Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Kendric “Bob” Evans sat in his room two blocks from the women’s prison and stared out the window with a frown on his face. He could just see the barbed wire on top of the walls, and he’d long since memorized the routes taken by the guards who walked the perimeter.

He’d seen some horrific things in his life, both as a Delta Force operative in the US Army and in the years he’d been working for Gregory Willis to rescue Americans overseas.

But today had taken the cake.

Willis, the FBI agent who was his contact when it came to rescue missions, had sent him a file on Marlowe Kennedy. It contained pictures and a fairly detailed account of her life history, including intel on her brother, Tony, the man she’d asked about during Bob’s visit.

The truth was, Anthony Kennedy was moving heaven and earth to free his sister, with no luck. The issue was that the Thai government wanted to make examples of foreigners who dared try to sell drugs in their country. The problem had reached epidemic proportions, and so far, the government’s crackdown and decision to imprison anyone caught with even one pill hadn’t done much to stem the tide.

Desperate, Tony had finally reached out to Willis in an attempt to free his sister.

When finally given permission to talk to Marlowe, Bob, as he was known to his friends—a nod to the popular American diner Bob Evans—was shocked by her physical appearance. She’d only been incarcerated for a little over a month, but she looked as if it had been years.

In her pictures, she looked healthy, vibrant. He knew her height, so Bob suspected she was petite, but now she looked as if a strong wind would blow her over. Her cheekbones were sharper, her collarbones visible thanks to the gaping neckline of her shirt. Bob guessed she’d lost at least twenty pounds. Her hair was dull and lank, she had no color in her cheeks, the clothes she wore swam on her body. She looked . . . fragile.

Which wasn’t good.

The plan that Willis had put into motion was risky at best, doomed to fail at worst, and Bob hated that he hadn’t been able to talk to Marlowe today. Not really talk. He shook his head at his lame attempt at warning her with that stupid Forrest Gump reference. There was no way she’d understood. But he couldn’t exactly come right out and say that when the shit hit the fan, she needed to run. Far and fast.

The plan had a few things going for it. The small number of guards, the age of the prison, the overcrowding. But the trustees might be a problem.

For the first time since he’d started doing these rescue missions, Bob wished his team was there to have his back. But Chappy, Cal, and JJ had no idea he was here, or even out of the US. They thought he was in Washington State visiting his sick aunt. A sick aunt who didn’t exist.

He hated lying to them, but all three had settled into life in Maine without any issues. They were content to run their tree business and live a calm, quiet life.

Most of the time, Bob enjoyed it too. But he occasionally got restless. Needed the adrenaline rush that came with helping others get out of dangerous situations. Which was how and why he’d agreed to work for Gregory Willis.

Bob had completed a dozen or so missions in the last few years. He’d had no issues working alone before, in more dangerous situations than this one. So what was different now?

Deep down, Bob knew what it was.

Marlowe.

The look in her eyes had unsettled him. Desperation. Fear. Barely a hint of hope.

From what he’d read in the report detailing her brother’s attempts to get the US government involved in the case, there was little chance the yaba pills found in her belongings were actually hers. An anonymous tip was called in, and it had resulted in Marlowe being hauled off her dig site and flung into a cell, with the key basically thrown away.

Determination rose within Bob. He wasn’t leaving Thailand without her. It wouldn’t be easy, even with the underground network of people Willis had arranged to shuttle them from hiding spot to hiding spot. Bangkok wasn’t too far from the Cambodian border. If they could make it, they had a good chance of getting back to the States.

But getting to the border would be . . . a challenge.

Before he could even think that far, he first needed to get her out from behind the prison walls. There was a real risk she’d be hurt in the process, or he’d be caught and thrown into the Bangkok Hilton, as the Bang Kwang Central men’s prison was often called. A prison break of this size and scope had never been attempted, and as crazy as the plan sounded when Bob had first heard it, after being inside today, he realized it actually had a mild chance of succeeding.

