Page 18 of Nicole's Shelter

Or maybe he was as real as heroes get. The unwelcome thought emphasized the panic undermining all her senses—particularly her common sense.

He opened the door with the chain still on. She’d thought it was a nervous mistake until he popped open her compact and used the mirror to check the hallway.

She wondered what else he’d managed to do when she wasn’t looking. If he’d done a thorough search of her purse and found the credit card with another woman’s name on it, she didn’t think he’d still be helping her.

Whatever it is. The words were as clear as if he’d spoken them again.

He wasn’t the first man to make her a threatening sort of promise, just the only one who made it without any obvious strings attached. Like her death, or the death of another identity.

Pushing the door closed, he returned her compact, and then slid back the chain.

After a quick, reassuring squeeze of her hand, he opened the door once more. It was a relief to be on the move, with no time to think of any details other than coaching herself to keep up with his ground-eating stride.

He led her down the hall, away from the elevators, and into the stairwell. Her boots rang out against the cement stairs and she cringed as she immediately adjusted to her tiptoes. How did he move so quietly?

They made it to ground level without any attention and he ushered her out into the cold night.

Pulling her close, into the shelter of his arm, he murmured, “They expect you to be traveling alone. Put your arm around me.”

She did, noticing the bump of the pistol grip at the small of his back this time. The only thing standing between her and an all-out panic attack was this man.

“That’s our cab.” His chin jerked at the bright yellow car waiting at the next motel.

“But the camera inside…”

“A necessary risk. Just follow my lead.”

He slid into the back seat, leaning forward to block as much of the camera angle as possible as he told the cabbie to take them to the airport.

She tried to shrink into the corner, turning her face to the window and hoping she didn’t give enough of a view for the facial recognition programs. Her breath stalled in her chest as dark sedans with blue lights flashing on the dash sped toward the motel they’d just left.

It was impossible not to worry about being followed as the cabbie slid in and out of traffic, taking them closer to what felt like a trap. She’d been at the airport once today and had made a point of being seen by cameras there. With the controlled traffic pattern, if the marshals—or worse—found her, would Rick be able to get away?

Beside her, he took her hand once more, lifting it to his lips for a kiss that captured her full attention. “We’ll make the flight, I promise.”

She nodded, doing what she could to play along. For a woman who’d been someone other than herself for most of her life, she was having a hard time rising to the challenge of this particular acting job.

He kept up a running conversation, smiling encouragement when she managed a reply. If asked, she knew she could never explain what they talked about. His voice rumbled just under the sound of her heart pounding in her ears, blotting out individual words, and she only murmured into the short pauses.

Doubts swamped her. They would never outrun her troubles, not with enemies on both sides of the law.

“Hang in there,” Rick said.

Her hand was pleasantly trapped between his hand and hard thigh. She soaked up the warmth of his touch and focused on the security he offered. It would be nice to know why he was blindly helping her, but the cab wasn’t the time or place for those questions. By her count, he’d surpassed his job description of ‘checking on her’ long ago.

As they pulled into the airport, Rick directed the driver toward the airline with the most activity. He paid the fare as she stepped out, pretending to search her purse in order to keep her head down. It was going to be impossible to avoid all the security cameras, but she realized she trusted Rick to have a plan.

He gave her a huge smile as the cab pulled away and laced their fingers together. “Almost there,” he said, with a reassuring smile.

“Oh! You forgot the shopping bag.”

He glanced down at their empty hands. “Hmm. We didn’t need it anymore. Let whoever’s after you have fun with it.”

It was clearly an invitation to share, but she ignored it.

“Let’s get a quick shot for Facebook.” He stopped suddenly, and raised his cell phone to snap their picture. When they looked at the result, she laughed. He’d pulled a face and looked ridiculously silly next to her strained smile. “You can’t post that. We look deranged.”

“Of course I can.” He pocketed the phone again. “Or I could if I had an account.”

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