He folded his arms across his bare chest and rocked on his stocking feet. “Just to let you know, sweetheart—I’m the best damn tracker in this part of the country. I’ll find you—believe me—I’ll find you.”
She snatched up the keys, and his clothes, keeping her gaze locked on him. “I don’t think you’ll do that, at least not for a while. Toss me your moccasins, too.”
“Never doubt it, woman. I will find you, and when I do, heaven help you.”
Lacey grabbed the moccasins and wadded them inside his clothes. “Your wrists, Sheriff, put them behind your back, now.”
She intended to put several miles between them in the time she’d allotted herself, before he was discovered and set free. “Where’s your car?” she asked, looking back over her shoulder as she ran over to the bathroom.
Danger watched in awe as she stuffed his clothes and moccasins in the commode. He snorted when she leaped back as water overflowed onto the floor. He swore softly. The damn little minx, he was going to wring her neck.
She placed the gun on the desk, well away from his reach. Cautiously, she opened the cell door and stepped inside.
For a moment, Danger stared at her bent head as she checked to make sure the cuffs were in place behind is back. Her thick mass of hair slid across his chest and belly. He barely stifled a moan. She was killing him. He’d never in his life felt so damned helpless, nor so hot. Another time, another place, he might not mind the handcuffs or her mouth so close to his—
He swallowed the lump that had become a tender ache in his throat and shifted to one side. Let her have her moment of triumph. It would be short-lived. He knew for certain she wasn’t going far in his Jeep. The gas tank was almost empty, and there wasn’t a gas station open at this hour of the morning, not in Rimrock.
But if there was truly a murderer out there, she could die before he found her. And it would be his fault. He should have handled her differently.
“Lacey?”
She looked up, her eyes questioning. “What?”
“Please. Don’t do this.”
She watched him. “I have no choice, sugar.”
He bit back a curse. “You’re headed for serious trouble.” Accepting that she wasn’t going to change her mind, he sighed. “There’s a black Jeep out front. Rimrock Sheriff’s Department logos are on the doors. You can’t miss it.”
She nodded.
Abruptly, Lacey stood on her toes. She glided her hands along his firm jaw and framed his face, then she pressed her mouth to his. “For luck,” she whispered against his lips.
The kiss, for all its briefness, sizzled.
Danger growled deep in his throat and wished his hands were free. God, he didn’t want her to go. He wanted to seize her and show her just how he liked to be kissed. He wanted to lose himself in the wonder of her sexy mouth.
But he couldn’t.
She was leaving him with little choice. So instead, he said quietly, “You’re going to need it, lady. Damned if you’re not.”
She stepped back, gave him a wobbly smile, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “So are you,” she replied, then slammed the cell door behind her, locking it in place. “I’ll just keep these, Red Cloud.”
She stuffed the cell keys inside her jeans pocket.
Danger stared at her. Something inside him softened. “Red Cloud was a great Sioux chief. There’s no disgrace in being called by his name.”
Lacey hesitated. “I know who he was. One of my majors in college was on the American Indian wars and history.” A faint smile tugged at her lips. “I meant no dishonor in calling you by his name.”
Damn, but the woman was full of surprises. No wonder she could rattle off Indian names without pausing to think. He shouldn’t give a shit, but he loved the way she called him by all the different names. He couldn’t think of a single woman who could name historical Indian chiefs right and left without an ounce of hesitation and knew their history as well.
He shouldn’t give a shit that she was headed into trouble either, not on a personal level—but he did. The problem was he liked her too damn much. No woman had ever stood up to him like she did. Lacey Weston stood toe to toe with him and challenged him. Infuriated him. Tempted him. Threw history at him at the drop of a dime and knew what she was talking about.
He wore a badge, and he’d upheld the law to the best of his ability. What she was doing was serious. Still, he had to admire her courage. Her tenacity. “I can’t believe you’re doing this,” he said softly. “It’s crazy.”
She hesitated. “Freedom. To you it might be crazy. For me, it’s a necessity. A flee to safety.” She whirled and headed for the front door.
“Hey!”
She turned back, her hand resting on the doorknob. “Yeah, Sheriff?” “You’re quite something. Aren’t you?”
She grinned, shrugged. “Guess you’ll never know, sugar.”
Danger muttered an oath as he watched her shut the door quietly behind her. Outside, the Jeep engine roared to life. Silence. She was gone. He’d had no choice but to let her go. She’d surprised him, outwitted him, and then, faced him with courage and defiance.
She’d stripped him, handcuffed him, and threatened him.
Kissed him.
His mind, his entire body switched to hunting mode. A feral, corner-the-prey instinct settled deep in his bones. He felt his lips curve with a slow, predatory grin. There might or might not be a killer after her, but one thing he promised himself with anticipation—he would find her.
Heaven help her, when he got his hands on her. The lady had made a monumental error in judgment. She’d opened door number one, when she kissed him.