Still, all the things that could go wrong swam in his head, and Bob ruthlessly pushed them back. He needed to stay positive. As soon as the walls were breached, chaos would erupt, and all he had to do was find Marlowe and slip away undetected.

He snorted. Yeah, right. All he had to do. The prison had thousands of inmates. All of them wore the same clothes, and Marlowe had the same black hair and short height as most of them. Yes, she was American, which would help him find her once the plan was put into motion, but it was still going to be a difficult mission.

Despite that, he had every intention of succeeding. Hell, a few years ago, he wasn’t sure he and his friends would be rescued when they’d been held as POWs. The chances were even lower then, and they’d made it out. He had to believe he’d be successful now.

“Hang in there, Marlowe,” Bob whispered as he stared at the top of the prison walls. “Just a little longer.”

Marlowe lay in the stuffy room and stared up at the ceiling. The lights in the sleeping room were never shut off. It was as bright in there now as it was during the day, when sunlight streamed in from the dirty windows high above their heads.

The sounds of sleeping women were all around her. Some snored, others cried out when they had bad dreams, and others still mumbled under their breaths. Marlowe hadn’t slept well since the day she’d arrived. It was impossible. The “bed” was uncomfortable, she was always hot and sweaty, and she didn’t like being so crowded. She almost preferred the darkness of solitary. Almost.

The thought of spending the rest of her life here was . . . unimaginable. Tears threatened, but she squeezed her eyes shut and refused to let them fall. Crying wouldn’t do a damn thing except make her even more miserable than she was right this moment. And she was already miserable enough to—

An extremely loud noise echoed through the room, interrupting her thoughts.

Marlowe sat up, as did most of the women around her. A low murmur began as everyone tried to figure out what the noise could have been, where it was coming from. One of the trustees lying near the door stood up and opened it, peering outside.

She gasped and said something in Thai under her breath.

Everyone was frozen in place for a moment, clearly surprised by whatever the trustee had uttered—until one of the prisoners near the door shouted something.

Marlowe had no idea what, but suddenly everyone was jumping to their feet and rushing toward the doors.

The three trustees were angrily trying to get the women to step back, to stay away from the doors, but with one hundred prisoners to their three, it was pointless. Marlowe was swept along with the crowd as everyone around her rushed to get out of the small building.

The second she was outside, she understood why everyone was in such a damn hurry.

A large truck had driven straight through the nearby east wall of the prison, leaving a massive hole in the brick.

Debris was scattered all over the yard—bricks, barbed wire, parts of the truck itself.

Even as the situation sank in, Marlowe noticed the women all around her rushing for the hole—toward escape, toward freedom—were eerily quiet. No one was screaming for joy, no one was hollering in fear. No one was trampling anyone else either. They were quickly and efficiently climbing over and around the truck still partially blocking the hole.

It was an orderly prison break . . . if there was such a thing.

Suddenly, Kendric’s words from earlier came back.

I’m getting you out of here. You have to be ready. For anything. When the time comes, I’ll be there. Understand? You just have to be brave enough to move.

Could this have been his doing?

Marlowe shook her head. It didn’t seem possible. No lawyer would risk his license by orchestrating something like this. But she couldn’t shake that one word he’d mouthed at her.

Run.

He’d told her to be like Forrest Gump. The old movie played in her head as she stood indecisively in the prison yard, frozen, staring at the other prisoners flowing through the hole in the wall. She heard the little girl from the movie yelling Run, Forrest, run!

Adrenaline shot through Marlowe’s veins. She was terrified. If there was a chance Tony could grease some wheels and get her out of here through negotiations and lawyers, it would be smarter to stay put. To not give the Thai authorities any other reason to keep her locked up.

But what if she was well and truly stuck here? What if she had to spend the rest of her life in prison because her brother failed?

She wouldn’t make it long. Marlowe knew that as well as she knew her name.

Her legs were moving before her brain had made the decision.

