Rossi nodded. “And my helicopter’s call number was on that list?”
Bob’s Adam’s apple had been bouncing like a sing-along dot, and now his head joined in.
“So what did you do then?”
Bob’s eyes widened and the smell of his fear was as ripe as rotting garbage. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.
“Look, Bob. You’re afraid whoever gave you that list might come and kill you if you talk to me.” The nodding intensified. “But I’m already here and there’s no might about it. I will kill you.”
He thought he heard Grace snort, but Bob didn’t seem to notice, so Rossi didn’t bother glaring at her.
“I had to call a number and give the guy who answered the call number. That’s it, I swear.”
Rossi leaned forward, crowding him. “That’s not it. What happened next?”
“Somebody drove out here and…I dunno. Double-checked the call number is what I figured.”
More like planted some kind of timed explosive device. “Who gave you the list?”
“Some guy. He didn’t tell me his name.”
“But you know who that guy worked for, or you wouldn’t have jumped when he said jump. Who?”
Bob started shaking his head, so Rossi popped him again. A little lighter this time. The poor schmuck wasn’t a bad guy. He was just a chickenshit who’d let someone pull his strings.
“Where did the list come from, Bob?”
“Mr. Arceneau. Jean Arceneau.” Then he burst into tears. Shit. Grace put her knife away.
“We’re leaving now, Bob. But if my people don’t come out of the woods okay, I’ll be back.”
They walked back to their chartered helicopter and Grace let him strap in before she laughed. “I’ll be bahk.”
“Shut up. I didn’t say it like that.”
“Poor Bob’s never going to watch Terminator again without pissing himself.”
As the sun went down and the outside grew cold, Carmen decided she’d be perfectly happy never leaving the cabin again.
She was safe, warm and had a belly full of Ramen, which gave at least the illusion of being well-fed. After being shot at, nearly drowning on a snowmobile, surviving a helicopter crash and a grueling trek through the woods, what else did a girl really need?
Gallagher entered the cabin in a swirl of a light snow flurry carried on the wind. “It’s getting colder.”
“That’s why I quit drinking anything two hours ago. I’d rather not make another trip to the outhouse.”
He flashed a grin at her and she couldn’t help returning it. He’d changed almost the minute they’d stepped into the cabin—morphing back into the laid-back beach bum persona they all knew and put up with.
When he threw his coat over the hook by the door and then hauled his T-shirt over his head, she stopped smiling but didn’t look away. The bandage over the gunshot wound needed to be changed, and he’d manage to acquire quite the additional collection of cuts and bruises during their adventures. “Let me clean that for you. I can boil some strips of cloth for fresh bandages.”
He waved away her concern. “Tomorrow, when we have decent light. For now I just want to crash.”
Carmen dragged the chair cushions onto the floor, wrapped herself in a blanket that smelled like wet dog and curled up on top of them.
“You’re taking the bed,” Gallagher said in his brooking-no-arguments tone.
“Doesn’t look that way.” She opened her eyes to find him glaring down at her, arms crossed over his chest. She might have been intimidated if she wasn’t too busy admiring what the position did to his biceps. “Look, you carried everything and broke trail through the snow. If we have to walk more, you’re going to do it again. You being well-rested is more important. Life or death, even.”
Sounded logical enough. Clearly he thought so, too, because after a few more seconds of staring he blew out the lamp and stretched out on the old mattress.
Then he groaned.
“Oh, and it sags like a son of a bitch in the middle.”
His swearing and the squeaks and pops as he tried to get comfortable nearly drowned out her laughter.
“Rossi,” he barked into the phone, picturing Charlotte rolling her eyes. She claimed he watched too much television.
“Arceneau’s in custody—get this, he turned himself in—and he’s demanding a sit-down with you.”
“It won’t help. If he’s looking to sue us for the B&E, give him Grace’s number. She’ll talk him out of it.”
Charlotte didn’t laugh. “I did a preliminary with the Feds, and they want you to talk to him, too. Arceneau got mixed up in this because his daughter was kidnapped and this was the ransom.”
Shit. “And the Feds want us to retrieve her.”
“We get her out and he’ll roll over on everybody and everything. If not, he’s mum and the only evidence against him went down with the helicopter. Maybe we’ll find it, maybe we won’t.”
“And maybe he’s lying.”
“He’s not. There’s evidence to support his claim. And once the chain is broken because he’s in custody, they’ll kill her.”
“Don’t do this to me, Charlotte.” He wanted to beat his head against the nearest tree. “Things are moving here and—”
“There’s a lot of pressure, Alex. This is huge and the government is ready to put their relationship with the Group on the line.”
“Who has her, and where?”
“Isabelle Arceneau is being held by Le Roux himself, at his compound in Matunisia.”
Holy. Shit. “We are so fucked.”
“That would be an affirmative.”
Carmen wasn’t laughing the next morning when she woke to find herself in Gallagher’s arms. Again.
At some point during the night he’d dragged the mattress down onto the floor next to her cushions and they’d met at the junction. She told herself to move—to get up and start the water boiling—but her body didn’t get the memo.
