Page 40 of Mercenary
Don’t be a fool, Madelyn. He’s not your hero.
I shake off the thought. Hero or not, with every mile traveled, I’m growing more comfortable in his presence. Damaged or otherwise.
“My name’s Declan,” he murmurs.
I feel like clapping my hands with happiness. “Declan,” I repeat, liking how the vowels within his name soften the harder-sounding consonants. How representative of the man himself?
I turn my head. His focus is on the rearview mirror.
“Are you worried we’re being followed?”
“Just being careful.”
I think about the purchase I made at the first service station. If I’m depending on him to keep me safe, I need to tell him what happened.
“Can the mob track someone through their bank account?”
I earn Declan’s full attention with this question.
“Someone like Franco DiCapitano?”
“All kinds of people can hack into your banking information. Research your transactions and your recent point-of-sale purchase.” A tick appears within his cheek. “Something you want to tell me, Madelyn.
“I bought Advil and two bottles of water at the first truck stop. It was the first non-cash purchase I’ve made in a long, long time. I’ve been careful to use different locations and to change banks frequently. It was one of the things on my to-do list the day you whisked me out of Corpus Christi. I’ve held this bank account since before my vacation in Cabo.”
I expect to hear him curse, “Jesus Christ.” Something that confirms this horrible sense of dread I’ve had since the incident at the truck stop. Instead, he seems unperturbed. Maybe I am making too big a deal over this?
“We’ll crash overnight at a motel in Longview and reassess the situation tomorrow.” He turns, his eyes narrowed and his expression unreadable. If I reach out and run the tips of my fingers across his cheek, would he feel cool like marble?
“Declan, tell me something,” I say, thinking I might as well tackle a few questions on my list. “Are you a drug dealer?”
“What the fuck? No.” His eyes narrow on me. “Why ask me that?”
I didn’t truly expect him to say yes or I wouldn’t be sitting here next to him. But I’ve got him talking, don’t I? And I’m determined to take a sledgehammer to the ice fortress around him. “I don’t know anything about you.”
The afghan slides down my arm, pulling my loose fitted tank top with it. Baring my shoulder, my arm. I feel exposed. Silly, I know. He’s seen me in practically nothing . . .
He leans across the middle console and, without much fuss, settles the afghan back around my shoulders. “I told you my real name,” he replies in a low voice, the warmth of his breath on my cheek. So close for man who’s done nothing but try and keep his distance. Close enough, I have the distinct impression he’s going to kiss me.
My eyes widen and my lips part. A kiss. I flush, remembering how his lips felt on mine. Like he was stealing a piece of my soul while giving me a taste of Heaven. Let’s face it, there’s just something about him, a subtle sexuality that both flusters me and makes me feel a bit wild, that’s undeniable. That causes me to angle me head and lean in toward him. One. More. Time.
“Don’t fuck with me, Madelyn,” he says in a low voice.
“I don’t know what you are talking about.”
He hits the breaks, at the same time thrusting his ironlike arm in front of me, keeping me rooted in place so I don’t go flying into the dashboard, seat belt or no seat belt. A horn angrily blares. It doesn’t faze Declan. He pulls the pickup off the road, throws it into park, and in a quick blur of action, is up out of his seat and tugging me toward him.
It happens so fast. He’s inches away from me. Desire staring me in the face, igniting quicker than a flash fire.
My heart races. He’s going to do it.
“I’m not a goddamn drug dealer, okay?” he grinds out, sounding exasperated. Yet his hands firmly grip my arms, holding me close. Close enough to feel his breath warm on my face.
“You’re not a cop, either. Or so you said when you dropped me off in San Diego.”
“Fuck no. What I am, you don’t want to know.”
“Why? Are you an escaped convict? A criminal on the run.” I don’t believe he’s either, at least not until . . . now.