The only sounds in the night were the trustees and guards shouting. Marlowe assumed they were trying to corral the hundreds of prisoners still streaming out of various sleeping quarters. But no one was listening, countless women still silently but swiftly rushing toward the wall.

Freedom was at hand, and they were taking advantage.

Just as Marlowe reached the truck where it sat haphazardly in the wreckage of the brick wall, a shot rang out.

She ducked, as did the women around her, but no one stopped. They kept moving forward.

As soon as she was outside the prison walls, Marlowe wanted to stop and take a deep breath. For some reason, the air seemed cleaner out here, which was ridiculous, but seemingly true nonetheless. Another gunshot in the darkness kept her moving.

She tripped over something in the street and barely caught herself before she fell flat on her face. Looking down, Marlowe marveled at what she was seeing.

Hundreds of prison-issue shoes littered the street. As if the women who’d gone before her literally ran right out of them.

Which probably wasn’t far from the truth. They were all given what Marlowe would call shower shoes. Cheap slip-on sandals that didn’t have any kind of support. She considered kicking her own pair off her feet, knowing she could run faster without them, but at the last minute, she quickly slipped them off and held them tightly in her hand. She couldn’t escape without shoes, even if they were crappy prison shower sandals.

Then she took a deep breath—and ran.

Marlowe had no idea where she was going, but the second she’d set foot outside that smashed prison wall, she knew there was no going back. She was a fugitive, and if the authorities caught her, she was in deep shit.

For a block or two, she ran in the same direction many of the other women were going, before her brain kicked in and she abruptly turned down an alley, away from the crowd. It only made sense that the authorities would follow the largest group of women, hoping to catch as many as possible at one time.

It was smarter to go it alone. Hide. Not that it would be easy. She was an American in a foreign land. Her feet slapped on the pavement as she ran blindly, doing her best to put as much distance between herself and the prison.

She was breathing hard already and trying not to panic. Marlowe had no plan. No idea where she was, where she was going, or how the hell she could get out of the country. Not only that, but she was tiring fast. She’d done her best to keep in shape while incarcerated, but that was tough to do when she was forced to sit in front of a damn sewing machine for ten hours a day.

Her steps slowed as Marlowe attempted to control her breathing. She could still hear the occasional gunshot echoing through the city streets, and each time she heard one, she flinched, expecting to feel a bullet tear through her flesh at any moment.

She’d just turned a corner to head down another alley when a hand reached out and grabbed her upper arm.

Instinctively, Marlowe used some of the self-defense techniques Tony had taught her years ago.

Instead of pulling away, she threw herself back into the person who’d grabbed her, pitching them both off balance. She brought her knee up as hard as she could and was rewarded with a grunt from her captor when she made contact.

She twisted her body, hoping to dislodge the man’s grip, but he moved faster, pulling her close, her back against his chest. He threw his arm around her, anchoring her to his body.

He was taller than her by quite a bit. She could feel his hard muscles shifting as she squirmed frantically, doing her best to get out of his tight hold.

“Stop it, Marlowe! We don’t have time for this.”

She froze at hearing her name on his lips. And at hearing English. Doing her best to turn around, to see who he was, she growled in frustration when he held her so securely she couldn’t move an inch.

As if he could sense her need—and knew that some of the fight had drained out of her—he turned her in his grasp, still keeping a firm hold.

There was hardly any light to see, but Marlowe recognized him immediately.

“Kendric,” she breathed, shocked to her core.

His lips twitched as if she’d said something funny. “Yup,” he agreed.

The man standing in front of her looked nothing like the staid and buttoned-up lawyer who’d come to the prison. Instead of the crisp white shirt, tie, and pressed khaki pants, he was wearing black from head to toe. A black T-shirt, cargo pants, boots. But the determination in his eyes was the same as she’d seen before.

“You good?” he asked.

