Safe Passage

by Loreth Anne White

  “Skye, you’re one of the sexiest, most damn desirable women I’ve ever laid eyes on. But I just can’t do this to you. You’re bouncing like a bungee on the rebound, for heaven’s sake. I don’t think it’s me you want.”

  It’s protection from whatever waits outside that you want.

  Anger flashed in her eyes. “You think I need some kind of self-affirmation? You think I need to prove I’m still a desirable woman? Is that it?”

  “No.” He reached out to touch her. “I’ll stay the night Skye, if that’s what you want, if you want someone just to be here.”

  She lurched to her feet. “Get out.”

  “Skye—”

  “I said get out, McIntyre. You and that wretched dog. Leave me alone.”

  He got to his feet, hobbled over to get his cane. She watched, unmoving.

  “I’m next door if you need me, Skye.” And he meant it.

  “You think I’m that pathetic? I don’t need your pity.” She spat the words at him.

  “Fine. Honey!” The dog raised herself grudgingly at the command in his tone, left the warmth of the fire.

  “We’re outta here.” He limped to the door, shoved it open.

  “Here.” She thrust his jacket at his chest. “Take this with you. I don’t need you. I don’t need your damn jacket.”

  He took it, stepped out into the dark with his dog.

  Skye slammed the door behind him. Only then did she realize she was shaking. The room was suddenly cavernously empty. And dark. Save for the quavering apricot glow of the flames he’d built in her hearth. And her belly.

  She slumped against the door.

  She’d gambled. And lost. She’d tried to seduce him to get him to stay the night. And she’d lost. Control.

  Dignity.

  She’d thought she could handle it. But nothing could have prepared her for the explosive energy she’d unearthed in him. It had blown her apart like a wooden shed in a tornado. Consumed her. Blinded her.

  And then he’d rejected her. Because he was too much a gentleman. Confusion warred in her brain. She’d sent him away in a surge of fury fuelled by humiliation, but all she really wanted right now was for him to hold her again. Like he had last night. And tell her it would all be all right.

  No one had ever held her like that.

  She touched her fingers to her mouth, still hot and swollen from his aggressive kiss. That would teach her to play Russian roulette with a man like McIntyre, with her own libido. That would teach her to open doors she didn’t know how to shut.

  She pushed away from the door, moved quickly to the window and lifted the blind with the backs of her fingers. She watched the large dark shadow of Scott McIntyre and his dog make its way across her lawn.

  The moonlight was pale gold on Honey’s fur. The man leaned heavily on his cane as he moved with a wide, angry gait. In spite of his injury, he was sheer male. Rough. Hard. Even the emerald glint in his eyes held the coldness of stone in unguarded moments. She’d glimpsed a calculating man in those eyes. She was profoundly unsure about him.

  But by God, he made her feel as no other man had.

  He had the dark sexual power of Malik. He had the same hard edge. But Malik’s eyes were black like a demon’s heart. Not deep green like Scott McIntyre’s. She’d glimpsed hints of hidden laughter in Scott McIntyre’s eyes. Maybe even pain that went beyond his knee, beyond the physical.

  It made him strangely vulnerable, accessible.

  Malik’s raw energy was about power, control. It was destructive. Negative. It had near killed her.

  Might yet kill her.

  She tore her attention from Scott’s dark form to scan the road for the brown car. It was still there. In the shadow.

  Skye dropped the blind, spun on her heels. She had to get out. Now. She checked her bags. She was ready. She would wheel her bike quietly out the back of the garage and over the lawn at the rear of her house. She’d try to get it through the thick brush at the back of her property and onto the adjacent farm field. From there she could make her getaway.

  But she had one more task—she had to e-mail Jalil. Her only friend in this world. He was the only one who knew the truth about her. He was the only one she kept in contact with. Because she owed him her life. He’d risked his own to get her out.

  Skye pulled out the chair, sat in front of her computer, clicked the screen to life. She was careful what she said in her e-mails to Jalil, for both their sakes. It was always behind a veil that they spoke. They never mentioned the escape. The deception.

