"You're a dead man if you ate them both."
He turned his head, his heart faltering when he saw her. She was sitting up in bed, the sheet twisted around her waist, her perfect breasts exposed, her hair a tousled riot around her face. With the dusky light, the white of the bedding, the creamy color of her skin and the vibrant color of her hair, she was like something off an old master's canvas. It hit Finn so hard, his heart constricted, seizing up his entire chest. She was all woman, every inch of her. Then Mallory yawned, a huge, waking-up yawn, totally ruining the image.
Finn gave her a wry grin. "How old were you when you started getting so territorial over food?"
She yawned again and dragged her hair back with both hands. "The moment I starting eating."
Amused by her sass, Finn continued to watch her as he took a sip from his cup of coffee. She did, indeed, have freckles everywhere.
Catching where his eyes were drifting, she narrowed her eyes at him, then snatched up the sheet and flounced off the bed, displaying a tantalizing field of freckles on her bottom. As if reading his mind, she yanked the sheet around her. "You should learn to raise your sights—and your mind—a little higher, Donovan," she snapped. "You might be surprised what you discover."
She marched into the bathroom and slammed the door, and Finn grinned to himself. He was beginning to enjoy her flashes of temper.
It was just going on seven when they hauled their stuff out to Finn's vehicle. There the ground was bare, but frost covered the windshields of the cars in the parking lot. An early morning breeze rustled dead leaves across the pavement, and somewhere a dog barked, the sharp sound perforating the stillness.
They rounded Finn's big SUV—and stopped dead in their tracks. Chase McCall was sitting on the back bumper, his legs stretched out in front of him, his arms folded. His black Stetson was pulled low over his eyes, and he was so still, Finn thought he was asleep.
But before Finn could step in front of Mallory, Chase tipped his hat back with one finger, giving her a lopsided smile. "Howdy, ma'am."
The muscles in his jaw locked, Finn stared at the other man, anger making his pulse accelerate. He had a feeling someone had been following them, but he never would have figured it was Chase McCall on their tail.
Refolding his arms, Chase studied his boots for a moment; then he spoke, his tone almost conversational. "I never did have any use for Roddy Bracken."
Angered because he'd got caught with his guard down, and even more angry because they'd been so easy to track, Finn stared at Chase. "What in hell are you doing here, McCall?"
Chase McCall looked up at Finn, his expression somber. "I thought you should know that Ed Jackson has his tail in a twist. Apparently he got wind of the story Old Joe told at bingo, that he figured you had a woman staying with you."
He studied his feet again, his arms still folded. "I saw you pick up the locket, and I got a feeling from the way you put it in your pocket that the lady was still very much alive." Chase looked up and stared across the street, watching a battered pickup pass, the faulty muffler echoing loudly in the early morning quiet. "Then I heard from Arnie that you'd been out to your line shacks the day before, and I put two and two together." He grinned up at Finn. "I may be a bit slow at times, but I can add."
Her face pale, Mallory moved toward Finn and slipped her hand into his, her eyes wide with alarm. Certain that Chase McCall meant them no harm, Finn gave her hand a firm squeeze and tucked both their hands in the pocket of his mackinaw.
He fixed his gaze on the rancher and challenged him, his voice clipped. "But that still doesn't explain what you're doing here."
Chase studied his boots for a second, then met Finn's gaze, his own very serious. "I went to your place this morning. I wanted to let you know that Jackson was looking for you—and that I'm damned sure he's put it together, too. When I got there, you were already gone. I figured you headed south." He grinned. "Nearly shot past you when you stopped after you crossed the border." His expression hardened, and a cold look appeared in his eyes. "I don't like Jackson, and figured I'd better keep an eye and make damned sure he wasn't on your tail."
Finn didn't know what to say. He'd gone it on his own for so long, he'd forgotten what it was like to have someone stand shoulder to shoulder with him.
Mallory looked up at Finn, an odd expression softening her gaze; then she withdrew her hand from Finn's pocket and extended it to Chase. "I'm Mallory O'Brien," she said, her voice husky. "Thank you for looking out for us."
Chase got to his feet and grinned at her. "Chase McCall. And you're most welcome, ma'am."
Letting go of Mallory's hand, the rancher shoved his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and turned toward the motel. "Think I'm going to grab me another couple of hours in the sack before I head back."
Finn had to clear his throat before he could speak. "McCall."
Chase McCall turned, his unshaven face looking dangerous under the black Stetson.
Finn gave a single nod of recognition. "Thanks. I appreciate you watching our backs."
Chase stared at him a moment, then spoke. "If it was my lady in trouble, I figure you'd do the same for me." Then without another word, Chase McCall sauntered toward the motel, juggling the room key in one hand.
It wasn't until they had pulled out of the parking lot that Mallory turned to him. "Who is this Chase McCall?"
Finn checked for oncoming traffic, then made a right turn that would take them onto the highway. "He's a local rancher and horse trainer. Don't know much about him, except his family has been in the district for years. Married a native girl a few years back and has three kids. Bought some horses from him a few years ago, and I've been on a couple of searches with him." His voice got gruff. "I'd never considered him much more than an acquaintance."