Marlowe could only nod. Was she good? Not really. But then again, for the moment, she wasn’t locked up for something she didn’t do. There was a better-than-average chance she’d be caught and be sent right back to the hell she’d miraculously escaped, but for now, she supposed she was okay.

“Right.” Kendric let go of her, but she could’ve sworn his thumbs swiped the skin of her upper arms in a reassuring caress before he turned and bent toward the ground. When he stood, he held her shoes out to her. “You should put these on. Smart making sure you didn’t lose them.”

Even that small compliment made Marlowe want to cry. It had been a very long time since anyone had said something nice to her. But she swallowed down the emotion. She wasn’t safe, not by a long shot, and she needed to keep running. Get as far away from the prison as she could.

“You should go,” she said urgently.

“What?” Kendric asked, his brows coming down in a scowl.

“You should go,” she repeated. “The last thing you want is to be caught helping me.”

To her surprise, Kendric actually laughed. “Who do you think orchestrated your escape . . . and the escape of all the other women? If we get caught, I’m definitely going to prison. But I have no intention of being captured. So put your shoes on, Mar, and let’s get the hell out of here.”

She stared at the slippers he was holding out to her and blurted the first thing that came to mind. “I can’t run with them on. It’s why I was carrying them.”

He pressed his lips together, but simply nodded. “It’s not ideal, but we don’t have far to go.”

“We don’t?” Marlowe asked stupidly.

“Nope. Come on, let’s get moving.”

Marlowe stared at the hand Kendric held out to her for a beat. Then she took it with her own. He squeezed her fingers before turning and heading down the alley.

She felt as if she’d entered the twilight zone. Who was this man? Had he really run that truck into the prison wall, or perhaps arranged for someone else to do it? She couldn’t wrap her mind around the risks he was taking—for her. She’d never met the man before he’d visited the prison.

“Stop thinking so hard, Marlowe. I’ll answer all your questions once we’re safe. For now, just know that I’m going to get you home.”

Home.A longing so intense swept through her. Even if her job wasn’t her passion, she definitely used to love traveling the world for various digs. Loved meeting new people, experiencing new cultures. But now, all she wanted was to get back to the States and never leave again.

Her mind still on overload, Marlowe followed Kendric without complaint, relieved to put her life in his hands, even temporarily. The adrenaline rush was ebbing, and she was suddenly exhausted. The lack of sleep, the crappy nutrition, the worry, the fear. All of it was catching up with her, and she knew without a doubt that if she hadn’t run into this man . . . she’d be in big trouble.

Bob tightened his fingers around Marlowe’s as he led them farther and farther away from the women’s prison. They weren’t out of danger, not by any stretch, but with every step they took, they were a little closer to getting her home.

He’d watched anxiously as one of the many people working with Willis and his underground network—a very well-paid underground network—ran the truck into the brick wall surrounding the prison. He’d chosen the perfect place for the ambush, the only spot in the prison that didn’t have a building right up next to the outside wall.

As planned, the wall crumbled under the onslaught of the truck and the driver quickly fled the scene. It didn’t take long for women inside to take advantage of the crash. They began pouring out of the prison, and Bob had held his breath, praying that Marlowe would be brave enough to make her escape.

He’d tried to warn her when he’d visited previously, but the setup for visitors wasn’t ideal. Wasn’t private in the least. He’d wanted so badly to tell her what was going to happen, but he couldn’t risk anyone overhearing.

His sources had said that the women weren’t actually locked inside their sleeping quarters at night. They were crowded into the buildings and only watched over by trustees. He’d had to hope that when the truck crashed into the wall and the alarms sounded, people would be curious enough to investigate. Thankfully, the crazy strategy had worked.

Freedom was a powerful motivator.

Bob didn’t even feel bad that the plan to rescue Marlowe meant hundreds of other women would also escape. Many of them were no doubt also there under bogus charges, or the amount of drugs they’d been caught with didn’t warrant their punishment. America’s justice system wasn’t perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but it was nothing like it was here.

