Baby, I'm Yours Page 4

  She sat stiffly upright, with her ankles aligned and her knees pressed primly together and angled pointedly away from the muscular leg encroaching on her territory. She knew she probably looked prissy in the extreme, but she didn’t care, It was all she could do at the moment to keep her flip-flopping emotions in check. Listening to the electronic trills and beeps coming from the video arcade at her back, she stared off into space.

  Sam watched her out of the corner of his eye and scowled. She had a way about her that made him feel like a mannerless ox. The way she sat there like royalty among the hoi polloi, it was hard to remember she made her living strutting her stuff in the minimum of clothing. What an actress. He was tempted to press in a little closer with his left thigh just to see what she would do about it.

  But that probably wasn’t such a hot idea. Damn. What was it about her that kept enticing him to set aside his professionalism?

  He bent down and snagged his duffel bag, lifting it to his lap. Opening the zipper, he began pulling out the contents to run a brief inventory, and his mood took an upward swing. He wasn’t nearly as bad off as he’d feared he’d be.

  “What on earth are you doing?”

  He looked over to see that she had turned to face him. She was staring at the pile of jeans, T-shirts and underwear in his lap, and at the shaving kit balanced on top of it all.

  “Checking to see what I’ve got here.”

  “Why, did your wife pack it for you or something?”

  Sam’s snort of laughter was brief and unamused. “Lady, do I look like the product of wedded bliss to you?”

  Her big green eyes were level as they met his. “I don’t think you really want to know what you look like to me, McKade. You do, however, appear marginally intelligent enough to remember what you threw in a bag last night or this morning.”

  For some reason, the insult made him smile. He had to hand it to her, she wasn’t a mealy-mouthed little whiner. “The bag’s been in the trunk of my car for…I can’t remember how long,” he said. Its permanent place there had prevented him from being caught short on more than one surveillance. “I’d left the car at the overnight lot, so I had just enough time before my flight left this morning to retrieve the bag. A lucky thing for me, too, or I would’ve had to outfit myself at gift-shop prices when you got away from me at MIA.”

  “MIA? Oh, please, what’s that, bounty-hunter speak for missing in action?”

  Right. Like you don’t know. “Okay, I’ll play the game,” he said with a show of patience. “Miami International Airport. Where we both came from this morning.” Hell. So much for his good mood. He could have gone the whole damn day without a reminder of how much she’d already cost him in airline and bus tickets.

  A little towheaded boy climbed up onto the chair next to Catherine. “Hi!” he said. Hanging on to the back of the molded plastic seat with one chubby hand, he inclined toward her, the grape drink in his free hand tilting precariously near the rim of his cup.

  “Tommy! Leave the lady alone.” An exhausted-looking blonde in worn discount-store clothing took the seat on the other side of her son.

  To Sam’s surprise, Catherine smiled at both mother and child. “It’s okay,” she assured the woman, then, focusing on the boy, added softly, “Hello, Tommy.”

  “Know what?” the tyke demanded. “I’m gonna be fo’ years ode next week.” He grinned and then further informed her, “Me an’ Mommy’s goin’ to Pote’land.” He made an expansive gesture with the hand holding the juice. “We’s gonna live with my granny. How ’bout you? Where you goin’?” Grape juice sloshed from the cup with the final question, arcing through the air to splatter the front of Catherine’s blouse, her bare knees, and the floor. Sucking in a startled breath, she leaped to her feet, plucking the soaked cotton away from her chest.

  “Oh, Tommy, look what you done!” the mother wailed. “I’m sorry miss, I’m so sorry.” She got up to dab ineffectually at Catherine’s stained blouse with a paper napkin. Her escalating distress communicated itself to the boy, and his whimper of surprise turned into a full-fledged wail.

  “It’s okay. Really. It’s an old blouse.” Catherine took the damp napkin from the woman’s hand and blotted juice from her legs.

  Sam was surprised by her restraint. He would have pegged her as a woman who’d fly off the handle over something like this. He climbed to his feet. “Come on,” he said, picking up their bags. “You can clean up in the rest room.”