She looked at him, her expression unsmiling, her gaze steady. "Well, you can now."
Finn felt as if the rising sun was too bright, the first rays scalding his eyes. Maybe he'd misjudged a whole lot of people over the past few years. "Yeah," he responded, his voice gruff. "I guess I can."
After that brief conversation, they both fell silent, neither one of them wanting to talk. Finn knew they probably should, but the news about Jackson was a grim reminder that their situation was very real. And no matter how many times Finn turned it over in his mind, there was only one explanation for the threat against her—that someone from her mother's side of the family was trying to get their hands on her money. It was the only thing that made sense. And right now they were very much on their own. And he figured that talking about it would only make it seem worse.
He glanced across the cab, his gut reacting when he saw her stark profile. "Why don't you try to get some more sleep," he said, his voice quiet.
She gave her head a small jerk, then folded up his coat and placed it on the console. Without looking at him, she curled up, getting as close to him as she could possibly get, her hand warm against his thigh, her head nestled against his rib cage. She closed her eyes, and Finn could see her try to swallow. He covered her hand with his own, giving her a reassuring squeeze. There was nothing he could really say. He knew she was afraid for her father, and he also knew that she was dealing with that worry the only way she knew how. And all he could do was be there as a kind of bulwark between her and the terror. She shifted her head and turned her hand palm against palm, then tightened her fingers around his. As if comforted by that connection, she released a soft sigh, and Finn felt the tension leave her.
That one small act did painful things to his heart, and Finn found himself struggling with emotions so big, so intense, they nearly suffocated him. God, but he wanted so many things with her—a life, a future—he wanted forever, but he knew that was impossible. He was a realist, and he knew his time with her was probably marked in hours.
It was crazy. So damned crazy. She had knocked him for a loop from the moment he'd laid eyes on her, and he could count the days he'd spent with her on one hand. But none of that matte
red. Time didn't matter. Because he knew that Mallory O'Brien was going to be lodged in his heart until the day he died.
And God, it was going to damned near kill him to walk away—and he was going to have to walk away. He would only hurt her more if he dragged it out. And that was the black and white of it—in a very short time, he was going to be left with one hell of a hole in his life.
Realizing where he was headed with those kinds of bleak thoughts, Finn tried to block it all out of his mind. He reached over and turned on the radio, the distraction working until a particular song came on—a haunting sad ballad with beautiful lyrics. The song itself was bad enough but one phrase—"I could fall in love with you"—nailed him right in the chest and he reached out and abruptly shut the radio off. His throat so tight he could barely see, he lifted her hand and pressed it against his mouth, the scent of her hand lotion making his throat cramp up even more. She was there with him now, and he had to make the most of it. Maybe if he could imprint it deep enough—the warmth of her hand and the weight of her head against him—maybe he could make it last him a lifetime.
By noon, Finn knew he could not drive safely any longer. Not wanting to pull over on the shoulder, he took an off ramp into a small town and pulled into gas station. Just about drunk with exhaustion, he filled up the truck, then took a bathroom break.
He almost smiled—almost—when he came back out and found Mallory now wide-awake in the driver's seat, the window down, both hands on the wheel, her seat belt done up and a determined look on her face. He opened the driver's door. "Not a chance," he stated.
She yanked the door out of his hand and slammed it.
"Not a chance," she parroted, giving his words right back at him. "Get in. I'm driving, whether you like it or not."
Too tired to argue with her, Finn rested his hand on the open driver's window, giving her a weary look. "Do you have any idea of the consequences if you get caught driving without a license?"
She gave him an annoyed look and tightened her hands on the wheel. "No. But I do know the consequences if you get caught here with a criminal record. So you can be damned sure I'm not going to do anything stupid. So just get in the damned truck."
Her response floored him. He had been so intent on keeping her safe it had never occurred to him that she might be concerned about him. No one was ever concerned about him.
As if reading his thought, she looked at him and shook her head, an odd look in her eyes. "You are," she said, a husky quality in her voice, "the thickest man I've ever met. Now get in the truck."
Knowing he was going to be dead on his feet if he didn't get some sleep soon, Finn finally relented with a sigh. He turned, then stopped and looked back at her. "Do you want to try and call your chauffeur from here?"
She stared at him, her lips paling; then she looked away and shook her head. "No. Not yet," she responded, her voice suddenly uneven. "I don't want to spend the whole day in a panic if I can't get him."
Reminded of the enormous strain she was under, Finn rounded the truck. Maybe letting her drive was the best thing for her—maybe it would give her something to do and help keep her mind off the grimness of her situation.
Knowing that he would not get any kind of decent sleep in the front seat, Finn rearranged the cargo area, then flattened half of the back seat, fixing an adequately sized bed with the sleeping bag and pillows they had brought. And the moment he crawled in and lay down, his head started to swim, and he had to close his eyes. "You better wake me in four hours, Red, or your driving days are over."
She reached between the bucket seats and patted his head, real amusement in her voice. "Do you think you can quit giving orders for that long?"
