Green Beret Bodyguard. Carol Ericson
aloha shirt and talking to himself. Jack picked them out with the ease of a bloodhound on a scent…only he was the prey.
Hanging back a moment, Jack slipped his hand through the arm of a pretty blonde who’d given him a dazzling smile in the coach section of the airplane. She let out a little gasp and Jack ducked his head, his lip close to her ear.
“Can you pretend you’re with me? I’m trying to avoid someone, and if she sees me with you she’ll back off.”
The blonde recovered quickly and a pretend pout hovered at her lipsticked mouth. “Pretend all you want. I’ll help you out, even though you ignored me on the flight.”
Jack twisted his lips into a semblance of a smile. “I noticed you, but I’m kind of…involved.”
He pulled the cap lower on his forehead and scanned the crowd for more agents or government officials or whoever else had him on their radar. Someone jogged past him, and Jack coiled his muscles, preparing for a fight. The man swept up a child in a hug, and Jack released a long breath.
The woman at his side nudged his shoulder with her head. “You’re not involved with the woman you’re trying to hide from, are you?”
“No. She’s the one causing me trouble.”
“How long are we an item?”
“Just until we get through the baggage claim area.” Once he took off with the black duffel that contained everything he knew about his life, he’d be safe…at least for now.
The woman squeezed in front of him on the down escalator. Pointing to the right, she said, “Baggage claim’s over there. It’s been a memorable two minutes.”
Her bright, hard words pierced the brittle barrier of tension encasing his mind. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sorry. I can pay for your taxi or…”
She held up her hand, a white card with gold lettering pinched between her manicured nails. “That’s okay. Maybe you can give me a call sometime if things don’t work out with your…involvement.”
He glanced at the card before slipping it into the pocket of his jeans. “Thanks, Rebecca.”
Jack merged with the crowd as it surged into the baggage claim area, his shoulders tense, his body still sore from the tumble he’d taken down the side of a mountain somewhere in Afghanistan. He shoved his hands in the pockets of the cheap jacket he’d picked up at the airport in Frankfurt, acting as if he belonged when, in truth, he belonged nowhere.
The baggage carousel had already creaked to life and was displaying its offerings in a lazy circle. A film of sweat broke out under the band of Jack’s cap. He reached down to swipe at a black bag, but a man stepped in front of him.
“I think that’s mine. These bags all look alike.”
Jack nodded, another fear stabbing his gut. What if somebody had picked up the duffel bag by mistake? That bag had saved his life and gotten him to Miami, where he planned to claim the rest of his life.
The carousel served up another soft-sided black bag, and Jack held his breath, his fingers tingling with anticipation. He leaned over the bag and yanked the strap, lifting it clear of its unclaimed mates. He read the fake name he’d scribbled on the paper airline luggage tag and hitched the bag over his shoulder.
He caught sight of the man in the suit, standing tall and perusing the passengers hoisting their bags from the carousel and greeting friends and family. They must’ve recognized the phony name on the passenger list, but at least Jack had changed his appearance so he looked nothing like his picture on the watch list.
Jack hunched his shoulders, tucked his chin to his chest and made a beeline for the exit. As the glass doors to freedom slid open, someone tapped his shoulder. He swung around, hands fisted, jaw clenched.
The blonde from the plane, Rebecca, widened her eyes and blinked. “I don’t even know your name. What’s your name?”
His mind went blank for a second before he stuttered. “W-Will. Just Will.”
The suit from one corner of the baggage claim area and the Hawaiian shirt from the other glanced at the exit door in unison. Jack swung the duffel onto his back and sprinted outside. He dashed into traffic, crouching behind an airport shuttle van. With his heart pounding, Jack weaved through the vehicles clogging the street in front of the airport.
Finally, he jumped onto a bus headed for a parking lot. He slumped in a vinyl seat, his pulse beating a furious rhythm behind his closed lids.
He’d made it. He’d finally made it to Miami. Now he just had to track down the one woman who could help him. He knew he was Jack Coburn. The young Afghan boy had told him that much. But who the hell was Jack Coburn and why was he a wanted man?
Chapter One
Dr. Lola Famosa rubbed the goose bumps on her arms…and the chill had nothing to do with the cold, dead body reposing on the slab in front of her.
On her way to the hospital’s morgue in the basement, she’d had the sensation of eyes following her. Ridiculous, since she’d taken the elevator down alone and all the doors along the pristine corridor had been closed.
She glanced over her shoulder at the slice of window in the door to the morgue. Squinting through the mesh covering the glass, she gripped the edge of the table, her gloved fingers inches away from the lifeless arm of Elena Hidalgo. Nada.
Lola blew out a breath and dragged the back of her hand across her forehead, the smell of the latex glove competing with the scent of formaldehyde in the morgue. The twin smells jerked her back to reality and the task at hand. Dr. Trapp ran a tight ship down here, and he’d grudgingly allowed her to take a look at Elena Hidalgo while he was on a break.
Dr. Trapp didn’t get why Lola had insisted on taking a peek at the dead crack addict, murdered by her drug-dealing boyfriend. But then Dr. Trapp wasn’t responsible for the well-being of the crack addict’s child, Eddie, who’d been injured in the assault on his mother.
Lola wiggled her fingers, snapping the gloves tighter around her hands. To better treat Elena’s son, Lola wanted to get a sense of this woman, wanted to judge the extent of her trauma. Dr. Trapp planned to do the autopsy later this evening, so Elena Hidalgo lay before her battered but still in one piece.
With one finger, Lola brushed the woman’s dark hair from her bruised cheekbone. Her gaunt, lined face told a story much longer than Elena’s twenty-four years of life. Had she tried to protect her child in the end? Had she felt one last burst of motherly instinct, which had deserted her ever since she’d begged the courts to give her one last chance?
The door to the stairwell creaked on its hinges, and Lola jumped back from her examination of Elena. She banged her elbow on the open door to the freezer where Elena had lain tagged and bagged. Could Dr. Trapp be back from his break already?
Lola’s pulse danced at the base of her throat. She backed up on silent sneakers, away from the scope of the narrow window, and pressed her back against the wall. Running her tongue across her dry lips, her gaze flitted toward the tray of sharp instruments awaiting Dr. Trapp’s steady hand.
If someone broke into this room, a well-placed scalpel could stop him in his tracks. She stifled a gasp. Was that a footfall outside the door?
The morgue remained locked at all times, and she had to practically beg Dr. Trapp for his extra key. So if Dr. Trapp or his medical examiner assistant was lurking in the hallway, either one of them would have access. Folding her arms and gripping the sleeves of her white coat, Lola flattened herself against the icy wall and stared at the door handle. It turned. And stopped. Thwarted by the lock.
A cry gurgled and died at the back of Lola’s throat and she slid down the wall. She could crawl toward the instrument table, unseen by anyone peering into the room. And then what? Grab a scalpel? Hell, she could grab an electric saw.
A shadow