by Cindi Myers
“I’ve heard some women find the uniform sexy,” he teased.
“I prefer you naked.” She started unbuttoning his shirt. “I want to feel skin against my skin, not some pointy badge.”
His badge didn’t have any points, but he got the message. And skin-to-skin contact sounded good to him, too.
It took a few moments for both of them to peel out of their still-damp clothing. He spread the clothes over the tarp to form a makeshift bed; then they lay down side by side, stroking and caressing, exchanging long, drugging kisses, letting the need build again. He threaded his fingers through the riot of curls around her face. “You have the most amazing hair,” he said.
She laughed. “This mess? I thought men were into long blond tendrils or raven tresses or silky red hair. My hair is plain old brown, and there’s no style to it—it just grows and kinks.”
“I like it,” he said. “It’s a little wild—like you.”
“Oh, you like wild, do you?”
“I do.”
“I can show you wild.” She moved over him, hands on either side of his head, straddling his torso. When she took him inside her, he let out a low groan, and when she began to move in a slow, sensual dance, he lost focus. She took his hand, and guided it down between them. He licked his thumb, then began to stroke, feeling her tighten around him. He felt very close to the edge, and tried to pull back, but she increased the tempo of her thrusts, driving them both up and over. She came with a loud cry, bucking hard, taking him deep inside her. His own release overwhelmed him, and he clung to her, riding the wave until he was utterly spent.
She pressed her forehead to his, and he felt more than saw her smile. “Wild enough for you?” she whispered.
His answer was a kiss, one he didn’t break as she eased off him and moved to his side once more. He broke the contact and looked down into her eyes. “You’re amazing,” he whispered.
She closed her eyes. “Yeah. Amazing.”
He wanted to tell her he loved her, but caution held him back. He didn’t want her to freak out or push him away. She hadn’t had much love in her life, as far as he could tell. And too many people who were supposed to love her hadn’t followed through on that love. Words weren’t going to be enough for her.
She had her baby and a new life to get back to. He couldn’t see her sticking around for a cop, of all people. He was the kind of man who liked to look after people—maybe too much, his mother might say.
She was a woman who valued her independence, who sometimes chafed under his overprotectiveness.
She fell asleep in his arms. He watched the firelight play across her face. She looked younger in repose, the tension around her eyes and jaw relaxed. He wanted to take away all the reasons for that tension, to show her that she didn’t have to bear all her burdens alone. But after being on her own for so long, did she even have it in her to trust? She was like the feral cats his mother fed. She could care for them, but they would never come inside and live with her. They would never make her world theirs, or allow her to be more than a peripheral part of their lives.
* * *
MICHELLE WOKE TO bright sun in her eyes and a soft breeze across her bare skin. She blinked, then sat up, hastily pulling up the shirt she had apparently been using as a makeshift cover. In daylight, their camp looked even more pitiful than she had imagined it last night—a dirty blue tarp and some pieces of plywood beside a campfire of driftwood.
A rustling to her right set her heart to thudding and she searched in vain for someplace to hide. What if Metwater had found them? What if he had already hurt Ethan and was coming for her?
Then Ethan stepped from the underbrush—bare-chested and barefoot, uncombed hair and a day’s stubble transforming him into sexy backwoodsman. She hugged her knees to her chest and grinned at him. If it wasn’t for Hunter and her growling stomach, she wouldn’t have minded spending another day or two camped out with this hot cop. But she needed to keep playing it cool. She couldn’t let him see how much he had come to mean to her. She didn’t do needy.
“I don’t suppose you found any coffee back in there?” she asked.
“Nope.” He crouched beside the remains of last night’s campfire. “But I think I’ve figured out where we are.”
“Oh?” She pulled the shirt around and started to put it on, then realized it was his.
“I would say keep it—it looks better on you,” he said. “But I might need it.” He handed her her shirt and, aware of him watching, she began to dress.
