He’d have to time his move; as they got farther west the country would get rougher, and nightfall became more imminent. He couldn’t let her get so far ahead that she could cut her headlights and turn off the road-a risky move, but he had no doubt she’d try it. He’d have to tuck in close behind her when it began getting dark, and if she hadn’t been forced to stop for gas by the time his gauge read lower than a quarter of a tank, that was when he’d make his move.
What he did depended on what she did. She could be armed. If she pulled a weapon on him, then he’d have no choice in the matter and he’d take her out. His own weapon, a Glock 17, lay on the seat beside his right thigh. He didn’t worry about being caught with a weapon; he had a federal license that would pass inspection by any cop, state or local. The license was fake, but discovering that would take digging through several layers of camouflage. The weapon had no serial number on it, couldn’t be traced to him, and if he needed to he’d ditch it without a second thought.
The time was fast approaching when he’d have to make up his mind. Take her out, or peel off and go back to New York? Why go to this much trouble unless he intended to do the job? Amusement and entertainment weren’t good reasons for being here. He was spending too much time and money following her unless he collected his fee at the end of the ride.
None of his previous targets had meant anything to him, pro or con. Human life, as a theory, was no more valuable to him than, say, the life of a housefly. His hits weren’t motivated by notions of right and wrong, politics, religion, love, hate, or anything else other than the fee he earned. Drea, though, was…different. He knew her, and not just physically, though their skin chemistry was stronger than anything he’d ever experienced before.
He knew her intelligence, knew her guts and her determination. She was a fighter, a survivor. He hadn’t seen her relaxed, completely herself, but then he suspected she hadn’t let down her guard in years. She had decided on her course of action, then never looked back.
He might disagree with the wisdom of hooking up with someone like Rafael Salinas, but he didn’t know what Drea’s circumstances had been before. Maybe Salinas was a huge step up, though that was difficult to fathom. Salinas was a thug; smarter than most, but still a thug. For Drea to keep up her act, without a single false note, for as long as she had indicated a level of self-discipline he hadn’t seen before-except in himself.
Was that why he’d hesitated for so long? Because he saw something in her that reminded him of himself? Not his lack of emotion, because Drea had enough emotion for the both of them, but the things she’d hidden from Salinas were what he saw and enjoyed. Maybe that was why he hadn’t yet taken action. On the other hand, he hadn’t yet told Salinas where to wire his down payment, either, and he didn’t do a job until he verified the specified amount was in his account.
Everything kept circling back to the same thing: yes, or no? Do the job, or drive away? Let her go, or take the two million?
If he didn’t take the job, Salinas would send someone else after her. But she had a big head start, and once she had her stolen millions in cash her options were pretty much unlimited. If she got caught, it would be through pure bad luck. The only way she’d be truly safe, was if Salinas thought she was dead.
He could do that, take the money and tell Salinas the job was done, but he’d never faked a job before. His value lay in his reliability, and his accuracy.
On the other hand, if he was ever going to screw a client, it would be Salinas. He had nothing but contempt for the son of a bitch.
He glanced at the sky. There was probably another hour, hour and a half of daylight, and the terrain was getting noticeably rougher as the earth began wrinkling as the land rose toward the Rockies. The actual mountains were still a good distance away, but they didn’t rise from a flat nothing; it was a gradual lift, an increase in the folds of the earth’s crust, and then the big eruption. The longer he waited, the rougher the land, and the more opportunity she’d have to give him the slip.
He pressed his boot on the accelerator, and the truck began eating up the distance between him and Drea.
16
THE TRUCK WAS GAINING ON HER. DREA HADN’T LOOKED in the mirror for several minutes as she paid attention to the road, which was developing some twists and turns at the same time the elevation was rising and falling. Right now they were climbing a low ridge, with the land falling away to the right; not an extremely steep drop nor a long one, but throw in the occasional sharp curve and her driving skills were being tested. She was out of practice, despite the past week, and most of her driving had been done on flat land anyway.
It had been awhile since she’d seen a road sign that gave her the highway number, and she began to worry that she might have missed a crucial turn, because they hadn’t met another car for at least five minutes and the road was noticeably narrower. Was she still on her chosen route to Denver? She couldn’t exactly pull over and look at her map; there was no shoulder to the road, not to mention there was a killer on her ass.
Then she dared a glance in the mirror and saw the truck was no more than fifty yards behind her, and closing the remaining gap at a frightening pace.
Her heart leaped into her throat, and her hands tightened on the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white. He’d evidently decided now was the time, that the road was deserted enough and he didn’t have to wait any longer. She’d hoped for night to catch them, hoped…
She didn’t know what she’d hoped. That he’d wait until she had the best chance of giving him the slip? Yeah, like that was going to happen. She should have expected this.
He’d tightened the gap by another twenty yards and was close enough now that she could make him out in the truck cab, see the dark sunglasses he was wearing.
How much was Rafael paying him? Maybe she could pay him more. Maybe-Why was she letting herself get distracted with this crap, as if she’d be able to negotiate with him? He wouldn’t mess around and talk about the situation, he’d kill her and leave-thirty seconds, tops.
Damn it! Drea was suddenly furious with herself, with him, with Rafael, with every damn thing. It couldn’t end like this, she refused to let it end like this. Rafael was not going to be the death of her, not when the bastard owed her for two years of putting up with his bullshit, for smiling when she wanted to slap him, for giving him blow jobs and acting as if it made her happy. What kind of stupid-ass fool thought giving a blow job was satisfying? He owed her for giving her to another man, for treating her like a whore and making her feel like a whore.
And damn that other man for being him, for not treating her like a whore, for being gentle and giving her such incredible pleasure before walking out without a single backward look, throwing at her the careless words, “Once was enough.” Was he her punishment for all the men she’d played, all the men she’d used? How damn ironic was it that the one time she thought-Never mind what she’d thought, forget that she’d begged him to take her with him, because regardless of what she’d thought, their minds certainly hadn’t been running in the same direction.
She went around a curve too fast and the back end of the car slid a little; the landscape, so clear in the hot, mellow light of the setting sun, was suddenly blurry. Her eyes stung with tears that she refused to let fall. She had cried enough over him already. She had learned never to look back, never to give fate a second chance to kick her in the teeth.