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Hell, by the time he unloaded the bomb and the woman, they were going to institutionalize him because he lost his mind.
He focused on the road a moment. He knew where he was, but had no clue what the best location would be to hide out and lie low for a while. After a quick internal debate, he picked up his own phone and dialed Ross Wynton’s direct line. He wouldn’t be in the WEST Protection office right now, but Clay could always count on Ross picking up.
He wasn’t disappointed.
“Lexis. I get the feeling this isn’t a call to discuss what’s happening in the bunkhouse,” Ross said right away.
Clay’s mind switched gears to the woman he’d persuaded the WEST team to help by stowing her away on the Wynton Ranch as a ranch hand. Of course, Livingston had a hand in that too, claiming that witness protection wouldn’t do her any good and she needed a safe place to sit things out.
“Everything good with the new ranch hand?” he asked Ross.
“Yes, all good on the home front. That’s why you called?”
“No. I need some assistance.” He’d trust the WEST team with his life—and Lark’s too. “Can you text me the location of a safehouse?” It hit him that he could trust his own equipment, but Lark’s phone—and even the bomb feet away from them on the other side of the rear window—might have a tracker, or worse, a listening device. “Say nothing to anyone, Ross—just text. I know my phone is safe.”
“Gotcha. Drop me a pin and I’ll get you to the nearest place.”
His chest welled with appreciation. “Thank you. I’ll be in touch.”
He ended the call and shot the pin off to Ross. Within a minute, his phone buzzed with the return text and an address.
He spotted an exit up ahead leading to another small town that was probably just as corrupt as the one they fled. He saw it far too often now—crime and terrorism moving out of big cities and spreading like wildfire through small towns and rural America.
When he switched on his turn signal and pulled over to the side of the road, Lark said, “What are we doing?”
He sliced a look at her. “I need to see if there’s a GPS tracker on your phone. I also need to check out that”—he twitched his head toward the rear of the truck—“more thoroughly.”
He caught Lark’s stare on him.
On his mouth in particular.
Seeing the way her eyelids drooped over the flames of her eyes drew a growl to Clay’s lips—a sound he wouldnotexpel.
He could think of a hell of lot of things he would like to do to her…very, verythoroughly.
And one enormous reason why he shouldn’t.
* * * * *
Lark eyed Clay. Before getting out of the truck, he’d reached behind the seats and pulled out a cowboy hat. As soon as he settled it on his head, her ovaries had started pumping out eggs as fast as her hormones would allow.
He stood like a big, tough vigilante in front of the tailgate. The longer he stared at the bomb, the more time she had to look at him in that hat.
And at his ass.
Damn, those buns werefine.Hard as steel. The worn denim accentuated their carved appearance even more.
She approached the truck—and him—from the side.
He threw out a hand to hold her off. “I told you to stay back.”
“I appreciate this big strong man act you’re putting on.”
“Putting on?” He scowled at her.
“Okay, it’s who you are. But it’s ridiculous that you’re trying to protect me. I’ve been on my own ever since my brother left for bootcamp. I tried to stay in our apartment for a while, but of course when I wasn’t able to pay, I was evicted. After that…the group home.” She shuddered to think of that experience. “I’d rather live on the street than ever return to such a place.”
“I’m sorry, Lark. I really am. But right now, we have more pressing things.”