  She tapped the keys. She told Jalil her wedding was off, that the project she was working on was still a go and that she wouldn’t be writing for a while. She was going away, into the mountains, because she needed a break from things. She needed to reassess her life.

  Skye moved the mouse to click Send.

  But as an afterthought she highlighted the part about going into the mountains, deleted it, then clicked Send.

  It would be early morning in Amsterdam. Jalil would get her message soon. And she’d be long gone when he did.

  From the bridge of the Esmeralda, he could make out the distant, misty green ridges of the Queen Charlottes. He adjusted the telescope. They were almost in position, in international waters off the Pacific Northwest Coast of North America. From the “cargo” ship he often used as a base, he would orchestrate the final stages of Operation Vector.

  “A message came through.” His assistant’s voice sliced into his thoughts. “For Jalil.”

  He jerked upright. It was always with the e-mails for Jalil that he got his most valuable information. They had stopped coming for a while. But that was all right. Jozsef had been in place. Then he’d received word Canadian authorities were onto his man and he’d had to extract him. Right before the wedding. Still, he was unconcerned the project would be compromised. Operation Vector was far enough along to hold the pieces together. And Jozsef had ensured the tracking device was in place. Two more weeks and all would be accomplished.

  He made his way to the cabin that served as his office, seated himself at one of the computer terminals, reached for the mouse, hesitated.

  He looked up at the massive oil painting that dominated the one wall of the plush cabin. It was a study of a woman. A woman so regal, so beautiful, she looked like a Greek goddess.

  She’d had so much potential. He’d had her painted wearing white, holding her symbol. The sword. At her side was a massive jackal-headed beast in a white Egyptian loincloth.

  Anubis. His symbol.

  The ears of the jackal were like the gold horns of a devil. The black canine head bared jagged teeth to a world that lay at their feet. Theirs for the taking.

  Until she’d crossed him.

  He turned abruptly to his computer, clicked open Skye’s message.

  Scott lay naked on his bed, sheets twisted around him. The glowing red symbols on his digital clock taunted. He’d watched them flip from 2:00 a.m. to 3:00 a.m. to 4:00 a.m.

  He threw off his sheets, kicked his feet over the side of his bed. He’d screwed up. He should’ve taken her lead. She’d opened the door, shown him a way in, and he’d freaking shied away.

  Because he couldn’t take advantage of her?

  He snorted. Yeah, right.

  He rubbed the heels of his hands hard into the grit of his eyes. He really had lost it. He should have used her. Impartially.

  But that was the problem. He couldn’t find that impartiality within himself. As much as he tried to deny it, he felt something for the woman.

  It was lust. Pure and simple.

  But he was lying.

  Something had hooked into him when he’d held her in his arms on the night of her failed wedding.

  That simple act of holding a soft woman in his arms had cracked open something deep within him. Something that went beyond the haunting pewter of her untamed eyes, beyond the way her seductive curves set every primal nerve singing, every red-blooded male cell in his body screaming with need
to bed her hard and fast and long.

  He rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth. Get a grip, Agent. The one rule in this kind of game was that you held the reins of control at all times, that you called the shots, each and every goddamn one of them. Slip and you gave your opponent power.

  He stood, limped over to his window. Dawn was barely a hint on the horizon as the sun crept in from far-off lands.

  He watched as the first pale rays infused the dark sky with soft blue-gray. He had a job to do. And he better make good of it if he ever wanted to get back out there, over that horizon, into those foreign lands. And that meant keeping any feelings for the doctor in check.

  That also meant using any opportunity she handed him.

  Dr. Skye Van Rijn was a suspected bio-terrorist. The feds were after her. She was hiding something.

  And he was going to get it from her. One way or another.

  He was going to show Rex, Bellona, the whole bloody world, that he still had it in him. La Sombra’s men had blown out his knee, not his balls.

