Deep Trouble: A MacKenzie Family Novella (The MacKenzie Family) Page 5

  “Why stick to waiting tables if what you really want is to be in the kitchen?” It was a flyer, but Kylie’s chin lifted ever so slightly, and bingo. Devon hit pay dirt.

  “Money, mostly. I never had enough to go to culinary school,” she murmured, although her tone said that whatever made up the rest of the reason was responsible for the tension suddenly triple-knotting her muscles against the passenger seat. “Anyway, that’s why I left California last year. I had a bad breakup, lost my job. I wasn’t going to find another one if I stuck around, not to mention having nothing to stick around for. So I headed as far east as I could until I ran out of cash, and that’s how I ended up in Montana.”

  Devon’s head buzzed with so many questions that choosing one to put to words was a tall order. “California’s huge. Losing your job sucks, but how is it that you couldn’t find another one nearby?” There had to be hundreds of restaurant gigs, even in Cali’s smaller cities and towns.

  Kylie laughed, although there was zero humor in the soft huff of her breath. “Let’s just say when you’re a better cook than your ‘chef’ boyfriend”—she paused to pin the word with an air quote/eye roll combo—“and your interview for the open kitchen position at the café where you both work puts that fact on display? Egos get bruised like summer fruit.”

  “That explains the breakup.” Well, that and the fact that her ex sounded like a gold star member of the Dickhead of the Month club. “But if you were a better cook, how come you didn’t get the job?” Devon asked.

  “Because my ex was better in the bedroom than the kitchen. He seduced the restaurant manager and convinced her I was power hungry and that I’d be a tyrant in the kitchen. She fired me, and restaurant circles are more like rumor mills. My resume was pretty much Swiss cheese at that point anyway, so…”

  “You took off.” Something else she’d said tugged at the back of Devon’s mind, and before he could haul the question back, he asked, “You said you got as far as Montana. Where were you headed?”

  Kylie paused, although her expression remained tough. “I haven’t been to the East Coast in a while. I thought it might be cool to go see Kellan.”

  “See him? Or live in NC?”

  “Whichever,” she said, but the word came out with way less indifference than he’d bet she intended to stick to it.

  “Why didn’t you tell your brother you wanted to move to North Carolina?” Hell, he’d bet Kellan would’ve moved a mountain range to bring Kylie closer to him if he’d known that was what she wanted. Devon would do the same for his own sister Cat in a nanosecond.

  “Because I’m a big girl,” she said, just as matter-of-factly as if she were telling him she had blue eyes or that the earth was round and not flat as a two-by-four. “I was stuck in California of my own doing, and that’s exactly how I was going to get out. I might move around a bunch, and sometimes I fly by the seat of my pants, but I can still take care of myself.” Her gaze shot out the window as she tacked on, “Most of the time, anyway.”

  Devon opened his mouth to tell her she didn’t have to be so tough. The last thing either of them needed was for her to pull another stunt like the Maglite stickup she’d tried last night in the motel parking lot, and just because Kylie was fierce didn’t mean she was bulletproof. But then she turned to grab her sunglasses out of her purse, and the look on her face slapped him right in the solar plexus.

  She might rather stick a pin in her eye than admit it, but she was barely hanging on. Which meant they needed to stop and get some supplies and shuteye ASAP.

  Because not only had Devon been in those exact same shoes four years ago, but if he didn’t regroup and get his shit together, he was liable to do something galacticly stupid.

  Like tell Kylie he knew just how she felt.

  Chapter Five

  Kylie split her gaze between the navy blue baseball hat in her lap and the mom-and-pop drugstore to her right, unsure which one she liked less. The hat Devon had pulled out of his glove box was sure to be an obvious cover-up, and that was if she could actually cram all her hair under the thing. Then again, the store was a fixed place, an unknown place, and despite the cheerily painted sign and the trio of wide, sparkling windows gracing the front, Kylie knew all too well that the worst sort of bad might still be lurking inside.

  “We’re going to be fine,” Devon said, sliding his gun into the holster beneath his rib cage before covering it seamlessly with his leather jacket. “Just keep your eyes open and try to relax, okay?”

