“Not my fault,” he said, giving her a full-wattage Marc-the-irresistible-playboy grin.
She trained her gaze out the window. “Nothing ever is, is it, Marc?” she whispered, unsure if he heard her, if it really mattered.
5
MARC CURSED the absence of the moon as he blindly tried to insert the key into the lock. Mel stood beside him, but she was apparently trying to make out where the waters of the Potomac lapped against the shore. Dusk had settled completely, and aside from what little light the multitude of stars provided, they were enclosed in darkness.
“Do some investing?” Mel asked.
The key finally hit home. With a quiet whoosh, he pushed the door open, then eased her inside. “My brother Connor loaned me the place.” Which was as much as she needed to know. He closed the door, then searched for a light switch. When a naked bulb in the cracked ceiling fixture illuminated dingy walls, a threadbare plaid couch, a scarred coffee table and little else, he grimaced.
“Charming,” Mel whispered.
This certainly wasn’t going to earn him any points. “I didn’t exactly have time to scope out the place, Mel,” he said, inexplicably irritated. In fact, he was lucky to have found the remote cabin on the shores of the Potomac. All he’d been going on was a brief conversation he’d had with Connor, who’d stashed a federal witness there before trial about six months ago. Marc had lifted the keys from his brother’s pocket that morning after verifying the cabin was empty.
Mel yanked on the cuff, nearly pulling him over. She smiled at him innocently.
“Is that your not so subtle way of telling me you want loose?”
He fished the key from his jeans pocket and released his side. He pocketed the key.
“Oh, come on, Marc. You’re not going to leave these things on me, are you?”
“I haven’t decided yet.” He spotted a radiator on the far side of the room.
“No, you don’t.” Mel began backing away from him. “Don’t even think—”
The catching of the metal teeth sounded unusually loud in the quiet room as Marc fastened the free cuff to the radiator pipe.
“Just for a minute, I swear.” He wanted to go out and check the place to make sure it was as effective at keeping someone in as it was at keeping unwanted people out. He stepped toward the door, not about to fool himself into thinking that darkness and unfamiliarity with the area would keep Mel inside.
“WHEN I GET OUT OF THIS MESS, I’m going to…”
Melanie’s words broke off. What would she do? Have her baby’s father thrown in jail? She shivered, briefly giving in to the urge to smooth her palm down her stomach. She closed her eyes, amazed that such a small move always managed to calm her, remind her that no matter what was happening, there was something more important she should be thinking about.
No, she wouldn’t, couldn’t have Marc arrested, the big dummy. His heart was in the right place—he only wanted to protect her. Besides, despite everything that had happened in the past few hours, she was quietly coming to admit that with Hooker on the loose, there was no physically safer place on earth than right here with Marc McCoy.
The safety of her heart, though, was another matter entirely.
She stared at her engagement ring. It flashed, reminding her of a completely different flash of light. A flash that had momentarily blinded her. The night that had changed everything raced through her mind. Her throat tightened, her lungs ached, and a deep sense of loneliness saturated her.
She couldn’t remember exactly what had alerted her to the seriousness of the situation when she pulled up to Senator Turow’s house. It could have been the all-encompassing silence. Or the fact that no one was where they should have been. Or both, with a generous pinch of gut instinct that told her something was wrong. One minute she and Marc were running a simple errand to see if Hooker or Westfield had found the watch she’d lost earlier in the day, the only thing she had left of her father. The next, chaos erupted.
Melanie forced a swallow through her dry throat. Funny thing was, there had been nothing especially urgent about the detail. Your run-of-the-mill watch of a senator who had declared his candidacy for president. And he wasn’t a particularly controversial candidate. No hate groups out there with his name at the top of their political hit list. No ex-wives with a bitter ax to grind. Just a normal, everyday guy who happened to make his career in politics and had made himself an unwitting target. But not a target for a right-wing fanatic. Rather he’d been targeted by one of his own.
Well, one of his own secret service personnel anyway. It was never determined who, if anyone, had been pulling the strings behind the scenes.
The cuffs clanged against the pipe. Melanie looked down to find her fingers absently tracing the scar that lay below the patterned material of her dress. She dropped her hand to her side and gave a ragged sigh. Would there come a time when she wouldn’t remember that night with such vivid clarity? When she wouldn’t awaken in a cold sweat, her heart beating loudly in her ears, Marc’s name on her lips?
“All clear.”
The relief that swept through her was frightening merely because it existed at all. “Think of the devil,” she whispered as he closed and bolted the door.
“What was that?”
She tried for a smile. “I said, ‘You’re back.’ Now are you going to take these things off or not?”
He appeared to consider the question, but was watching her a little too closely for comfort.
She gave up on the smile and shifted from foot to foot. “Knock it off, Marc. I’m not going anywhere, and you know it.”
“How would I know that?” He took the key from his pocket and opened the cuff.
Melanie wiped her damp palms against her dress and rubbed her wrist. “Because we both know there’s no safe place for me until Hooker is caught.”