And he wasn’t the prize—she was.
He was going after her. She’d be wearing silver bracelets when he brought her back.
In less than an hour, he’d have her in custody.
In less than an hour—he was going to show Miss Magnolia Blossom exactly how he liked to be kissed.
In The Arms Of Danger
Chapter Seven
Sometimes you get. Sometimes you get got.
Cowboy quotes
Montana Backcountry Sat.7:00 a.m.
Rain started to hammer the Jeep just before dawn. It battered the roof for what seemed like hours to Lacey. She narrowed her eyes, but it was impossible to see through the sheet of water sliding down the horribly scratched windshield of what must be Sheriff Blackstone’s prized possession.
The last thing she heard him yell as she closed the office door behind her was she’d better not let anything happen to his Jeep.
She snorted. It was amazing the things men cherished.
Thank God the hardtop was on the sacred vehicle or by now she would have drowned. To run out of gas, just when she’d managed to put a few miles between her and that arrogant beast of a man, was enough to make a grown woman cry. She just knew the sorry dog had done this to her deliberately.
But worse, she’d run out of gas right in the middle of a creek bed. But at least it was a shallow creek bed. Impatient with the delay, she drummed her fingers against the steering wheel and silently fumed.
Out of gas.
How could she have stolen a get away vehicle so damned low on fuel? The dratted devil was probably sitting there in that damn cell snickering at her feeble attempt to escape.
She eyed her torn fingernails. She’d add snickering along with the ruin of her precious manicure to his list of crimes. Oh, yes, she was definitely keeping count of his sins against her. Trying to lock her in a cell took the place of honor at number one. He’d have to work long and hard to top that one. Miserable man.
When she’d stolen the Jeep, checking the fuel gauge hadn’t been a priority. Escape—yeah, that had been her first concern . . . and avoiding death. She winced. Of course, now the Great War chief was probably going to throw the book at her and then burn it afterward. Clearly, there had been pure revenge in those silver rimmed eyes.
She was pretty sure holding an officer of the law at gunpoin
t, handcuffing and locking him in his cell, and stripping him was against some kind of law. Not to mention the little fact of jamming his gonads up to his eyeballs.
Lacey glared at the gauge pointing to the empty mark. Apparently Danger Blackstone didn’t concern himself with keeping a full tank. Jeez, hadn’t the blasted man ever heard of being prepared for an emergency? It was probably some kind of tactic to slow down would-be criminals like her.
Metal scraped the glass of the windscreen and Lacey winced. Giving a soft hiss, she snapped off the wipers. He didn’t concern himself with the upkeep of the wiper blades either. They were old, dry, and the rubber finally crumbled off after about thirty minutes of use.
It wasn’t her fault his windshield now had deep grooves cut into it. The man needed to take better care of his possessions.
Irritated with the mess she’d landed herself in, she swore and muttered under her breath. Restlessness swamped her. She was a woman of action who’d been broadsided by a sneaky, underhanded snake. She could be sitting here forever.
Was he out there somewhere, bent on settling a score?
Oh, hell yeah. She could be certain of that. The sheriff would come after her, pistols drawn, ready to take her down.
And where was the murderer? Was he searching for her?
Maybe he would meet up with the war chief, and they’d annihilate each other.
Lacey snorted. Yeah, and maybe frogs could fly.
That lawman would be hot on her trail all right, just like a damned bloodhound. Most likely, he was involved in the whole murder thing and had simply been trying to confuse her with his innocent act.
Oh, but he’d looked so yummy in those tight, skimpy briefs. She’d nearly swallowed her tongue, when he’d peeled away the layers of clothing and left an Alpha male staring her down with dangerously glittering eyes that had enough slumber in them to make her think of him and her and a bedroom.
But he’d been grinning, too.
For heaven’s sake, what had he had to grin about? She’d stood there with a gun trained on him and not too steadily either. He’d had nothing to grin about.
Duh. The perverted fiend had enjoyed his little striptease. He hadn’t minded stripping for her. What he’d minded was the loaded gun pointed at him.
Well, okay—anyone would mind having the business end of a gun pointed at them. But he’d shed his clothes with little protest. Of course, he could have been afraid she’d jab his balls up his throat again.
She swallowed hard. She couldn’t get the picture out of her mind of him standing there nearly naked. Damn, he was one well-hung man. The major bulge concealed behind those little black bikinis had made her mouth water.
From the little she’d seen—wrong choice of words—from the lot she’d seen filling his underwear—well, suffice it to say, nothing to disappoint a lady there.
He was all bronzed muscle and sinew. Sheriff Danger Blackstone had nothing to be ashamed about. The man was built like a sleek mountain cat, emanating strength and grace. A formidable power of virility had been revealed in every hard plane and long bone of his body.
A little shiver of desire rippled through her.
