“Excuse me, Ma’am?”
Charlotte jerked her head up at the sound of a male voice and found herself staring into the eyes of a stranger, and into the barrel of a gun.
“You need to come with me,” he said. He nodded toward a car that had pulled up to the curb beside her. It was long, sleek, and black, running almost soundlessly, and its rear door was standing open. “Get into the car, Ma’am.”
“Look, take my wallet,” she said, fumbling in her coat pocket for the billfold she’d brought with her. “There’s cash, some credit cards. And here, my watch.”
“Just get into the car.”
Looking up at him again, she dropped the wallet back into her pocket and tried to weigh her options. She could get into the car and hope for a better chance, or she could make a run for it now and hope he was a lousy shot.
The question was, just how fast could a nine-month-pregnant woman, who might have just felt her first contraction, run?
Chapter Two
As it turned out, she didn’t need to decide. There were two dull thuds, and it seemed as if the man’s buttons exploded. Tiny little poofs of fabric. He dropped the gun he’d been pointing at her, a shocked expression on his face as he sank to the sidewalk. Then of course, she saw the blood.
There were squealing tires and roaring motors, and a crash that scared her half to death as a small red car smashed into the back of the long black one, pushing it forward several yards. The red car’s passenger door opened, and Johnny yelled. “Get in. Fast!”
She got in, and he was speeding away before she even got the door closed again.
“Did they hurt you?” he asked.
She closed her eyes, only wanting to blot out the sound of his voice and the insane way he was driving until her mind could wrap itself around all that was happening. Leaning her head back against the soft seat, she grabbed the seat belt with her other hand, pulled it around her. But as she fastened it, her hand brushed hot metal and her eyes flew open.
The gun lay on the seat between them. The extension affixed to its end was one she recognized only from watching old Bond films. A silencer.
“You just killed a man,” she whispered.
“I didn’t have a choice.” He adjusted the mirror, looking into it almost as often as he looked at the road ahead of them.
“Are they following?”
“They were.” He kept driving, though he did slow down to a more reasonable speed. They came to large, open parking lot, and he pulled in, shut the car off, snatched up the handgun, and got out. “Come on, come with me.”
She undid her seat belt and got out too, following a dead man to another car, a dark blue sedan, and she stood near the passenger side door. He pulled out another set of keys, pushed a button to unlock the doors. “Get in.”
“No.”
He stood on the driver’s side, looking over the top of the car at her. “What do you mean, no? They’re looking for us, Charlotte, they’ll catch up any time now. We need to move.”
“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on, and why you’re pretending not to know me.” She blinked. “And why you were kissing that blonde at the party.”
He licked his lips, glancing back down the road. “There will be time to talk about all of that later. Just get in the car and let me get us somewhere safe, before—”
“Tell me your name. You’re real name, Johnny.”
“My name is Michael Drummond,” he told her. “And unless you get into this car right now, very bad men with very large guns are going to show up and start shooting at you.”
She turned her back to him. “I don’t care.”
“Oh, you don’t care,” he repeated. “What about your baby, Charlotte? Do you care about your baby?”
Charlotte spun around to face him. “Yes, I do. Do you?”
Their eyes locked over the hood of the car. He said, “It’s not…it’s been…”
“Eight months, Johnny. It’s been eight months to the day. And yes, it is yours.”
Tires squealed in the distance. “Charlotte for the love of God, get into the car.”
Battling tears yet again, she got into the car. So did he, dropping the handgun on the seat again, where it would be within easy reach. He drove quietly and carefully out the opposite side of the parking lot, and onto an all but deserted street. Charlotte watched behind them, but she didn’t think they were being followed. Johnny drove to the highway, taking side roads and a convoluted route to get there. Once they blended in with the other traffic, though, he seemed to relax a little.
He glanced at her, looking her over. “What are you doing here, anyway?” he asked at length.
She shrugged. “I had to get away. I just couldn’t stay in Chicago anymore. So many bad things happened there. First you being killed the way you were. And then Daddy—he was arrested on some insane charge that he was involved with horrible crimes. Laundering money for drug lords, the D.A. said.” She squeezed her eyes shut tight. “It was all a mistake. I know it would have been all right if he just could have held on. But his heart gave out before he even made bail.” She shook her head slowly. “I had no one else. With Daddy gone, and the rumors that lived on after him, I just saw no sense in my staying there.”
Lowering her head very slowly, she sighed. “If I knew the son of a bitch who was responsible for putting my father through all that, I honestly don’t know if I could keep myself from doing them harm. Physical harm.” Then finally, she looked up. “What about you, Johnny? What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be dead.”
He pursed his lips, glanced her way. “I’m the son of a bitch who put your father through all that,” he said. “My name is Michael Drummond. I work undercover for the US Government’s Organized Crime Drug Enforcement Task Force. And your father’s arrest was the result of a year-long investigation in which I played the role of Jonathon Stone, got close to him, and gathered evidence against him.”
Charlotte felt as if he’d just stuck a hot blade straight into her chest. “And one of the ways you got close to him…was by getting close to me?”
He lowered his head.
“You used me? It was all just an act? Everything you said to me, everything we said to each other? It was just a game to you?” She stared at him in disbelief. “My God, you made me fall in love with you. You asked me to marry you—all just so you could destroy my father?”
He couldn’t seem to hold her eyes. “I didn’t mean for things between us to get…as far as they did. Your father was pushing for the marriage, and I ran out of reasons to put him off. He was beginning to suspect—”
“So you decided it was necessary to rip my heart out and crush it in your hands, all to keep your cover intact. Hell, Johnny, that makes perfect sense.”
“Michael. My name is Michael. And I’m sorry.”
“Not as sorry as you’re going to be,” she whispered as she closed her hand around the gun, lifted it between them, and pointed it at him. It was hard to see through all the tears, but she didn’t suppose that would matter at such close range, anyway.
Chapter Three
“Stop the car, Michael,” she said, and to his ears it sounded as if his name, his real name, tasted bad on her lips.
