by Rachel Lee
Damn.
Ginger clutched Hank’s tense-as-steel arm and stared at the strange man kneeling beside their car inside the repair shop. His finger probed one of the bullet holes.
That by itself wouldn’t have been too much cause for concern. Except the towering man standing beside him peering into the crowds with narrowly slitted eyes sent a shiver down her spine that had nothing to do with the brisk breeze winding a corkscrew path around the shoppers.
Here she’d been worried about something else being wrong with the vehicle. It had held out far past her expectations, surviving a shoot-out, a mad chase and record-breaking storm conditions with only a simple flat tire. Only to be finally detected by…who?
Friends or enemies? “Hank?”
She tugged on his sleeve only to find him already evaluating the situation with keen eyes. “Keep close. Be ready to make fast tracks back into the crowd.”
The tall man staring into the shopping masses brushed gazes with her, looking past. Then back.
Holding.
His hand slid inside his long duster, a hint of lethal black gun showing.
Ginger curled her toes in her shoes. “Bolt?”
“Yeah.” Hank slid his arm around her waist and tugged her into the anonymous press of merry humanity.
Her heart pounded in sync with their feet, in time with the packages slamming against her legs. “What are we going to do? You said the car-rental place was sold out for the holidays. And you didn’t want to draw attention by stealing a car. You said we’re close. Are we near enough to walk?”
“No.” He kept his arm hooked around her, guiding her through the milling shoppers while making sure they stayed side by side.
“Then what are you doing?”
“Thinking. Hoping.”
He hauled her into the anonymity of a cluster of people listening to a quartet of carolers. She wanted to ask more about his “hopeful” plan. Hank always had contingencies lined up for emergencies and this most definitely qualified. She chewed her lip and waited while he stared with searching eyes along the street vendors and stalls to where their pursuer stood by a living crèche, no longer chasing them for the moment, thank heavens.
Hank dipped his face to her ear, his smile brushing her cheek. “Forget worrying about getting caught stealing a car or walking. I’ve just found our ride.”
“You have?” Of course he had. When had Hank ever faltered? Apparently she was the only one who had fears and doubts. “I wouldn’t have thought a village this small would have two car-rental places.”
“Oh, it doesn’t have another car-rental place.” His smile caressed her cheek, swirling away some doubts but stirring up a lot more questions.
He pointed toward a line of decked-out sleighs.
Ginger tugged the sleigh blanket over her legs to ward off the chill, bells jingling with each step of the two horses’ feet through the snowy landscape. Hank had estimated an hour from the village to the safe house by this mode of transportation, which meant they should be arriving in no more than fifteen minutes since he’d paid the driver extra to haul butt.
So far, so good. No sign of their lurking bad guy buddy from the village, and the sleigh ride actually provided a bit of anonymity from the main thoroughfare.
Hank’s warm frame radiated heat beside her, close, so close, at times she thought he might even kiss her again. Her heart kicked up pace faster than the cars swishing past on the country road beyond the mask of pine trees.
Their driver seemed to be making good time, happily humming along atonally to whatever he was listening to on the headphones peeking from under his cap.
The snow-laden trees passed in a blur, ancient cottages tucked in the woods at unexpected places, their chimneys puffing smoke into the evening air.
“Here,” Hank growled low, pressing something solid into her hand. “You may need this.”
She looked down to find a revolver in her hand. “What do you mean? The e-mail said all clear at the safe house. I can understand why you didn’t want to risk any stranger coming to pick us up. But what’s wrong with us going to a known entity?”
“Contingency plan.” He kept his voice low, soft enough not to be overheard by the iPod-addicted driver in the seat in front of them. “If something happens to me.”
She swayed, the thought, well, unthinkable. Her fingers closed around the weapon, which also happened to cause them to clench around his hand. “All right.”
“Do you know how to use it?”
She welcomed the smile his question brought. “I was shooting targets in the woods with my daddy before I got my driver’s license.”
He winked and released the gun. The ominous black weapon rested in her lap now instead of her precious crèche, which lay within reach at her booted feet. She covered the gun with the red plaid blanket, then reached to secure her hood around her head while the wind combined with their brisk ride to try and tear off the cover.
Hank flipped up the collar of his coat to protect his ears—simple, but efficient, much like the no-frills man himself. “We don’t have much time left to talk, Ginger. Tell me more about the family crèche there. Is that something from your Dutch grandma’s side of the family?”
“No, actually, it’s a piece from Benjamin’s family.”
“Do you remember anything more?” He kept one gloved hand in his coat pocket—undoubtedly around his gun—while the other stayed around her.
“I seem to recall his father bought it for his mother for Christmas about fifty years ago.”
“Anything else?”
“What are you getting at?” She rubbed her hands together under the blanket, then placed them back on the weapon.
“Have you considered that someone may want the crèche instead of you? You said yourself it’s a priceless piece of art.”
“Oh, wow,” she stared at the velvet purse at her feet. “Wow. That makes an obvious kind of sense. Does it have any bearing on what we should do today?”
He brushed at a branch that came close to swatting their heads. Snow still showered down around them, drifts building in the sparsely populated outlying area of the village. “My gut’s telling me the safe house really is our best bet.”
