Serial Escape Page 4

  “Don’t say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  He didn’t mean the question to sound so loaded, and her gaze flicked his way. He didn’t look toward her, but he could feel the curiosity in her stare. His fingers squeezed a bit harder. He did suck at surface stuff. At small talk.

  But you’re way worse at the important stuff, aren’t you? he said to himself. If you weren’t, maybe things wouldn’t have turned out the way they did.

  “Lucien...”

  His name wasn’t much louder than an exhale, and it was tinged with emotion. She paused after she said it, and he braced himself for something. A confrontation, maybe. An accusation. For her to echo his own sour thoughts on his inability to express himself. None of it came. A moment later, she spoke again, her voice firmer.

  “Why don’t you just tell me why you really came out and found me today?” she asked.

  He worked to relax his hands. “I think we should wait until we get to the safe house.”

  “No.” She said it sharply, and before Lucien could react to the surprising vehemence, her hand was beside his on the wheel.

  “What are you doing?”

  “If you don’t tell me, I’m pulling us over and I’m getting out.”

  “Pulling us over? You’re not—”

  Her hand gave a yank, and in spite of his own, stiff grip—or maybe because of it—the steering wheel turned an inch in her direction, then bounced back in his. The car shuddered. Lucien tried to adjust, but Raven pulled again. This time, the vehicle veered hard to the right.

  “Raven!”

  She tugged a third time, and the tires crossed the line, and sent gravel flying up. A horn honked from behind them, and even though Lucien didn’t believe she actually wanted to cause an accident, he slammed on the brakes and brought the vehicle to an abrupt stop. The moment they stopped moving. Raven slammed her seat belt off, flung open the door and jumped out. Cursing under his breath, Lucien followed.

  “Raven!” he said again.

  She flashed a look his way. It was angry and scared and hurt at the same time. Lucien took a step toward her, wanting to sooth it all away. As usual, words failed him. When he said nothing, she spun away, and the sight of her back brought a rush of memory in. The pale pink T-shirt she’d been wearing when he last saw her. The nagging surety that he was making the biggest mistake of his life by letting her go, battling with the knowledge that he wasn’t the right man for her.

  I don’t want to go through that again.

  “It’s Hanes,” he blurted.

  She paused. “What is?”

  “He escaped this morning during a transfer from one cell block to another.”

  She turned back. Her expression was shocked, and she shook her head disbelievingly. For a second, he thought she was going to deny his claim. Instead, her eyes rolled back, and with a heartbeat to spare, Lucien realized she was in the process of passing out. He rushed forward and closed his arms around her just before she hit the ground.

  * * *

  Raven was having the most pleasant dream. But it wasn’t new. It was actually a variation of one of her favorite recurring ones.

  In it, she and Lucien hadn’t gone their separate ways. He’d confessed his love to her in a gruff but meaningful way that suited him perfectly. They’d stuck it out, and were entering into blissful, wedded life.

  It was cheesy as anything. But she didn’t care. It was a dream, and that’s what dreams were for. And this particular time, it felt extra real. She could smell the deep, musky scent that was uniquely Lucien. His arms cradled her close to his chest, and the warmth he exuded was much more enjoyable than her flannel sheets. She wriggled a little, trying to get closer. His grip tightened, and she sighed contentedly, her eyelids fluttering. She could even see him in this dream. And not vaguely. She smiled at the line of his chin. How could one man have such a perfect chin? And what even constituted a perfect chin?

  Doesn’t matter, said Raven’s groggy brain. Whatever it is, Lucien has it.

  “I’m so glad we did this,” she murmured.

  “Did what?” he replied, his voice rumbling close to her ear.

  “Got married.”

  Under her, Lucien did a very non-romantic-dream thing. He let out a choked cough, then stumbled forward. His momentum drove them straight into a wall, crushing Raven between his big body and cedar paneling. The sharp pain in her shoulder made her eyes fly the rest of the way open, and too late, she clued in that it wasn’t a dream this time.

