by Jill Shalvis
She slanted him a baleful stare.
“Okay, name it,” he challenged her. “Name a lie I’ve told.”
Clearly unable to, she turned her head away.
“Okay, fine. Great. Don’t talk to me. Just promise me that you won’t scream for help.” He unzipped a small pocket on his outer thigh, pulling out a key. “Promise me, and I’ll uncuff you.”
At that, she leveled him with a furious look. “So now you want me to lie?”
“Fine.” He tucked the key away again. “We’ll do this the hard way. Why the fuck not? We’ve done everything else that way all damn night.”
She went back to her stony silence, and he was back to talking to himself. “I’m going to slide out. You’re going to sit in the driver’s seat and give me as much slack as you can while I pump gas.”
She didn’t answer, big surprise. He reached for the door, then let out a breath at the renewed pain in his chest.
Abby looked at him, her gaze darkening with what he sincerely hoped was a tiny bit of sympathy. Some of her hair had slipped free of its bond, falling in silken curves around her face, framing those eyes he could look at all day.
“The effects shouldn’t last much longer,” she said.
He wasn’t sure why, but something turned over inside of him, and it was all he could do not to haul her close and kiss her again, just hold onto her until this nightmare was over. Except she was sending out serious back-off signals, so he got out of the driver’s seat to get the gas. She willingly shifted over, giving him enough arm room to maneuver the nozzle into the gas tank.
And that’s when he remembered. He had no money.
His gaze locked with hers, and he could see she’d thought of the same thing, since her eyes were mocking him. Christ, he was tired of fighting with her. “You don’t by any chance have a wallet on you?”
She simply arched an eyebrow.
Terrific. He hadn’t died of smoke inhalation, his wounds, or the fact that his heart had been ripped out by everyone believing he’d gone rogue. Nope, he was going to die because he’d been stupid enough to take her with him, to protect her no less, when she’d as soon rip off his nuts. “Do you or do you not have any money?”
“I don’t carry money when I’m being kidnapped.”
Hawk understood her anger, he really did. But he was hurting, too, and cold, and just about beyond frustrated. “He’s coming for you, too, Abby.”
She turned her head to lock her gaze on his. As she did, the scent of her hair drifted over him like a sweet balm. He had no time to be feeling anything since he was currently up hell’s creek without a paddle. And yet he felt plenty, mostly an inexplicable need to kiss her again. “I need your cell phone.”
“No. Don’t—” She choked as his fingers slid across her abdomen, trying to get to her pocket. “Don’t touch me.”
“Relax.” His hand brushed the warm skin of her belly just above her low waistband. “I only want the—”
Her elbow clocked him in the nose, and he saw stars. “Jesus!” He fell back against the opened door. “Jesus Christ, woman!”
Breathing like a lunatic, she glared at him, eyes hot and furious beneath the hair that had fallen in her face. “I told you not to touch.”
“Okay, yeah, getting that loud and clear. The phone, Abby.”
Her jaw tightened. “It’s almost out of battery.”
The battery didn’t matter, and they both knew it. She threw her cellphone at him, and thank you, God, the little keychain he’d seen with her mini credit card was attached to it.
“I can’t believe you expect your victim to pay for your gas.”
“No, what I expect is to wake up from this nightmare any second, but I’m not going to get that lucky.” He swiped the card at the pump and nearly fell to his knees in gratitude when the gas began pumping into the truck.
Her cell phone vibrated in his hand. Incoming text message. His gaze locked with hers, then he looked at the caller ID. “Do you know this number?”
She looked and blinked.
“Abby?”
“It’s an established line between Gaines and me. He got it after…it was just for us to communicate back and forth.”
He flipped open the phone to read: Where are you?
“Interesting that he isn’t concerned with making you think he’s dead. Interesting, and very telling.”
