The Lonesome Lawmen Trilogy

by Pauline Baird Jones

  FIFTEEN

  Grady looked up as O’Rourke came down the stairs carrying the tray. O’Rourke hated playing butler for guests willing or otherwise, but he’d been curious to see the recently plucked thorn in their side. “So?” he asked, as O’Rourke started toward the kitchen. “What’s she like?”

  O’Rourke’s opinions were always interesting, even when they were wrong.

  He stopped, his face screwed into thinking position. “She’s…a damaged angel with the soul of school teacher.”

  “A school teacher?”

  “Second grade. Miss Hanlon. Used to look at me the same way. Almost told her the dog ate my homework.” He held up the tray. “Gonna get rid of this and she wants water.”

  Grady gave a half laugh, half snort. “By all means, give her some water.”

  O’Rourke started to leave but hesitated. “You going to, you know?” He mimed stabbing her with a needle. “Food might make her hurl.”

  Grady stared at him. “I’m going to give her a chance to give it up without needles. And I have to keep her lucid for her little chat with Donovan.”

  “Right.” He left, leaving a thoughtful Grady behind.

  The board over his head creaked. He looked up, curious about the woman who held the keys to his future. She’d been important to him only for what she could give him, but now he found himself interested in O’Rourke’s “damaged angel.” The school teacher description didn’t surprise him. She’d looked like the stereotype of a teacher in her pictures.

  Her spirited defense of herself was interesting, though ultimately pointless, and she’d cleaned up pretty good. Even unconscious, a couple of his guys had expressed a desire to spend some private time with her when they hauled her in. He’d quelled them with a glance—he wasn’t a pimp or a rapist. If she gave him what he wanted, her death would be quick and clean. But he wasn’t above using the threat to catch her attention. With success almost within reach, he’d do what it took to close the gap. Half the pleasure in getting what you wanted was the anticipation—or so he’d heard. If that were true, then getting what he wanted was going to be really great, because he’d been in the anticipation zone for a long, long time.

  He pushed back his chair, curious to see her with her eyes open and her mouth closed.

  Upstairs, he took the key off the hook and unlocked the door. When he pushed it open, she was sitting on the bed. He could see where O’Rourke got the school teacher idea. Not only did she sit primly, but her expression almost made him shuffle his feet. And claim the dog ate his homework. It helped stiffen his spine that O’Rourke climbed the stairs with the requested water. Had an image to keep up. O’Rourke set the water on the nightstand, near at hand.

  “Thank you,” she said, her voice as prim as her aspect.

  She had to be scared out of her mind, but there was no sign of it on her face or even in her eyes. Grady stepped closer, peering into her eyes. Damn, they were purple.

  “Why did you hide your eyes behind those awful glasses?” Grady asked, because he couldn’t help himself.

  “Excuse me?” Her brows arched toward the tousled, blond hairline. He could see why O’Rourke saw an angel in the pure line of her jaw and the vulnerability of her mouth. What he called teacher in the set of her shoulders, Grady saw as strength. She was lost, but not out yet.

  He pulled her picture out of the pocket of his jacket and showed it to her.

  “The glasses. You don’t need them. Why wear them?”

  She studied the photograph, a tiny frown between her arched dark brows. She’d been lovely unconscious, but awake…It was a pity he had to destroy her. She was extraordinary. And quite…rare. She’d look good on his arm in the South of France.

  She shrugged and reached for her water, the movement somewhat awkward because of her cuffed hand. She sipped, outwardly unmoved by the silence growing between them. Her composure was remarkable. He stowed the picture and dropped into the chair across from her.

  “You can go, O’Rourke.”

  When O’Rourke didn’t move, he looked at him. “What?”

  O’Rourke shuffled his feet and said, “Nothing. I just…nothing.” He looked at her like he wanted to ask her something, but her steady gaze deflected him nicely, and he turned and left.

  “Alone at last,” Grady said, more to test for a reaction from her than anything.