  He clenched his jaw with fresh determination, reached for a shirt and jeans. The first step was to find out exactly why the feds were tailing her.

  Once dressed, Scott limped to the kitchen, clicked on the kettle, poured biscuits into Honey’s bowl and punched in Rex’s number. He stared out at his neighbor’s house as he waited for Rex to pick up.

  A sudden movement in the doctor’s yard caught his eye. The men from the brown sedan were marching up her driveway.

  Uh-oh. Looked as if he was going to find out firsthand what they were after. He flipped his phone shut as the men climbed the stairs to Skye’s door. They hadn’t even waited until daybreak. They were going for the shock factor.

  Scott grabbed his jacket. As his hand touched the leather, he heard a soft rapping at his kitchen door.

  Honey yipped.

  Scott unlocked the door, started to open it…but before he could register what was happening, Skye barreled through the crack, into his kitchen, knocking him off balance. She dumped her pack on his floor, swiveled, quickly locked the door behind her. Her movements were sharp, controlled. No emotion showed in the set of her features. Only her eyes. They were wide and pale with fear.

  She turned to him. “You’ve got to help me.”

  “Skye.” He took her shoulders in his hands. “Slow down. What’s the matter?” He knew well enough. Undercover RCMP were banging on her door and she was running for her life. He had her now. Exactly where he wanted her.

  Her eyes darted to the window, then back to him. “I’ve got to get out of here, out of Haven. Can you help me? With your truck?”

  “Hey, take it easy.” He pulled a chair out from the kitchen table. “Sit. Talk to me.”

  “Could…could you pull those blinds?”

  Scott reached for the cord. “Sure.” He dropped the blinds. “Better?”

  She nodded.

  He took a seat opposite her. Honey milled at their feet, wiggling her butt, sensing adventure.

  “Now tell me what’s going on.”

  She bit down on her lower lip, studied him. He could see her fighting mentally, deciding what she should dish out to him.

  “Those guys in that car, they’re following me.”

  “You sure?”

  “Dead sure.”

  “Why? Who are they?”

  “I—I don’t know.”

  She was lying. She had to know it was the cops. “Why’re they after you?”

  “I told you, I don’t know.”

  Scott made a face.

  “Honest to God, I don’t know. You’ve got to believe me.”

  “You must have some idea. Otherwise why are you running like this? Maybe they just want to talk to you.”

  “Get real. They’ve been outside my house since yesterday. They followed me to Jozsef’s apartment and back.” The brightness of urgency burned in her eyes. “I need to get out of town. I need a ride. If you can’t help me, I’ll find another way.”

  Scott studied her. Her outward control was slipping in front of his eyes. She was a bundle of nerves. He definitely had the upper edge now. He called her bluff. “I can’t help you. You’re not being straight with me.” He got up. “Want some coffee before you go?”

  She jerked off her chair, grabbed his arm. “Scott, please. Just a ride out of town. I’ll pay you.”

  Scott carefully set the coffee mug back down on the counter and turned to look into her eyes. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  She nodded.

  Yes. He had her exactly where he needed her. “Where do you need to go?”

  “I need to go to the lab, to Kepplar Biological Control Systems. I need you to wait outside for me while I check on something. Then I need you to drive me north, to some place where I can rent a bike or a truck. I can go the rest of the way on my own.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I—I can’t say.”

  He turned his back on her. “Forget it. If you can’t trust me, I can’t help you.”

  Silence stretched, thick and heavy.

  “Scott.”

  He turned.

  “I don’t know who those men are. I hate to admit it, but yes, I am afraid. For my life. And I’m begging you to help me.”

  He pressed the advantage. “But why? What makes you think those men mean you harm?”

  “I—I don’t really understand what happened to Jozsef. He’s cleaned out his apartment. I think those men may have something to do with his disappearance. Some weird stuff has been happening in my life. I just need to lay low until I figure out what is going on.”

  She was one hell of a liar. If Scott didn’t know for a fact those were undercover officers banging on her door this very minute, he might even have believed her.