“Right.” She closed her eyes. “Because if I’m on his short list for the evening, it doesn’t matter if I know he’s alive. Because I won’t be for much longer.” She slid him a glance that sliced at his heart as she waited for him to nod.
Hawk slapped the phone closed against his thigh and sighed.
She didn’t say anything more, and after a moment he realized she wasn’t being obstinate—her default mood of the night—but rather trying hard to control whatever emotion she was keeping to herself. Bending closer, he risked life and limb to see into her face. “Talk to me.”
She just shook her head.
“Abby—”
“Please,” she whispered, clearly trying with all her might to keep it together. “Don’t. Just let me think.”
Okay. He could do that. For a little while, anyway. But then she shifted in the seat at the same time he pulled back, and her shoulder brushed his chest. The accidental touch seemed to freeze her.
It sure as hell froze him, and he watched as very slowly her head came up. God, her eyes, they completely slayed him. He just wanted to look at her all night. Look at her and inhale her and touch her…. The yearning was nothing new. He’d been inhaling deeply to catch her scent for six long months now. Hawk breathed her in and tried not to lose it, but, God, she got him, right in the gut.
In the heart.
She had a strand of silky hair over one eye, and very, very slowly he reached out to stroke it away, wanting to do much more but unable to figure out how to further touch her without her gutting him. “It’s going to be okay,” he murmured. “Unfortunately, I don’t know exactly how, but we’ll get there, I promise.”
Her gaze searched his, soft now, uncertain, leaving him just as uncertain what to make of the shadowed expression in her eyes. Was she still mad? Hurt? Was she feeling any of what he was feeling, which was that he wanted to kiss her again, for real this time, without anything coming between them?
Abby turned away.
And there was his answer. No, she was not feeling any of what he was. Still waiting on the gas, he pulled out the phone again and dialed Logan’s cell. No answer. Damn…Glancing up, he found her watching him.
“Last I heard,” she said quietly. “He was in the air, headed back to Cheyenne County.”
He only hoped that wasn’t as serious as it sounded. “Okay, so we go with what we’ve got. The rifle. I just have to match it to the ATF serial number list to place it as one of the stolen weapons. So we need to get into regional offices.”
“Or to my laptop at home.”
“Yeah, much easier. Let’s go.”
“There’s that ‘let’s’ again.”
“We have to do this, Abby. Placing the rifle is evidence of the inside job.”
“Still not enough.”
“Well, we’ll think of more then. We have to do this, you know we do.”
“No, we don’t. We don’t have to do anything.” But Hawk realized the heat in her voice was gone.
Best news all night, from where he stood, because whether she knew it or not, he was winning her over. “If I’m wrong, I’ll—”
“What? Turn yourself in?”
“Yeah.”
She stared at him. “Let’s call Tibbs now.”
“Not without the serial number. Not when he already has evidence against me.”
“Hawk…”
“Look, if I’m wrong, you can call him. I promise.”
She tugged on the cuffs. “Your promise is no good to me when I’m with you against my will.”
Okay, good point. But he wasn’t letting her go until they we
re back on the road, because he wasn’t going to risk her getting out of the truck this close to Gaines. “I’m sorry.”
“If that were true, I wouldn’t be here.”
“No, I’m sorry about whatever happened to you.”
Abby went so still he doubted she was even breathing. Slowly she lifted her gaze to meet his, and then he wasn’t breathing, because there, revealed for him to see, was such pain he nearly staggered backward.
In the loaded silence came the startlingly loud click of the gas pump, signaling that the tank was full, and she blinked and turned away.
Moment over.
By the time Hawk got back into the truck, with her hurriedly scooting over so that he wouldn’t have to touch her, she’d regained her control.
And reestablished her silence.
He started the engine, but she cleared her throat and rattled the handcuffs.
Right. Hoping he wasn’t being an idiot, he pulled out onto the highway before he tossed the key into her lap. She wouldn’t do anything stupid at sixty-five miles per hour, he figured.
Hoped.
