Carmen couldn’t believe she’d been stupid enough to fall asleep in a sauna. And judging by the lingering grogginess and her languid muscles, she’d been out for a while—long enough to start dehydrating.
The awareness came slowly that not only was she naked, but a body was spooned around hers. A very hard, male body.
At least he wasn’t naked, too.
“Carm?” the hard, male body said in Gallagher’s voice and memories of the day slammed into her—right up to the point she’d told herself to get up out of the water and move or she’d die.
“This is interesting,” she said softly.
“You must have landed in a brook or something, because you were soaked to the skin and hypothermia was setting in.”
She looked around at the shelter he’d thrown together from helicopter pieces and fallen trees, then at the very healthy fire heating the space. “Well, you fixed the hell out of that, didn’t you?”
“I might have overdone it a bit,” he admitted. “I thought you were going to die on me.”
And just like that the memory of their last seconds before impact popped into her brain.
“This isn’t how I wanted to die.”
“Since it doesn’t look good, I may as well tell you—I’ve wanted to make love to you since the first time I saw you.”
Then their world had exploded.
She shivered now, remembering the low, intense timbre of his voice, so different from his usual surfer-boy ease. He must have thought her still cold because he pulled her even tighter against his body.
“I’m guessing my clothes didn’t fall off in the crash.”
“They should be dry by now. I’ll get them in a minute.”
She tried to inch away. “You could have left my underwear.”
“You were soaked through. I didn’t get off on it, if that’s what you’re worried about. I thought you were dying.”
“I’m not, so do me a favor and toss me my clothes.”
She almost regretted the demand when he got up and the chill set in. Even when he wasn’t overheated from exertion, his body was like a hot water bottle.
After pulling on her clothes, she sat cross-legged on one of the two torn, slightly singed cushions he hadn’t fed to the fire while Gallagher turned his attention to one of the helicopter’s metal storage boxes. It must have broken loose, and it was so dented he was struggling to open it.
“How long until S&R comes, do you think?” she asked.
“You’d be surprised how hard it is to find a downed aircraft in these mountains.” The storage box finally gave and a cache of granola bars spilled out. “Could be five hours or five years.”
Carmen grabbed a bar and peeled back the wrapper while Gallagher put half of the bars into his pack. “Have a plan yet?”
“I’m going to see if I can find a trail—cross country skiing or snowmobile—or maybe a hunting cabin. Just keep the fire going the way it is and stay close to it. You’ll be fine until I get back.”
It took a few seconds for his words to register. And to realize he intended to leave her behind. “You’re not going without me.”
Gallagher zipped the bag—now she knew why he’d only packed half the bars—then grabbed a cushion and parked himself next to her. “I can move faster without you, babe.”
“I can keep up with you in my sleep, so don’t give me that bullshit. And what if you don’t come back?”
He looked at her as though she’d just sprouted a second head. “Of course I’ll come back. Why the hell wouldn’t I?”
Because the only thing worse than being stranded in the cold mountains was being stranded alone, and with the way her luck was running, she didn’t want to take the chance.
“What if you get lost?” she asked, and he snorted. “What if you get hurt and freeze to death in a snowbank? What if you cross a really pissed-off bear?”
“Then you keep the fire going, boil water, ration your food and wait for S&R.”
If he were a physically weaker man, she’d strangle him where he sat. “You’re the one who said it could be five hours to five years before they find the chopper.”
Gallagher growled and scrubbed his hands over his face. “You’re a pain in the ass, woman.”
“If you don’t come back I’m screwed anyway, so I may as well go with you.”
Judging by his expression, he’d rather shoot himself in the foot, but Carmen didn’t care. There was no way in hell she was spending the night alone in the woods with God only knew what rabid and ravenous wildlife. She’d be in full nervous breakdown mode within an hour.
“Afraid of the dark, babe?” he teased, but she was on to his game. He thought he could shame her into staying alone.
Well, that wasn’t happening. She’d cry and wring her hands like a helpless little girl if she had to, but she wasn’t playing Goldilocks to any freakin’ bears.
Alex Rossi had only known Scott Denton ten minutes and he already wanted to strangle him. Not enough to kill him. Just enough to get his attention.
“Look, Mr. and Mrs. Rossi, what you need to do is find yourself a local motel room—that woman with the clipboard over there can give you directions—have a meal and wait for news. There’s nothing you can do here.”
“There sure as hell is. You’ve got a blank check for this op, Denton, and I can get you anything you need. You don’t have enough choppers? I can get you Marine One.”
Denton didn’t look impressed. “This isn’t a problem you can throw money at, bud. This is about experienced search and rescue personnel combing those mountains by air and on foot in the cold and the dark and the snow or rain and whatever it takes to find that helicopter.”
Grace stepped up, silencing her husband with a hand on his arm. “We just want you to know if there’s anything at all we can provide to support your search, please let us know.”
Denton pulled off his knit cap and scrubbed his hand through his hair. “Coffee and sandwiches.”