She’d been fighting this thing with Gallagher for a long time. She deserved a few minutes curled against him, his chest warm against her back and his arm holding her close.
Because she wasn’t in a position to overprotect him like he could her, she thought she’d done a better job of hiding her attraction than he had. But it was always there, smoldering like a burning ember she absolutely couldn’t fan into a flame. If that happened, they’d both get burned.
They were probably the least compatible people on the face of the planet, and going into a relationship so obviously doomed had the potential to destroy their working relationship. Since the Group was her entire life and Gallagher was number two on the totem pole, she kept her fantasies to herself and her zipper zipped.
“You’re thinking too hard,” the fantasy himself mumbled into her hair. “The wheels grinding woke me up.”
Now it was definitely time to get up. “I should stoke the fire.”
“I’m warm enough.” He nuzzled closer as if to prove his point. “Few more minutes.”
“Okay, but only because we both stink and the morning breath will keep you from trying anything.”
“Our stink cancels each other out.”
“Behave yourself, Gallagher.”
“John.”
“What?”
“I’d rather you call me John. That’s my name.”
“John Gallagher?”
“Close enough.”
He’d been just Gallagher for so long, it didn’t sound right. “So you trust me enough to sleep with me, but not enough to tell me your real name?”
“Sleeping with you doesn’t count when we actually sleep. And it’s McLaine. John Gallagher McLaine.”
She didn’t want to call him John. It was too personal—a piece of himself that didn’t factor into their professional relationship. Carmen the DG agent called him Gallagher. Carmen the woman currently cradled in his arms would call him John.
“I hear the grinding again,” he said.
&nbs
p; “I was thinking about how much I hate instant coffee.”
“But it goes so nicely with the Ramen.”
“I’ve still got half a granola bar and I’m not sharing.” It was time to put some distance between them, so Carmen rolled off the cushions and pushed herself to her feet.
They managed to blow off an hour with busy work—quick treks to the outhouse, bringing in wood, boiling water. After forcing down some breakfast, they cleaned themselves up as much as they could. Then they sat.
“What’s the plan?” Carmen asked when the boredom set in after five minutes.
“We’re going to keep that stovepipe puffing smoke and give Rossi forty-eight hours to find us.”
“Forty-eight hours? Why not head out now? No matter how remote, there has to be some access to this cabin. We follow it out.”
“Didn’t your mother ever take you to the mall?”
No. Even when she’d had a mother, there was no money. “What does shopping have to do with anything?”
“First rule of the mall—if you get lost, you stay put and let Mom find you. You go roaming around, you get more lost. So we wait, just you and me, babe.”
“Then why leave at all?”
“I don’t suppose because I said so is what you want to hear?”
She laughed. “Not unless you want to choke on your own balls.”
“Probably better than choking on some other guy’s balls.”
“You didn’t answer my question. Why leave at all?”
“If they don’t find us in forty-eight hours, they never had a clue where we were and we’ll take our chances hiking out. While I could hunt, I really don’t want to stay here playing house until spring.”
Playing house with John Gallagher McLaine?
Not in this lifetime.
“Mr. Rossi, we’ve located the wreckage.”
He might have stopped breathing if not for the focus-sharpening pain of Grace’s fingernails digging into his palm. Wreckage.
Somehow a part of him had believed Gallagher found a way to bring it down intact. That he’d be found sitting next to the helicopter, hungry and cranky and looking at his watch.
“No bodies.”
The world tilted and it wasn’t until Grace stepped slightly behind him, bracing him with her body, that he realized he’d almost gone down like some kind of drama queen.
“There’s evidence of a campfire,” Denton continued. “At some point they abandoned the crash site. My men followed their trail and have found two marked trees so far. If your people use their heads, there’s a chance we’ll catch up soon and bring them home.”
Rossi had to clear his throat hard before he could speak. “Thank you.”
“We’ll be analyzing their movements—try to get the choppers up there in a more focused location—and speed up the process. Now, that’s good news, but until we find them, understand they’re not out of the woods, literally or figuratively. Once somebody’s out there on foot, a lot of things can happen.”
“I understand.” They shook hands and Denton started to walk off, but Rossi called him back. “If your guys think they’re getting close, make sure they call out identification. You don’t want to surprise my people.”
Denton chuckled. “I made a few phone calls to see who was throwing his weight into my S&R. My crews already got that warning.”
Chapter Five
Gallagher was going mad. Stark raving, foaming at the mouth, speaking in tongues mad.
His body was in a constant, uncomfortable state of arousal, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. He couldn’t go a bout with the speed bag or even do a few punishing lengths of the pool to burn off the jittery energy.
To make matters worse, Carmen was getting antsy, too, and while he’d like to believe she was also being fried by an overload of sexual energy, he suspected she was really working herself up to saying something awkward. She kept drawing in a short breath as though she was going to speak, then changing her mind.
He was pretty sure he knew what it was and he didn’t want to talk about it. Ever.
“What you said right before we crashed—” I’ve wanted to make love to you since the first time I saw you. “—did you mean that?”
Shit, he’d been right. There should be some kind of law written—anything you said while facing certain death could not be used against you if by some crazy stroke of luck you accidentally lived.
