Page 28 of Nicole's Shelter

“I have to get out of here. You have to let me go and stay away. Please.” She hated begging. It never helped. Not when her mom and sister were dying. Not when she met with attorneys who refused to bring the case to trial.

Escape was her only option. “You have to let me do this my way.”

Rick dropped into a crouch, his hands resting lightly on her knees. “Tell me.”

“I can’t.” She shook her head, her mouth pulled into one tense, despondent line. “They’ll hurt you too.”

Bart stepped up behind Rick. “They can try, but I’ve bet my life—more than once—on this man’s skills.”

She looked from Bart to Rick; saw the same determination on both stern faces. “Why will the DEA be here within the hour?”

“I’m a thoroughfare,” Bart said.

“You deal drugs?”

“No,” Bart said with a snarl. “But I have a good eye for who’s probably transporting. It’s the coffee. Keeps everyone coming back. Being a busy stop twenty-four-seven gives bad guys a sense of anonymity.”

“They’d be wrong,” Rick said.

“Very wrong.” Bart nodded emphatically. “Which is why the DEA hangs out frequently. That and the coffee.”

“It’s good coffee,” she said, relaxing a fraction. “The transporters don’t get scared off by the DEA?”

“There’s a certain cocky pride in running something right underneath the noses of the law,” Bart explained. “They don’t usually bust anyone here anyway.”

Nicole knew one particular DEA agent wouldn’t hesitate to bust her no matter when or where he found her. The gang house had burned and the drugs went missing because his team could pin a convincing motive on her. They’d probably even offer up a believable reason as to why she burned down her apartment building. He was closing in and he wanted her to know it.

“He knows.” She dropped her head into her hands.

“Who?”

“You wouldn’t believe me even if I could tell you.”

“Nicole.”

“You just said you didn’t trust me.”

Rick floundered. “What?”

“Just as he burst in.” She flicked a hand at Bart.

Rick sighed. “I was about to say I didn’t trust you to stay put.”

“Oh.”

He really should look somewhere other than her lips if he didn’t want to embarrass them both in front of Bart. Her eyes, wide and dark and miserable, weren’t any less of a temptation. He wanted to erase the misery, to fix this for her. He wanted to see her dazed with passion, like she’d been in that brief moment at the airport.

“Tell me enough to help you.”

“There’s a DEA agent who thinks he’s above the law. I can identify him. He might work with an arsonist.”

“They work in this area?”

“Not when…” Her eyes full of tears, she swallowed hard. “When this started,” she finished, gathering herself.

“You were relocated.” Obviously. “And you think the agent or the arsonist has found you.”

She gave a jerky nod.

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