Page 28 of The Vigilante's Lover

I’ve never been more grateful for a pair of stolen shoes in my life.

The Phase One Trainee sneakers are like walking on air, even if I am leaving in a huff from a barn in the middle of God-knows-where, just minutes after my first orgasm.

My face blazes just thinking about it.

Then he rejected me.

God.

Thankfully the blazer that came with the navy pantsuit is heavy enough for the blustery wind. In the sun, I’m relatively warm, but as I pass the shadow of the old house, I shiver.

The three of them are talking at the barn still. Jax wants to pawn me off on that French woman. She’s nice, but I’m not going to do anything he says again.

Ever.

The ground crunches beneath my shoes as I head up the long drive. I’ll get to the road, stick out my thumb, and start another life of danger. I’ll hitchhike with truck drivers.

So there.

They’ll probably try to do something to me, though.

Ugh.

This line of thought takes me straight back to the barn, and Jax hovering over me, hands working, his beautiful face inches from mine.

Damn it.

I want the rest of it. Him naked too. All the things lovers do.

My body flushes hot.

Gah. This isn’t helping.

The trees rustle overhead. They tower on either side of the long drive like soldiers. This must have been an amazing homestead at one time.

A car rumbles up behind me. It’s probably Jax and his fancy friends, all jetting off to their next big adventure. Danger that I’m too sweet and innocent for, apparently.

I am the one who got us out of that stupid silo. I was the special one with the security bracelet.

I didn’t panic when we went up a dark ladder or jumped off a cliff into a river. I kept up with him when we ran through the woods.

Although I guess I am also the one who almost got us caught in the car.

Now I’m back to how it felt to be with Jax, sitting in his lap, tying his arms over his head. He may have taught me how to focus and untie myself, but I have so much more to learn. Who knows, maybe I even know a knot or two to show him.

Damn it.

The car slows down as it approaches. The window rolls down. It’s not Jax’s car, but a silver BMW.

“Mia!” Colette calls. “Please get in!”

I ignore her, looking stubbornly ahead. I don’t want her to have to take me home. I’m going to do it myself, even if some skanky truck driver tries to fondle me.

Maybe I’ll let him. Take that, Jax.

Colette angles her car to my side of the road and cuts me off. I halt, surprised she could maneuver the car so effectively.

I back up, planning to circle the BMW, but she does it again, cornering the car hard so that the fender brushes my fingers. She’s that close.

I head for the trees. She can’t reach me in there. But she jets forward and practically circles me to cut me off from that direction. I’ve never seen anyone move a car like that.

So I stop.

“Is that your superpower?” I call out. “Making a car skip around like a punch-drunk squirrel?”

Her high laughter makes me smile even if I am miffed. “You are so adorable. I see why Jax is so enraptured by you.”

Jax? Enraptured?

The side door pops open on its own. I want to hear more about this, so I decide to get in.

The interior of this car is not as posh and supple as Jax’s Lexus, but it’s sporty and fun. The leather seats are dark red. The dash is silver. “Do you have all the fancy stuff Jax has in his car?” I ask.

“Way more,” Colette says as we speed down the drive and careen around a curve. “Jax’s car is a retrofit. This is Vigilante from the ground up.”

I reach for a seat belt, then realize there isn’t an ordinary buckle.

“Oh, here,” Colette says, and presses one of what must be a hundred buttons on her dash.

I hear a buzz near my ear and a beam of light crosses my shoulder, follows the curve of my chest, and goes down to my waist.

“Is it a laser seat belt?” I ask.

“Oh, no,” Colette says with another merry laugh. “It’s just assessing what level of safety is most optimum for your size.”

After a second, another buzz makes me turn my head. This time it’s a belt, not made of a fabric weave like traditional ones, but a rubbery silicone. It is pre-shaped to my body.

“Strange,” I say as the metal clasp jets across my body, then finds its mate on the seat. For a moment it fits loosely, then it snaps into place.

I’ve never felt so firmly secured in a car. Against my back, I can feel the seat shifting to adjust just for me.

For a moment, I think it’s going to force me to sit pressed into the cushion the whole time, but when I lean forward, it allows me to move, just like an ordinary belt.

“This system keeps you safe when you ride with a Phase Six Driver like me,” she says. “I’m authorized to drive up to sixteen hundred kilometers per hour.” She pauses. “That’s about one thousand miles per hour for you Americans.”

“Cars can go that fast?” I ask. “Do race car drivers go that fast?”

“The current world record for land speed is 750 miles per hour,” she says. “But Vigilante drivers consider that a toddler on a trike.”

I hold on to the belt with both hands. “Are we going to go that fast?”

“Not in this car, sadly. No jets. But don’t worry, we are in no hurry to get you to the safe house.” She presses several buttons and a screen blips on. It reads “Eight miles to rendezvous with clone identity.”

“What does that mean?” I ask. I want to learn it all. Maybe I can convince this Colette person to keep me on. I wouldn’t lose Jax then.

“I attached my identification to another person so I could meet Jax without the network knowing,” she says. “He’s not exactly on their good side at the moment.”

“How is it that you can defeat their security so easily?” I ask.

“Oh, it’s not easy, that’s for sure,” she says. “But Jax was a director, in line to take over the entire American syndicate. That got him some very high-level assistance, people like Sam, who can circumvent the very technology he invented.”

