Page 42 of Three Steps Behind

She darted for the side door, and, yanking it open, she leapt outside. She spun around, grabbed hold of the door, and eased it closed just as Dalton and Miquel came into view.

Moving, her foot caught in the overgrown vines, and she tripped forward, tearing her jeans on the right leg and scraping her knee. Man, it stung.

Get up. You’ve got to move.

The side door opened. “I always leave this door locked,” Dalton said.

She lunged behind a towering cactus bush and crouched down. Please don’t let him find me. How on earth would she explain this one? Even if she somehow could, there was no way she could play the happy girlfriend tonight. She physically couldn’t be near him, let alone allow him to touch her. Her stomach rocked. She fought to keep her cookies in.

“Anyone there?” Miquel called from inside the kitchen, the door still open. Dalton surveyed the yard from the porch. “I’m going to take a better look.”

Her chest constricted, cutting her airflow to wheezy intakes of shallow breath. Stop making noise. Stop breathing if it means you’ll survive this one.

Dalton descended the steps, his loafers visible through the ivy vines crawling about the garden, their tendrils encircling the rest of the plants.

Please. No. Her heart thudded in her chest so loud she feared he’d hear. She made herself as small as possible behind the thick cactus.

Another step closer.

The evening moon glinted off the SIG in his hand.

She swallowed. Agent Marshall was right. She squeezed her eyes shut as her head spun. She opened her eyes only to see moving black spots.

“Anything?” Miquel asked from the stoop.

How could Miquel run drugs and women? He oversaw Dalton’s half dozen restaurants in the state. No one was who they purported themselves to be.

“Nobody,” Dalton finally said. “I’m just chasing shadows, but I’d’ve sworn that door was locked.”

“Perhaps Carlita left it open by mistake,” Miquel offered. “It’s by the trash cans she must use.”

“Excellent point.” Dalton clapped Miquel on the back. “This is how you earn your money.” He chuckled, and Miquel with him, but the latter’s laugh was forced.

The two hovered on the porch, then went inside, and she hoped the light spilling out didn’t illuminate her hiding spot.

She watched the ground. It hit two inches away. Relief filled her, two inches had saved her.

The door finally shut behind them, and the lock clicked in place.

She gulped in air, not realizing how long she’d been holding her breath. But she still had to get off the property without being seen.

She tracked along the rear wall—the brick scraping through her thin silk blouse.

The front door opened, and the men stepped out.

Come on! She ducked down, holding still behind a riding mower the landscaper must have left out.

The porch lights kicked on, spilling across the expansive driveway.

No way to get out of the gate without being seen.

Her legs still trembling, she recalculated, and, crouching low, backtracked to the rear of the garden while they were preoccupied, deep in discussion. Reaching the iron-gated back fence, she chucked her heels over, then checked to be sure the men hadn’t moved. Hadn’t seen her. Placing her foot on the bottom rung, she grabbed the vertical bars and wove her way up—her arms wavering as they held all her weight.

Conversation wafted on the air. She had to move faster, or there was no explaining this. She pulled higher, heat burning her upper arms. She wasn’t going to make it. The fence was too tall.

She hopped down, assessing her options.

Miquel’s high-tire truck bumped down the drive, rap blaring. Really?