He’d waited outside the prison in the shadows, close to the area where he knew Marlowe’s sleeping quarters were located, watching as women ran for their lives. Holding his breath as he strained to catch a glimpse of his target. She was slight, had short black hair, and blended in fairly well with so many of the other prisoners.

Just when he’d thought she wasn’t going to take the chance to escape, he’d spotted her.

At first, she’d run along with the other women, and he’d had to circle around a block to avoid detection before trying to catch up with her.

But when he’d intersected the path of the women, she was no longer with them.

She’d peeled off at some point, and for a brief moment, Bob had panicked. He couldn’t lose her now.

By some miracle, he’d caught a glimpse of her as she was about to run around a corner, farther down the street. She’d looked back, as if to see if she was being followed, and the look on her face had etched itself onto his brain.

She was completely terrified.

He sprinted after her, and it still took a bit to catch up. He hadn’t wanted to add to her terror, but when he’d grabbed her, he’d done just that. To his surprise—and satisfaction—she didn’t simply give up. She fought against his hold. Hard. She’d managed to knee him viciously in the thigh. Thank goodness she wasn’t taller than she was, otherwise she could’ve nailed him in the nuts. It wasn’t until he’d trapped her tightly in his embrace that he’d been able to speak and calm her down.

The relief, disbelief, and confusion was easy to read on her face, but he didn’t have time to reassure her much. To tell her the plan to get them out of there. They had to get to the next phase of the escape plan before dawn, which was little more than an hour away.

He hated that she wasn’t wearing shoes, but he couldn’t do anything about that right this second. She was quiet behind him, and Bob was glad. She had to have a million questions, but the fact that she was holding her tongue meant she trusted him at least a little bit.

And trust was essential during rescue missions like this one.

Bob squeezed her hand without thought, wanting to reassure her wordlessly that everything would be okay. Of course, he had no idea if that was true, but he’d do his part to get her back to her brother, or die trying.

They walked fast for ten more minutes until they reached their destination. Bob let out a sigh of relief as he walked around the dilapidated hut in one of the worst parts of the city. He slipped through a hole in a fence, then into a small shed behind the home. He didn’t know who lived there, and he didn’t need to.

He smiled as he saw what he’d hoped would be waiting for him behind the wooden door of the shed. A scooter. This was their ticket out of the city, and to the next step in their journey for the Cambodian border. A small bag sat next to the bike.

Bob let go of Marlowe’s hand—and was surprised at the pang of discontent that flashed through him when he was no longer touching her. She was a job. Nothing more, nothing less.

But even as he thought the words, Bob knew they were a lie.

Marlowe Kennedy wasn’t just another job. Seeing the complex emotions behind her eyes, the fear that couldn’t disguise her determination to get away . . . he was drawn to this woman in a way that was unfamiliar.

Leaning over, he picked up the bag and peered inside, determined to keep things between them professional. Satisfied, he pulled out two of the items and turned to Marlowe.

“Shirt and leggings. Put them on. The authorities will be looking for women wearing that prison uniform.”

She nodded and reached for the clothes. Turning his attention back to the bag, Bob pulled out the last item. He looked up—and blinked in surprise.

Marlowe was standing next to him wearing nothing but a cheap, grungy-looking bra. She’d stripped off the prison top without a second thought. She frowned as she attempted to figure out where the armholes were in the shirt.

Bob tried to look away, he really did, but he couldn’t take his gaze from the sight before him. Marlowe’s ribs were clearly visible. She was so skinny, it almost hurt to look at her. He was right; she’d lost quite a bit of weight in the weeks that she’d been incarcerated. Too much.

She also had a dark bruise on her side, indicating she’d either bumped into something . . . or someone abused her.

Before he could become too outraged at the thought, she got the material straightened out and pulled the dark-gray long-sleeve shirt over her head, hiding her body from him. Then, as if she didn’t have a drop of modesty, she shoved the dark-blue skirt over her hips and reached for the black leggings.