  The last thing she remembered was standing across from Lucien on the side of the road as he delivered his shocking news. Now they were inside the front entryway of the safe house the two of them had called home for nearly nine weeks. And Lucien was carrying her for real. He’d probably carried her to the car, too. And now he was staring down at her, his chocolate colored gaze full of surprise.

  Yeah, because you just told him you were glad you got married.

  Embarrassment flooded through Raven, heating her face and making her stomach churn. The only good thing about the abject humiliation was that it temporarily distracted her from the terror that had gripped her when he’d revealed the truth about Georges Hanes.

  Georges Hanes. Oh, God.

  Her vision swam, and she had to work to keep from slipping away again. The man was free. And she was sure that whatever had happened to Jim and Juanita was intended to hurt her.

  “Raven?” Lucien’s voice pulled her back to the moment, and she took a breath.

  “I’m okay.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah, I was just—” She cut herself off before the word dreaming could escape from her lips, and tried again, hoping Lucien either hadn’t noticed, or would simply let it go. “I’m fine. It was just a shock. You can put me down.”

  He didn’t comply right away, though. Instead his mouth opened like he had something to say. She tensed, waiting for a statement that would add to her already heightened awkwardness. But after a moment, his jaw snapped shut again, and he stepped back and eased her to the floor.

  “Here we are,” he said. “Should we go in?”

  “Sure.”

  She let him lead her up the hall to the open-concept living space. She knew the way, but stepping in behind Lucien gave her a minute to process their environment without his always observant eyes on her. And maybe he needed the time, too, because when they reached the attached kitchen and great room, he flicked on the gas fireplace, then gestured to the couch and suggested she sit down while he made some of their favorite hot chocolate.

  We’re really here, she thought as she sank down into the familiar spot.

  Her eyes roamed over the adjoined rooms, looking everywhere but right at Lucien.

  It was the same as she remembered. Neutral but homey colors. Wide windows covered in beige curtains. Classy but durable furniture. Raven knew as much about it as if it had really been her home. If her own place had been designed with police-witness safety in mind, that is. Late one evening when neither she nor Lucien could sleep, he’d told her a rash of details. Like the fact that every piece of glass was the shatterproof kind. And that the bookcase across the room had a false back for storing weapons. Maybe it was weird to think of a living space like that as home. But Raven had felt secure. She’d liked it. She’d missed it when she’d moved back to her real apartment.

  A hundred times, she’d considered driving by, just to get a look at the house. But the police had cautioned her against the idea. It could put some other, under-the-radar victim in jeopardy.

  It was strange to her, to think that the moment she and Lucien walked out, someone else might’ve walked in. How many people had stayed there in the last three years? Had any of them felt like she had, and wished they never needed to leave, even when their ordeal was over?

  Her gaze made anot
her pass over the space. This time, something caught her eye. A small notepad jutted out from the edge of the fireplace mantel.

  Raven pushed to her feet. She knew what it was before she even got close enough to snag it.

  Country Kitchen.

  Those were the words stamped onto the top of every page. And every three-inch-by-four-inch sheet was lined, and each row had a miniature cow on one side and a tiny rooster on the other.

  When she lifted it up to take a look, she was expecting all of that. But what she wasn’t anticipating was to see a shopping list in her own, familiar handwriting.

  Chapter 4

  A moment of surrealism overtook Raven. It was as though she was right there writing the list all over again.

  Eggs.

  Coffee filters.

  Bread (no seeds, please).

  Sparkling water.

  Her fingers were just forming the next word—mozzarella—when the call had come through. She’d stopped, midscrawl, when Lucien let out an out-of-character cheer, then hurried toward her. She’d hugged him impulsively, then realized what she’d done and started to pull away. But even more atypically, he’d scooped her off the ground, practically crowing about the guilty verdict that had come in way sooner than anticipated.