“I don’t say things I don’t mean, even when I’m about to kiss a rock face.”
“How come you never did…I don’t know…normal-type stuff guys do. Offer to buy me a drink, invite me to a movie. Ask me what a nice girl like me’s doing with a crazy group like yours.”
“You’ve never been my biggest fan.”
“I bet you were clueless in the sixth grade.”
It took him a second to figure that out. “Oh, the old I’ll fuck with you so you won’t know I like you trick? So you do like me.”
“Don’t get carried away.”
“But do you like me like me? You know…like that?” He grinned and nudged her.
Carmen laughed and whacked him with the pillow. “My mistake. You’re still in the sixth grade.”
“Just trying to figure out where I stand.” A little pink glowed on her cheekbones, intriguing him. He didn’t think he’d ever seen her blush.
“Let’s just say if I could take a shower right now, you’d be a very happy man.”
Instead of the most insanely frustrated man on the planet. “How ’bout a rain check?”
“I’m not a pair of out-of-stock, discounted shoes.”
“Hold that thought. No, hold the thought before that one.” He rummaged in one of the pockets of his cargo pants and withdrew a battered pack of gum.
“You bastard! You’ve been withholding minty fresh breath from me this whole time?”
“Forgot about it until now.” He unwrapped a piece and handed half to her. The other half he popped in his mouth. “We’ll chew for one minute, then I’m going to kiss you until you can’t breathe.”
She stopped in mid-chew. “Are you serious?”
He set the timer on his watch. “Chew babe. Fifty-six…fifty-five…”
They both chewed.
“How much longer?” she asked with twenty-six seconds left.
“It’ll beep.”
It was the longest minute of his life to date. Finally the watch beeped, gum flew and Carmen met him halfway.
Her mouth was soft and burned with peppermint, and he couldn’t get enough. His tongue danced over hers and he groaned when she nipped at his bottom lip.
He fell back on the bed and she went down with him, her knee nestled between his and her body stretched out on top of him.
Carmen’s kisses short-circuited his brain to the point it was him who almost forgot to breathe, and he ran his hands down her back to cup her ass. She moaned into his mouth and buried her fingers in his hair. He was about to go for it, hygiene be damned, when she stopped kissing him and laid her head on his shoulder, tracing circles on his chest with her fingertips.
“Consider yourself issued a rain check,” she said in a husky voice.
He wrapped his arms around her, a little surprised she seemed content to let him hold her. Somehow, he suspected Carmen was more comfortable with hot, sweaty sex than with the intimacy of cuddling, so he was going to enjoy it as long as she’d let him.
“I was so damn scared for you, babe,” he said, embarrassed when his voice cracked slightly.
“I knew you’d get me out.” The certainty in her voice shook him. “Although I was a little concerned when you went all Titanic with the snowmobile.”
“We didn’t sink. And it’s not the first time I’ve gone skimming.” He paused for effect. “I wasn’t sure it would work with two people, though.”
“Smartass.” She tweaked his nipple and he yelped.
“That’s not part of your usual repertoire, is it?”
“I never spill sexual
secrets on the first date. Or at least before getting all lathered up in a hot, steamy shower.”
He closed his eyes to savor that image. “I hope they find us soon.”
“Afraid we’ll run out of gum?”
“No, it’s too freakin’ cold to keep jerking off in the outhouse.”
After polishing off the last of her soup, Carmen settled in to watch Gallagher’s preparations for heading out in the morning. This was their last night in the cabin, a fact she had some serious mixed feelings about.
On one hand, she was safe in the cabin. She had shelter from the cold and any bears she might piss off by accidentally waking them from their long winter naps. On the other, they couldn’t stay there forever. She wanted a salad, a thick grilled pork chop and a shower. Not necessarily in that order.
Gallagher was rearranging their socks, which they’d boiled clean, on the makeshift line they’d hung in front of the stove, and she tried not to stare at his khaki-clad ass as he bent over. The pack of gum was gone, along with the minty fresh kisses.
When he was done, he settled on the cushions next to her. “They’re not quite dry yet. If you don’t mind shoving your feet bare into your boots to hit the outhouse, it’d be best not to put them on until we’re ready to leave.”
She didn’t bother trying to talk him into staying longer. After several failed attempts, she’d accepted his mind was made up. “So what are we going to talk about now? We’ve already burned through food, movies, television and books.”
He was quiet for a few moments, which made her a little nervous. Of the two, he was the talker. “Where do you see yourself in five years, Carm?”
It wasn’t idle small talk. There was a deeper, underlying question in his eyes that made her look away. “You know the job. I can’t even see myself in next week, never mind five years.”
Since her plans for the next half-decade shouldn’t factor into the redeeming of a sexual rain check, she hoped it was one of those Small Talk 101 questions he asked everybody. Getting into a heavy relationship talk while she was weakened by hormone and sodium overloads wasn’t fair.
“So tell me why you left the navy,” she said in a less than subtle change of subject. “You were a SEAL and you mentioned once your dad was a career sailor. Why’d you quit?”
No Surrender: The Devlin Group, Book 3 Page 4