“Where are we?” she asked as she hooked her bra.
“We’re on an island in the lake, maybe half a mile from shore.”
Her heart sank. “No way can I swim half a mile,” she said.
“We still have the kayak,” he said. “In daylight, with calm water, we shouldn’t have any trouble getting to shore. From there we can walk to a store or a marina with a phone.”
She shuddered at the memory of the terrifying last moments in that kayak, but nodded. She had done plenty of things in her life that had frightened or repelled her—she ought to be good at it by now.
“As soon as you dress we can leave,” he said. “I’m hoping we end up near someplace with coffee. And food.”
She stood and shoved her feet into her still-damp tennis shoes. “Just give me a minute to, um, freshen up in the woods,” she said.
“Oh, sure. I’ll finish dressing myself and get the boat ready.”
She slipped into the underbrush, searching for a spot that was well out of sight. When she was finished, she ran fingers through her hair and smiled as she remembered what Ethan had said last night. All her life she had envied women with more manageable hair, but maybe hers wasn’t so bad after all.
“Police! Keep your hands where we can see them!”
Fear replaced contentment as the man’s voice, sharp and commanding, cut the peace of the morning. Scarcely daring to breathe, Michelle tiptoed to the edge of the woods and peered out.
Ethan, still shirtless and barefoot, hands in the air, faced two uniformed men with guns drawn. The men were very young, and she didn’t recognize the uniforms. They also looked nervous, which made the weapons in their hands look that much more dangerous.
“He’s got a gun,” one of the men said, a blond. He nudged something with his foot, which she realized must have been Ethan’s gun belt, which was lying on the tarp with the rest of his clothes.
“My ID is in my back pocket,” Ethan said. “I can show you—”
“Don’t move!” the blond ordered. He bent and scooped up the gun belt. “You need to come with us,” he said. “And don’t try to make trouble.”
Chapter Seventeen
The two Forest Service employees were young and nervous, Ethan thought. A dangerous combination. Better to cooperate with them now—and enjoy their embarrassment later when they realized what a mistake they had made. He kept his hands up and his eyes focused on them, and prayed that Michelle would stay hidden.
“What do you think you’re doing? For goodness’ sake, he’s a cop.”
Of course Michelle wouldn’t stay hidden, any more than she would have backed down if someone tried to intimidate her. Wasn’t that one of the things he loved about her? But as the two men focused their attention on her, Ethan couldn’t help wishing she was a little more subdued.
She stood at the edge of the clearing, hands on her hips, hair a wild nimbus around her face. “He’s part of the Ranger Brigade and he saved my life, so you need to put those guns away,” she said, reminding him of a mother scolding a pair of little boys with water pistols instead of real weapons.
The Forest Service badges looked back at Ethan. “Is she telling the truth?” the dark-haired one asked.
“Yes. If you’ll let me get out my ID, I’ll prove it,” Ethan said.
“All right,” the blond said. “But do it sl
owly. No sudden moves.”
“Of course.” He carefully reached back and took out his wallet and flipped it open to his badge and ID.
Both men leaned forward to scrutinize it, and a red flush worked its way up the blond’s neck. He holstered his weapon. “Sorry,” he said. “We didn’t realize you were a fed.”
“We got a message to be on the lookout for a dangerous escaped felon,” the dark-haired young man said as he, too, put away his gun. “They said he might have killed a cop and be hiding out in the area. When we saw you out here by yourself—where no one is supposed to be—we thought you were him.”
“He killed a cop?” Ethan asked. Was this Metwater they were talking about, or someone else? “What cop?”
The two exchanged looks. “An FBI agent, I think,” the blond said. “And he may have murdered someone else. And he kidnapped a baby.”
“We’re talking a really bad dude,” his partner said.
That sounded like Metwater, all right, Ethan thought. Though he hoped they were wrong about the cop part. The other FBI agent on the Ranger Brigade was the commander. He pushed aside the thought. He couldn’t dwell on those worries. “I think we’re looking for the same guy,” he said. He picked up his shirt and put it on. “How did you guys get out here?”
