Yeah, it was dangerous. She knew that. But she’d thought things out, and once she was out of the city she had an advantage; Rafael was purely Big City. He’d lived his entire life in either Los Angeles or New York. Rural America was as foreign to him as Timbuktu, but she’d grown up in a small town in the middle of the country, and she knew how to make herself inconspicuous, how to blend in. There were a lot of places where she could reinvent herself. He wouldn’t be expecting that, because he thought she was too dumb to pull it off. On the other hand, he also thought she was too dumb to steal him blind, and pretty soon he’d know better.
She’d have to move fast and keep on moving, and have an alternate plan she could go to each step of the way, in case something went wrong. She should expect things to go wrong, then she wouldn’t panic when they did.
She would have, at most, a few hours’ head start. If she wasn’t out of New York City by then, she was as good as dead.
6
DREA OVERSLEPT, AND FINALLY DRAGGED HERSELF OUT OF bed feeling as if she’d been battered, in both body and mind. Four hours of sex, even really good sex, might sound good in theory, but it wasn’t something she wanted to do again, even without all the emotional upheaval that had accompanied it. She couldn’t deny the physical pleasure, but she liked to be the one in control. She’d rather have a clear head during the act, and take care of her own needs later, when she was alone. Look how stupid a few orgasms had made her, even if the dumbing effect was only temporary. She’d never make that mistake again; if anyone was made stupid, it would be the guy, not her.
This morning she didn’t let herself wimp out in front of the mirror; she squared up to it and focused on what she saw now, not the reflection that had been there years ago. She wasn’t that stupid, vulnerable girl any longer, so thinking about her was a waste of time.
The present was bad enough, she thought critically, turning her head from side to side as she examined herself. Her face was colorless, unless she counted the bruised-looking shadows under her swollen eyes, and her hair was so snarled it looked as if a nest of rats had been wrestling in it. Maybe it was just ego, but she didn’t want to look pitiful. She couldn’t wipe away every trace of yesterday, but she could certainly look better than this.
For the first time ever, she locked the bathroom door before undressing. She didn’t care what Rafael thought, didn’t care if he didn’t like it.
She picked up a comb and fiercely attacked the knots and snarls in her hair, then got in the shower and scrubbed with her favorite perfumed shower gel. Yesterday afternoon she hadn’t had time to put conditioner on her hair, which was why it was such a mess this morning. She took the time now, and felt the thick strands turn silky under her fingers.
The first thing she’d do, she thought grimly, was cut most of this mess off. Not only was her hair too identifiable, but she didn’t like her hair this long, or this curly. She had some natural wave in her hair but these corkscrew curls resulted from stinking chemicals and hours of maintenance. She’d deliberately chosen the look, knowing it made her look more frivolous and less capable, but, damn, she was tired of it. She was tired of pretending she didn’t have a brain, tired of putting someone else’s needs and wants ahead of her own.
She pulled on her robe and tightly belted it, then swiftly began putting on her makeup, feeling as if time were slipping away and she had only a few hours in which to escape. She shouldn’t have slept so long, she should have set her alarm, but she hadn’t, and now she had to move fast. With Rafael weirding out on her the way he had, as if he’d suddenly discovered this deep love for her-yeah, right-she couldn’t predict what he’d do next, and the uncertainty scared her. He was a dangerous man, and a smart one. All it would take to tip him off was for her to make one slip of the tongue, or forget to guard her expression. She hadn’t made that mistake in the two years they’d been together, but she’d never before been so on edge, either. She didn’t trust him, and she no longer trusted herself to hold things together.
An idea struck, something that might give her a small advantage if it worked. If not, then at least her situation wouldn’t be any worse. She forced herself to cough. The sound was mild, at first, but as she did it again and again the cough became deeper, rougher. She stopped after a minute and said “Damn it” out loud, to test her voice. Already she sounded hoarse, but not hoarse enough. She coughed some more, pulling the effort from deep in her chest, and felt her throat burn. If she were sick, she’d have a ready-made excuse for keeping Rafael at a distance if he tried to have sex with her-and she’d also have an excuse for looking so pale, which was nothing but her ego talking, but after yesterday she needed every bit of ego she could rustle up. Between the two of them, Rafael and the assassin had pretty much ground her into dust.
She heard a faint sound in her bedroom, and a chill ran down her spine. Rafael! She whirled and unlocked the door, pulling it open in the same motion and stepping out without looking, as if she hadn’t heard anything and didn’t know he was there. She all but bumped into him, and jumped with a fake yip of surprise. “I didn’t know you were in here,” she said, pleased with how hoarse her voice sounded.
He put his hands on her waist and frowned down at her. “Are you sick? You sound terrible.”
“I might be catching something,” she mumbled, looking down. “I woke up with a cough.”
He tilted her face up, his dark eyes sharply examining her pallor, the shadows under her eyes. Drea could barely force herself to stand there and let him touch her. He was a handsome man, with thick black hair and chiseled features, but she had never loved him and at the best of times had found only mild pleasure in being with him. There was no pleasure left now, only hate burning so strong and hot she could barely contain it.
Still, she managed to put suffering in her expression as she looked back up at him, then she closed her eyes and swallowed. Straightening, she gently removed herself from his grasp and went to her closet. Opening the door, she turned on the light and stared into the small room, at the shoes scattered across the floor and the laden hangers jammed together without any sort of system. “I need to find a job,” she said in a wobbly voice, the tone a little lost and bewildered. “But I don’t know what to wear.”
The truth was, there was nothing in her closet appropriate for job-hunting, and nothing she would mind leaving behind. Every garment had been chosen with the purpose of showcasing her assets, and was either too flamboyant or too revealing. There was nothing tailored, not a single skirt long enough to reach her knee-or, if it did, there was also a side slit to add oomph.
Rafael came up behind her and this time he slid his arm around her, pulling her close against his side. He bent his head, pressed his warm mouth to her temple. “I think you have a fever,” he murmured. “You should stay home today, and when you’re feeling better you can worry about what to wear.” He gave a small, indulgent smile, as if he were talking to a child.
“But I have to-” She knew damn well she didn’t have a fever, because she wasn’t sick, but that was exactly what she’d wanted him to say.
“No,” he interrupted. “You don’t have to leave, and you sure as hell don’t have to hunt for a job. You don’t have to do anything, except rest.”
She pulled back from him and searched his face with a desolate gaze. She let her lips tremble a little “But…yesterday…”
“Yesterday, I was an idiot,” he said forcefully. “Listen to me, babe: I don’t know how many times you want me to say it, but I’m not tired of you, I swear. I don’t want you to leave. I want you to stay here and let me take care of you the way I always have. You can’t make it on your own. You’re not qualified for any job except looking pretty, but you’re damn good at that.”