“And you? Are you special too?” I ask.

“Not particularly,” she says. “But I can do this.” She veers off the highway and we’re in the forest. Somehow she dodges trees, swerving right and left. Small branches whip against the windshield.

Then we hit a clearing and a small pond. She aims right for it.

I stifle a squeal but the car keeps going.

Right across the pond.

“Jesus,” I say.

“Literally,” she adds merrily, still concentrating. Ahead is an outcropping that erupts from the ground with enormous jagged rocks.

She slams the brakes and stops the car inches from it.

“How did you do that?” I turn around to look at the water, thinking it must be a mirage.

“All our cars are amphibious,” she says.

I place my hands against the dash. “Can this one fly?”

“Ah, you are excited by the possibilities, no?” Colette lets out another of her infectious laughs. “A Vigilante never reveals all her tricks!”

“How long have you been a Vigilante?” I ask.

“Since I was fourteen,” she says. She presses another button and after a moment, another car comes from behind the rocks. The driver waves to her.

On the dash, her screen says, “Identity reinstated.”

“I’m me again!” she says. She backs away from the cliff and circles the pond this time. “I stole a military tank when I turned twelve and drove it up the Champs-élysées — a very important street in Paris.”

We head back through the trees, more leisurely this time. “My maman knew I had a fantastic career ahead of me as a Vigilante driver. Both my parents were in the network.”

“How did you end up in America?” I ask.

“Jax recruited me. He likes the idea of crossing the networks,” she says.

“Is that why Klaus was German?”

She frowns. “Yes. Klaus was very thorough, very good. He had a level of focus that isn’t as easy to come by in the States. Security was his strength.”

“I’m sorry that he’s dead.”

We bump back onto the road.

“Well, we must learn what happened to him.” She gives me a wan smile. “And for that, we must get back to your home. Find the clues.”

“Will Jax come?” I hate myself for asking, but I am desperate to know.

She winks at me. “For you, yes, I think he will come.”

The edges of her screen blink red. “Uh-oh,” she says. “What is this?” She taps the screen.

A clipped male voice says, “Encrypted transmission. Are you secure?”

“I have a civilian in my car,” she says. “A Mia—” she stops. “What is your last name?” she asks.

Before I can answer, a gray-haired man’s face fills the screen. “You have Mia Morrow, who is a person of interest to the network,” he says, then his eyes move over to me.

I realize he can see us, and I self-consciously smooth my hair, realizing too late that there are bits of hay in it.

“Ms. Morrow,” he says. “I deeply regret that your safety was compromised in one of our silos.” He must feel he is imposing on the small screen, as he shifts back, revealing his shoulders and the breast of a smart navy suit. I’d put him close to sixty, but fit and handsome.

He continues. “Jax De Luca is a dangerous fugitive who unfortunately has intimate knowledge of our security systems.”

“I’m all right,” I say.

He turns to Colette. “Where did you find her?”

“Walking along a drive about twenty miles from this location,” Colette says.

A husky male voice comes from the dash. “Mood sensor activated.”

The man onscreen pauses a moment, his arms crossed over his chest. Colette smiles cheerily as she continues to drive as if nothing is happening. I don’t dare ask her what it means.

After a moment, the man says, “Good, I’m glad you are telling the truth and not covertly assisting your former director.”

“Of course!” Colette says brightly. “Poor girl was wandering about. I saw the alert on Jax. What did he do this time?”

“It isn’t a critical issue at the moment,” the man says, his eyes flicking to me. “Where are you taking Ms. Morrow?”

“She says she lives in Tennessee. We’re headed there.”

“Very good,” he says. “Make sure her home is secure and set up monitoring.”

“I don’t want to be watched!” I say. If Jax comes, they’ll find him!

“I assure you, your privacy is our utmost concern,” the man says. “It is only for your protection.”

“Who are you?” I ask, and not especially nicely.

“I apologize. I am Jacob Sutherland, Director of the United States Security Division of Special Forces.” He smiles.

It’s not lost on me that he doesn’t mention the Vigilantes. Everyone wants to think I’m ignorant.

“Who ARE you people?” I ask, deciding to continue the ruse.

Colette glances at me, then her attention returns to the road.

Sutherland holds out his hands in a friendly gesture. “We are a government agency that manages national security,” he says smoothly.

“How did I get mixed up in this?” I ask. If he’s going to be generic, then I can be nosy.

“You were captured by one of our rogue operatives,” he says. “Did you see the Bourne movies?”

Ugh. Now he’s insulting me. “No,” I say with disdain. Our life has been nothing like a movie.

He laughs. “Jax is no longer part of a rather secret program.” His face shifts into seriousness. “I hope we can count on you for discretion.”

“Of course,” I say absently.

“Take her home,” he says to Colette. “Thank you for your service.”

Colette gives a half salute. The screen goes blank.

I’m about to say something when she gets a word in first. “They’ll be listening in on our conversation during the drive,” she says. “For your safety.”

I nod that I understand. Bummer. I thought I was going to actually learn something but it seems that I’m a prisoner in the car now. I wish Colette still had her clone identity so we could talk.

And that Jax would kidnap me again.