“Ben.”

“What?”

“I’m Ben, sweetheart. Do you remember the boy in the homeless shelter? Twelve years ago? You brought me food and books.”

Her eyes were wide, fixed on his. He could see her very clearly. The snow had almost stopped. Fifty feet away, Deaver stepped out from behind the concrete wall and assumed the stance.

“Ben? You’re Ben?”

Jack brought his weapon up, aimed. Time had run out.

“Run, Caroline! Run!” he screamed.

Caroline bolted and ran. But not towards his vehicle. She ran straight towards him.

Deaver stepped out from behind the concrete wall, tracking her… finger on the trigger…

Jack caught Caroline with one arm, lifting his weapon, going for the one shot certain to kill instantly—putting a round right on the bridge of Deaver’s nose. Deaver fell backwards, the spray of blood bright on the pristine white snow.

And that was all Jack saw as he wrapped his arms around Caroline, safe now, safe forever, and buried his face in her hair, tears bright and cold on his face.

Headquarters of The Children’s Shelter

Chicago

Two weeks later

Sister Mary Michaelsmiled at the envelope on her desk. Over the course of the past ten years, there had been many of them—all the same. They had all been addressed to her, care of the non-denominational charity she headed. The Children’s Shelter, dedicated to providing an education to the lost children in homeless shelters.

Each envelope was written in black ink in a bold, strong hand. Each envelope held the same return address—a foundation incorporated in the Bahamas. The JP Foundation, Box 1341, Grand Bahama. Each envelope held a check.

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