His complete and utter stillness riveted her gaze to his face. Never had she known Marc to be completely still outside work. During the long hours spent on detail, he could stand as still as stone, but even then the energy about him fairly pulsed. Now, his stillness transcended the physical, going deeper than she had ever witnessed. His eyes held a calm watchfulness, an understanding, a respect that made her swallow with some difficulty.
An electronic chirp cracked the tension. Melanie blinked as Marc slid a cell phone from inside his vest. He’s had a phone all along.
“Hello?” He turned away from her, holding the slender receiver to his ear. “Hi, Roger. No word, huh?… No, we’re in a safe place…. I don’t think it’s a good idea to tell you where.” He paced a short way and lowered his voice. “Call me the instant you hear anything. And I mean anything.”
He closed the phone and slid it into his vest pocket. He turned to her. She wasn’t sure what he saw but was surprised when he lifted his hand, skimming the back of his knuckles over her cheek.
“I’m going to get you through this in one piece, Mel.”
She resisted the incredible urge to lean into his touch, to give herself over to the turbulent emotions swirling through her bloodstream. The desire that made her want to lose herself in the consuming sensations that came only when loving Marc. “As long as Hooker is out there, no one I know is safe if I’m around them. You know that, don’t you?”
“Including me?”
“Especially you.”
His halfhearted smile tugged at her heartstrings.
“Seems to me I’ve already made my decision in that regard.”
“Yes, I guess you have.” She searched his face. “The question is why? Why after all that’s happened are you putting your life on the line for me?”
Now there’s a question. Marc had expected many questions, many approaches from Mel, but this hadn’t been one of them. What had happened to the spitfire he left cuffed to the cold radiator? The woman out for blood—namely his?
He grimaced, wondering if this was a new approach. A new tactic meant to catch him off guard and create a gaping opportunity for e
scape. But he’d never known Mel to be very good at deception. When she was mad, she showed it. Boy, did she ever show it.
No, this question had nothing to do with manipulation. She genuinely wanted to know the answer.
If only he had one to give to her.
He withdrew his hand and stalked toward the window. “Guess I don’t have to ask if there’s an air conditioner in this place.” He hoisted open the paint-encrusted window and gave the bars outside a shake to insure they were indeed solid. While the safe house didn’t have much in the way of creature comforts, it was safe.
“Marc?”
He stepped to a rusted old fan in the corner, checked to make sure it was plugged in, then turned it on. It wheezed to life, oscillating ineffectively.
“What?” he said finally.
“Why?”
He turned toward her, not feeling much better now that ten feet of dusty wood floor separated them. “Isn’t it enough that we used to be partners?”
Her sexy smile was spiced with a bit of challenge. “Somehow I can’t see you kidnapping Roger in order to protect him.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t used to sleep with Roger, either.” Marc saw her wince. You have a great way with words, McCoy.
He plucked the decrepit fan from the floor and moved it to the coffee table, yanking out the cord in the process. Cursing, he moved the table closer to the electrical outlet. Still, the infernal contraption blew in every direction but where he wanted it to. “I thought we both agreed that you’re now here by choice.”
“Well, not quite by choice. But at least I understand the situation a little better.” She crossed her arms. Marc’s gaze followed the movement, appreciating the way the material of her destroyed dress pulled tight over her breasts. At least she wasn’t yanking at the hem anymore.
He strode toward the door.
She quickly followed him, then stopped. “Where are you going?”
He eyed her. She looked altogether too nervous, too vulnerable. “Out to the Jeep to get Brando and the other stuff.”
“Oh.” Everything about her seemed to relax. What had she thought? That he was going to leave her here by herself? He narrowed his gaze on her face. She hadn’t looked exactly right since he’d come into the house. What had happened when he was outside? Had something spooked her?
He rubbed the back of his neck, not knowing quite what to make of the situation. Nothing ever spooked Mel.
You only left the woman handcuffed to a radiator, alone, with no chance for escape while a madman is somewhere out there, after her, his conscience taunted. That would be enough to spook anyone.
He cleared his throat. “But there’s no hurry. I could sure use a cup of coffee first.”
MELANIE WAS only too happy to see to the coffee and insisted Marc at least go get Brando. She brought in two cups from the kitchen, one filled to the rim with instant coffee, the other with milk. Marc was sitting on the couch, reading some papers. She sat next to him, careful not to sit too close but acutely aware that all the distance in the world wouldn’t be enough to keep her from wanting him.
“So what’s the plan?” she asked, handing him the coffee.
“The plan?”
She reached for the papers he held. “Yes, the plan. You’ve been referring to this ‘plan’ of yours since you swung me over your shoulder.” She looked at the top sheet and felt the blood drain from her face. It was the bulletin on Hooker’s escape. Melanie had to scan it three times before she got the full scope of what the report said. Two days ago arrangements had been made to transport Hooker from the county jail to a holding cell at the courthouse. A guard had been escorting him from the cell to the courtroom when Hooker grabbed the guard’s gun and made his escape.
But what caught her attention was a notation at the bottom of the page: Suspect believed to be seeking revenge against agent Melanie Weber.
