Virgin in Disguise Page 10

  The light shined on the variety of duffel bags she used to store the tools of her trade. Cabrini stepped in too close and looked over her shoulder.

  Her elbow made a direct connection with his diaphragm as she yanked a bag from the back of the trunk. She ignored his muffled “Oof” and pulled her bright yellow toolbox to the top of the pile.

  She sat on the edge of the trunk and slipped off her high heels. Cabrini aimed the light at the ground, illuminating her bare feet.

  Should’ve gotten a pedicure. She quashed the thought and curled her toes under.

  Armed with pliers and a wrench, she padded barefoot to the front of her car. The cool, damp grass of the overgrown yard soothed her achy feet.

  Cabrini trailed after her, keeping a safe distance from her elbows and the heavy metal objects she carried. Smart man. He trained the flashlight where she pointed.

  Night noises from the woods surrounded them. She ignored the intimacy of the dark and their isolation as she worked. In a matter of minutes, she’d removed the front license plate and returned to the back of her car. The rear plate came off with equal ease, and she tossed both into the bag she’d laid on the ground.

  She pulled a set of Wisconsin license plates from the bag and bolted them in place.

  “Do you really think switched plates will be enough to throw them offtrack?” Cabrini finally spoke.

  “No.” She stood, shuffled through a couple of mailing tubes before pulling out one with a black end-cap. “However, Wisconsin plates on a black Mustang just might do the trick.”

  The end-cap popped off and she shook out the contents. “I have a buddy who does signs, vinyl window appliqués, that sort of stuff. I did a little job for him and he paid me with these.”

  Half an hour later they stood beside Rusty, newly decked out in removable black vinyl panels, complete with custom cutouts to accommodate the rusted out spots on the car body.

  She smiled and gave a satisfied nod at the results.

  “You have disguises for your car.” Cabrini shook his head. “Everything’s a front, isn’t it?”

  Her smile froze in place. His comment hurt. More than it should have. Except she was so tired of the charade. She stowed her tools and the duffel bag back in the trunk.

  Her wig hung like a pennant on the trunk lid. Tears burned her eyes. After that comment of his, she couldn’t bring herself to put it on again. She pulled an overnight bag to the top and opened it.

  Ignoring Cabrini, she stripped off her shirt and donned a tank top. Let him look, if he wants. It’s the closest he’ll ever get.

  The white shirt had taken a beating, but not nearly as much as Cabrini’s T-shirt had. He’d protected her from the brunt of the explosion.

  He’d protected her.

  She hadn’t asked him to do that. She didn’t need protecting. Not by him or anyone else. That was her job. She did the protecting.

  She stashed the wig and her high heels in the bag, and pulled out a navy T-shirt. “Here.” She held it out to Cabrini. “You can’t go running around half naked.”

  “Thanks.” He pulled it on.

  “It probably won’t meet your fit standards.” The trunk lid slammed shut and she turned. Whatever else she might have said drowned in her mouth. The soft, cotton knit hugged his torso, accenting his physique more than hiding it.

  Shanghai. How’m I going to survive this?

  Ignoring him seemed the best option. She turned on her heel and rounded the car. The driver’s seat welcomed her with its familiar embrace. Reaching under her seat, she pulled out a pair of flip-flop sandals and slipped them on.

  Cabrini folded himself into the passenger seat. “I know a few agents who could take lessons from you on going undercover.”

  She turned the car around and tried to shut out the man sitting beside her. Too close. She’d let him get too close without even realizing it, and now he’d gotten under her skin.

  “You have quite a talent for disguises. We’ve been together for nearly thirty-six hours and I have no clue how much, if any, is the real you.”

  It came easy when you’d lost your real self. “Thanks.” She pushed the word out through clenched teeth.

  The leather of the bucket seat creaked as he turned toward her. “It was a professional compliment, Elf.”

  Professional. She shot a scowl at him.

  He settled back in his seat and didn’t say anything more until they reached the main road. When he did speak, he kept to the business at hand.

  “Any idea where we’re going?”

  “Vaguely.”

  “Do you think we could find a motel?”

  “Probably.”

  His sigh blended with the hum of the tires on the road. “If we do come across one, would you consider stopping?”

  “Doubtful.”

  “We could both use some rest.”

  She raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “Right.”

  “Seriously. How much sleep have you gotten in the last three days?”

  “Enough.”

  A few miles clicked by in silence before he tried to make conversation again.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “What?”

  “Whatever’s eating at you.”

  Why couldn’t he shut up? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “No? Try this on—sex.”

  If he only knew. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

  “Not flattery. Honesty. Forced proximity is tough under any circumstances. Throw in adrenaline and attraction, and the stakes go up.”

  “It’s going to take more than a good body and a game of poker to get my attention.” The change of crises, from identity to desire, was not what she considered an improvement.

  “Even if it is one-sided, which I don’t believe for a second, the tension is there, and it’s draining.”

  She wasn’t about to admit to him, or herself, how close he came to the truth. “Is this where you suggest we have sex?”

  From the corner of her eye, she could see him turn in his seat and study her.

  “Tempting.” His voice deepened, taking on a husky quality.

