Fugitive. Shirlee McCoy

because when she’d allowed herself to think about Logan, she’d always imagined him with the big family that he’d once told her he wanted.

      “Is there anyone you want me to contact for you? A girlfriend or—”

      “I don’t want you to tell anyone you saw me. Not your best friend. Not a boyfriend. Not the police.” He pulled into the parking lot of a well-lit hotel and parked in a shadowy corner. “You’d better get in there. The sooner you check in, the sooner you can start making the story that you told into the truth.”

      “Okay.” But she didn’t want to leave him running through the dark town, trying to find a safe place to hide. She dug through her purse, took some money from her wallet and pressed it into his hand. “Take this. You can use it to get a room somewhere else.”

      “I can’t take your money.” He shoved it back at her.

      “I took your money thirteen years ago. Two thousand dollars, Logan. Remember? Consider this a partial repayment of the debt.” She tucked the bills into the pocket of her husband’s flannel shirt.

      “There was no debt. It was a gift.” He trapped her hand, his palm pressing hers against worn flannel. She felt his heart beating beneath the fabric, his warmth seeping into her palm.

      “This is a gift, too, then. Take it, okay? Because I can’t stand thinking about you wandering around in this storm.” Her voice broke, and she looked away.

      “Don’t cry.” He cupped her cheek so gently that she thought she might just do what he’d told her not to.

      “I’m not.”

      “Good.” He smiled and leaned across her to open the door. “Better go. The longer you sit here, the weaker your alibi gets.”

      Alibi?

      Was she really going to need one?

      She hoped not.

      Prayed not.

      She’d spent so much of her life in trouble, dug in so deep that she couldn’t ever get out of it. Once she’d escaped, she’d promised herself that she’d never return. She’d been an upright citizen, an excellent college student. She filed her taxes on time, had never been pulled over for speeding.

      Up until the past few hours, she’d never worried about seeing a police cruiser or an officer of the law. She’d always assumed that they were on the same side.

      Not anymore.

      She’d crossed a line, committed a felony. Probably more than one. If the police found out, she was in big trouble. It should matter a lot, but at that moment, all she cared about was making sure that Logan would be okay.

      “Why don’t you take my car? You can drive—”

      “How will you get home?”

      “I’ll call a taxi.”

      “And if I get caught with your Jeep?”

      “You won’t.”

      “There’s no guarantee of that, Laney. Just like there’s no guarantee that a police officer won’t pull into this parking lot and see us sitting here together. Go check into the hotel. Get a good night’s sleep. When you wake up, tell yourself this was all a dream.” He smiled and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers calloused and hard.

      She swallowed down further protest and climbed out of the Jeep. He was right. The best thing for both of them was to go it alone. With her cabin burning to the ground, the police would eventually track her down. If Logan were with her, they’d find him, too.

      “Be careful,” she threw out before she closed the door.

      He nodded, his eyes dark in the dim interior, his jaw shadowed with the beginning of a beard. So different than the teenager that he’d been, but somehow just the same, too.

      She hurried across the parking lot, nearly running on the snow-slick pavement.

      A car door closed behind her, the soft snap echoing through her head as she entered the hotel.

      Logan heading out into the storm again.

      If she thought about it too long, she might turn around and go with him, so she didn’t think. She just smiled at the night clerk and did her best to forget that she’d just left her best childhood friend to face his troubles alone.