Abby grabbed the key. Bending her head, she set herself to the task of unlocking the cuffs, her hair falling over his forearm, her breasts inadvertently brushing his bicep. She’d probably have a heart attack if she realized but he had another reaction altogether.
Freed, she rubbed her wrist and stared out the window. Reaching over, he brought her hand close until he could see her skin in the dim light of the console display. She was bruised, abraded and raw.
“Don’t you dare say you’re sorry,” she told him.
He closed his lips on the words and pressed his lips to her skin.
She didn’t snatch her hand free, which he considered an excellent sign. Instead, her breath caught as if maybe she liked his touch after all, as if maybe she was finally going to surrender her aggression and fear, and soften toward him. At least in his dreams.
“Why would he show himself to you?”
His eyes met hers. So she hadn’t decided that he was completely full of shit. He’d take that. “I think it was sheer cockiness, to tell you the truth. Sort of like, look what I pulled off.”
“But to play both sides…It’s so crazy dangerous.”
“He’s dying tonight, remember,” he reminded her. “In essence, retiring.”
“After getting rid of his loose ends.”
“Yes.”
“Like you.”
“Yes.”
She nodded, clearly holding it together by a string, and he wanted to touch her so badly, just to let her know she wasn’t alone.
“I keep going back,” she said. “To when I was working on the Kiddie Bombers in Seattle.”
He slanted her a glance. “Something clicking?”
“There were several times when things went down like tonight, when Gaines showed up at raids no one expected him to be at. To watch the takedowns, he always said.” She shook her head. “Once I questioned him on that.”
“And he was thrilled.”
“He brushed me off.” Abby shook her head. “And I let him. I discounted all of it until now. But I’m thinking that on the off chance I was getting too close…” She closed her eyes. “I’m a loose end, too.”
“Yes, but you’re an alive one,” he reminded her. “Let’s keep it that way. First, your computer.”
“And then what? We draw him out in order to prove he’s alive?”
It was the first real sign he’d had that she might believe him. “I like the way you think, and yeah. He needs to be drawn out.”
Which Hawk would do alone, because no way in hell did he plan on letting Gaines anywhere near her. In fact, he needed to find a safe place for her until this was over. And yet…and yet there was a small part of him that couldn’t deny what it felt like having her with him.
Because with her here, he wasn’t alone. As disastrously bad as the night had gone, as bad as it could still get, he wasn’t alone.
10
Cheyenne Memorial Hospital
LOGAN WOKE UP IN A WHITE ROOM filled with beeping equipment and a sterile smell that made him groan in disgust.
A hospital.
He hated hospitals, always had. His asshole father had put him in several, until the state had finally decided, oh, gee, maybe we’d better do our job and remove the kid from his situation. Logan had thrived in foster homes, but thanks in no small part to his wild streak, he’d still managed to land himself in various emergency rooms all on his own.
Then there’d been Special Forces and the time he and Hawk had been nearly shot to kingdom come when their convoy had been hit in the Gulf.
Since then, however, he’d actually managed to stay hospital free, though he had a running bet with Hawk—one hundred bucks on which of them would run out of luck first.
And damn it, now he’d lost. Unless he could get himself checked out before Hawk found out….
Something rustled at his side, and a face swam in front of his. Fiery red hair, black-rimmed glasses, mossy eyes and well-glossed lips.
His sweet angel, who’d been with him when he’d been dreaming about Playboy bunnies, and when he’d ended up tossing his cookies at her feet.
Oh, yeah, that had been a highlight.
Still the sight of her made him want to smile. When he did, a whole new kind of pain swam through him. “Oh, shit.”
“Careful.” She cupped his jaw, her hand blessedly cool on his burning skin. “Stay still.”
He let out a raw laugh. “Yeah. Not so good at that.”
“I’d suggest trying.”