  Her gaze turned his way, one brow just a little arched. It was a masterly put down and Grady had to grin. Usually his grin put at least a hair line crack in the most determined resistance and he could sense what his victims were feeling. But not this time. That interested him more than her looks and, his gaze strayed lower, her nicely constructed body.

  She cleared her throat, pulling his gaze back up. He resisted an urge to apologize. It wasn’t easy. Her gaze intimidated, something he usually reserved for himself. Time to bring out the big guns. He held her gaze for a long moment, then smiled intimately. His gaze invited her to trust him.

  Her expression declined, before edging into puzzled. Why?

  Amelia was puzzled. Did she know this smarmy character? It was an icky thought. He oozed something he mistook for charm, but it was really just ooze. He wanted something from her, but what was it? Despite the leers and looks, she didn’t think he’d kidnapped her to be his sexual plaything.

  The “let’s be friends” look gave way to one more calculating. A serpent with an apple to share. “Would you like to stretch your legs?”

  Amelia didn’t want to accept even the smallest favor from him, but she did need to find out where she was. “Yes.”

  He got up. It was hard not to shrink back as he moved close. He had to touch her to free her from the cuffs. She winced. She couldn’t help it and he stopped, his brows drawn together in a frown. “Did one of my men do that?”

  She was tempted, but couldn’t do it. She shook her head.

  “Looks like it needs wrapping. I’ll take care of it later.”

  Everything was nice, friendly, and helpful. Did he really think he could charm her into forgetting he’d kidnapped her? Twice?

  The shackle fell away from her wrist. He stepped back, but not enough. When she stood up, they’d be close. Her flesh cringed as she rose. She was almost as tall as him and saw surprise flicker in his eyes at it. Her knee longed to go into action, but this wasn’t the time. She needed more data before she acted.

  Later, she promised her knee, later.

  Did he realize he ran a finger around his collar before gesturing for her to precede him, she wondered? With her back to him, she allowed herself a tiny smile. She may be down, but she wasn’t out. Not yet.

  * * * *

  It had been a job to maneuver into a position above the cozy looking cabin huddling on the hillside several miles from the main camp. O’Brien had more patrols up this way, and they were better hidden. Either he expected Donovan to make this move, or he was a very careful man. Maybe both.

  After all that effort it was dull work. Once he’d located all of O’Brien’s spotters, there’d been nothing left to do but look at the cabin and wonder what it was doing up here, isolated from the rest of the camp, innocuous looking—and well guarded.

  Because there was nothing else to do, he scanned the surroundings with his glasses. There was something about the layout that niggled at his mind. The terrain was rugged, much what you’d expect in a mountain camp. Snow lay thickly on everything that wasn’t moving. The broad sweep of white was ruffled in the clearing by the arrival and departure of the chopper.

  A very big clearing, now that he thought about it. Was that what was troubling him? He tightened the focus on his glasses and did another slow sweep of the clearing. The first time, he didn’t see anything. He tried again, this time dividing the clearing into search grids. Even then he almost didn’t see the ventilation pipe barely breaking the surface of the snow. Now that he knew what to look for, he picked out more of them.

  Underground bunkers?

  What if O’Brien was c
ooking up more than a little discontent toward the government here? He’d seen some training camps like this one in his travels. Terrorist training camps always looking for a way to evade the satellites circling overhead. If he was rubbing shoulders with terrorists, Shield must have looked like manna to him.

  Only one thing that didn’t fit, Bryn thought that some environmental wacko group called Green was involved. No way O’Brien was into the environment. Not his style. Donovan hadn’t spent much time with O’Brien, but it didn’t take long to figure out that the only thing O’Brien cared about was O’Brien, though he did a good job of making you think otherwise—when you had a couple of beers in you. He’d steered clear of the camp because he didn’t like the smell of O’Brien. He lived or died on his judgment of men, more often than not a judgment straight from the gut.