  “Tell me where you’re going or I can’t help you.”

  She hesitated, eyes probing his. “To the mountains.”

  “Where in the mountains?”

  She gritted her teeth, anger dragging her brow down, forcing the glint of steel into her eyes. “Jesus, McIntyre.”

  He shrugged. “Take it or leave it. If I’m in, I’m in all the way. Because whoever those guys are, if I help you, I become a target, too.”

  She studied him, eyes wary.

  “You owe me that much, Skye. You want my help, the least you can do is trust me.”

  Her features shifted. “What’s it to you anyway?”

  He stepped forward, lifted his hand, moved a smoky tendril that had fallen across her eye. Her breath caught. She backed up, was stopped by the kitchen table, trapped. Scott stepped in, bent his head, his lips almost touching hers. He dropped his voice to a low whisper. “I like you. That’s what’s in it for me.”

  Her top lip quivered. Her breathing became ragged around the edges. “Last night—”

  “What I said last night still holds. I don’t take advantage of women on the rebound.” He dropped his voice. “Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like to.”

  She swallowed. Her eyes darkened. The thick fringe of her lashes fluttered low. But the instant was fleeting. There was a crash next door. The officers had broken in.

  She grabbed control, made her decision fast. “There’s a cabin in the mountains. Up north.”

  “Fine. I’ll take you there.”

  “It’s far.”

  “I’m mobile. No sweat.”

  She stared at him blankly.

  “I’m a writer, remember? I can work anywhere. Go on, get in the truck while they’re still inside your house. Cab’s open. Lay low. There’s a blanket in there. Cover yourself until I get there.”

  She said nothing, hoisted her pack onto her back in one fluid movement and made for the front door, biker boots clunking on the wood floor.

  Scott rummaged in the closet for his own backpack. He quickly threw in some gear, including a sleeping bag. He checked his knife, his gun. Honey did whatever she could to trip him up. “Calm down, girl. I’m not leaving you behind. Where the do
ctor goes, you and I go.” He slipped his satellite phone into his jacket pocket, grabbed Honey’s lead and flipped the light switch.

  He stepped out onto the porch, closed the door quietly behind him, locked it. He scanned Skye’s yard in the pale dawn. The feds were nowhere to be seen outside. But inside, lights blazed from every visible window. The cops were probably going through Skye’s things. That told him they had a warrant. That in turn meant they had sufficient evidence she was up to no good.

  In the criminal sense.

  And he was helping her run from the law. He smiled inwardly. It put him in a mighty strong position. Just the way he liked things. About time something went right with this mission.

  He hobbled over to the truck, threw his cane and his pack into the back, yanked open the driver door. Honey bounded in.

  A jolt shot through Skye as the cab door opened. She peered out from under the blanket just in time to reach out and stop Honey from sticking a paw in her eye. The dog scrambled over her, confused, looking for a place to put her hairy butt. Skye realized she’d taken Honey’s spot in the cab. She fought off the blanket and struggled up into a sitting position, making room for the dog.

  Scott’s heavy hand shoved her right back down to the seat as he fired the ignition. “Keep down, dammit.”

  She cowered back down under the blanket, felt the truck jounce down the driveway and onto the road.

  She was in one tight spot. The static of the blanket made her hair cling to her face, she had dog fur in her mouth, dog claws in her back. But that was the least of it. She was being forced to trust this man. This enigmatic man around whom she couldn’t even trust herself.

  “Okay, you can sit up now, coast is clear. Which way to the lab?”

  Skye shoved the blanket aside and sat up. Honey maneuvered quickly into the space between her and Scott. “Take a right on the Coast Road,” she said, trying to smooth her hair down, straining for some form of composure.

  Other than giving directions to the Kepplar labs she said nothing. Neither did he.

  She stole a glance at his profile. His granite features told her nothing, either. But she saw the way his eyes kept flicking up to the rearview mirror, watching for a tail. He seemed adept at this kind of game. Way too adept.