  She bit back the joyless laugh welling in her throat. “Tropical beaches are relaxing, Devon. This”—she paused to flick her wrist at the storefront—“is my own monogrammed version of hell.”

  “I get it,” he said, and funny, he actually looked like he did. “I know the whole situation is intense. But the more at ease you look, the less likely we are to attract attention. From anyone.”

  Kylie twisted her hair behind her nape, awkwardly wrangling the baseball hat over the thick knot and adjusting the brim. “Then how come we didn’t go to the Walmart a couple exits back?” It had been the first and only sign of major civilization since they’d hit the road. “Wouldn’t blending in there have been easier?”

  “Maybe. But a more crowded place has a lot of moving parts that are hard to control, not to mention security feeds we’d be sure to show up on. Getting in and out of a place like this will take us ten minutes, tops, with a whole lot less visibility to boot.”

  She followed his lead and got out of the car, sending covert glances around the nearly empty parking lot. Despite Devon’s powerful presence barely two feet from her dance space and the fact that he probably had enough weaponry on him to protect a small nation, Kylie’s heart still took up residence in her windpipe. Sweat beaded beneath the ill-fitting baseball hat, her palms growing clammy enough to slip off the handle of the drugstore’s front door.

  “Everything’s fine,” Devon murmured, so close to her ear that his breath tickled her neck. “Just remember your spaghetti dinner, okay?”

  She nodded, forcing herself to try on a shaky smile. “With wine.”

  “Now we’re talkin’.”

  He opened the door just as easy as you please to usher her inside, and okay. Okay, yeah, this wasn’t so bad. At least as far as running for your life went, anyway.

  Kylie picked up a plastic basket, looping the handles over her arm. Scanning the store’s aisles, she was relieved to see the place sparsely populated at best, and definitely not with anyone who looked remotely frightening.

  She released the breath that had been spackled to her lungs. “I only need a few things.”

  “Okay,” Devon said. Although his stare traveled over every inch of the store, he kept to the whole white-on-rice routine as she walked down the first aisle, her skin prickling with awareness at how closely he shadowed her every move.

  “Don’t you need to get some things too?” she asked, sliding a toothbrush and a travel-sized tube of toothpaste from the shelf.

  “One or two.”

  Kylie waited out the dozen or so heartbeats of silence between them before finally sending a pointed look down the aisle. “Did you want to go do that while I finish up?”

  “I’ll wait.”

  He rocked back on the heels of his boots to look at her like nothing doing, and something inside her chest snapped. Kylie wasn’t stupid—she got how dangerous her situation was right now, and how much worse it could be. But the aisles were low enough to make the entire store visible, and the whole place was four, maybe five rows, max. She didn’t want to run free, but she did want to get the hell out of there as fast as humanly possible. Other than a young woman with a baby on her hip and the store clerk, who was eighty if he was a day, the store was empty; plus, she wasn’t completely soft. Was a handful of paces to choose her deodorant really too much to ask when the place was obviously safe and sound?

  Kylie dropped her voice to a whisper, tucking back a strand of hair that had escaped the lopsided perch of her ha
t. “You said you need to keep eyes on me, right?”

  “Kylie—”

  “It’s fifteen feet, Devon. And it’ll cut our time in half.”

  He swiveled a gaze around the store, a muscle tightening over the smooth angle of his jawline. “We’re leaving in two minutes. Don’t dawdle.”

  His footsteps sounded off against the faded linoleum as he moved to the next aisle. Even though he was still in Kylie’s direct line of sight, the space let her breathe. She grabbed some toiletries, pausing for only a second in the hair care section before aiming herself at the rack of clothing by the far wall. The selection was pretty sparse—just a handful of touristy T-shirts and some basic supplies, but she managed to score a package of utilitarian cotton panties and some men’s tank top undershirts, along with a hoodie.

