Her eyes popped open. She gaped at him. “Manuelo would never-”

“He did. And I’ll give you a detailed account of what happened that night. Later. Right now, we’re getting out of here. Now, dammit, get some clothes on.” He said it with an undertone of threat, playing on her evident fear. He would make amends later, but he didn’t have time for niceties now.

Coolly, she said, “I can’t dress as long as you’re holding on to me.”

Gradually he removed his hands from her shoulders but was poised in case she tried to get to the door. She stepped around him and moved to the bureau. She took several articles of clothing from a drawer, considered them, exchanged them for others.

Impatiently, he yanked the items from her hand and threw them onto the bed, then jerked on the belt of her robe, untying it. “Get into them, and make it fast.” She turned her back and let the robe slide off her onto the floor. She was naked. He was running for his life, but it was a sight that momentarily stopped him from thinking about anything else. She stepped into panties and worked a T-shirt over her head, then started moving toward the door. He grabbed her arm, halting her.

“There’s a tracksuit in the closet.”

The closet was adjacent to the door. He went to it, slid open the door, and sorted through the clothes.

“That,” she said.

“This?” She nodded. He peeled the tracksuit off the hanger and thrust it at her. “Hurry.”

She stepped into the stretchy pants and pulled them on. “If you force me to go with you-”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“Of course you do!”

“Shoes.” He took a pair of sneakers from the closet and dropped them at her feet.

“You’ll be adding kidnapping to your other crimes.”

He helped her balance while she worked her feet into the sneakers. “Where’s your purse?”

“Griff, I implore you.”

“Are you wearing the jacket?”

She pulled it on. “Rodarte-”

“Will be checking with these guys any minute.”

“That’s right. You’ll never get me out of this hotel. He has guards posted downstairs, too. They’ve got my car keys.”

He fished her ring of keys out of his pants pocket and jangled it at her. “You’re walking out of here, Laura. You and your police escort. Anyone challenges you, you say you need some things from the store, you have a hankering for Taco Bell, your grandmother is sick. I don’t care what excuse you give, just make them believe it.”

She looked him over. “Despite the getup, don’t you think they’ll recognize you?”

“For your own safety, you’d better hope they don’t.”

She glanced down at the holster on his hip. Rather than frightening her, it seemed to embolden her. Taking a stance, she folded her arms and looked up at him. “You wouldn’t hurt me. I know you wouldn’t.”

“You don’t think?”

Slowly, she shook her head.

He moved in close and lowered his face to within inches of hers. “I’m not going back to prison. So if I’m caught, all bets are off. I’ll blare to the whole frigging world that Foster Speakman couldn’t get it up. He was no longer a man, the marriage was a sham, and, in order to have a kid, he hired me to fuck his wife.” Her face went slack with dismay.

“Yeah,” Griff said, “think about that. I saw the pictures of his funeral, watched the stories about it on TV, saw you posed so pretty at his graveside. I’ve read his obituary and listened to politicians singing his praises. Everybody thought he was bloody wonderful, didn’t they? What do you think their opinion of Foster the great is going to be when I tell them he paid me to play stud for him?

“And don’t forget, to prove it’s true, I’ve got a hundred grand in the bank with his name on the signature card.” He encircled her biceps, forming an unbreakable grip with his strong fingers, and shoved her toward the door. “Now move it.”

“Hey, Thomas?”

Griff pulled up short, and Laura with him. The sound came from the earpiece he’d stuck in his ear after putting on the cop’s uniform. Thomas was being paged by one of his counterparts downstairs. Giving Laura a warning look, Griff clicked on the transmitter clipped to the shoulder seam of the shirt. “Go ahead,” he mumbled.

“Where’s Lane?”

“At the elevator with Mrs. Speakman,” he whispered, as though not wanting to be overheard. “He’s bringing Her Highness down.”

“What for?”

“She wants some carryout.”

“Sick of room service food?”

Griff grunted a noncommittal reply.

“Yeah, she’s got it really tough,” the cop said sarcastically. “Even with Lane tagging along, Rodarte isn’t gonna like it, her going out after dark.”

“Then Rodarte can come babysit her.”

The other cop laughed. “I hear that.” He clicked off.

Griff looked through the peephole, then pulled open the door and checked the hallway. He pulled Laura behind him as he ran toward the service elevator. He’d placed a dolly in the open door to keep it there. When they were inside, he dragged the dolly in and pushed the button for the ground floor.

“Where’s your car?” he asked.

“In the employee parking lot.”

“Once we’re out of the building, where?”

“To the right.”

“How far?”

“Fairly close.” His eyes drilled into hers, demanding more. She said, “Within steps of the entrance. But we’ll never get past the guard at that door.”

“He’s napping.”

The cop was still out cold, right where Griff had left him, behind a Dumpster, out of sight of any hotel employee who happened to use that entrance. Griff had come dressed in a set of navy blue work pants and shirt, carrying a stack of empty boxes. The ruse had worked long enough for him to get close to the cop and knock him out.

The policeman on the top floor, guarding the stairwell and service elevator, had reacted with surprise when the elevator doors opened and Griff stepped off. “Hey, you’re supposed to clear it downstairs before-” Griff had thrust the boxes at him and punched.

Hearing the commotion, the cop guarding Laura’s door had come running. He’d rounded a corner and got clouted on the head with the butt of his buddy’s service pistol. Of the two, he was the larger. Griff had hastily stripped him of his uniform shirt, hat, and gun belt.

He’d handcuffed each of them behind their backs, also linking the pairs of handcuffs together, then put duct tape over their mouths. Even when they regained consciousness, they’d make an awkward, mute, four-legged animal that would have trouble getting out of the stairwell and raising an alarm.

He was guilty of assault on three police officers. That was the least of his worries.

He knew there was another cop posted at the corner of the parking lot. It was just dark enough that Griff hoped from that distance the cop would see only a uniform shirt and hat and would mistake him for Lane. As he and Laura emerged from the service entrance, Griff kept his face averted but raised his arm and waved. The cop waved back.

Laura led him to her BMW. He unlocked the driver’s side. Thinking of the horn, he said, “Remember what I told you upstairs. If you want to uphold your late husband’s reputation, you do not want me to be caught.”

He closed the door and quickly walked around to the passenger side. Once he was in, he put the key in the ignition and started the motor. “Take the freeway to Oak Lawn. Exit and head north until it merges with Preston.”

She looked at him with surprise.

“That’s right, Laura. We’re going to your house.”

Getting past the policeman at the gate was going to be the next tricky part. While Laura drove, Griff formulated a plan.

“You won’t get away with this,” she said.

“I have so far, haven’t I?”

“Policemen in five states are looking for you.”

“But they haven’t found me.”

“Where have you been hiding?”

He didn’t answer that. “When we get to your place, make sure your headlights are on bright. Pull in so that they’re shining directly into the windshield of the patrol car that’s parked in front of the gate.”