“Despite the lone-wolf reputation the media gives us, we usually work in pairs or teams of four.”
“Yeah,” she scratched an invisible pattern into her jeans, “but you’re separate from the rest of the troops a lot, aren’t you? Not just physically, but in skill set.”
“I guess so.” He studied her face with an intensity that made her toes curl. “Being a HOG definitely sets you apart from the crowd, even in the Marines.” Finally giving her some relief from his probing stare, he peeked around the edge of the curtain to his right. The downside of privacy was lack of visibility to the outside.
“It was like that for me when I was a kid, working scams with my papá, and then later…” Her jaw tightened and she forced the memories aside. “No one could relate to me.” She slipped off her running shoes and sat, tucking one foot beneath her. “Honestly, nothing’s changed.”
“That sucks,” he said, suddenly on the move, checking their surroundings from all angles. Even several inches shy of six feet, he was too tall to stand upright, so he hunched over, his back curled like the handle of a cane.
He ended his rounds at the rear window, dropping to his knees, intent on something outside.
Fear made her less than graceful as she crawled to his side and rose up to see what had captured his attention. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” He released the curtain and faced her, their noses not even a foot apart.
They were so close she could hear his soft breath, smell the sweat and dirt and faint spice on his skin. Feel the heat radiating from his body. His gaze landed on her mouth, and she stopped breathing.
Looking away, he shifted to the side, putting space between them, and riffled through his bag. “Nothing,” he repeated. “I was just watching for changes and thinking about our next steps.”
Right. Exactly what she should be doing. Air flooded her lungs as she sat on her heels and nodded. The only way to end this nightmare was to prove her innocence, and now that Jay was gone she had to start over. Her heart turned to lead. More memories to box up and store deep in her mind behind a vaulted door with a lost combination.
“What have you come up with so far?” she asked.
Scott looked up and blinked, as if startled that she’d spoken. For several seconds, he did nothing but watch her, his body a statue clothed in an Arctic Monkeys band shirt and shorts.
“Scott?”
Instead of answering, he shook his head gently, leaned close, and kissed her.
If asked, Valerie would have said she had a better chance of winning the lottery than being kissed by Scott Kramer. Since only fools played the lottery, she had believed both were impossible.
And yet, his soft, warm lips were pressed to hers right now, his beard scratching her chin. Outside the van, the night was silent save for the gentle hush of an occasional truck on the nearby freeway and the bark of a dog, but nothing else registered as his fingertips trailed along her cheekbone and into her hair, spinning threads of delight all the way to her toes.
Her stomach did cartwheels when their tongues touched. The reality was light years ahead of her fantasies. How could she have known that her entire body would feel electrified? That every caress would create a spark that jolted her heart and melted her bones. No one had ever kissed her with such…focus.
She tugged him closer, her skin turning to fire at the near full-body contact as he slid an arm behind her, pulling her even tighter to him. Her fingers tentatively explored the power and strength of his back and shoulders, tracing the contours of his muscles. He wasn’t a big man, but he was solid as granite and honed like a knife. Strong and hard and hot.
And his kisses… Her breath caught as he tugged and nipped and soothed with desperate lips. His free hand left a trail of lightning from her neck, down over her shoulder, finally, thank God, skimming the side of her breast. She moaned and leaned into his touch, achy with desire, ready to drown under the onslaught.
He pulled back so fast she had to grab his shoulder for balance.
“Sorry,” he said, his voice rough, breathing heavy as he shuffled out of reach.
Her own breath came in ragged gasps, her hands and lips aching with loss as he retreated. “No, it’s—”
“That wasn’t part of the plan.” He ran a hand across his mouth and his gaze met hers, the regret in his eyes unmistakable in the dim moonlight that seeped under the shades. It was one of the few times since she’d met him that his expression wasn’t on lockdown. But did he regret the kiss…or stopping? “I don’t have an excuse, but it won’t happen again.” At least his chest rose and fell in time with hers. He wasn’t unaffected.
Small comfort. His rejection still stung like a slap with a ruler, even if getting involved right now was a bad idea.
But was it?
How bad would it be, really? They had little to lose. If the police—or worse, Duncan—caught up with them tomorrow, she’d never have another chance with a guy like Scott. They’d both be in jail. Or dead. Her heart skittered at the thought, and she blinked back the avalanche of tears that threatened over what her life had become.
She’d been alone since long before she went on the run, but the last three weeks had been the worst in years. Until last night—God, not even twelve hours ago—when Scott had finally chosen to trust her and join her side of the fight.
Having him along for the ride made everything easier, and she was so goddamned tired of facing the world, her future, alone.
He cleared his throat and looked beyond her shoulder. “I’ll sleep up front.”
