He didn’t think Fisk could have made out their identities. They were still far enough from the fire to be shrouded almost completely in darkness.
Had Fisk just arrived or had the FBI been staking out the Mannero warehouse?
He’d be nuts to flee the scene of a crime, but the last thing he wanted to do at that moment was confront Fisk or Larue . . . or face what the exploding warehouse really meant to him and his family.
And . . . Jesus. He was an expert on bombs, given his military experience. He could assemble one just as easily as disarm it. What if the feds tried to pin the torching of the warehouse on him?
Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to try to escape without detection.
He glanced from Sophie’s rigid features to the burning building. The explosions seemed to have ceased, but the warehouse had become a flaming torch.
“Yeah. Okay. Cover your head on the way to your car and take the rear exit,” he commanded tersely as she moved fleetly away from him.
He got in his car and gunned the engine, watching as Sophi
e slid into the driver’s seat of her own vehicle. She put the car into drive, her wheels scattering gravel in a three-foot arc as she whipped around and shot toward the back entry of the parking lot like she thought her life depended on it.
Maybe it did?
He followed just as rapidly, leaving his headlights off, not wanting to illuminate Sophie’s license plates or the make and color of her car for the eyes of the rushing Agent Fisk. He heard Fisk’s distant shout as he turned into the narrow alley that ran the length of the block. The sound of his squealing tires prevented him from making out what it was that he actually yelled.
Thomas’s concern that Fisk had made out their faces or their license plates in the darkness faded the farther he and Sophie traveled down I-57 South. They’d passed two state troopers on the three-hour trip, but no flashing lights and wailing sirens had followed them.
They reached Haven Lake at around 12:30 A.M. after stopping only once at a gas station an hour outside of Chicago. Their conversation there had been brief and charged. Thomas had immediately recognized the signs of shock on Sophie’s face when she’d exited her car. He’d become far too familiar with the signs—the rigid facial features, the glassy appearance of the eyes, the flattened mouth. He’d seen it in combat. He’d witnessed it on his mother’s, father’s, and sister-in-law’s faces far too often lately not to recognize it in an instant.
He’d seen it a time or two when he looked in his own reflection, as well. Maybe that’s why he’d been avoiding mirrors ever since he’d learned of Rick’s death.
When he’d seen Sophie’s shock he’d suggested they stop somewhere for longer—a restaurant or even a hotel—not liking the idea of her driving in that condition. But she’d just shaken her head, her solemn expression and big eyes causing a squeezing sensation in his chest cavity.
Another two hours alone in the car had caused him to reevaluate his strange, strong feelings for Sophie Gable, however. It slowly dawned on him as he stared at the back of Sophie’s BMW sedan that her behavior tonight had been odd. More than odd.
Suspect, even?
Why had she showed up in that parking lot, intent on preventing him from entering the building? It’d almost been like she’d known Mannero, Inc., was about to explode into flames. And Fisk had been there, as well. Thomas couldn’t help but draw the lines between the unexpected bystanders at the crime scene.
Was Sophie somehow connected to the FBI investigation of his father?
The thought unsettled him for several reasons, some of which he could put into words, and some which were unformed, but caused an uneasy feeling in his gut.
The main reason he didn’t want to be suspicious of Sophie was selfish. He wanted her more than he ever recalled wanting a woman. The realization didn’t diminish his slightly queasy feeling.
He noticed a storm brewing as they pulled off the interstate. Gold light flickered in the western sky, briefly illuminating the outline of ominous-looking thunderheads.
Thirty minutes later, Thomas followed Sophie down a pitch-black, tree-lined lane. He admitted to himself that there could hardly be a better place than the secluded Haven Lake to get his footing after everything that had happened lately—Rick’s and Abel’s deaths, the soul-scarring funeral, the FBI’s investigation of his father. . . the exploding warehouse.
Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to feel out the lovely Sophie even further, to spend an uninterrupted weekend with her . . . to plumb the depths of her secrets and her soft, inviting body as well.
Fortunately, the sharp lust he felt for her would only help him in getting closer. If the elusive Dr. Gable was keeping something from him, Thomas vowed she wouldn’t keep her secrets for long.
Sophie felt as if the entire scenario from the previous evening—had it really just been a little over twenty-four hours ago that Thomas had wandered, shell-shocked and dazed into her life?—had been reversed after they’d entered the lake house kitchen. The long drive to Haven Lake had kept her from dwelling on the explosion, but nothing prevented it now.
She stood next to the sink, glancing up when she felt the glasses she’d been holding slide out of her gripping hands. Thomas touched her upper arm, capturing her attention. It took her a few seconds to realize she’d been standing at the sink, holding onto two empty glasses, staring at the faucet and all the while seeing that silent, expanding bright orange ball of flame and then hearing that boom rip through the night.
She said nothing, just watched him numbly as he set down the glasses and opened a few cabinets.
“There’s wine in the pantry,” she said, sensing he was searching for something stronger than the water she’d been about to get them.
His purposeful, confident stride across the kitchen struck her as being the polar opposite of his appearance last night. He came out of her small pantry holding a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon. She recognized the label and suspected Thomas knew his wine. That particular bottle was the most full-bodied, potent spirit she had here at the lake house. She’d been saving it for visitors and steaks on the grill.