  On her way back to Devon, Kylie plucked a king-sized Snickers bar from the end cap display, tossing it on top of the supplies in her basket. After witnessing a murder, being chased by a vicious criminal, and watching her cell phone get blown into a billion sky-high pieces, really, she deserved a little slice of indulgence. Especially since Xavier Fagan was still out there, and Kylie had no doubt he’d do whatever was necessary to hunt her down and put a bullet in her skull for what she’d seen.

  On second thought, she’d earned a hell of a lot more than a candy bar, even if Snickers was her favorite. Like a nice long bubble bath, with an hour-long massage on top.

  Add a couple of sheet-ripping orgasms to the list, and you’ve got yourself a party, sweetheart.

  “Did you find everything you needed?” Devon asked, appearing from the other side of the brightly colored candy display, and Kylie nearly blushed herself into spontaneous combustion.

  “Uh huh,” she managed to choke out, holding up the basket and following him to the register. One blond brow went up as he caught sight of the Snickers bar, but Devon remained thankfully quiet as they paid for their items and headed back to the car.

  “There’s a motel around the corner. Looks like a good place to get some rest.”

  “Okay.” Kylie pulled off the baseball hat, what little hair that had remained in place spilling sloppily over her shoulders. She might feel too wired to close her eyes, and the shot of sexy impulse that had just unexpectedly popped her in the sternum hadn’t helped to calm her, but still. A nice, hot shower and a place to stay hidden sounded like heaven right now.

  Except that she had to go into yet another public place in order to get them, and God, would this stupid panic ever ease up?

  “Don’t worry. This will only take a minute,” Devon said, and the gruff reassurance sent a prickle of heat over her cheeks.

  “That obvious, huh?”

  His lifted shoulder was answer enough. “You did fine in the store. Chances are, snagging a room will be even easier.”

  “I don’t suppose I can talk you into letting me stay in the car while you run inside.” It was a long shot, Kylie knew. But for some reason, the car felt safe. Secure.

  Devon’s eyes flashed, amber-brown and full of no. “It’s my job to protect you. That means you go where I go. No exceptions.”

  He skimmed a glance through the windshield to take in the small roadside motel, and even though she had no idea what she was looking for, Kylie did the same. The place looked like a direct relation to the El Monaco, right down to the hourly rates and the mismatched letters on the VACANCY sign. While that might squick her out under normal circumstances, right now, staying at a place without cameras rolling or questions asked did seem pretty smart.

  Kylie stuffed her hair back under the baseball hat and followed Devon out of the car. A fresh hit of adrenaline tightened her chest like a steel band, threatening to swallow her right there on the pavement.

  But then he turned to look at her, his expression steady and sure. “Just a walk in the park. I promise,” he said.

  You’ve got this, girl. Devon’s got this.

  They walked the dozen or so steps to the motel’s front entrance, Kylie’s nerves growing looser with each step. Devon brushed a hand over the small of her back as he ushered her over the threshold, and even though the motel’s lobby was as dated and dingy as she’d expected, she managed to squeak in a semi-deep breath.

  “Help you?” asked the man behind the counter, although he’d barely looked up from the poorly concealed Hustler propped open over the desk.

  “We need a room.”

  Devon’s voice carried enough gravel to grab the man’s attention, his bleary eyes going wide at the sight of Devon’s imposing stance less than two feet away.

  “Oh! Uh, right. So I just need your ID and a credit card,” the man said, the stink of stale cigarettes and fresh gin punching her in the nose from across the counter as he stood.

  “I’ll pay cash.”

  “I’m not supposed to…” The man trailed off, his gaze narrowing first on Devon, then on Kylie, lingering on her skimpy T-shirt for two seconds too long. “Oh, I get it.” His greasy grin grew into a leer. “Don’t want the wife to catch you, huh?”

  A muscle flexed in Devon’s jaw. “Something like that,” he said through his teeth.

  “Whatever you say, boss. I don’t judge. But for that kind of upgrade, there are service fees.”

  Kylie put a stranglehold on her urge to knock the guy’s block off, mostly because she and Devon got what they wanted. Devon slipped the manager some extra incentive to work both quickly and quietly to turn over the key to a room on the ground floor, and ten minutes later, they shut (and locked and chained) the door behind them.

