Cold Pursuit - Carla Neggers [31]
“Neither did you.”
He leaned toward her, kissed her lightly on the lips. “Yes, I did,” he said, then dropped his hand from her hair and pulled back before he went further. Being around her was firing him up in ways that were dangerous—intrusive. He needed to stay focused on his own mission, not get mixed up with a Secret Service agent angling to get back to Washington as fast as she could.
“Elijah,” she said. “We can’t—”
He cut her off. “Nora’s bumping up against the difference between reality and fantasy. Sometimes that’s no damn fun.”
“Are you going to tell me what you’re doing out here?”
He shrugged. “Following you.”
“You’re a lousy liar. You didn’t follow me. You got here first.”
“I’m clairvoyant. I knew you’d be here. See you later, Jo.”
She reached for him but seemed to think better of grabbing him by the arm again. She tilted her head back, scrutinizing him with those deep, suspicious turquoise eyes. “What’s going on, Elijah?”
“Nothing that concerns you, Agent Harper.”
He thought he saw a twitch of irritation at one corner of her mouth. “Tell me about Devin Shay,” she said. “Why are you looking for him?”
“If you want to show me your badge and interrogate me, have at it. You can even slap on handcuffs and haul me off somewhere. It won’t be the first time a Harper’s nailed my ass. Otherwise, I’ve got things to do and places to go. I’m sorry about Ambassador Bruni, but I didn’t know him.”
She looked as if she was, in fact, debating showing him her badge, slapping him in handcuffs and finding a hot light somewhere to interrogate him. “Where are you going now?”
Elijah didn’t answer. Jo had always hated being ignored, and from the rock she threw at him, he guessed that hadn’t changed. She missed him by two yards. He grinned back at her. “Your arm still sucks.”
“I missed on purpose.”
“Right.”
“I should have gone into exile in New Zealand after all. Having me here after what you’ve been through in Afghanistan and your father’s death isn’t helping.”
“It’s better than your Secret Service friends. That last bunch was scary. Big hairy guys. No yoga pants.” Elijah laughed as she threw another rock and missed him again. “See you back at the lake, Agent Harper.”
Maybe it was the sun or his imagination—or not enough to do—but he thought he saw her give a hint of a smile as he climbed into his truck.
There was no chance she wouldn’t follow him. She was a Harper, and there hadn’t been one born who knew when to give up.
Elijah drove up to the high, open ridge above the village of Black Falls. Old, graceful maple trees and stone walls lined the narrow road. He found a spot with passable cell service and called Ryan Taylor, a Navy SEAL who’d fought and bled with him in Afghanistan. Everyone called him Grit, which made sense once people met him.
Grit didn’t appreciate chitchat, so Elijah got straight to the point. “Hit-and-run of Alexander Bruni this morning. What do you know?”
“It’s a big deal,” Grit said in his smooth north Florida accent. “No national security implications at this point. No ID of car or driver. No consistent witness reports—it’s not as if people stand around on the streets waiting for a car to hit someone. By the time it happens, it’s over.”
“All right.” Elijah wasn’t surprised that Grit was on top of the situation, even if Grit himself was, at least apparently, still in rehab seven months after the firefight that had left him without his lower left leg. But Grit wasn’t accustomed to telling anyone what all he did in a day. “That’s what’s known. What’s suspected?”
“It was a hit.”
“Why?” Elijah asked.
“Rich, powerful, well-connected men don’t get run over by accident. I haven’t heard any talk, in case you’re wondering. Bruni’s been in this town too long not to have enemies. Hell, he married his best friend’s wife. You heard about that?”
“I did.”
“Figured,” Grit said. “He leaves her and two grown sons by his first wife. There’s also a college-age stepdaughter.