  It’d been an incredible moment. Georges Hanes, getting life behind bars. Lucien holding her close like she’d wanted him to for the last two months. She’d laughed. Met his eyes. Anticipated a kiss. Her whole body had tingled with need, and she’d sworn the responding desire was evident in Lucien’s eyes. He wasn’t prone to overblown emotional outbursts or long speeches about his feelings, but Raven had thought that she’d known him well enough to see what was under the surface. He wasn’t just a good man; he was the best kind of man. Hardworking and patient and morally upstanding. She’d believed all of that was the reason he’d held back. How she’d been so wrong was a painful mystery. Because just a heartbeat after he’d picked her up, he’d set her down again, murmuring about being glad the case was over. And she’d definitely had no problem understanding that what he was really saying was goodbye.

  The remembered disappointment was a sharp ache in her chest. One that made her have to blink away threatening tears. It’d hurt then and it still hurt now.

  You need to let it go.

  Forcing a few calming breaths, Raven brought her attention back to the moment. She frowned down at the list, seeing that it had a not-too-light coating of dust on it. Like it had been sitting there for all of the three years. Except it seemed impossible that it might actually be true. The little notepad had been resting in plain sight, exactly where she’d set it right before Lucien had told her the news. Surely, someone would’ve seen it and put it away somewhere? Or if they’d assumed it belonged on the mantel, wouldn’t they have ripped off her list and thrown it away to make their own? Or dusted it?

  She frowned and lifted her gaze, a puzzled question on her lips. But she stopped without uttering it. Because Lucien stood right on the transition board between the tile in the kitchen and the carpet in the living room, a mug in each of his hands, and a strange look on his face. It almost looked like...guilt. Maybe mixed with a bit of embarrassment. And his eyes were definitely trained on the list that Raven held.

  She cleared her throat, and his head jerked up. And if she didn’t know better, she’d have said his cheeks were flushed.

  “Hey,” he said, his voice laced with awkwardness as he stepped closer. “Best-before date on the hot chocolate says next month. Cutting it close, but we should still be good, right?”

  “If not... I guess there are worse ways to go.” The joke fell flat under the current circumstances, and Raven felt her cheeks warm.

  But if Lucien noticed or cared, he didn’t say anything. He just held out the cup, handle first. Grateful for the lack of comment, Raven started to reach for it. But she stopped abruptly when she saw the logo on the side. It was a picture of a Boston terrier. Innocuous to most. But personal to her. To them.

  When they’d first settled into the safe house, Raven had noticed that every dish in the cupboards was the same as the others—plain white ceramic. She’d commented on it. She’d told Lucien that it made the place seem less real because she’d never met a person who didn’t have at least a mismatched mug or two. The very next day, the Boston terrier mug arrived. He refused to tell her where it had come from. But more mugs came, too. One each week, even though the cupboard was overcrowded after just three had been added. Lucien had gotten rid of some of the white ones to make room, but laughingly told Raven that the moment the place was swept for new residents, the out-of-place mugs would be tossed and replaced again.

  So why is this one still here?

  Fighting an urge to go and fling open the cupboards to check for the others, she took the proffered mug, then sat down.

  “Lucien...” she said. “Has no one used the house since we were here?”

  He seated himself on the other end of the couch. “No.”

  “But didn’t you tell me it was one of the most popular choices?”

  “Yes. That’s right.”

  He took a sip of from his own mug, and she was absolutely sure he was trying to sidestep an explanation. It was odd. As reticent as Lucien could be, he was never evasive.

  And why bring me this particular cup if he doesn’t want to talk about it?

  She brought her gaze up from the Boston terrier to Lucien, and she saw that he was looking at the mug, too. And when she spotted the slight widening of his eyes, she realized it’d been a mistake. He’d probably grabbed the stupid thing by mistake. Habit.

  Raven almost laughed. If she’d ever had a reason to stop and think about it, she would definitely have assumed Lucien would be a little better at covering his tracks.