  Devon closed the drapes, doing a quick sweep of the dated but surprisingly clean room before slinging his duffel bag over the bed closest to the window. “Go ahead and lie down if you want to,” he said, shouldering out of first his jacket, then his holster. “I’m sure you’re beat.”

  “I’m fine,” came her auto-reply, but the words were as close to a lie as they’d ever been. Kylie blinked, the surreal memory of the last day and the steady presence of his gun making her pulse beat harder in her veins. “Actually, I’m going to take a shower. I kind of really want to get out of these clothes.”

  “Oh.” His throat worked over a swallow, his gaze dropping to his duffel bag. “Right. I have an extra pair of sweats if you want them while we crash. Not ideal, but—”

  “Sounds great. Thank you.”

  Her voice hitched even though she fought to keep it steady, the ensuing silence making her weakness sound that much more obvious in her ears. Mashing down on the mix of emotions suddenly churning through her belly, she grabbed the sweatpants Devon had pulled from his duffel and the two plastic bags from the drugstore, hightailing it into the bathroom before he could ask if she was okay.

  Right now, she was a lot of things. Shaky. Mad. Scared. Amped up.

  But at the moment, “okay” was definitely not on the list.

  She upended the bag with the toiletries into the bathroom sink, forcing herself to get everything in order. The task calmed her, and she started the shower, turning back to open the oblong box she’d chosen from the hair care aisle. Kylie pulled off the horrible skimpy bar T-shirt she never wanted to see again, then her boots and jeans, every movement methodical, each motion a tiny success.

  She was tough. She could do this.

  She could survive.

  Lather, rinse, repeat had never been so ironic. Kylie stuck to the tasks in her head—scrub your hair, shave your legs, rinse your skin—until finally, she stepped out of the shower. One last unopened package gleamed up at her from the sink, but even though her chest ached at the sight of it, she took a deep breath and looked at her reflection in the steam-misted mirror.

  “Fuck it.”

  Chapter Six

  Devon set up his weapons just as he did in every motel room he stayed in, with his SIG within arm’s reach and his KABAR in the nightstand, and a variety of other mean-and-nasties strategically placed throughout the small space. His phone had been silent since he’d activated it a handful
of hours ago, and he reached out to palm the thing, tapping in Kellan’s number from memory.

  “Tell me you two are holed up someplace safe,” his buddy said, and oooookay, so much for pleasantries.

  Which was cool, because Devon wasn’t exactly a tea and crumpets kind of guy. “Copy. You got anything on this douche bag yet?”

  Kellan’s pause spoke of nothing even remotely good. “Xavier Fagan, also known as the X Man, is on no less than a dozen wanted lists from Montana to Mississippi. Priors for possession with the intent to distribute, weapons, and he’s been ID’ed as the main player in a heroin ring the size of Yankee Stadium.”

  “And he’s still on the street how?” No way a guy who was in it that deep wasn’t at the top of the FBI’s dance card.

  “Because he’s not blowing smoke about being well connected,” Kellan said. “Fagan seems to have a gift for sniffing out bad police, the higher up the food chain, the better, and he’s old school. Does all his business face to face, and all his dirty work himself. Word on the street is that he even murdered his own brother because he thought the guy was ratting him out to the cops.”

  Devon sank into the timeworn chair across from the foot of his bed. “So the Feds who aren’t in his pocket want him, they just can’t make anything stick because their witnesses always end up in body bags.” Fucking fantastic. “You turn up anything by way of assistance from your contact at the NCPD?”

  “The rundown I just gave you is courtesy of her,” Kellan said, his voice shifting slightly enough that if Devon didn’t have noticing every last detail branded into his DNA, he’d have missed it.

  Interesting. Devon filed that little nugget away to pursue when his personal safety wasn’t twisting in the wind. “She have any higher-ups you can trust? I can keep Kylie safe for a while, Walker, but the longer we play cat and mouse, the harder it’s gonna get. We need an end game here.”