She’d seen him at his absolute worst and was still here. Other than Hawk, that was a rarity for him. And worth everything. He could look at her all day. Hell, all week. He felt dazzled. Dizzy.
But that might have been the pain meds. “You stayed.”
She put her deliciously cool hand on his forehead. “I’m glad you’re back.”
“When was I gone?”
“You’ve been pretty out of it. Your boss called and he sounded devastated at what had happened to you.”
“Tibbs?”
“I didn’t catch his name. He said he’d see you soon.”
“Southern accent so thick he sounds like his cheeks are filled with marbles?”
“No. Sort of a rushed, clipped voice.”
At that, images flashed to him from the barn. Everything going to shit. The shadow on the roof with him. Looking down and seeing something, someone on the ground, looking up at him just before the hit to the head.
Gaines.
He knew that now. He’d looked into Gaines’s eyes and yet had been hit from behind.
By one of Gaines’s men. Bastard.
“You were out for a long time.”
That sounded bad. He only vaguely remembered being loaded from the chopper into the hospital, but he definitely remembered this gorgeous angel hovering over him with those sweet eyes and that mouth that made him think of hot, sweaty sex. He tried to lift a hand to touch her and found it taped to a board with two separate IVs hooked up to his arm. Uh-oh. Locating his other hand, he slapped at his legs to make sure they were both still there, and a searing bolt of pain sang up his right leg. This time he couldn’t even swear, much less breathe.
“Oh, Logan, don’t.” She ran a hand down his arm in a slow, comforting manner. “Just hang tight. And don’t move.”
He gasped for breath. “Just—give it to me straight. My injuries.”
She looked him right in the eyes. “Well, you have some.”
“Some? Or so many they can’t be counted?”
Her lips quirked. Her eyes softened. “Somewhere in the middle.”
A sense of humor. With eyes like that and a mouth made for sin, it was sensory overload. “Tell me.”
“Let me get your doctor—”
Somehow he managed to grab her hand and hold her still. “I want to hear it from you.”
“Well, you have quite a concussion.”
&nb
sp; “Okay, that explains why my head feels like it was stitched back onto my neck.”
“Yep, eighteen stitches.”
“Ouch.”
“There was some concern about the length of time you were unconscious, but you’re awake now, and that’s all the matters.” She stroked her fingers over his. “Right?”
He stared at her fingers. Long, strong, capable. Ringless. “Absolutely. Awake is good, but…? I thought I heard a big one at the end of that statement.”
“Logan.”
Oh, yeah. His humor faded. “Spill it.”
“You fractured your right leg and three ribs in the fall.”
“I’ve had worse.” Which was true.
“There’s some internal bleeding that’s causing concern. They were worried one of your ribs might have punctured a lung—”
“Hey, I’m breathing just fine.”
She nodded and smoothed his blanket, looking so touchingly concerned he wanted to pull her into his lap and kiss it away. Too bad he hurt so much that he was in danger of puking again.
She read his expression with alarming accuracy. “Do you need—”
“No.” He would not throw up again in front of her if it was the last thing he didn’t do.
“Well…I should probably go. I’ll get your doctor first—”
“No.” Logan tightened his grip on her hand, about to utter two words he’d never said before, to anyone. “Don’t go.”
“I really shouldn’t be here.”
“And yet you are.”
“But I shouldn’t be,” she repeated with a helpless smile. “I don’t know why. I just…”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Come on. I puked in front of you. Give me something.”
She glanced back at the door. “It sounds so silly, like a cliché, but I felt this…connection…”
“I know.” He’d felt it too, and he didn’t do connections. Not breaking eye contact, he pulled her closer until she sat on the edge of his bed.
“So you felt it, too?” She asked this casually, just like this wasn’t the moment he usually ran like hell from. If he couldn’t run, he typically backpedaled, scrambling to make up whatever it was that a woman needed to hear, whatever it took to get her back into bed, or into her clothes and out his door, whatever he happened to need at the time.