“Okay.”
“That’s it? Okay? No questions about whether or not there are moles on the inside waiting there to shoot you since I’ve given you this gun?” He glanced down at the lump where the blanket covered the weapon.
“If your instincts tell you the odds are better for us to go in, then I trust you.”
“In my job.”
With those three words and their implication about other aspects, things heated up between them. She tried to think of how to answer him honestly. “You know I keep you with me because you’re the one person in my life I can totally trust. Too many times I’ve found out people only wanted me for access to the Landis fortune or a senatorial ear.”
“What if I let you down? I’m not a perfect man.”
“You’re mighty close.” So why couldn’t she bring herself to throw caution to the wind and fling her arms around him for another kiss?
Hank Renshaw was a lot of man to live up to. She’d loved and lost one of those larger-than-life men before and, lordy, they left a huge void behind them.
Her hands starting shaking at just the simple thought.
Simple? Not simple at all. Losing Benjamin had shaken her world to the foundation. Nothing, nothing had compared to the agony of that time. Only throwing herself into her job and being a mother had gotten her through.
Any dating she’d done had been totally superficial. She realized full well after that kiss with Hank—after knowing the man—things with him could never be uncomplicated. She stared at the winding street ahead, full of ice and heaven only knew what other roadblocks or hazards.
She wasn’t one to take the easy route. A person only had to look at her life to see that.
Hands still trembling inside her leather gloves, she leaned closer to absorb more of his body heat.
Sure enough, a jolt of awareness shimmered up her arm, an echo of what she’d felt when they’d kissed.
When his gaze had locked with hers back at the airport lounge.
Things were definitely different. They couldn’t resume their old ways. She was scared to her cold toes. She just hoped she could continue to muster the resolve she’d used in countless international negotiations to carry her through figuring out where this attraction would lead them.
Hank slid his arms from around her and reached under the blanket to take one of her hands in his, holding tight. “Do you need another blanket? You’re shaking pretty hard.”
Touching him, she could swear he’d already piled on a stack of blankets, the comfort of him steaming through her. “I just want us both to get to that safe house in one piece.”
She squinted to peer through the blur of trees as best she could, and the roadway behind the traffic seemed sparse but steady. No suspicious vehicles slowing to watch them. “Do you think they were on the lookout back there since we were close to the safe house? Maybe they were just curious about the car because of the damage.”
“Anything’s possible right now.” He tapped the driver on the shoulder. The college-aged student peeled aside his hat and pulled out one of the earpieces while Hank called out some final directions. Hank eased back in his seat.
Before she had time to think overlong about what he’d said, the sleigh whipped onto a tiny rural road alongside a small row of old townhomes in a converted farmhouse. Window boxes were decorated with pine boughs and white lights.
Hank leaned over as if to kiss her and whispered in her ear. “Pretend we’ve come to visit our European cousins for the holidays.”
His mouth sketched across hers before reaching over the seat to pass her the crèche and one of the packages. He paid the driver and helped her from the sleigh, looking for all the world like visiting guests. Except she knew his hand in his pocket gripped a 9 mm as they trudged through the snow toward the corner unit, where a decorated tree glowed in the window.
The door swung open to reveal a dark-haired man wearing corduroy pants and a heavy cardigan. “Will-kommen! Gruss Gott!” He welcomed them with a thick German accent, puffing away on a pipe. “We’ve only just started to decorate the tree.”
He pulled them both into a hug before lumbering lazily down the walkway to pay off the sleigh driver.
Seemingly in no hurry, their “host” escorted them into the small abode, tugging the door closed behind him. In one of those odd quirks she should have been used to by now, the agent seemed to shed years from his age as he rid himself of his role as quickly as he pulled the pipe from his mouth and tossed it in an ashtray.
The man’s smile faded. “General, Senator Landis, thank God you’re both safe.” He extended his hand, his German accent vanishing to be replaced by a nondescript mid-American-broadcaster-type voice. “I’m Special Agent Rodriquez. Let’s step into the briefing room to catch you up to speed on the National Security issues at hand.”
Twenty minutes into the brief, Ginger sagged back in one of the kitchen table’s wooden chairs. She could hardly believe her ears even as computers with the best world intelligence hummed all around them.
Could things have wrapped themselves up this neatly in the hour while she and Hank had been driving? “And you’ve questioned them thoroughly?”
Special Agent Rodriquez refilled the three coffee mugs, pulling down a couple more for the pair of agents in the back room. “It’s an ongoing investigation, but the People’s Revolutionary Council is claiming full responsibility for the attack. The Germans have two leaders of the local cell in custody.”
“Then I guess that’s it then.” Ginger took her refilled mug from the agent, her world still strangely off-kilter despite the thaw in her veins and the safety in her new surroundings. Was it because of what she’d shared with Hank? An unsettling thought that he could hold such sway over her emotions beyond just friendship because of a look, a kiss.
A night in his arms.
Hank tipped his chair back, arms crossed over his chest. “There are more people in their group.”