“We have a boat.” The blond motioned toward the water. “We’re assigned to patrol this area. Mostly we ticket drunken boaters or folks who don’t have life jackets. This is about the most exciting thing to happen since we’ve been working here.”
“How long have you been working here?” Ethan asked as he slipped on his gun belt. Even though he had lost his gun in the fight with Metwater, the belt was part of his uniform.
The two exchanged glances and the blond went red again. “About two months,” he mumbled.
Michelle joined them. “If you have a boat, you can get us out of here,” she said.
“Uh, sure, we can take you.” The blond looked around. “How did you get here anyway?”
“It’s a long story.” Ethan clapped him on the back. “And it involves that fugitive you’re looking for. We’d be grateful if you could take us back to my vehicle.”
“Sure.” He turned to Michelle. “Ma’am, are you an officer, too?”
She laughed. “No. I’m an innocent bystander.” Without a look back, she strolled past the three men, headed toward shore. Ethan grinned and followed.
Thirty minutes later the Forest Service Rangers—Clint and Joe—delivered them to Ethan’s cruiser—which was cordoned off with crime scene tape and surrounded by Rangers. Marco Cruz looked up from taking measurements and grinned. “I’ll bet you’ve got a heck of a story to tell,” he said, coming over and clapping Ethan on the back.
Lance joined them. “We saw the blood and the signs of struggle and feared the worst,” he said.
That explained the story the Forest Service Rangers had given him about a dead FBI guy, Ethan thought.
“Daniel Metwater was trying to drown me, and Ethan saved me,” Michelle said. “We got away, but we ended up spending the night on an island in the lake. Then these two gentlemen found us this morning.” She introduced the two officers, diplomatically omitting the fact that they had mistaken Ethan for a fugitive.
“It’s a long story,” Ethan said. “You can read my report later, but what I want to know now is have you found Metwater?”
“No,” Marco said. “We’ve been watching the camp, but he hasn’t shown up.”
“His name and face and a description of the car are all over the area,” Lance said. “We’ll find him.”
“We will,” Ethan said. “He hasn’t got the ego to lie low for long.”
“I don’t care about Metwater right now,” Michelle said. “I need to see my son. Where is Hunter?”
“I’ll take you to the hospital to see him,” Ethan said.
“He’s doing fine,” Lance said, correctly interpreting her worried look. “The hospital was a safe place to keep him until the two of you could be reunited.”
Since Ethan’s cruiser was covered in fingerprint dust, he borrowed Marco’s. As they headed toward Montrose, Michelle fidgeted, unable to sit still. “Tell me the truth,” she said. “Is Hunter really all right? Those men didn’t hurt him, did they? If they did—”
“As far as we can tell, they took good care of him,” Ethan said. “And he’s too young to remember anything. He’ll be fine.”
He parked in the visitors’ lot at the hospital and led her in the front entrance and up to the pediatric floor. He was surprised to see his mom, in pink scrubs and white clogs, cuddling a baby to her shoulder. Even more surprising was her hair, which was cut fashionably short and streaked with blond.
“Hunter!” At the sound of Michelle’s voice, the baby lifted his head and began to flail his arms. Ethan’s mother turned, and when she saw Ethan and Michelle, a smile bloomed on her face.
“He definitely knows his mama,” she said, walking toward them.
“Michelle, you remember my mom, Nancy,” Ethan said.
But Michelle scarcely acknowledged either of them. She was pulling Hunter into her arms, covering his head with kisses and making little cooing noises. “Oh, my sweet baby,” she murmured, closing her eyes and rocking Hunter against her.
Nancy touched Ethan’s arm. “Let’s give them a moment alone,” she said.
He followed her out into the hall. “Mom, what did you do to your hair?” he asked, unable to stop staring at her.