Bob swallowed hard. Despite needing to put on some weight, Marlowe was gorgeous. The woman was only five-four, yet her legs seemed to go on forever.

Shaking his head, he internally reprimanded himself. This wasn’t the time or place for him to have such inappropriate thoughts. The past month had been hell for the poor woman, and he was there to get her home in one piece. That was it.

But somehow, her stoicism piqued his interest all the more. He was used to the people he rescued being overwhelmed. Nervous. Angry. Helpless. Marlowe was . . . practical. She hadn’t asked a hundred questions. Hadn’t slowed him down. Hadn’t hesitated to put on the clothes. She’d simply done whatever he’d asked.

Irrationally, that acquiescence itself frustrated him. He could have led her to this dangerous area to violate her. Kill her. He could’ve led her straight back to the Thai authorities. He’d never do any of those things, but she didn’t know that.

“You’re too trusting,” he said quietly.

She looked up at him in surprise. “What?”

“You don’t know me. Yet you just took your clothes off in front of me.”

Bob saw her cheeks darken. Jesus, he was being a complete ass. But before he could apologize, Marlowe lifted her chin to look him dead in the eye. “I was pretty self-conscious before I was arrested, but after being strip-searched and having zero privacy for the last month—including in the bathrooms—I guess I just didn’t think about it. The prison clothes would be a huge giveaway, so I further assumed I needed to change immediately. Also, if you wanted to hurt me, you could’ve done it already. So for now, I’m trusting you. I literally have no other options.”

The last bit was said defensively and with force. As if daring him to contradict her.

Yup. He was a total dick. And she was right. They didn’t have any time to spare. He held up the last item from the bag.

“This should help keep people from realizing who you are.”

She stared at it for a moment. Bob saw a look of distaste cross her face before she masked it. “Smart.” That was all she said as she held out her hand.

For some reason, Bob didn’t like that she was hiding her true feelings from him. He preferred her to say what was on her mind. “You don’t like wigs?”

Marlowe shrugged. “Under normal circumstances, when I haven’t gone a week since washing my hair? When we aren’t in a tropical environment? When I’m not wearing one to hide the fact that I’m a fugitive on the run? I wouldn’t care.”

Bob couldn’t help but smile a bit at that. Instead of handing her the long blonde wig, he asked, “May I?”

She stared at him for a long moment before saying, “Yes.”

There was something intimate about easing the wig over her head and arranging it so it looked natural, carefully ensuring that none of her short black hair was showing around her nape.

“Won’t this make me stand out more?” she asked after a moment. “I mean, long blonde hair doesn’t exactly blend in around here.”

“True. But if the authorities are looking for an American with short black hair, maybe they won’t bother to stop and interrogate us.”

Marlowe reached for him and put her hand on his forearm. The hair on the back of Bob’s neck stood up at her touch. Electricity seemed to arc between them for a moment before she said, “I don’t want you to get in trouble for helping me. If we get caught, you run.”

Anger swept through him, an emotion that felt more comfortable than what he’d been feeling a moment ago. “Not happening.”

“But—”

“No,” he said firmly. “We aren’t going to get caught. We’re both getting back to the States. Now, come on. Let’s put some miles between us and that prison, shall we?”

He turned to the bike and threw his leg over the seat. He’d prefer Marlowe not be exposed behind him, but there wasn’t anything he could do about that. It was still dark outside. Hopefully he’d be able to avoid any roadblocks and get them outside the city limits and to their next stop before the sun came up.

He turned and looked at Marlowe a little impatiently. “Get on behind me.”

She frowned slightly at the scooter. Bob couldn’t help being pleased with how different she looked. The blonde wig changed her appearance drastically, but he actually preferred her short black hair. Shaking his head a little, he held out a hand.

“It won’t bite, Mar, get on.”

“I’ve never ridden a motorcycle,” she said uneasily.

