Security Detail. Lisa Phillips

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      Could he have been looking for them and kept it under the radar?

      Conner needed to find a photo of Andis’s wife and daughter online and show it to Kayla. If she had helped them, it would at least solve one mystery of the evening.

      Kayla walked Jan to her motel room, and the two hugged. Still, even with that display of solidarity, Conner couldn’t help thinking something about Jan Barton was...out of place. He shook off the idea. It had been a weird day for sure. Now it was the middle of the night and he needed to get Kayla home. She could get some sleep and he could sit outside in his truck and keep watch. Just in case.

      After she’d buckled herself back in, Conner said, “Long day ahead of you tomorrow.”

      She nodded. “I’ll have to make that statement to the sheriff and call my insurance agent, see how much work I can salvage. I back up at home, but my laptop is at the office. Maybe I’ve lost all my files from today.” She sighed. “I really didn’t need this. It’ll be expensive to rebuild.”

      Conner pulled out onto the road. “I’m sure your father will help you out.”

      Kayla was his only daughter, and despite her wildness as a teen, he did dote on her. More so given that her mother had passed away. Some men distanced themselves from their loved ones after a loss. Conner had seen it in others—whether the loss was death or divorce didn’t matter. It was all a type of grief to admit it was the end of what they’d thought their lives were going to be.

      Kayla’s father had been no different, though he had been an excellent president. Professional. Cordial to those who worked under him. Some presidents either ignored their Secret Service agents or treated them with outright disdain. It had been nice for Conner that the first president he had served under was a man who had respect for everyone, even those who could be construed as “beneath” him.

      Conner hit the highway and pressed down on the gas, eager to get where they were going.

      Kayla sighed. “Is it wrong that I don’t want my father to help me?” Her voice was softer than it had been. “I mean, I’m a grown woman. If I told him what happened tonight, he would send a detail of Secret Service agents my way and insist they didn’t leave my side until the threat against me had passed.”

      Conner didn’t think that was a bad idea but got the feeling it wasn’t what Kayla wanted to hear. “What do you want to do?”

      “I’d like to live my own life and make my own decisions. I have to be strong enough to get through this on my own, or when a stiff wind blows through, I’ll fall over and my life will disintegrate.”

      “I don’t think a lack of strength has ever been your problem, Kayla.”

      She shifted in the seat. “Do you really mean that?”

      Conner shrugged. “Of course.”

      Kayla slumped back down in her seat. “Sure, I guess.”

      “You don’t think so?” He’d seen her weather things that would have broken most people, and yet here she was. A lawyer. A beautiful woman who could hold herself together when her office was burning and people were coming after them. Why couldn’t she see that?

      “You of all people know that what we show the world is usually not what’s underneath the surface. No one wants to know the dark things, the parts of us that are terrified to show themselves.”

      She thought there was darkness in her? “Kayla—”

      “Don’t worry about it, okay? I do what I can for women who need help, and I like my job. I make a small difference, but it’s still a difference.” She glanced out the window. “It just has to be enough for me. That’s what I’m struggling with.”

      Conner frowned. Perhaps it was fatigue making her doubt herself. He didn’t see where she got the idea she didn’t do enough. His whole existence right now consisted of pretending to be a bad guy—which meant he had to do bad things so they wouldn’t figure him out—all for the chance to catch a real bad guy. He wasn’t a force for good in the world, just justice.

      Lights in his rearview mirror.

      Conner switched the angle down so they didn’t glare in his eyes and distract him.

      The lights moved to the left and shone in his wing mirror. Some guy with a problem. Conner slowed a little and moved to the side of his lane so the person could pass if he wanted to. But he didn’t.

      The vehicle sped up, close enough to clip their back left bumper, and then backed off. Then sped up again.

      Now they were on the right side.

      “Not good.”

      “What?” Kayla shifted to face him. “What is it?”

      “Just some idiot tailing us. Probably kids having fun with a lone truck on the highway.” But he didn’t believe it. After the night they’d had, there was no way it was a coincidence.

       FOUR

      Months ago a group of teens had tailed a woman on this highway, late at night. They’d taunted her before they ran her off the road. She’d hit a tree and suffered major injuries but didn’t remember anything except that they’d driven a truck and jeered as they drove past her.

      Kayla glanced back. The truck behind them could be the same truck of kids who’d hurt that woman. It was all she needed after her office was set on fire, and she’d had a long day before that happened. Now it was nearly midnight and she was exhausted.

      Conner, on the other hand, was dressed like he lived for the rush of a late-night car chase. It was a far cry from the suits she was used to seeing him in, but it kind of worked. In a serious bad-boy way.

      Kayla was in trouble—in more ways than one.

      The truck burst forward and slammed into their back bumper. Kayla screamed and grabbed the dash of Conner’s considerably older vehicle. It would crumple under the newer, heavy-duty truck right behind them. Nearly on top of them.

      “They’re coming again!”

      Conner gripped the wheel, his eyes intent. “Hold on.”

      “I am! What are you going to do?” She looked back. The truck had backed off, but it wouldn’t be long before it came at them again. Could they outrun a more powerful truck? Kayla tried to remember if there were any side roads they could pull off onto. If so, they might escape, or the other truck could simply follow them. Stop them. Hurt them. Kill them.

      The engine revved.

      Kayla’s knuckles turned white on the dash. Conner’s truck jerked forward and he let off the gas. Metal scraped against metal. The tires caught on the road again, and he put his foot down. He drove like this was a mental exercise—a game of chess. They were either the king or simply pawns expendable in the grand scheme of the game. Kayla had never liked chess. She was much better with five-thousand-piece puzzles.

      What was in Conner’s head? He СКАЧАТЬ