Page 14 of The Vigilante's Lover

Jax seems different than last night.

I steal peeks at him as he drives. This car, now that I’m in the front, isn’t like anything I’ve ever seen.

The dash at first glance seems like the new fancy electrics.

A whole-car perimeter camera screen. Gauges that tell you time to next charge, miles per amp, the size of your environmental footprint.

But there’s other things. Maps display on the windshield. There’s a countdown that is twenty-four hours in and will end in forty-eight more. Another inexplicable hexagon projected onto the glass has pulsing red lights of varying brightness.

“So what is that one?” I ask, curiosity eating at me. I point to the hexagon.

Jax shifts his attention to the display. In the bright light of day, he seems less imposing. His eyes are actually a gray-blue, now that I can see them beneath his hooded brow. He’s ridiculously handsome. I’ve never seen anyone like him before. Maybe in a movie.

I remember him looking at me last night, when I thought he would kiss me. My heart quickens.

“That is just a view of my compatriots and their positions,” he says. The way his voice dips on the word “compatriots” suggests that the dots represent something quite the opposite of anything friendly.

“You said my aunt’s house was ‘compromised’ last night. How, exactly?”

His eyes flick over to me, then go back to the road. “It was your own alarm that went off. You should know.”

“I had no idea there was anything in my lampshade.”

His expression darkens. That’s the Jax I remember. Angry. Suspicious. I’ve hit a nerve.

“It should have been updated with a more current model. Did you only recently go to that safe house?”

This question feels like a trick. He knows how long I have been writing the letters.

“I grew up there. I was gone for a couple years to community college. I came back to care for my aunt.”

His face gets even more sullen. He thinks I’m lying, but I don’t get why.

How can he assume that I know anything? I suddenly understand how innocent people are convicted of crimes.

It doesn’t matter that you have nothing to do with it.

You’re guilty just by being at the wrong place at the wrong time.

“I’m not sure why you feel it necessary to lie to me,” he says. “I’m a high-ranking Vigilante. I know everything about that house.”

“I don’t think you do,” I protest. “You say someone named Georgiana Powers lived there, but that can’t possibly be true. My Aunt Bea has owned it for decades. I lived there for most of my childhood. You’re wrong.” I shake my head. “You’re just too stubborn to say you’re wrong.”

“I’m never wrong,” he says. “That’s how I’ve gotten where I am.”

I snort out the most unladylike sound. “Ridley Prison? Am I supposed to believe that is some sort of exalted position?” I turn away from him to stare at the majestic pine trees stacked deep along the highway.

We must be driving alongside some sort of national park, because the road narrows and there are no longer any houses or businesses.

He stews in silence, but I don’t care. I’m only stating the obvious. I have nothing to lose here. I’ve accepted all the things that could happen. Abduction. Rape. Torture. Okay, not the torture. I can’t accept that. If they kill me, I can only hope it will be quick.

I just can’t imagine why I could possibly be worth this much trouble.

“Is it the letters?” I ask, turning back to him. I hope I sound as contrite as I feel.

He concentrates on the road. “What do you mean?”

“The reason you kidnapped me. Is it because I pretended to be Klaus?” I swallow hard over the lump in my throat. “I’m truly sorry. I just thought your letters were…intriguing and that it wouldn’t hurt anything to answer them. I thought you enjoyed them.”

A muscle twitches in his jaw. I’m somehow making him more angry with my bumbling apology.

“Just stop it now,” he says. “There is no way you are not involved. Even if your poorly executed letters are just ramblings, you were still at a Vigilante safe house that was the last known location of my friend and comrade.”

I give up. He won’t listen to me. He thinks everything I say is a lie. We’re driving to some place I can’t even fathom, but if it’s like this car, like the gadgets in his trunk or the training he seems to have, then it’s bound to be dangerous.

My belly flips a little. I realize we haven’t eaten and he hasn’t even thought of it. Maybe this Vigilante runs on anger and the misery of others. I probably couldn’t swallow anything anyway.