Her hands shaking, she put her mug on the table then handed the papers to Marc, unable to read the report. She cleared her throat and looked to find him pointedly avoiding her gaze.
“Marc? You do have a plan, don’t you?”
“You mean beyond keeping you safe?” He put his coffee cup on the table then sat back and stretched, but the coiled strength of his arm muscles revealed his true tension. “Nope.”
Melanie stared at him. “You’ve got to be kidding?”
“Nope.”
She glanced around the room, wincing at the bare bulb hanging from the ceiling fixture. “Let me get this straight. Hooker escapes from custody. You kidnap me. Take me first to your house, then haul me all the way out here to the coast of the Chesapeake—”
“Potomac.”
She glared at him. “Okay, the Potomac. And now we’re going to—”
“Wait.”
“Wait for what? For Christmas?”
“If that’s how long it takes for Hooker to be apprehended.”
The weight of his words sank in. As did all the plans for her neatly mapped life. She moved her ring around her finger. “I can’t just sit here for God knows how long waiting for Hooker to be picked up.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I have things to do, Marc. Places to go…”
She realized what she’d said and looked at him. “I’m getting married the day after tomorrow.”
“No, you’re not.”
She blinked very slowly. “What?”
He pushed up from his seemingly relaxed position and planted his well-toned forearms on his knees. “What I mean is that if Hooker is not caught between now and Saturday, you’re not going anywhere near that church.”
Why did she get the impression that’s not what he meant at all? Could it be there was more behind the kidnapping than he was letting on? Was he merely taking advantage of the circumstances to stop her from marrying Craig?
But that didn’t make a lick of sense. He’d had ample opportunity to seek her out before now. While she was in the hospital would have been a good time. After she found out she was pregnant would have been even better. But she hadn’t received so much as a phone call from him. All this madness couldn’t be about stopping her from marrying Craig.
Suddenly restless, she got up and started slowly pacing. “Tell me, Marc, why we’re not going to do anything to help catch Hooker.”
He immediately dropped his gaze, making his motives all the more suspect.
“You don’t think I’m up for it, do you?” She moved to stand before him.
“Don’t be ridiculous. You were my partner. You’re just as capable as I am.”
“Liar.”
“I’m speaking the God-given truth.” He reached for his coffee.
“Then why can’t you meet my eyes when you say it?”
He looked at her, and she saw all she needed. She curled her fingers into her palms.
“You think that because I was shot, I’m some sort of invalid. Incapable of doing much more than sitting by idly while Hooker is caught.”
His chuckle nearly knocked her off her feet. He took a sip out of the mug. He almost choked. “I don’t think you’re an invalid. Not exactly. Come on, Mel, I’ve been around others who have suffered injury in the line of duty, and it always takes a bit of time for them to get back up to snuff.” He stared at the cup in his hands. “Milk?”
Melanie’s face went hot as she realized he’d covered his cup with the report and had taken hers by mistake. She took her cup from him and put it on the table. “What makes you think I’m not? Up to snuff, I mean?”
“Seriously?”
She nodded patiently.
“Because if you were working at full tilt, you wouldn’t be here right now. You would have laid me out the instant you saw me outside that damned rest room.”
Melanie opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She clamped it shut. Slowly, her anger drained from her tired muscles, leaving her feeling suddenly vulnerable. He was right. At least partially. Of course, he had no way of knowing that her unresolved feelings for him had played a large role in her relu
ctance to fight him to her full capacity. And that just seeing him again had dealt a huge blow to her equilibrium.
Still, one well-placed blow to his solar plexus or his windpipe would have stopped him as effectively as any bullet. And she had done neither. Why? Up until now she had tried to convince herself she wasn’t here of her own free will. What a crock that was. She’d been trained to stop professional assassins. Yet she had barely put up a token fight when Marc had thrown her over his shoulder and marched her out to his Jeep.
He cleared his throat. “Because if you were okay, you wouldn’t have quit the division.”
Melanie turned and paced, rubbing her forehead. She didn’t know which was worse—having Marc think her incapacitated or having him know the real reason she had quit.
Still, spending the next unnumbered hours, days even, alone with Marc, doing nothing, was not an option.
“Maybe you’re right,” she said quietly. “But we could put some sort of plan together. You know, entrap Hooker.”
His expression was dubious.
“Maybe this is just what I need. Something—a case—to sink my teeth into, you know, to oil my rusty skills.”
He shook his head. “Nope. We stay here.”
Renewed anger surged through her tense muscles. “And tell me, Marc, who died and made you all-knowing protector?” No, no, no. She wasn’t going to get anywhere by arguing with him. Think, Mel, think. She continued pacing, carefully measuring her steps so as not to appear hysterical. “Okay. I admit I understand your initial motivation for kidnapping me. But we both agree that those aren’t the circumstances now, right?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, then, shouldn’t we both have a say in what we should or shouldn’t do?”
He turned his hands palms up, shrugged and sat back. “As long as it doesn’t have anything to do with Hooker, sure.”
Melanie bit her bottom lip to keep herself from swearing. “But isn’t it in our best interest to make sure Hooker is apprehended as soon as possible?”
License to Thrill Page 8