The Fugitive's Secret Child. Geri Krotow

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СКАЧАТЬ his ear rested on her back. He wondered if she could feel how well they still fit together.

      “Ugh.” His grunt came out louder than he’d planned, but the ATV rode like a truck without the shock absorbers. Holy hell but Trina knew how to maneuver it, as well as she’d flown the P-8 they’d met in. More importantly, how to evade a pursuer. Within minutes they passed through a copse of birch, pine and fir trees and drove up onto a paved road. A real highway.

      It was pure bliss to his bruised ass and kidneys, as well as his sore crotch.

      With no fanfare, she stopped the ATV and dismounted, indicating he do the same. She took the puppy from him as he stiffly executed a controlled fall off his seat. At least he was on two feet.

      Trina’s gaze assessed him, but if she thought it was the man she’d once loved, her expression revealed nothing. She’d had the time she needed to regain her composure.

      “We have to move quickly. Can you still run?”

      “I’ll do my best.”

      Her cool gray eyes met his. Awareness, tight and immediate, thrummed between them. He held his breath, waiting for her to acknowledge she recognized him.

      “Damn right. Let’s go.” She tucked the damned dog under one arm and grabbed his upper arm with the other. She propelled him forward, leading them back into the deeper part of the woods, away from the highway. For someone with such a lean body she was remarkably strong. And fast. Just as he remembered.

      His breath hitched, and the air felt like fire as it entered and exited his lungs, scraping as it went. The raspy sound would have alarmed him if he weren’t afraid they were both about to get shot to pieces by one of Vasin’s men. He was pretty sure Vasin was down for the count, with a shelving unit and tear gas to fight through. He’d caught the other thugs unawares, too, but at least one if not two of them had escaped and shot at them. He had no doubt they were close behind on the remaining ATVs. His ears strained to hear their roar. He was afraid that they’d alerted Ivanov to the breach of their inner sanctum. The ROC would unleash hell on earth to stop Rob and anyone who threatened their dominion.

      “Come on! Don’t slow down now.” No compassion laced Trina’s urgent order.

      “Going. Fast. As. I. Can.” He gritted his teeth, but his swollen cheeks didn’t make it the pain-relieving experience it should have been as his jaw screamed in protest.

      The roar of an ATV reached his ears just fine, however. Cold sweat would have broken out on his neck if he weren’t already overheated from the physical demands of the run and his pain non-management.

      Trina heard the engine as well. She kept moving, kept up their forward momentum as she half pushed, half dragged him by his good arm. “Come on, buddy. Pretend you’re in shape and have to score the winning touchdown in the Super Bowl. You’re a wide receiver, running with the ball toward the goalpost.”

      In shape? Couldn’t she see he was freaking injured, not out of shape?

      “We’re headed to that spot over there, by the way.” He looked at her out of his good eye, which made him turn his head, and he tripped. Sharp rocks and hard dirt raced up toward him, filling his limited vision, before a hard yank on his shirt collar had him upright. His neck howled in pain.

      “Aggggh.” He stifled the scream, and it sounded like a damned frog. This was definitely an example of how not to run into a former lover.

      “Stay with me.” Trina’s voice strained as she dug in with the heels of her work boots and kept him from falling face-first onto the forest floor for a second time. She held on to his collar as she pulled him up next to her, her silver eyes steady on him again. “You okay?”

      He grunted.

      “Then get in this car, back seat, now.” She’d led them to what he’d thought was a huge shrub but she pulled the branches off to reveal a small hatchback—a Ford Fiesta. If he had the breath he’d whoop and hug the tight-assed marshal. She was his ticket out of hell. Until he told her he was, had been, Justin. That he was still alive. Would she even care?

      “Okay, get in.” He bit his lip as he held on to the small car’s roof with his arm, holding his injured arm against his middle. After he got into the seat, Trina put his seat belt around him, and he caught a whiff of her scent. When he breathed in sharply she stilled and stared at him, her expression wary. Frightened.

      Yeah, she’d noticed the resemblance.

      The buckle clicked into place and Trina straightened outside the car. “Keep an eye on the dog.” The mangy pup was placed on the seat next to him, where it immediately curled up and went to sleep. Rob envied the dog’s ability to give in to basic instinct.

      He’d be fighting his the entire time he was with Trina.

      * * *

      The shooters had come so close to them but never noticed the car under the branches, between two full bushes.

      Only minutes earlier, getting killed by fugitives had been her biggest worry. Not whether or not she was sane, thinking the man behind her was Justin. Justin was dead. But if he’d lived, if this was him, she’d have to tell him about her Justin Berger, his son, Jake.

       No, you don’t.

      Yes, she did. Protecting Jake from strangers was one thing, but from his father another. Although the man in the back seat was virtually a stranger. He couldn’t be Justin.

       It’s improbable but still possible.

      As she cleared the remaining branches off the car, she used the small space from Rob Bristol to get it together. She refused to look back as she took off her cowboy hat, threw it across to the passenger seat, and slid into the driver’s seat. Trina waited as the sound of the Russians’ ATV engines faded, making certain they were gone before she started the car.

      The man remained silent as she drove up onto the highway. After a few miles on flat pavement, she checked him out in the rearview mirror. His head was tilted back as if he’d fallen asleep. Or unconscious. Panic gripped her chest.

      “Hey! You still with me?”

      Nothing.

      He could be messing with her. But then he lifted his head, and she saw the tortured expression on his face. Compassion pierced her defenses.

      “Are you all right? I’ve got pain meds in the first aid kit.”

      “A-okay, baby cakes.”

      Realization slammed through her, blowing away her cobwebs of disbelief and denial. Unless this was a ghost, and she’d imagined the entire time between seeing him stumble out of the building that was housing Vasin and now, this had to be Justin. He was the only one who’d ever called her “baby cakes.”

      Justin was still alive.

      She headed east, called her boss and refused to look her passenger in the eye. She gripped the wheel, waiting for Corey to pick up.

      “Trina, why the freak haven’t you checked in?” Corey Blumenthal’s voice rumbled in her earpiece. She couldn’t use the speakerphone, not with an unknown in the back seat, no matter that СКАЧАТЬ