“Coffee?” Rossi could practically feel the man’s pulse stuttering under his squeezing fingers. With the full resources of the Devlin Group at hand, he expected them to serve coffee?
Grace dialed her phone. “Charlotte, I need a full service coffee and deli tent at the staging area, no onsite power, staff of…three, within the hour. Thank you.”
“Done,” Rossi said.
Denton shook his head. “I’ve got to get back to work.”
Less than five minutes passed before the woman with the clipboard hailed him. “Hey, Scott? I’ve got a twenty-by-twenty catering tent with a big-ass generator coming in twenty minutes. Where do you want it?”
He pointed, then walked back to Rossi. “I get your point. If there’s something I can’t get my hands on I think will help, I’ll let you know.”
“That’s all I’m asking.”
“But to be honest, I don’t care if you’ve got the President of the United States on speed dial.” As if he’d store classified numbers on a cell phone. “The only folks who can find your friends are God and my people, so stay out of our way.”
Gallagher used his knife to carve an arrow into a tree. Chances were S&R would find the wreckage first and he wanted them to know where the souls on board had wandered off to.
“Tell me again why we can’t stay here with the fire and the cushions?”
He’d sell his soul for a half-foot of duct tape. Gagging her wouldn’t interfere with her ability to walk. “Early spring conditions. We’re comfortable now, but if we get rain during the day and then frost at night, you and I are facing hypothermia. We need dry shelter.”
He adjusted his pack on his shoulders and watched her try to settle the makeshift sling pack over hers. He’d managed to salvage some first aid items, a flashlight, the emergency blankets and a screwdriver. It wasn’t much, but he didn’t want to leave anything behind.
“Maybe we could use the emergency blankets to make a tent.”
“Not big enough.” He was starting to think a
certain Devlin Group agent was afraid of furry woodland creatures. “Look, babe, how many times have you trusted me with your life? How many times has my judgment meant life or death to you?”
She stared at him, her big brown eyes seeming to look for something in his face. Then she took a deep breath, nodded and settled the pack on her hip. “I’m ready.”
They walked for almost five hours, stopping only to mark a tree and eat a little snow now and then. She kept up a steady pace behind him for the first two hours, but he slowed purposely after that, hoping to keep the sweat to a minimum. But as twilight fell over the woods, he noticed her starting to limp and halted.
“Let me see that pack,” he said.
She handed it over without argument and sat on a fallen tree.
“Have a little more snow,” he told her as he dumped the contents of the makeshift sack onto the ground. “Now that it’s getting dark, you won’t be able to have more. It drops your core temp.”
He found a clean icy clump of his own to suck on while he sifted through his pack. Toward the bottom he found a clean pair of socks and set those aside. By discarding some of his nonessentials he was able to fit the items from the wreckage she’d been carrying into his pack.
“Take those boots off.” He knew she was miserable when she did so without a knee-jerk reaction to his tone. “Shit. Cotton socks?”
He peeled them off and examined her feet. They seemed warm enough and she didn’t have any blisters. Yet.
“I think they’re just sore from the lack of support,” she said as he massaged them. “The boots are made for stealth, not hiking.”
“Wear these socks, instead. The wool will keep your feet warm, even if they get wet, and they have padded soles and some arch support. Even too big, they might help.”
“I’m still good to go.”
“I know you are, babe. But from here on out, you keep me informed of any changes in your physical condition.”
“Aye aye, sir.” She snapped him a smart salute.
He laughed and helped her slip her boots back on before reshouldering the pack. The extra items didn’t add a lot of weight, but it didn’t take much to throw someone as small as Carmen even a little off balance. The effects added up with the miles.
“You can’t carry everything, Gallagher. It wasn’t my back bothering me.”
“I know, but this is better. I’d like to go another two hours or to some kind of shelter—whichever comes first.”
“Or the batteries run out in the flashlight.”
“True. As soon as we find a good place I’ll get a fire started.”
Not ten minutes later, Gallagher found what looked to be a deliberately cut trail through the woods. It hadn’t been traveled recently, but it was there for a reason.
Since the horizon was cloaked in darkness, he scouted around for a place to camp. The stars were out, so rain probably wouldn’t be a concern.
“I thought we were going on,” Carmen said when he dropped his pack.
“I want to stay on this trail, but I need to make sure we’re headed down the mountain. First light, I’ll point us in the right direction.”
He built them a fire and they split a granola bar. Then there was nothing to do but curl up between the silver emergency blankets. Carmen stunned him by not only accepting his arms around her, but actually snuggling against him. Not that he was complaining.
“You’re like an electric blanket I don’t have to plug in,” she mumbled, and then her body went lax as sleep hit her hard.
As tired as he was, sleep eluded Gallagher for a long time.
Carmen walked. And walked and walked some more.
Gallagher had given her an entire granola bar, folded the blanket and then set off in what he claimed was the right direction.
They didn’t expend energy on small talk. Not that they were a pair with much to talk about, but speaking would at least have broken the monotony of her own thoughts.
She wasn’t afraid, per se. Working with the Devlin Group had thrown a lot of things more dangerous than being lost in the woods at her. And with Gallagher two steps in front of her and Rossi out there hunting for them, she wouldn’t be lost long.