He chuckled quietly. “This isn’t even close to being a motorcycle, Punky. Just sit down and hold on to me.”

She finally nodded and swung a leg over the seat behind him. Her hands gripped his T-shirt gingerly at his sides, and he could feel her body stiffen.

Bob pulled her hands off his shirt and wrapped her arms around his waist. The move drew her closer, and he felt her heat along his back. He patted one of her arms. “Tighter. You’re gonna have to pretend you like me, Punky. We’re just two American lovebirds on a little nighttime joyride.”

She jerked slightly at his words, but he felt her nod, then tighten her hold.

Not wasting any more time, Bob walked the scooter toward the door. He nudged the surface with the front tire and, once outside, headed toward the fence. As soon as they were on the street, he started the scooter, gave it some gas, and headed toward the road that would lead them away from the center of town.

Several minutes went by before he felt Marlowe relax. She’d clearly gotten used to the scooter. Long strands from the wig blew around them as he drove as fast as he dared away from the neighborhood.

“Punky?” she asked after a while.

Bob smiled. “Yeah.”

He heard her huff out a breath. “What does that mean?”

“Punky Brewster,” he told her.

“The kid from that eighties show?” she asked, a hint of incredulity in her tone. “You’ve seen it?”

“I don’t sleep much,” he admitted. Something his friends didn’t even know. “I watch a lot of reruns on TV when I can’t sleep. You remind me of her. Scrappy. Determined. Optimistic, even when things aren’t going your way.”

“I’m not any of those things,” she protested.

“You are.”

“Not.”

Bob smiled again. “Are we really arguing about this?”

“You started it.”

A chuckle escaped that time. “Well, I’m gonna call you what I want, so there.”

“You’re weird,” she told him after a beat.

It was hard to believe he was in the middle of a dangerous op and actually having a little fun. “Yup.”

She was leaning against him, speaking into his ear. It was an intimate position, and Bob regretted that he couldn’t see her. Couldn’t pay as close attention to her as he’d like. He had to concentrate on the road, on not hitting any of the numerous potholes in the street. Be on alert for any kind of police activity.

“Did Tony really send you?” she asked, warm air from her words brushing over his ear and throat.

“In a roundabout way,” he told her honestly. “I’ve never spoken to your brother, but he knows the man who I work for, and he started the ball rolling.”

Another annoyed huff left her, and Bob smiled again. “That tells me nothing,” she complained. “Who are you? Is your name really Kendric?”

“It is,” Bob told her. “Kendric Evans. My friends call me Bob.”

It took a few seconds for her to respond, and when she did, Bob wasn’t really surprised by her reply. “Are you kidding me? Bob? Like Bob Evans, the restaurant?”

“One and the same.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“It is,” he agreed.

“Why do you answer to it then?” she asked.

Bob opened his mouth to explain—until he caught sight of the one thing he hoped he wouldn’t, several blocks ahead. “Roadblock,” he told her. “Stay calm.” Adrenaline spiked in his own bloodstream, but he did his best to control it.

“Kendric,” she whimpered.

“Follow my lead,” he told her as calmly as he could.

“Why aren’t you turning off? Going down a different road?” she asked, and Bob could hear the panic in her voice.

“Because they’ve already seen us. If I turned, they’d get suspicious. I’ve got this,” he reassured her. “Like I said, follow my lead.”

“My shoes,” she said. “They’re going to recognize them.”

“They won’t look at your feet. Promise. Just go with whatever I do. Okay? We’re two Americans, madly in love, on the trip of a lifetime.”

“I can’t deal with the guilt if you get arrested,” she told him.

Bob didn’t have any more time to reassure her. They were approaching the two police cars parked across the road.

Taking a deep breath, he centered himself. He’d gotten out of worse situations than this. He had faith in Marlowe that she could play her part. And if worse came to worst, he’d gun it and do his best to outrun the cops. That would be difficult on a scooter . . . but he’d faced more than his fair share of difficulties in his lifetime.