She put one hand to her head. “Do you like it?” she asked. “I always wanted to try really short hair, but your father would have fussed so. He never wanted me to change anything.”
“You look good,” he said. “You look happy.”
She looked wistful. “I still miss your father terribly, but I’m figuring out how to build a new life on my own. It won’t be the same life, but I want it to be a good one.”
“You deserve that, Mom.”
“I understand you’ve been busy with other things,” she said. “But have you found out anything about my car?”
“We’ve got a lead on the people responsible for the thefts,” he said. “But it’s unlikely you’ll see your car again. These groups work very fast to get rid of the evidence.”
“The officer in Montrose told me the same thing.” She sighed. “I talked to my insurance agent and he tells me as soon as they have the police report, he can process the paperwork to cut me a check for the value of the car.” She made a face. “Not as much as I paid for it, of course. I can almost hear your father, reminding me how much a new car depreciates.”
“You can buy another car,” Ethan said.
“Yes, but this time I’ll find a nice used one. Maybe that won’t be so attractive to thieves.”
“Used cars get stolen, too,” Ethan said. “Buy a new car if that’s what you want.”
“Whatever I decide, maybe you’d like to help me pick it out.”
Ethan put his hand on her shoulder. “It’s your car, Mom. You should pick it out.”
She smiled, clearly pleased. “You don’t have to worry about me, son.” She turned and looked through the glass as Michelle cradled her son, who smiled up at her, waving his hands.
“Look how happy he is to see her,” Nancy said. “I would have been beside myself with worry if something like that had happened to you when you were a baby.”
“It’s good to be part of a happy ending,” Ethan said. “In my job things don’t always work out that way.”
He studied Michelle, thinking she had never looked more beautiful than she did now, the lines of tension having vanished from her face, a broad smile softening her face, making her look younger and more open. “For a real happy ending, you have to finish the job,” his mom said.
He pulled his gaze away from the mother and baby. “What do you mean?”
Nancy nodded to Michelle. “Have you told her that you love her?”
He didn’t ask how his mother knew his feelings. She had always been able to read him; maybe that was something all mothers did. “I don’t want to scare her off,” he said.
“And you think saying nothing is the way to encourage her to stick around?”
He shoved his hands in his pockets. “She’s been through a lot, Mom. I don’t want to rush her.”
His mom shook her head. “You are so like your father.”
“What do you mean?”
“Did you know he never proposed to me? I had to ask him.”
“I never knew that.” He didn’t know much about his parents’ courtship. He had never given it much thought.
“Don’t pass up a chance for happiness,” she said. “Your problem is that you worry too much about other people—about me, about Michelle, even. Think of yourself for once. Tell her how you feel.”
“Yeah, I should do that.”
Nancy put on her best mom-lecture face. “If you can face down armed men who want to kill you, you ought to be able to speak honestly with the woman you love,” she said.
“You’d think.” But sometimes talking about his feelings—especially when so much was on the line—felt a lot riskier than facing a madman with a gun.
* * *
MICHELLE COULDN’T GET enough of holding Hunter, or breathing in his scent, or taking in his smile, feeling his little fingers wrap around hers, or seeing the love in his eyes when he looked at her. She felt whole again. Strong again.
Footsteps on the tile hospital floors made her turn to see Ethan walking toward her. “Thank you again,” she said. “For everything.”
He didn’t return her smile—in fact, his expression was serious. “You know this isn’t over yet,” he said. “Not until we’ve found Daniel Metwater and put him behind bars.”
“Will you put him behind bars when you find him?” she asked.
“We have plenty of evidence to hold him now—his attempt on your life and mine, his link to the kidnappers. I think we can even connect him to the auto thefts in the area, through the Smith brothers. And while we’re building our case against him, we’ll keep looking for your sister’s locket and any other ties we can find between Daniel and David’s crimes. He won’t get out this time. But until we have him, he’s still a danger to you and Hunter.”