As if he’s read my mind, he says, “It’s too risky to stop for breakfast along this route. They’ll provide for you at the syndicate.”

“No room service at the Ritz?” I tease.

“I got poisoned twice at hotels,” he says grimly. “Security is far too lax.”

This shuts me up. What sort of life gets you poisoned at a fancy hotel? And what sort of man survives it — twice?

We turn off the highway onto a gravel road. The trees tower on either side of our car and soon we’re surrounded by woods.

I have to stuff down my rising fear. This looks like a very good place to leave a body. I wonder if Jax could do that, if he could kill me. Everything about him tells me it’s possible.

Except, last night. That almost-kiss. He feels something, same as me. I press my hand against my quivering belly. The sweater dress is soft and smooth. Cashmere, Emma said last night. Only the best for me, she said. I was lucky.

Lucky. Ha.

The road gets more bumpy, and even in this expensive car, we start lurching in our seats. Jax keeps both hands on the wheel and stares straight ahead.

The hexagon lights up with red dots, bright and pulsing brightly. They are concentrated on a space we seem to be approaching.

With a jerk of the wheel, Jax steers us into the woods. Underbrush crunches beneath the tires, and small trees are mowed down. After a few yards, we come to a stop beneath a canopy of trees.

“Why did you drive off the road?” I ask.

“We can’t just cruise right up to the door,” he says. “If things don’t go well, I want to have a vehicle.”

“They don’t know you just drove up in this thing?”

“We’re outside the high-surveillance perimeter and hidden from satellites by the trees. Besides, the car is cloaked. Even if they come across it, the identity attached to it is civilian. They’ll assume an accident.”

I realize I’m gripping the door handle so hard my fingers hurt. “So we walk the rest of the way?” I ask.

He glances down at my shoes. “You have any others?” he asks.

“I can look.” I turn around in my seat, reaching through the car to my red bag in the back. I dig for a second, and the red bondage rope spills out. I shake my head at the memory. Unfortunately, the only other shoes in the bag are a pair of knee boots on platforms.

I turn back to Jax. “The boots are worse. Boss and secretary role-play outfits don’t come with a practical side.”

“What happened to those shoes you brought from home?”

I feel around in the bag. “I guess I left them at the hotel.” Along with that red nightie the women put me in.

He taps the steering wheel in agitation. “It isn’t far, but the terrain might be difficult.”

“I’ll manage,” I say. And I will. If there’s anything I’m good at, it’s soldiering through.

“We’re going to walk up the main path,” he says and opens his door. “I’d appreciate it if you don’t mention the car to anyone once we’re inside.”

I pop open the handle and place a tentative foot outside in the dirt and pinecones.

Jax comes around. I keep my knees tightly together as I twist in my seat and prepare to stand in these heels on the uneven ground.

He holds out his hand. I hesitate, then place my fingers on his. He grasps me firmly. I stand uncertainly, the tiny point of the shoes snapping through twigs and leaves.

The minute I put my weight on my heels, though, I sink at least three inches, falling back into the car.

“Well,” Jax says. “This is going to be interesting.” He pulls me back to standing.

I take care to keep my weight in my toes this time.

He seems to be controlling his patience. I hang on to his hand and take a tentative step. Walking on my toes works much better, and by the time I’m away from the car and the door is closed, I have a handle on my balance on the broken ground.

“I need to get some things from the trunk,” he says. He lets go of my hand.

I stand in the woods. “At least they don’t know we’re here yet,” I say.

“Of course they do,” he says, his voice tight.

“The minute we got out of the car, they had our heat signatures.” He lifts the trunk.

“I have maybe thirty seconds to choose my weapons and get away from this vehicle so it can stay cloaked.” He glances at me, still wobbling a bit in the shoes. “If you don’t wreck the whole plan.”

“Me! Wreck your plan! This ridiculous idea to waltz into some high-security silo-whatever even though those same people just stuck you in prison?”

Jax ignores me, sorting through his things.

Oh, that man is infuriating.

Hot. Sexy. Impressive.

But infuriating.