  “I just bet it is.” Heat crept up her neck. An unwanted ache pushed closer to full-blown hunger. The confines of the car and the night surrounding them heightened the intimacy of the conversation. “A one-night stand, get it out of our systems, then get on with business. That’d do the trick, right?”

  “Except there are two—no, three—major flaws with that theory.”

  “Oh?” She risked a glance at him.

  He straightened in his seat and she caught a glimpse of him tugging on his pant leg as though trying loosen a snug fit. Her suddenly dry throat tightened.

  “Flaw number one—” his voice wrapped around her in the dark “—you’re not the one-night stand type. Flaw number two, neither am I.”

  Silence settled as she waited for him to continue. When it became clear he wasn’t going to say any more, she prompted, “I thought you said there were three flaws.”

  “You can’t guess?”

  “Enlighten me.”

  “Flaw number three.” He stroked her arm with the back of his hand. “When we make love, it’s going to take a lot more than one night, a whole lot more, before I ever get you out of my system.”

  There weren’t enough names for all the emotions that statement brought to life. Longing shivered over her nerves. Understanding followed.

  If they made love, she’d never get him out of her system.

  Miles of road later, the trees thinned and a sign heralded their approach to a small town. Frank sat up straighter as the car slowed down. He glanced at Elf.

  “We’re getting low on gas,” she explained.

  They pulled into the brightly lit gas station and got out of the car. He grabbed the squeegee and cleaned some of the bug splats off the windshield and headlights, as Elf took care of filling the gas tank.

  Across the road, a no-name motel sign glowed Va
cancy into the darkness. He looked at his watch. Three-thirty in the morning. He looked at Elf, trying to gauge what her reaction might be.

  She frowned back at him. “Not a chance, Cabrini.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of suggesting it, Donovan.” He purposely used her last name, putting their banter on a lighter, buddy-buddy level. Not that he’d ever had a buddy who looked as good in a miniskirt as she did.

  He followed her into the store and used the rest room as she wandered around with a shopping basket over her arm. While she took her turn in the facility, he added some fresh fruit and bottled water to their supplies.

  The next aisle brought him face-to-face with a reality check. As he contemplated the variety of “personal health” products, he knew he wanted to make love with Elf. The hunger had been growing from the second he’d looked at her over the barrel of her gun.

  He’d read the desire in her eyes, as well.

  That there were secrets between them didn’t sit well. He knew too little about Angela Donovan to trust her. But Elf had wormed her way under his skin.

  One last item went into the basket. Whether it would prove to be wishful thinking or preparedness didn’t matter.

  “Didja find what you were looking for?” The middle-aged guy behind the counter winked at him.

  Frank ignored him, pulled a couple twenties from his pocket and paid for their purchases.

  Elf appeared beside him looking slightly fresher, with her face scrubbed clean of any makeup. The shadows beneath her eyes neared epic proportions. She needed to get some rest before total meltdown became a reality.

  “Don’t bother arguing,” he said when she saw the bag in his arms. He held the door for her and shepherded her to the passenger side of the car. He opened Rusty’s door. “The police scanner sounds just as good from the passenger seat as the driver’s.” He held his hand out for the keys.

  Light reflected off the Mustang logo on the keychain as she dropped it into his outstretched palm. She didn’t say anything, just sank into the passenger seat. The lack of protest proved her level of exhaustion.

  He closed her door and trotted around to the driver’s side. The grocery bag went into the back seat, and he levered himself behind the steering wheel. The fit was slightly tighter than the passenger side had been, but he could function without too much difficulty. He took his time getting settled and adjusting the mirrors to his liking.

  The engine purred to life and he pulled onto the road, continuing in the direction they’d been going. Appreciation for the engine’s fine-tuned power grew as he brought the car up to cruising speed.

  Elf broke her silence. “Ever hit a deer, Cabrini?”

  “No. There weren’t too many running around the streets of Boston.”

  “Well, there are plenty of them running around these woods.”

  He eased his foot off the gas pedal a little.

  “Consider this a test, Cabrini. Anything happens to this car, and you’re dead meat.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Watch out for the deer.”

  He slowed a little more. “How far to the next town?”

  “I’m not sure.” A yawn muffled her answer. “Should’ve gotten a map back there.”

  “We’re going to have to stop sooner or later. We need to get some sleep.”

  “Later.” She rested her head on the seat back. “When we get farther away.”

  He didn’t push the issue. She was already half-asleep.

  A few miles later the road intersected with another and he headed east. An hour later, she was sound asleep.

  As the sun edged over the horizon, turning the expanse of Lake Superior into molten silver, he pulled into a motel parking lot on the edge of Silver Bay.

  Elf never stirred when he cradled her in his arms and carried her to a room.

  Chapter 9

  Light crept through a gap in the motel curtains. Frank heard a tapping and the faint call of “Housekeeping,” as the maid entered a room several doors down from theirs.

  Elf slept on, as she had since he’d laid her on the bed. He’d slept some, as well, until the warmth of her pressed against his side drew him back to consciousness.

  Now he cradled her in front of him and contemplated how the hell he’d managed to get into this fix.