  Apparently not.

  She made herself keep a completely straight face as she took her own sip, then said, “It’s good. Thank you.”

  “Too bad we don’t have any whipped cream,” he replied. “I know you love it.”

  She started to agree, but the words wouldn’t quite come out. Her moment of levity fell away. The fact that he did know was nothing but another reminder of her past heartbreak. In fact, every moment was the same, and Raven couldn’t help but wonder just how much longer it was going to go on. And how much more of it she could handle.

  She looked down at her hands. “Are we going to have to go through all of this again?”

  Lucien immediately set down his mug and slid over to clasp her fingers in his own. “It’s different this time. We know who he is. The public knows his face.”

  Raven couldn’t muster up the courage to tell him that she hadn’t just meant Georges Hanes. She switched to discussing the case. It was a necessary conversation anyway.

  “How did he get away in the first place?” she asked. “You said it was a transfer?”

  “Only within the same prison,” he explained. “Some kind of structural upgrade being done. I didn’t get all the details from Sergeant Gray, but I can if you want them.”

  “No. It’s fine. None of that changes that he’s out there. Out here.”

  “The guys’ll catch him, Raven. I promise.” He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, then let her go.

  “I know they will,” she conceded, trying not to notice how her heart dipped low when he released her fingers. “Or I have to believe it, anyway. But how long will that take? They only caught him the first time by accident.”

  “There was a sprinkling of shrewdness in there, too,” he reminded her.

  She didn’t argue. It was true. The rookie cop who’d been responsible for Hanes’s capture had stopped the evil man for jaywalking, of all things. He’d spied the corner of a piece of pale pink, polka-dotted fabric sticking out of the murderer’s back pocket, and recalled that one of the unaccounted-for items in the Kitsilano Killer case was a scarf matching that d
escription. He’d slapped on a pair of cuffs—not really following any kind of protocol at all—and brought Hanes in. Thank God for probable cause was what every VPD cop had said at the time. And Raven knew the story well because it had been her scarf in the killer’s pocket.

  “We’ve talked about my theory on this before, right?” Lucien said.

  Raven sighed and nodded. “One part genius, one part happy accident.”

  “Exactly.”

  They really had talked about it plenty over the course of their two months together. Criminals—even the ones labeled as masterminds—were human. They were fallible. And the world was full of fortuitous coincidences. The police worked to create more of them. Lucien believed that fate and hard work lined up, and that that was ultimately how crimes got solved. It was a little romantic and a little fantastical. But Raven liked it anyway. It was a colorful chink in the otherwise prosaic detective’s armor. But it didn’t change the fact that at the moment, a serial killer—one who’d been after her personally—was on the loose.

  “I’m scared,” she admitted softly, her eyes on the swirling hot chocolate in her mug.

  In a rare moment of explicit emotion, he replied, “I know. And I am, too.”

  Raven looked up, unable to conceal her surprise. Lucien seemed closer than he had just a moment earlier. She could feel the heat from his body more than she could feel the heat from the steaming liquid in her cup.

  “This is the last thing I wanted,” Lucien added, his voice rawer than usual. “The last way I wanted us to meet up again.”

  “It is?”

  He really was closer. She was sure of it. His subtle, masculine scent permeated the air, and she couldn’t help but draw in a breath of it. The inhale seemed to draw him nearer still. And unexpectedly, one of his hands came up to touch her cheek. It was the most deliberately intimate contact he’d ever initiated between them. It was heady and electrifying, and Raven wanted more. She even tipped her face up, expecting it.

  But just as the moment she’d waited for—the moment she’d literally dreamed of on repeat for the last three years—came, it was ripped away by the sudden buzz of Lucien’s cell phone. The noise jarred reality back into place. And as the brown-eyed detective pulled away and stood up, then dragged the slim electronic device from his pocket, Raven wondered if she’d been holding on to the fantasy a little too long.