  He had no problem believing that O’Brien was simply after Shield. What he couldn’t figure out was why O’Brien wanted Donovan to kill for him. Looking around, it didn’t seem like he had a shortage of men available to do that.

  There was something missing, some piece of information he didn’t have that explained all of it, but all he really wanted was Pru. Let Bryn solve the puzzles. He’d done something that tipped O’Brien off he was interested in her and it was his intention to get her out of it before O’Brien found out she didn’t know her own name from a hole in the ground. And before O’Brien found out the information in her head was incomplete.

  If only he could be sure she was here. He’d studied the cabin windows, but they were too frosted for him to see anything. He needed to look inside. No way could he cross that clearing in daylight. He was good, but not that good.

  It was going to be a long day. He hoped that at the end of it, he wouldn’t find out he’d been watching the wrong foxhole.

  * * * *

  “So, what do you think of my small…domain?” Grady asked Amelia as he led her back into the main room of the cabin.

  What she thought was that her life expectancy had just been dramatically shortened. She was pretty sure that if he had planned to let her go, he wouldn’t have shown her his hidden barracks, told her about his terrorist training program, introduced her to his reduced winter staff and told her his name.

  On the plus side, she’d caught a glimpse of a map of the area with the camp marked on it and now knew exactly where she was. Now if she could figure out to make use of the information. There were phones scattered around the underground complex, but they all seemed to be connected to a central switchboard, which he’d made a point of showing her. Perhaps he’d noticed her eyeing the phones? Even if the phones weren’t so inconveniently situated, she was quite sure one of Grady’s men would happily shoot her if she were so foolish as to try for one.

  It was impossible not to compare him with Luke, to contrast this situation with her only other one. Grady thought his mere gaze had some kind of power, the same with his smile, since he trotted it out every other second. He wasn’t unpleasant to look at. His sturdy, Irish body was strong and well made, but his face lacked the strength and character that made Luke’s face so fascinating to her. There was weakness in Grady’s chin and plenty of stubbornness, and she sensed his utter selfishness. Contrast that with Luke, who had so willingly risked his life for her, a stranger with no memory.

  Thinking of Luke gave her strength. Did she have character? She wasn’t sure, but she hoped so. She hoped she had the strength to resist whatever it was this guy wanted from the person he seemed to think she was.

  Grady was patient. He’d asked his question, and now he waited quietly for her answer. He seemed sure he would get what he wanted, so perhaps it was easy to be patient.

  She turned from him and peered out the heavily frosted window. Before her breath fogged her view, she saw the snow-swept clearing, empty of all signs of the trouble beneath its surface. The sun was fading west, helping her to orient the cabin with the map in her head. She could remember it, right down to the gray smudge in one corner. It seemed she had a very good memory for everything but who she was.

  “Nice view,” she said, dropping the words into the silence between them. He seemed so sure he had the upper hand. It would be satisfying to throw him off his self-satisfied stride. She looked at him over her shoulder. “I suppose the skiing is excellent?”

  He chuckled. “Very.” He turned the bar. “A drink?”

  She had no clue if she drank or not, but this didn’t seem like a good time to addle her wits with anything. “Just water, thank you.”

  He smiled with conscious charm. “Don’t you trust me?”

  She arched her brows and gave him a politely incredulous look. It was odd to feel this prim and proper person taking possession of her exterior. She turned back to the window as the fog in her head faltered for an instant. Instead of the clearing, she saw a room full of people, laughing and talking. One, a good-looking young man with a weak face, came toward her…

  Grady chuckled again, shattering the memory into tiny fragments, but leaving the feeling of distaste and possibly fear, behind.

  “Stupid question. What was I thinking?”

  Behind her was the clink of glass, the sound of fluid interacting with ice. Outside, a man in winter camouflage suddenly emerged from the trees and walked across the clearing. He was smoking and carried an Uzi with casual confidence. He was dressed for the cold, with heavy boots and thick hat pulled down over his ears. His face looked chilled and cruel. He took a last drag on the cigarette, then flicked into a snow drift before disappearing around the corner of the cabin.