  He’d learned his lesson, the hard way, about women who pretended to be something they weren’t. All it had taken was one almost-fiancée learning the family fortune was inaccessible.

  His parents had warned him—and he had firsthand experience—of false friendships with those who only saw dollar signs when looking at him. He’d had enough of the sycophants and, after college graduation, he’d made a point of keeping a low profile.

  He lived off his ATF wages and led a simple life. Then he met her, the woman he believed would be the perfect partner for him. They had common interests and valued the same things in life. At least he’d thought they did.

  The weekend he’d planned on proposing, he began with the confession of what he believed to be his deepest secret—family wealth. Right up to the moment he mentioned the family-mandated prenuptial agreement, he thought she’d loved him for the person he was. But it had all been a sham.

  She had a revelation of her own—she’d known all along. And while she’d been willing to humor his charade of being an average Joe while courting, she’d had enough of the lifestyle.

  It had been a difficult life lesson, but a good one. Except, if he’d learned it as well as he’d thought, how had he gotten tangled up with a woman who made her living by wearing disguises? Sleep hadn’t helped him come up with an answer.

  He knew the instant she woke. She didn’t move, her breathing didn’t change, but there was a subtle shift in her body. A renewed tension simmered just beneath the surface as she lay curled against him.

  He raised up on one elbow and leaned over to look at her face. “I’d like to think I passed the test.”

  Her eyes popped open.

  “Good morning.” He tugged on a lock of her hair. “Do you always wake up fast?”

  “What are you talking about? Where are we?” She scrambled off the bed.

  “I believe the sign said ‘Silver Bay.’”

  Relief washed over her face as she realized they were both fully clothed.

  She checked her watch. “Noon?”

  “That sounds about right.”

  “Why did you stop?”

  “Because you threatened my life if anything happened to that bucket of rust you call a car.” He pushed into a sitting position and leaned against the headboard. “I was getting tired, you were already asleep. Stopping seemed like the wisest thing to do, under the circumstances.”

  “You should have woken me.” She paced the narrow path between the door and the sink.

  He shook his head. “There was no waking you, Elf.”

  “You should have tried.”

  “I pried you out of the car and carried you in here. If that didn’t wake you, do you really think you were in any condition to drive?” He took a deep breath. Reasoning with her would be more productive than venting frustration. “When it started getting light, I figured we were better off someplace where we could melt into a crowd.”

  “Silver Bay isn’t exactly a big city.”

  “No, but ours is just one of a dozen cars in the parking lot.”

  “We could have kept going.”

  “Go where? We’d probably have been stopped because we were the only car on the road.”

  He caught her hand as she walked by him. “Use your brains. Driving aimlessly through the north woods wasn’t getting us anywhere.” He tugged her down beside him on the bed. “You know I’m right. We need a plan.”

  “I suppose you have one all worked out.”

  “Just the first part.”

  “Which is?”

  “Breakfast. We both need caffeine.” And he needed to get them away from the bed.

  “That’s the plan?”

  “We go
tta start somewhere, Elf. Food seems to be as good a place as any. We can figure out the next step while we eat, then hit the stores for wardrobe and any other supplies we need.”

  “Wardrobe?”

  “Unless you’ve got a few more things in my size stashed in Rusty’s trunk.”

  “No.” She groaned. “Fine. We get something to eat, then we’re back on the road.”

  Angel pushed her plate off to the side. She couldn’t stomach one more bite of industrial scrambled eggs. “We need to seriously change your appearance.”

  “What’s wrong with the way I look?”

  “A small matter of notoriety.” She tapped the newspaper they’d picked up on their way into the restaurant. Prominent on page one of the Duluth Superior Times was a police artist’s sketch of Frank Cabrini. The “suspected arsonist” caption added to the sense of menace captured in the drawing.

  Not for the first time, she thanked her foresight in slapping nerd glasses and a seed company cap on his head when they left the hotel. Without them, the newspaper image came too close for comfort.

  Her disguise was less obvious, but equally effective. The skimpy tank top and short skirt she wore provided enough distraction that anyone looking at her wouldn’t be thinking about the description of the suspect’s “companion.”

  Cabrini sipped his coffee. “Interesting how close they came to our exact vitals. How do you suppose they did that?”

  She’d been struggling with that question since hearing their descriptions broadcast on the ATL. Every time she tried to reason it through she ran into a dead end. “Right now, I’m more interested in how I’m going to fix you.”

  He studied her with narrowed eyes, then emptied his coffee cup. “What do you suggest?”

  “Nothing drastic. Haircut, beard trim. Maybe, if you can tolerate contacts, a change of eye color.” She stopped and turned the paper over as the waitress approached the table.

  “Can I get you folks anything else?” The waitress stared at Frank. “More coffee?”

  “No.” He smiled and winked. “Just the check.”

  “Sure thing.” She smiled back.

  “We need to leave.” Angel leaned across the table and spoke in a low tone. “We’ve been here too long. She’s trying to figure out why you look familiar, and it’s only a matter of time before someone leaves their copy of the Times lying face up for her to figure it out.”