Watching him unfasten the button-fly had been more nerve racking than forcing him inside a cell. She’d waited breathlessly for him to finish sliding the jeans down his hips, watched with dry mouth and pounding heart as the smooth, silky hair that arrowed down his wash-board abs came into view and then, disappeared into the waist band of the bikinis.
Lacey squirmed in her seat. Even now, her breasts ached and tingled. Her nipples tightened into taut little peaks that strained against the red bra beneath her blouse.
She’d kissed him. Okay. So it couldn’t really pass for a kiss, it had been too brief. But hadn’t his lips parted, just a little, in response? Hadn’t she heard his sharp intake of breath? Had she really felt the touch of his tongue against her lips? Had she?
Had she felt his dick rise up and poke her in the belly? Oh, yeah, it had poked her all right, like a damn nightstick. And he hadn’t done one thing to keep it from stabbing her. He hadn’t given a shit that she knew he had a steel rod packed inside his briefs like a concealed weapon, a weapon that clamored to get out.
Excitement stirred to life deep inside her. The very core of her womanhood clenched with damp need. She pressed her thighs together, but the rampant ache remained. There was no getting around the fact the man turned her on. She wanted him.
Wanting, needing a man was something new to her.
Frustration consumed her. Her nerves felt as ragged as her nails looked. An edgy, achy need flooded her body, creating heat in forbidden places. She had to get away from here. Get out of Montana. Get far away from the handsome sheriff with the killer eyes and a body to die for.
She couldn’t afford to sit here and daydream about a man who was possibly, most likely, a murderer, or at least, somehow involved. She needed to get back to her campsite, collect her gear, get her wallet with her ID, locate her camera and get the hell outta Dodge.
If she could find her campsite, surely it couldn’t be much farther, but she had a bad feeling that without a map, she might have been going in circles. Once, she left the main highway and hit the back roads, the terrain all looked the same with dusty roads weaving in and out of barely there trails that intertwined at the base of the mountainous terrain. The roads wound through virgin timber and wild, rough landscape, beautiful, treacherous and confusing without a map.
And her map was at her tent.
She needed a full tank of gas and wipers that worked.
Hot tears burned her eyes and then, scalded her cheeks.
Oh, no, Lacey. Don’t do this to yourself. Don’t give up hope. Not when escape is so close you can taste it.
She sniffed back tears, wiped her cheeks dry and stiffened her upper lip. If the rain slowed her down, then maybe, it slowed her pursuers, including Sheriff D. Blackstone.
Lacey leaned her head against the back of the seat and gave into the overwhelming need to close her eyes. The sound of the kick-ass rain beating the hell out of the metal roof top soothed her weary mind. Tiredness sapped her energy. She gave in to a fitful yawn. Exhaustion wormed its way in and turned her brain to slushy mush. Keeping her eyes open was no longer an option. Her head felt thick and heavy from lack of sleep. Hunger gnawed at her backbone like a bloodhound on a hot trail, and she was in dire need of a bathroom.
She could take care of the pressing need to empty her bladder. The whole blasted valley lay at her disposal. Completing her body’s demand for relief, Lacey slipped back inside the Jeep. She wiped water off her face with the damp tails of her blouse. Well, that had been wet and wet. She wrinkled her nose, nothing like taking a pee in the rain to make a lady feel dry and secure.
Now, she knew her brain had shut down, when she was thinking such silly thoughts. She allowed her mind to shift to the man who’d delayed her in Rimrock. Danger had slowed her down, forcing her to lose precious time. She didn’t know if he was part of what happened. But she didn’t know if he wasn’t either, so she hadn’t dared relax her guard with him. Not until she got somewhere safe—like another country.
Despair nipped at her as painful and nagging as a toothache. Danger. The man was the kind of man she needed fighting on her side. Strong, powerful, but was he trustworthy? She had every reason not to trust him, but she wanted to. Desperately.
There had been something, some inexplicable steadiness in his light-colored eyes that drew her to him, something powerful and hypnotic. An element of honor and strength exuded from him. And courage. She’d wanted to confide in him, but there had been something dangerous about him, too, besides his name.
She blinked, trying to concentrate. If he was innocent, then, she didn’t have the right to involve him, without him knowing all the facts. He wouldn’t know from which direction trouble could erupt. But she had no way of knowing how much, or even if he was already involved.
For her own safety she had to go with the as
sumption he was guilty. Therefore, her only chance lay in escaping the area, maybe get to Helena and contact the FBI. Yes. That would work. Let them decide who was involved and who wasn’t.
Perilously close to tears again, Lacey sniffed. She just needed to rest awhile. That was it. Rest. She yawned. Stretched. Her eyelids felt as heavy as a bag of wet sand. So heavy. Her thoughts rambled. Dangerous—
Her eyelids fluttered drowsily. Yes, it was all so dangerous—
She rested her head on the back of the seat.
Could she—or couldn’t she trust him?
Did she even want to?
Dare she trust a man named Danger?
Her mind said no. Her heart argued the point.
In The Arms Of Danger Page 13