  Leaving the woman babbling apologies and the boy sobbing, Sam took Catherine by the elbow and escorted her up the ramp to the women’s rest room. He shoved open the door and stuck his head inside, checking to make sure there were no exits she could shimmy out of. A woman drying her hands at the sink gasped in outrage, but he ignored her and handed Catherine the suitcase. “Go get yourself cleaned up.”

  Catherine used tap water and a handful of paper towels to clean sticky trails of grape juice from her skin. She peeled off her blouse, and after a regretful examination, tossed it in the trash can. It was simply stained beyond repair. Squatting down, she snapped opened Kaylee’s suitcase and flipped back the top.

  For a woman who had spent her entire adult life disguising her too-lush curves, the choices presented within were agonizing. She tried on one top after the other, and each seemed to her more revealing than the one before. She finally settled on an emerald green baby-T, but seeing her reflection in the mirror, she tugged self-consciously at the skimpy fabric in an attempt to make the shirt’s hem reach the waistband of her shorts. And oh, dear Lord, if only it would conform less to the shape of her breasts! She gave the contents of the suitcase a final, futile search. Didn’t Kaylee own one article of clothing that didn’t glitter, shine, or fit like it was sprayed on?

  Heavy pounding on the rest-room door made her jump. “Open up, Red,” McKade’s voice said. “You’ve been in there long enough.”

  She charged over to the door and yanked it open. “Back off! I’m not your trick poodle; I’ll be out when I’m finished.”

  His eyes zeroed in like heat-seeking missiles on her breasts. Then his gaze was all over her, and she watched his Adam’s apple take a slow slide up and down the strong column of his throat. “Um, yeah. Sure. Okay,” he agreed vaguely. He dragged his gaze up to her face, and his dark brows snapped together above the strong blade of his nose as he recollected himself. “You got two minutes, MacPherson.”

  She slammed the door in his face. “Do this, Red, don’t do that,” she mimicked bitterly. “I really need some lowlife bounty hunter dragging me all over hell and gone, telling me what to do.” She repacked Kaylee’s suitcase, then rose to her feet and looked around.

  What on earth had she been thinking, to waste time worrying about the fit of her sister’s clothes when she had a minute alone to figure a way out of this mess? Damn! She could kick herself. Was there a window in here? She looked around. No, no window. All right, then, think. What else? Lipstick! She’d write an SOS on the mirror. Maybe someone would read it and call the FBI or something.

  She pawed through the purse for Kaylee’s industrial-sized makeup bag. Digging a tube of Woodrose Creme out of the bottom, she thumbed off the cap and swiveled up the base. Bracing one hand on the sink, she leaned into the mirror.

  The door whipped open behind her.

  “What is your problem?” she demanded of Sam’s reflection. Holding his gaze, she rounded her lips and stroked on creamy color. “Is the men’s room out of order or something?” She watched him watch her blot her lips with a tissue and saw his gaze drop down to the thrust of her bottom. Then it bounced back up to her image in the mirror. She formed a little moue with her mouth and stood back to study herself critically in the mirror. Briskly, she dropped the lipstick into her purse, turned, and gestured toward the stall. “It’s all yours.”

  He was across the room in a flash, slapping his big hands down on the countertop on either side of her hips, crowding her up against the sink. “You don’t want to push me, Red.�
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  Her chin angled up. “Or what, you’ll drag me across the country and throw me in jail?”

  A muscle jumped in his jaw. Then he stepped back, his eyes cool once again as the fires were abruptly banked. “Come on. The bus will be here soon.”

  Panic blasted through Catherine’s system. With the moment of departure at hand, everything suddenly felt much too real, and her brief rebellion ended not with a bang but a whimper. No! She couldn’t allow this to happen! She’d built a life for herself here, a safe life untouched by the messy extremes her sister always seemed to find. And now, because of Kaylee, she was about to be…

  “No!” She broke for the door, a futile move, a stupid move—she knew that even before Sam snagged her with one arm around her waist, plucking her off her feet. She wasn’t capable of calm reasoning at the moment, however. She reacted instinctively and struck out wildly, aiming fists and feet at any part of his body she could reach, until both his arms wrapped around her and he shuffled them a few steps to the right. The next thing she knew, she was pinned too tightly between the stall wall and his unyielding musculature to inflict further damage.

