Silence. The kind of stark, uncomfortable silence that told Remy he’d probably just scared his runaway bride nearly to death.
“I think I’d like to be let out,” she stated, her voice incredibly polite. She also reached for the door. Grabbed the handle and yanked—
He laughed again. Shit. He probably shouldn’t have laughed but… “I wouldn’t tell you my plans in advance. That would make me a shitty killer.”
“Oh, God. Are you a killer?”
Remy didn’t plan to touch that one. “Not tonight, I’m not. Tonight, I’m playing the role of the hero. Uh, want to do me a favor and shut the door?” He could see the headlight from the motorcycle up ahead. It barreled straight toward them.
“Tell me you aren’t going to kill me.”
“I am not going to kill you.” An easy enough statement to give. But he couldn’t resist adding, “I only kill pretty would-be brides on Tuesdays, and, as you clearly know, today is—”
“Don’t.”
Okay. He should stop playing with her. “My name is Remy,” he told her, tone deepening because there had been real fear shaking in her words. “I have no intention of hurting you. I actually have a younger sister, and if she showed up in the middle of the night, desperate and afraid, in a rundown bar, I would want someone to help her.” Absolute truth. “You are safe with me.” He had no intention of hurting the woman beside him.
Jacqueline shut the door.
“And, sweetness, if you don’t mind, how about you put the screwdriver that you are clutching in your left hand—how about you put it back in the glove compartment? Don’t want to be worrying that you’re going to stab me with it while I’m driving.”
Her hand moved, sliding from beneath the loose fabric of her dress. “How did you know I had it?”
A simple enough deduction. “Because you don’t trust me. Smart not to since we just met. And it made sense that you’d want a weapon in case you needed to defend yourself. I knew the screwdriver was in the glove box, you had access to it…” He let his words trail off. “It would have been my move, too.”
She hadn’t put up the screwdriver.
He considered the matter as the motorcycle’s headlight kept barreling closer. “You know what? If it makes you feel better, keep it.”
“It does make me feel better.”
The motorcycle light seemed brighter.
“Just promise not to stab me with it,” Remy added as his eyes narrowed against the approaching glare.
“I promise.” Soft.
“Good.” But even if she tried to come at him, Remy had no doubt that he could disarm her. Not that he’d share that bit of info with her. If the screwdriver made her feel better, he’d let her have that moment of peace. “I’m thinking you should slide into the floorboard, at least until we pass our friend.”
She unhooked the seatbelt and slid down with a whisper of her dress.
The motorcycle roared toward him and—
The sonofabitch driving it suddenly turned his bike into the middle of the road. Drove into Remy’s path and braked with a squeal of his tires.
Remy had three choices.
He could drive around the dumbass, but that would just make the guy follow him.
He could hit the dumbass, but then there would be blood. And death. And he was trying to avoid that lifestyle. The whole murder scene really wasn’t his gig.
Or three, he could stop.
He stopped.
“No, please,” Jacqueline begged from her crouched position in the floorboard. “Don’t—don’t let him take me! I will do anything just—”
“Yeah, hold the thought.” He rolled down his window with a press of a button. He also turned on his bright lights to blind the bastard. “Hey, asshole!” Remy shouted. “You’ve got ten seconds to get that piece-of-shit ride out of my way, or I’ll be rolling over it and you!” There. He’d issued a fair warning.
The man kept straddling his bike. He wore a battered jacket and had a black helmet—with the face shield down—on his head. “I’m looking for someone,” the guy shouted back.
“Like I give a shit. You have five seconds.” Remy gunned his engine.
“Let me search your ride—”
“Fuck you!” Remy called back cheerfully. “Gonna be a shame to total that bike, but a man has to do what a man has to do!”
The motorcycle driver craned his head to peer into the truck. Remy turned on the interior lights to show that he was the only person in the cab of the vehicle. He also counted down, loudly, “Five, four, three, two…”
The motorcycle blasted away, zooming in the direction of Rodney’s bar—and the motel that was a few blocks away from the bar. Nice. Exactly what Remy had thought the jerk would do. “Stay down a bit longer,” he told his damsel in distress, “just in case.” They only had a bit to go before their first series of turns. A few turns, and the SOB wouldn’t be able to find them, not once they started snaking through the old roads that twisted through the mountains.
Remy rolled his window back up. Turned on his radio. And drove slowly back to his cabin.
Jacqueline stayed in the floorboard. Curled all in tightly around herself. Still clutching that screwdriver and that pissed him off. Jacqueline was well and truly afraid.
He began to sing along to the song on the radio, wanting to put her at ease, and he kept glancing back to make sure they weren’t being followed. That was the thing about this particular cabin, unless you knew exactly where you were going—and you had a powerful ride with four-wheel drive to get you to the destination—you’d miss it. Especially in the dark.
He pulled into the twisting drive. Took the truck around to the back of the cabin in order to hide it and then… “Okay, it’s time to get out.”
She didn’t move. Frowning, he leaned over her. “Jacqueline?”
Her head had tipped forward. Her hair fanned over her shoulders, and she was…
He touched her lightly. She didn’t move—because she was out cold. Sonofabitch. She’d fallen asleep on him. Remy exited the ride and went around to her side. Carefully, he opened her door. Not like he wanted her spilling out onto the ground. When she slid back, he caught her in his arms. Hoisted her up against his chest.
“Wh-what…” A sleep-slurred whisper.
“Don’t stab me with the screwdriver,” he warned, but it was an unnecessary warning because he saw she’d dropped it. He snagged it, slid it into the back of his waistband, then focused on her. Sleeping Beauty. He lifted her up, cradled her against him, and carried her toward the cabin.
She felt good against him. Almost right which was freaking ridiculous. He was obviously spending way too much time alone in the mountains if this stranger felt right to him. No one had ever felt right. His life was a lie. Half the time, he was surrounded by criminals, and he should not be carrying this woman into his home.
But he was.
Into his home, up the stairs, and all the way into his bedroom. As he carried her, the light scent of vanilla cream teased him even as the loose fabric of her dress trailed down his arms. Whatever else his lost bride had been through, she still managed to smell absolutely delicious. A wondrous feat. She smelled delicious. She looked beautiful. And…