  “Dinner should be ready soon, Prudence,” Grady said. “May I call you Prudence?”

  Amelia looked at him.

  “No,” she said. “You may call me Miss Hart.”

  He froze with his glass halfway to his mouth. “Miss…Hart?”

  “Miss Amelia E. Hart.” She propped a shoulder against the wall, crossed her arms and waited, curious and nervous about what he’d do with this.

  Grady stared at her. What kind of game was she trying on him? No question she was not at all what he’d expected her to be. For one, she was far more interesting. Leslie had once again missed the forest for the trees during his recon. Her composure and her ability to deflect his efforts to develop empathy with her were rare. In fact, she was a first. He’d never met anyone he couldn’t get a toe hold into their head. She was closed, right down to her body language.

  She had to be terrified and confused. Must be wondering why she was here and what he wanted. Unless she suspected he was after Shield. Even that didn’t explain her impressive composure. He’d hoped they could come to an agreement about what was in her head, but he could see that wasn’t going to happen. But he’d planned for it and had the drugs on hand.

  As much as he wanted to get Shield, he realized he was enjoying himself. It had been a long time since he’d met anyone that challenged him on any level.

  “It’s a gallant try, my dear, but that dog won’t hunt.”

  “I have ID in my coat pocket.”

  She was really going to play it out? Okay, he’d see where it took them.

  “O’Rourke?”

  He popped his head around the corner. “Just a few more minutes…”

  “Could you fetch the lady her coat from her room?”

  “Okay.”

  His footsteps clumped up the stairs, then across the hall. He’d returned with the coat and handed it to Grady, who felt in the pockets and removed a driver’s license.

  “Amelia E. Hart.” He looked at her. “How enterprising of you. But the dog still isn’t hunting. You should have used a different picture.”

  Her expression didn’t crack, but he sensed the small break in her confidence. He turned and dug through the desk, pulled out the purse they’d taken off her during the first grab. In a minute, he had her other driver’s license. He held them both up for her.

  She came toward him reluctantly, and for the first time he was aware of her as a woman. She moved with unconsciou
s grace, her body fluid as a doe. There was something wild as a doe about her as well, something simmering beneath her tidy, controlled surface. This was a woman at odds with herself. Might be fun to be the one to introduce her to that wild side.

  She stopped just out of reach, as if she sensed the change in his regard. Or maybe she could just see the change in his interest. A man couldn’t hide some things.

  He stepped toward her, just enough so she could take the two licenses and made sure their hands touched as she took them. She didn’t flinch or in any way acknowledge the contact, but he felt her deepening withdrawal. It was as if her soul had retreated even more deeply inside herself.

  Wasn’t too hard to figure out who had put the protective hide on her. Les had talked freely about her old man. She stared down at the two pieces of plastic, her face an exquisite mask, even with the bruises and scratches standing out on her pale skin. She may have paled more. It was hard to tell. Her lashes lifted, until she was looking at him.

  Damn, she was remarkable. Her composure was complete. This was a woman who could fit into his life. What an asset she’d be, in looks and brains.

  “They say everyone has a twin.”

  He had the feeling she threw that out as a stall, while she considered something, but what was there to consider? He had the goods on her. He held all the cards. He didn’t say anything. Just gave her tit-for-tat by arching his brows in disbelief.

  She came to a decision. He did pick up that. She tossed the two licenses aside. “Your men grabbed me before.”

  “That’s right. You took a header out of the chopper. Gutsy, but stupid. And pointless, Miss Knight. I’m a man who always gets what he wants.”

  “And what is it that you want?”

  Grady gave her a politely incredulous look. “Shield. It was always about Shield.”

  She turned away from him, tracing the corner of his desk with her finger. He had a vision of her sprawled across its surface, naked and waiting for him, her expression no longer closed. Yes, he’d have to give serious consideration to keeping her. Like Shield, she was one of a kind.