  “Calm down,” he ordered, his voice rumbling up from his chest to speak directly into her ear in a tone that was surprisingly lacking in aggression. “Get ahold of yourself, Red.” He made an adjustment that freed the use of one of his hands without allowing her to budge an inch. Cradling the top of her head in it, he held her immobile, her forehead pressed to his chest, and the warmth of his wide palm and long fingers spread through her hair to the skull beneath. Then he smoothed his hand down the length of her hair. “Stop and think about this a minute,” he instructed her in that same brisk tone. “This isn’t getting you anywhere.” Heat from his body began to penetrate her locked muscles.

  Sam felt her small movement of surprise. He wondered what she’d think if he told her he’d expected this, or something like it anyway. There always came a point when prisoners realized they were well and truly headed back to jail to face the trial they’d thought to escape. Reaction to that realization was universal—they all tried to bolt. The men he simply subdued with brute strength and the use of his gun, if necessary. With most of the women he tried to be a little gentler, provided they didn’t get aggressive with him first. Red was the only prisoner, however—male or female—he’d ever left uncuffed.

  Not that she was special or anything—it wasn’t for her benefit. They had a long way to go, and his profit margin couldn’t afford the price of airline tickets to get them there fast. He didn’t for a minute believe her wild tale of overheard murder plots, buried bodies, and hit men. But he was a cautious man, and on the outside chance there was a kernal of honesty in the woman, he wanted to get them across the country as inconspicuously as possible. It only took one look at Red to know chances of her escaping notice were pretty slim, and the shrink-wrap clothing she’d just changed into didn’t improve their odds. Add handcuffs to the mix, and he might as well just park it right here and wait for one of the phantom bad guys to show up and take her off his hands.

  His expression hardened. That wasn’t going to happen, not while he was on the job. And not while he had a fee to collect and a lodge to buy for Gary.

  He unwrapped himself from around her and stepped back. She swayed a little, and he braced his hands on her shoulders to steady her against the stall wall. “Come on,” he said roughly. “It’s time to get a move on.”

  She blinked. “What?”

  Sam’s mouth tightened when he took in those big, haunted eyes. Man. She really had missed her calling. She could have made a killing in Hollywood—and wouldn’t have even had to expose 95 percent of her body to do it.

  He didn’t know why the thought of that kept sticking in his craw.

  The door behind them opened. Sam’s head whipped around as he abruptly realized he’d left himself in a position where he couldn’t quickly reach his gun. A woman came through the door but stopped in her tracks when she saw him. Her eyes narrowed as she looked from him to Catherine.

  “You two go somewhere else to neck,” she snapped. “There are those of us who like to know when we come into a women’s room that there’ll only be women in it.”

  “Come on, Red.” He picked up their suitcases and slid an arm around her shoulders, escorting her past the disapproving woman. He guided her down the ramp to the departure door. “The bus is gonna be here in a few minutes.” He glanced at his watch. It read 5:40. That reminded him it was closing on dinnertime, and they were going to be on a bus for hours before the next scheduled stop. “You want something to eat?”

  She shook her head.

  “We probably have time to get you a Whopper.” He nodded toward the Burger King that had an entrance into the bus station.

  She gave a tiny shudder and looked away.

  “Okay, no burger. I think I’ll pick up a few things to take with us, though. You might change your mind once we’re on the road.” He pulled her over to a group of vending machines and made several selections, which he tossed in his bag. Then he guided her outside, where other passengers were either standing around smoking or simply milling about as they waited for the bus. Sam patted his chest pocket for his own cigarettes before remembering he’d given the damn things up.

