Page 44 of Dirty Gambit

“Jay?”

“It’s okay,” Jaxon assured her gently, reaching between the front seats to caress her satin cheek with a bent knuckle. “I’ll be right back.”

Her big, brown eyes met his, wide and doubtful, but she remained silent when he pulled away. Not sure how else to comfort her when he himself was at a loss, Jaxon raised his attention to the woman half slumped on the front hood of the Chevy. Her head was down, bringing her thin shoulders up around her ears. Maybe it was the rigid tension curving her narrow spine, or the way she seemed to be trembling, but her unraveling had him nudging open his own door and climbing out to face her.

“Lena?”

Her head rocked slowly from side to side but never lifted. “Get back in the car, Jaxon.”

He crept a few more steps closer. “Not until you tell me what’s going on. What happened?”

The fingers she’d curled against the hood bunched into fists. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

She continued to shake her head. Her wig — not properly pinned to her scalp — slipped slightly to one side. She didn’t bother fixing it, but she poked her glasses up her nose with one finger. Her entire body shuddered with her ragged inhale.

“I didn’t kill them.” Her words caught on a sob that wrenched at his heart. “I swear, Jaxon, I didn’t…”

Jaxon didn’t need to ask for clarification. Lena’s mugshot hanging over the three photos of the murdered officers was still fresh in his mind. It was hard to refute what was right in front of him, broadcasted by a reputable station. She had a gun, had zero problems waving it at people, and had even fired the thing at him, yet he couldn’t picture her as a cold-blooded killer. There was a definite possibility he could be wrong, but any misgiving he may have had was overshadowed by the state of her now looking terrified and bewildered on a deserted road in the middle of nowhere.

“How did they find DNA at the crime scene?”

Her chest hitched in a tremulous inhale. Her mouth opened and stayed that way for several seconds while she visibly struggled to put words to whatever was going on in her head. When it seemed like she would stay that way forever, he spoke.

“Tell me what happened, and I might be able to help.”

“You can’t.” She slid off the hot hood and staggered slightly before catching herself. She started towards the driver’s side. “Get back in the car.”

Jaxon, caught up in his concern for her, nearly missed the oddity staring him right in the face; he wasn’t cuffed, and after her display of undressing earlier, she didn’t have her gun. He couldn’t be sure where it was, but she had no room for it under that frumpy dress. Also, she had her back to him, her defenses down, her mind miles away. If there was ever going to be a more perfect opening to get Jessie away from what was quickly becoming a hazardous situation, he couldn’t see it.

Mind fixed on the new plan, he moved, closing the four steps separating them in two long strides. His heart galloped wildly in his chest, a vicious thunder that echoed loudly in his ears. He almost fumbled in fear that she might hear it, but then he had her. His arms closed around the tiny frame of her upper body, shackling her arms to her side, and halting her mid shuffle. For a full heartbeat, neither said anything, possibly both too stunned by the situation, but Lena came out of it faster.

She bucked. Her gasp rose into a snarl.

“What are you doing?”

“Putting an end to this,” he hissed back into the cheap, itchy wig the texture of dry, brittle grass against his cheek.

The backward swing of her head caught him in the chin, barely cushioned by the three days’ worth of growth sprouting from his face. The blunt impact sent a bolt of white-hot pain exploding across his entire skull, but he held on, tightening his grip when she tried to twist free. Their feet tangled. She stepped on his several times, sometimes on purpose, but he held his ground, refusing to let her slip out.

“Stop!” he growled through a bloody mouth and watery eyes.

That only made her fight harder. The sharp point of her elbow caught him in the ribs. The heel of her loafers’ ground into the instep of his foot. He barely missed another crack of her crown into his face.

Left with no option, he shoved her face first into the side of the car, pinning her there with the length of his weight. One knee wedge between both of hers and he wrestled her arms over the roof. He held them there with a single handcuffing her frail wrists to the hot metal. The other hand tore off the wig and glasses chucked them somewhere over his shoulder.

Thick, beautiful hair tumbled down around them in a rich, dark chocolate that smelled of generic hotel soap and sunlight. It took all his willpower — despite the points of pain emanating from various parts of his battered body — not to turn his face into the downy strands. That was how she’d gotten away from him that last time he’d had her on the bed. He’d been so caught up in the feel of her beneath him, her hot, trembling body writhing that he’d forgotten why he’d grabbed her in the first place. But not this time.

“It’s over,” he panted into her ear. “Stop fighting.”

“I can’t,” she gasped, sounding as breathless as he was. “You have no idea what’s happening.”

“Then tell me!”

Her head rocked violently, silky strands of hair tangling with the slight bush along his jaw with the motion. “Please, Jaxon.”

Refusing to let her distract him, Jaxon wrenched her arms around behind her back, careful not to hurt her as he pulled them away from the car and towards the backseat. Jessie peered up at them from the shadowy interior, saying nothing as Jaxon rummage through the baby bag on the seat with his free hand. He located the cuffs from the side pocket and clapped them over her wrists.

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