No, what scared the crap out of her was the solo time with Gallagher. She’d invested too much time in keeping her distance to start cuddling up at night with him now. If she got too comfortable, she might give in and once she did, they could never go back again. There would only be forward or apart. Apart would ruin their working relationship.
But forward would eventually lead to a dead end. She’d known Gallagher a long time and, even though he didn’t give specifics, she’d figured out family was everything to him. He was the kind of guy who just naturally assumed his future would include a white picket fence, two or three kids, and a golden retriever wearing fake reindeer antlers in the annual Christmas photo.
Carmen wasn’t wired for Christmas card photos and cute dogs. The realities of parenthood had sent her father screaming into the night—he’d lasted two months. Her mother died when she was ten and she’d been placed in the first of many foster homes she’d been shuffled to.
It wasn’t being in the system that had turned her off having a family, though. She hadn’t been abused or mistreated, or even neglected. No great trauma there.
She just didn’t feel that maternal drive. Some women—like Grace—were great mothers, but Carmen didn’t even have the urge to try. Even in her most introspective moments, there was no biological clock ticking in the shadows. And she’d bet the idea of a woman not wanting a family would be an alien concept to Gallagher.
She almost laughed at herself. It was a big jump from huddling together for warmth to pushing a baby carriage.
“Here,” he said, jerking her out of her thoughts.
“Here what?”
He gestured up at the sky. “It’s going to rain soon and, judging by the change already, it’s going to be colder tonight. We need to stay as dry as possible.”
As he talked he was rearranging the thick, overlapping branches of several close juniper trees, weaving them so they formed a makeshift roof. When he was done, he fed one silver blanket into one of the layers to help waterproof it and spread the other on the ground.
“How long do you think it’ll rain?”
“Hopefully just a passing shower, and then we’ll push on.”
She hoped so. As hard as the walking was, it was still easier than being squeezed into a tight shelter with Gallagher. The wall she’d built around her attraction for him was eroding faster than she could patch it, and his body wrapped around hers was a giant, swinging wrecking ball she couldn’t seem to avoid.
Chapter Four
“Looks like a hunter’s cabin,” Gallagher said in a low voice as they peeked through the branches. “The snow’s undisturbed, so I don’t think anybody’s been here for a while.”
Still, he signaled for her to approach cautiously, watching for any sign of movement in the shack or in what he assumed was an outhouse behind it. The door wasn’t locked and it took less than a minute to clear the single room.
“Thank God for woodstoves,” Carmen said, already on her knees in front of it. “I’ll start small to test the flue—see if anything’s nesting in it—but then watch out.”
While she worked on getting them warm, Gallagher lit the kerosene lamp in the center of the small table and took stock of their situation.
No radio. No well pump, so they’d be boiling snow on the woodstove. One ancient looking twin bed and an oversized armchair that might have sat on the side of some road somewhere for quite a while before the new owner saved it. No fridge or icebox. Half a jar of instant coffee and about two dozen packages of Ramen in a variety of flavors.
“Huh.” Carmen looked over his shoulder. “He could have stocked some chili or some beef stew.”
“Cans freeze, they could explode. Messy and it attracts things you don’t want attracted.”
“At least we’re all set with our dail
y sodium requirements.”
Gallagher didn’t give a damn about their salt intake. He’d gotten her out of the cold, and that was all that mattered. She was bruised, battered, and her feet probably hurt like hell, but she was alive and she was going to stay that way.
As warmth began to curl out from the woodstove, the tension Gallagher had carried through everything—getting her away from Arceneau’s men, the crash, the cold woods, the forced air of unerring confidence required to lead people through hell—began to melt away and he sagged against the short counter.
They weren’t out of danger, by any means. Even if he managed to snare or hunt some small game, their food supply was exhaustible, as was the cured wood. And he wasn’t lying when he said it could be years before the wreckage was found. It wasn’t unheard of in the White Mountains.
He didn’t have to the heart to tell her yet but, since he wasn’t willing to take the chance, they wouldn’t be staying long.
Alex Rossi walked into the shabby office of the airport Gallagher and Carmen had departed from with his wife at his side. He was worried, tired, pissed and visibly armed.
The pencilneck running the place squealed when Rossi went around the counter, grabbed him by the throat and threw him into his chair. “Helicopter flew in today, worked fine, didn’t when it left. Why?”
“I don’t know what you’re—”
Rossi hit him. Just a backhand, but it snapped the guy’s head back and split his lip. Bob—so the tag on his shirt said—tasted blood and started to shake.
“Don’t fuck with me, Bob.”
“I’m not! Man, I can’t…I didn’t…”
He hit him again. “You did. Now tell me about it.”
Grace unfolded her knife and made a show of cleaning her fingernails. Bob started making a high-pitched wheezing sound, his gaze jerking between the blade and Rossi.
“I have a list of call numbers—you know, the registration numbers on an aircraft?”
No Surrender: The Devlin Group, Book 3 Page 3