  The bus rumbled into the lot a moment later. Coming to a halt, the door wheezed open. Sam ushered his prisoner on board and soon had their bags stored on the shelf overhead and Catherine settled in a window seat. He sat down next to her.

  She didn’t speak. She didn’t so much as acknowledge his presence. Head averted, she gazed out the window as the bus pulled out of the station. He might as well not exist.

  That was just fine with him. The less they talked, the better. It wasn’t as if he were dying to get to know her. The lights of the city gilded her profile as the bus headed for the freeway, and Sam scowled. She was just merchandise to him—that funny clench he’d gotten in his gut when he’d watched her putting on her lipstick notwithstanding. Hell, that was probably just hunger anyway—she might not have wanted a hamburger, but he sure could have used one. Merchandise, he repeated silently. She’s merchandise.

  A package he needed to deliver before his goal could be accomplished.

  4

  KAYLEE STOOD IN front of the closet in her sister’s bedroom. Didn’t Catherine own one article of clothing that had a smidgen of pizzazz? She rattled through the hangers. Sage green, antique gold, brown for God’s sake. And not a style among ’em that made a girl want to strap on her highest heels and strut her stuff. How could Cat wear this shit? With a long-suffering sigh, Kaylee exchanged her glittery purple tube top for a boring little bronze blouse. Okay, the color flattered her complexion. But it sure as hell didn’t showcase her pretty boobs or tiny waist to their best advantage.

  Still. If the neighbors caught a glimpse of her, it was necessary they believe they were seeing Catherine. Kaylee needed a place to catch her breath while she figured out what to do next.

  She’d recognized the bounty hunter from the day she’d made arrangements for her bail. He hadn’t said a word to her in the bondsman’s office that afternoon, but she always noticed a sexy man, and God knew those big broody types had sex appeal to spare.

  Today she had hidden in a neighbor’s carport until he’d taken Catherine away. Then she’d crept back to her sister’s house and looked in all of Catherine’s traditional hiding places until she’d located the spare house key. As she’d let herself in the back door, she’d briefly felt guilty about the situation she’d placed her sister in. But Catherine would handle it; she could handle anything. Kaylee was the one who always needed a little help.

  Standing in Catherine’s bedroom, however, she was beginning to doubt the wisdom of her actions. She told herself her sister would be fine. It would be one day, two at the most, out of Catherine’s life. Hell, she’d get a free trip to Miami, where she’d set ’em all straight in no uncertain terms about her true identity.

  It was the idea
of Cat anywhere near Miami, however, that made Kaylee nervous. Oh, God, what had she been thinking? Sanchez had leverage, connections—he knew people from all walks of life, with varying degrees of influence. He’d undoubtedly concocted some story and had the word out he was looking for her, and if someone at the courthouse, say, spotted her twin and told him, he wasn’t going to stop to ask Catherine’s name.

  He’d figure he knew it already and would take steps to see Catherine didn’t draw another breath. Oh, man. She’d really screwed up this time.

  The last thing Kaylee expected, as she paced nervously through the house a few hours later, was to look out the window and see Bobby LaBon parking at the curb.

  He found me! How in God’s name did he find me? Her first impulse was to run. But she checked herself. Think. She had to do what Cat would do. She had to be Catherine.

  Kaylee stilled. That was it. She had to be Catherine.

  She raced into the bathroom and scrubbed her makeup off with a washcloth. She whipped a brush through her hair and anchored it on top of her head in a sloppy ponytail. Then, buttoning Catherine’s blouse up to her throat, she dashed back to the front door. Taking deep breaths, she opened the door before Bobby had a chance to knock on it or kick it in or whatever it was he planned, and reached for the paper she’d heard hit the porch earlier. Straightening, she gave a start. “Oh! Hello. May I help you?”

  His gaze slid over her. “I came to take you back, baby.”

  “Excuse me?” Kaylee congratulated herself on the tone of voice. It was Cat’s tone, the one that used to make her and Pop say, Jaysus, Caty-girl, lighten up.

  Bobby frowned. “Kaylee?”