“Very low risk. They’re disorganized with their leaders out of commission, and they’re not likely to strike in the same place so soon.”
Hank rocked his kitchen chair back and forth. “Fair enough.” Still he didn’t appear satisfied. “What about our cancelled appearances?”
“We told everyone the stress from the attack had aggravated the senator’s ear infection, and she was under doctor’s orders to rest. Since you’re in safely, we would like to invite those who missed meetings to attend the Christmas Eve dedication service, provided you’re still up to making the event, ma’am.” The agent reclaimed his seat at the table.
“Absolutely.” Ginger couldn’t fault how things had been handled. Everything seemed perfect, which meant there was no reason not to continue with the rest of her plans. “The chapel dedication is the most important part of this whole trip. Make whatever security arrangements are necessary.”
“Ginger…” Hank’s chair thudded to the floor with an ominous thud. A stubborn thud.
“Hank, we can’t leave the country on this negative note. It taints all the progress we made in the weeks prior.” She stared him down, her mind set in spite of the fact she felt the same unsettling sensation inside of her that she saw echoed in his eyes.
However, she’d been in public service long enough to have had bad feelings come to nothing. She couldn’t cancel every event because of a feeling, and this one, passing along the crèche, had somehow become especially important to her for some reason she had yet to pinpoint.
So she locked on Hank’s gaze and held until he blinked first and shifted his attention to the special agent at the table with them.
“I want damn impenetrable security measures at that dedication ceremony, Rodriquez. No screw-ups this time. I want her wrapped in a fortress of protection.”
Hank couldn’t miss the irony of his wish as he stood at the medieval castle window, looking out over the historic fortress’s grounds. He’d wanted Ginger well protected and now he waited with her in an alabaster stone citadel that had withstood centuries of sieges and attacks.
He continued his perusal of the outlying snow-capped land as Ginger bustled behind him, settling into the room, putting away her clothes that had been brought over by the secret service. His room connected through a small sitting area. They’d been assigned the lord and lady of the castle’s quarters. He’d been placed close to her for protection, practical, but hell on the willpower since he would be spending the night here with her before tomorrow’s Christmas Eve dedication ceremony.
Even with his back turned, he couldn’t help but be tuned in to her every movement, his awareness of her pleasure or frustration over the smallest details of the room. Her sigh at the bathroom door meant there wasn’t enough elbow room. Her harrumph over the closet stated she didn’t approve of the musty scent. A quiet humming noise while she filled the dresser drawers relayed that she liked the flowery smelling pillowy things they’d put in there to scent up the clothes.
God knows how he understood all of that since no one had ever accused him of being Joe Sensitive. But there it was.
And he would damn well lose his mind thinking about how much had shifted between them since he’d held her in his arms last night. Or kissed her this morning.
Better focus on the outside.
His eyes scanned a rocky, icy patch of scarred earth where he suspected there’d once been a moat. An ice-covered lake spread to the right, mountains along the left wrapping behind. Strategically, this had been a well-built home and he couldn’t deny the rush as he thought of all those old battles chronicled on the tapestries covering the walls.
How ironic that the castle had survived so much only to have the chapel razed by a fluke of nature fifty years ago. Lightning from a storm had sparked a fire, destroying the chapel along with its contents. The village had been devastated. Th
e fundraising drive in this small town to rebuild the chapel had been a heart-tugging story—just the sort that called to someone like Ginger more than any big-city photo op.
One of the many things he admired about her.
As if drawn against his will, he turned on his boot heels to find her warming her toes by the fire. She toyed with the trailing end of the pine bough attached to the mantel, with red bows and silver glass balls. Her sigh of contentment seared right through him.
Their kiss that morning blazed in his mind and through his body as if it had just happened.
She turned to look at him, the flames from the hearth reflected in her eyes. He kept his gaze firmly off the looming four-poster bed with its poufy comforter across the room and a nice little spread of wine with holiday candies, fruit and nuts beside it.
The firelight brought out her blond hair, showcased the shadows of her every sweet curve, of her hips in formfitting jeans.
Her breasts in that sweater—the woman looked fine in a sweater. He vowed to buy her lots of them, in every color. And yeah, these thoughts were leading him directly down one path.
Hell, he could stare at the moon and there was no ignoring the bed’s overpowering presence. In spite of all the danger—perhaps even heightened by the reminder of how easily everything could be taken away—they’d been working toward this moment all day.
His feet carried him to her with a surety he saw in her eyes along with those flames even if the breath she inhaled seemed a little shaky. He stopped in front of her and she dropped her extended legs, her feet resting toes to toes with his.
“So, Ginger, do I take my boots off and stay or not? It’s your call.”
Her face creased in a smile, her breath seeming a bit steadier this time. “Boots off, flyboy.”
She didn’t have to tell him twice. He dropped into the wingback chair opposite hers and slid his shoes off, dropping them to the floor, with a thud and thud, before he extended his hand to her. Without hesitation, Ginger glided up from her chair, sinking into his lap and his arms.
Her mouth met his and confirmed that the attraction, the draw he’d felt when they’d kissed earlier, hadn’t been a one-time thing. This was real. Intense.