They lapsed into silence, and the miles flew past far too quickly. They had already crossed into Alabama and were nearing Mobile according to the signs flashing by.
God, she couldn’t go back to DC, even as much as she wanted to. For nearly two years, she’d had a good life there. Decent job as an administrative assistant, and the work had been more fulfilling than shaking her ass on a stage for drunk strangers. She’d had a best friend in Libby Wilde, an actual girlfriend she’d been able to call up for lunch or go to the movies with. And for a short while, she’d even had a fiancé—
Of course, the fiancé hadn’t turned out so great. He was the reason she’d had to leave her life as Lark Warren in the first place. He’d been another very bad decision in a long line of many.
“What happened after I left?” She’d avoided reading the news from DC once she’d settled in New Orleans. Hadn’t wanted the reminder of everything she’d given up. “I mean, with Preston?”
“The police think he killed you,” Vaughn said after an extended beat of silence. “They figured he hid your body, and they won’t find it until they get him to confess, which he refuses to do. He’s still claiming he’s completely innocent of all the crimes he’s accused of.” He laughed without humor. “But you do have to appreciate the irony. The murder he actually didn’t commit is the one he’ll most be remembered for. The perfect murder of his sweet fiancée, Lark Warren.”
She glanced over at him. The dashboard lights highlighted the harsh contours of his face, but she couldn’t read his expression. “He would have killed me had I stayed. He didn’t take the rejection of me leaving him for you well.”
Vaughn’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “I know. He tried to blow me up, remember?”
She winced. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
He blew out a long breath. “It wasn’t your fault. He was off his rocker. He would have tried anyway because he hated Cam and had no idea we’re identical twins. He thought I was Cam. Thought you were sleeping with Cam.”
“Shows how well he knew me. Cam’s not really my type. He’s too…” She searched for the right word. “Nice.”
Vaughn grunted but said nothing more for another two miles. Just when she started to think their conversation had ended, he muttered, “What I don’t get is why you got engaged to Preston Linz in the first place. Lark Linz would have been a stupid name.”
Yes, it would have been, which was why she’d planned to hyphenate her last name had she gone through with the marriage. She shrugged. “He had money, power. I thought he was a safe bet.” She’d thought he would have been able to protect her with his political connections, thought if she was his wife she wouldn’t have to keep running.
So much for that.
“Instead, he turned out to be nothing but another fuckhead.” She smiled over at Vaughn and injected her voice with as much sweetness as she could. “It’s a running theme with my exes.”
He cut her a sideways glance. “I’m not one of your exes.”
“Sure you are. Ex-lover. It’s a thing. And you’re definitely a fuckhead. I mean, what other kind of guy kidnaps a woman out of her apartment, handcuffs her, and drives her halfway across the country?”
“I didn’t kidnap you out of your apartment.”
“Okay, from the bus stop. You think that’s any better?”
“I didn’t kidnap you, period. You’re a fugitive, and I’m returning you to the authorities.”
Oh, boy. He had no idea. She leaned her head against the seat. “Is there anything I can do to make you change your mind?”
“No.”
She doubted that. Everyone had a price, but it wasn’t always monetary— something she’d learned the hard way over the years. She just had to find Vaughn’s.
Chapter Six
Four hours into their trip, the gas light came on. Vaughn grumbled at it. No fucking way. Apparently, this car got shit for mileage—worse even than his Hummer. He glanced over at Sage. She’d gone still and silent hours ago, but she wasn’t asleep. She wanted him to think she was, and he’d gone along with it, but he was too attuned to her body. He heard every breath she took, could practically hear her heart beating in the silence. She couldn’t fake him out.
Damn, he didn’t want to stop. Every time the car slowed gave her an escape opportunity. Completely stopped and shut off with a gas nozzle attached? That was more than an opportunity—it was an open fucking door and a neon sign blinking the words “escape now!”—and she’d be a fool not to attempt it. She was no fool.
Still, he didn’t have much choice. He’d have bigger problems if they ran out of gas on the highway.
He reached for the handcuffs in the cup holder between them. “Give me your wrist.”
She jerked upright and pulled her arm protectively against her breasts. “Hell no.”
“We need gas, and I’m not slowing down until you’re secured.”