His Secret Life. Debra Webb

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ gaze narrowed. “So if you didn’t cut your arm in the rescue, what happened?”

      “I’m a short-order cook, lady. I get burned all the time. The diner’s equipment is old. Things don’t always work right and I have to tear ‘em apart to find the problem.” He held up his arm. “I cut my arm working on the grill’s wiring.”

      “I don’t believe you, Mr. Benson.”

      “Believe what you like, Ms. Sutton.” He opened the door. “Give your aunt my best.”

      “What about my phone and purse?” Her lips pinched in frustration. “And my press credentials?”

      He handed her the phone and press badge, then jerked his head toward the chair. “Take your stuff. And go.”

      She stalked across the room, shoved her things back into her purse. When she’d slung the strap over her shoulder she glared at him. “For a hero, you’re a really rude guy.”

      “I’m no hero, Ms. Sutton.” He studied her profile as she hesitated at the door but refused to look at him. “I’m just a short-order cook trying to get by.”

      Jane Sutton hesitated one more beat before walking out the open door. She stormed up the drive and to the road. Once she’d made the turn toward where they had left her car he lost sight of her in the dusk.

      He hadn’t seen the last of the lady.

      The other thing he was completely certain of was that he had to get on the road.

      What had he been thinking hanging around after that accident?

      The paramedics had asked him questions. The two cops had gotten a good look at him before he’d found an opportunity to slip into the woods. Mrs. Norcross had obviously remembered the details far too clearly.

      Troy was glad she and her son were okay. No way could he have walked away after witnessing her car going off the road.

      If he’d opted to forgo his run that night.

      If it hadn’t rained so hard so suddenly.

      If she hadn’t chosen that particular route that particular night.

      But she had. And he’d had no choice but to do the right thing.

      Now he was left with no choice once more.

      If the press, assuming Jane Sutton actually worked for the Chicago Tribune, was on to his identity, it wouldn’t be long until others learned those details as well.

      Troy Benson was finished.

      He would have to pick a new name.

      A new address.

      New job.

      But first he had to kill Troy Benson.

      That was the hardest part. Finding a way to end a life without getting caught or leaving too many lingering suspicions.

      He could do it.

      He’d done it before.

       Chapter Five

      Jane turned the car around and headed back to the highway.

      Troy Benson might have the people in this town believing he was just a short-order cook, but that was so far from the truth she wanted to laugh.

      It wasn’t so unusual for a guy living out in the country to have a handgun. It wasn’t even unusual for him to investigate anyone hanging around his property. But the whole interrogation thing had been totally out of character for the persona he was going for.

      The guy had something he seriously wanted to hide.

      And it had absolutely nothing to do with avoiding the limelight or a much-earned reward.

      Jane got a glimpse of a turnoff she’d noticed earlier and slammed on her brakes. She shoved the gearshift into Reverse and backed up. It looked as if there had once been a driveway here, but it had long ago been overcome by weeds and grass. With a glance in the rearview mirror to ensure that Benson hadn’t followed her, she pulled forward a little and backed into the drive. When she’d backed a good enough distance from the road to avoid being spotted, she turned off the headlights and ignition.

      Since Mr. Benson was armed, it would be in her best interest to carry her weapon just in case he wasn’t so pleasant the next time they met. She reached into the console and retrieved her weapon. After adjusting the interior light so that it didn’t come on when she opened the door, she got out and closed her car door as quietly as possible.

      Sliding the weapon into her waistband, she listened past the sound of the leaves rustling in the slight breeze. It was getting darker by the minute. Thankfully the moon had appeared and was filtering light through the trees. Another five minutes and she wouldn’t need to worry about being spotted when she made her way back to the farmhouse. Since she’d carefully staked out the area earlier today, she knew the most pedestrian-friendly route to stay out of sight and clear of the gravel road.

      Keeping a close eye on Benson until she heard back from the print search was imperative. Jane’s instincts were shouting at her that the man was planning to disappear. Though she had no evidence to indicate anything in his past would send him running, and certainly nothing about Norcross’s interest in him would prompt such a reaction, she could feel Benson’s desire to escape. He was not going to hang around long.

      His tension had been palpable. He was worried big time about who she was and what her exact intentions might be. Her appearance alone was not nearly enough motivation to prompt him to cut and run. Something else had to be behind the escalating tension.

      Headlights turning onto the gravel road had her stepping back into the tree line. The lights going dark while the vehicle still rolled sent her instincts to the next level.

      Since it wasn’t hunting season and the only inhabited house on this stretch of the road was Benson’s, there was every reason to believe this visitor was here for similar reasons as she.

      Logic told her this could be an actual reporter attempting to track down the hero who had rescued Norcross’s family. But her gut told her differently. So far, no one had the scoop on the anonymous rescuer. At least not that had been reported. Nope, this was no reporter.

      This was trouble with a capital T.

      The sedan stopped short of Benson’s drive. The front doors, driver’s and passenger’s, opened. Despite the dark clothing and the ski masks, the hazy light of the moon allowed her to make out enough about the tall, broad-shouldered frames to recognize that both were male. The driver motioned to the passenger, sending him through the overgrown pasture toward Benson’s house.

      Damn. Definitely not good.

      Jane weaved her way through the dense underbrush, trying to keep noise to a minimum. If she had Benson’s number she could warn him.

      “Damn it,” she muttered under her breath.

      If these guys got to his house before СКАЧАТЬ