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her head. Why did a bike builder look into her story? Her eyes slid toward him. “You’re not just building his bike, are you?”
    “And you’re not in love with him.” That was answer enough for Casey.
    She didn’t care what he was really there for. All she cared about was getting away from him and getting to her friend’s place in Maine. She needed to lay low for a while. Not showing up might make her look guilty, but facing Frankie when he could have information on her was not something she was willing to do. And who was to say Connor hadn’t already told him who she really was?
    For nearly a half hour they drove in silence, the highway speeding beneath them, too fast for her to try anything. Casey gnawed on a nail, her stomach in knots. Every mile they drove brought her closer to Frankie and further from escape.
    And then taillights lined the way ahead.
    Traffic. Casey almost smiled.
    Connor slowed the car until they were just creeping along. Casey made her move. She grabbed the door handle, pressed unlock, and yanked. Connor was fast. He had both arms around her, pinning her to him. She kicked her bare feet out the door, desperately trying to jump out.
    He was too strong, inhumanly strong. She wasn’t going to break his grip, so she leaned forward as much as she could, and then slammed her head back. The impact didn’t break his hold on her, but he hit the brakes and the car behind them smacked into the trailer, sending both of them flying into the dashboard. Connor hit the wheel, his grip gone, and Casey bolted.
    Barefoot and in a sundress, Casey ran over the hot pavement, across the three lanes of traffic and into the trees on the right side of the highway.
    “Casey!” Connor’s yell came from the car, thank god.
    She ran faster, dodging trees, jumping over roots, fear and adrenaline keeping her from feeling any of the branches whipping her face or snapping against her bare legs.
    She didn’t stop until she broke through the woods and found herself on a residential side street. Only then did she take a moment to catch her breath and watch the woods behind her.
    Nothing. Connor hadn’t followed her. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t get off at the next exit and come find her. He might be better off letting her escape; it made her look guilty and got him off the hook with Frankie. Unless Frankie got pissed that Connor let her get away.
    Casey needed shoes, and new clothes. Her dress was shredded and her feet scraped and dirty.
    She ran along several streets, looking for one that appeared empty. She found it, no car in the driveway, no lights, mail stuffed inside the mailbox. The house was older, the pool in the backyard half empty, the water green. She found a basement door, jimmied the lock, and snuck inside. No one was outside on this hot day to see her breaking in.
    The place was stale. Whoever lived here hadn’t been around for a while. There was no telling how long it would take Connor to find her, so she searched for a bedroom, rifled through the dresser until she found a pair of men’s jeans and an old flannel shirt. She took a pair of scissors to the pants, making them shorts, cinched a belt around her hips, and pulled the flannel on over her bare chest, tying it at her waist. It was too hot to wear more than that.
    There was a pile of old shoes and boots by the front door. She found a smaller pair of hiking boots, and pulled them on over some socks she’d found.
    She took a moment to braid her long, dark hair. She was regretting leaving her stuff with Connor. He had her handheld, and she felt vulnerable without it. She needed to call Mariam. Ready as she could be, Casey opened the back door.
    And walked right into Connor’s hard chest.
     
    Chapter Thirteen
     
    Casey turned and tried to run. Connor wrapped an arm around her, pressing her tight against him, and slapped a hand over her mouth. She kicked and fought to break free. But he was bigger and much stronger. Before anyone got