"Four hours," he insisted.
She started the ignition and put the vehicle in gear. "Four hours," she agreed.
The rest of the day turned into an exhausting road marathon. They stopped only for gas and bathroom breaks, and eventually for one restaurant meal. Finn was not a good traveler. Being locked up in a vehicle hour after hour was just a little too much like being in prison, and they both got irritable and cranky.
Their plan was to drive through the night. He was in the back taking his four hours of sack time when the change in road sounds brought him awake. He lifted his head, the headlights cutting through the darkness, the clock on the dash showing 1:00 a.m. He realized it was the sound of the vehicle slowing that had wakened him up, and it took him a second to figure out that Mallory was pulled off the highway onto an unused approach. Before he could clear the sludge from his mind, she turned off the lights and ignition, then crawled through the space between the bucket seats and into the narrow space beside him.
Realizing she was shivering in the dark, Finn rolled on his back and gathered her snuggly against him, then pulled his coat over her. "I'll get you warmed up," he murmured softly, smoothing her hair down, "then I'll drive."
She abruptly turned her face into the curve of his neck.
"I don't want you to drive," she whispered unevenly. "I want you to hold me."
That kind of emotional honesty shook him—really shook him—and he closed his eyes and swallowed hard, drawing her more securely into his embrace. He could tell by the tension in her that it wasn't cold that was making her shiver—it was fear, and he tightened his hold, tucking her hair back. He wanted to tell her that he'd gladly hold her forever, but he had already exceeded boundaries he never should have crossed with her. Her thick hair curling around his fingers, he nestled her head snugly against his neck. Wanting to lighten her fear, he spoke. "You sure know how to park," he muttered, tucking the coat against her back.
He felt her smile. "I do, don't I?"
Her response made him smile, and Finn turned his head against hers, taking a deep, releasing breath. Having her in his arms neutralized his edginess, and he breathed in the scent of her, the confinement no longer pressing down on him. She was his salvation, and she didn't even know it.
* * *
Five hours of solid sleep with her in his arms altered his mood, and they managed a thin veneer of normalcy until they were within range of Chicago, then Mallory got very quiet again. Her expression taut with tension, she picked up the cell phone, then closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the headrest. It was as if she were collecting herself before she spoke. "Pull into that rest stop up there," she commanded quietly. "I'm going to try to reach my father."
Finn cast her a quick glance, the rising sun glinting off her sunglasses. His own expression altered. He didn't know what changed her mind about trying to reach Patrick O'Brien, and he wasn't entirely sure it was a good idea.
He checked the rearview mirrors and pulled into the rest stop. Putting the vehicle in park, he switched off the engine. His arm resting on the wheel, he looked at her. "I'm not sure that's a good idea, Red."
She gave him a tight smile. "I know that. But I have to try." She looked away, then took a deep, stabilizing breath and met his gaze again. "I don't dare use any of the classified numbers—that would be a dead giveaway. But what if I tried to get through to his private secretary? There are some business associates who have that number."
Finn watched her, not liking the idea a whole lot, but understanding why she felt compelled to call. Finally he tipped his head in agreement.
Without looking at him, she dialed a number, the pulse in her neck erratic as she stared out, her whole body rigid. Taking a deep breath, she finally spoke, using a damned fine imitation of a proper English accent, her voice so strained it didn't even sound like her. "This is the law firm of Delleware, Johnson, McGinnis and Fogalty calling. Mr. Delleware would like to speak to Mr. O'Brien."
Mallory looked at Finn, her eyes wide with alarm, a stricken expression on her face. Then she swallowed hard and spoke, still using that very clipped English accent.
"Thank you. Mr. Delleware will try to reach him later."
She dropped the phone and covered her face with both hands, and Finn picked it up and hit the End button with
his thumb, the knot of unease back in his belly. "What happened?" he demanded gruffly.
Hauling in a deep breath, she raked her hands through her hair, then turned to look at him, her face very pale. "It was Ed Jackson who fielded the call." That was something Finn did not want to hear, and his insides knotted. The fact that Jackson had called off the second crash-site search and was now back in Chicago did not bode well for Mallory.
He wanted to touch her but he didn't. Setting the phone down on the console, he thought it through, then spoke. "For what it's worth, I think he's here to do some serious damage control. And I also suspect your father still thinks he's one of the good guys, so you aren't going to have a hope in hell of contacting him."
She stared out the window, her face very stiff. "Then you think my father is still alive?"
Finn rested his arm on the steering wheel and continued to watch her. "With Jackson standing guard? Yeah, I do. I also think that Jackson is damned worried that you're going to turn up and blow his plans to smithereens—and I also think he's going to do whatever he can to stop you."
She took a drink from a bottle of water, then meticulously screwed the cap back on. "I have to get in touch with Malcolm."
Finn nodded and reached for the ignition. "Yes." Checking for oncoming traffic, he accelerated along the shoulder, then pulled into the right lane. "But now we're going to need another phone to do it—and one that can't be traced."
She finally looked at him. "Why?"
THE RENEGADE AND THE HEIRESS Page 18