by Paula Graves
“They’ll warm up soon enough.” She lightly traced a path up his spine, lifting the shirt as she went.
He kissed her again, his mouth firm and demanding this time. She kissed him with answering heat, scraping her fingernails lightly across his shoulders until he groaned with pleasure.
He drew back long enough to shrug his T-shirt the rest of the way over his head. “I missed you while you were gone.”
“Ditto.” She pulled her sweater off and tossed it in the general direction of the sofa. Her jeans and panties followed in one slightly off-balance shimmy, and she reached behind herself to unhook her bra.
The room was chilly, making goose bumps rise across her flesh. Her nipples rose to taut peaks, and when Brand brushed the pad of his thumb across the left one, she gasped from the electric shock that ripped through her. Grinning, Brand raised his other hand to her right breast and repeated the caress, making her suck in another breath.
“See?” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her collarbone. “We still have so much to learn about each other.”
She grabbed the zipper of his jeans and tugged. “We’ll see about that.”
Chapter Fifteen
“You don’t have to do this.” Brand’s heart felt like a lump of lead caught in his throat, throbbing with dread as he watched Delilah dress the next morning.
He’d always thought of himself first and foremost as an FBI agent, a man driven to protect the country he served no matter what the cost. It had been the only way he could do the job he’d taken on, sending men and women into danger. He’d respected that the people he led had their own reasons for wanting to protect their fellow citizens, and he’d been determined to never let his feelings get in the way of sending them out to do their jobs.
But watching Delilah gird herself for the battle she’d chosen had stripped him utterly of any objectivity he might have once had where she was concerned. She could die trying to prove his innocence. It was a sacrifice he wasn’t willing to let her make.
She finished buttoning her blouse and turned to look at him. “I know I don’t. But I’m going to.”
“Don’t do this for me.”
“It’s not just for you.” She picked up the jeans she’d draped over a chair by the bed. “Cortland’s had people killed. He’s not going to stop if we stop. He’s going to keep going after my brother and Rachel.”
“It doesn’t have to be you who stops him.”
She pulled on her jeans and zipped them, then sat on the bed beside him. “I’m the one best positioned to do this. Think like the special agent in charge, not the lover.”
She smelled good, fresh from the shower, making him wish he could pull her back into bed and keep her there. He cupped her jaw, sliding his thumb over her full bottom lip. “I don’t think I can do that anymore.”
“You have to.” She pulled away from his touch and stood.
He tamped down his fear for her and tried to do as she asked. Think like an agent, not a man. “How do you plan to contact him?”
“I’ve already done it.”
He arched his eyebrow. “When? How?”
“I stopped at a pay phone yesterday on my way to Blakeville to call the lumber mill.”
Brand stared at her. “And you didn’t think to tell me this?”
“I didn’t want to worry you ahead of time.”
“Did you actually talk to Cortland?”
“No, but I made an appointment with his secretary.”
“Did you give her your real name?”
“No.” Her lips curved slightly. “I figure the element of surprise will be in my favor.”
“And you don’t think that mystery man giving your Camaro the once-over has anything to do with your phone call?”
“I wasn’t in Blakeville when I made the call, so how would Cortland know where I was going?”
“He wouldn’t,” Brand conceded. “What time is the meeting?”
“Eleven this morning.”
A ripple of panic shot through him. “That’s only a couple of hours.”
“I know. That’s why I’m dressing.”
He scraped his hand over his beard. “I’d better get in the shower.”
She put her hand out to stop him. “You can’t go.”
“Like hell I can’t.”
“Brand, if anyone sees you—”
“Nobody will see me.”
“You can’t know that.”
“Damn it, Hammond!” He threw off the bedcovers and crossed to where she stood.
Her dark eyes dropped to take in his nakedness, then rose to meet his gaze, amusement gleaming in her expression. “You think you can distract me with your smokin’-hot body, Brand?”
He saw by the flush of pink beneath her golden skin that she wasn’t exactly immune to his naked masculinity. “Maybe.”
She flattened her hand on his chest to keep him from moving any closer. “Let me do this my way, Brand.”
He wanted to argue, but the look in her eyes told him anything he said would be futile. “Okay. Do it your way.”
She looked surprised and a little suspicious. “You gave in too easily.”
He stepped back until he reached the bed, sitting and looking up at her. “I just know an unwinnable battle when I see one.”
Her eyes remained narrowed, as if she was trying to ferret out the catch to his sudden acquiescence. “If I’m not back by four, get the hell out of here and don’t worry about me.”
“That’s not possible.”
“Fine. Get the hell out of here and worry about me to your heart’s content.” Her gaze fell to the bandage on his side. “You’ll be okay to walk out of here, right?”
He nodded. “I’m nearly good as new.”
She released a little sigh of frustration. “I’ll do everything in my power to get back here by four. I promise.”
He caught her hand and pulled her down to his lap. “You do that.”
She slipped her arms around his neck, pressing her forehead to his. “If I get this right, your whole ordeal could be over today.”
He didn’t know whether he wanted to believe her or not. He’d thought there was nothing in the world he wanted more than to clear his name and return to his job at the FBI. But going back to Washington meant leaving Delilah behind. Ripping her out of his life yet again, maybe forever this time.
“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” she asked.
He looked up at her, deep into her dark eyes, and tried to read her own emotions there. But all he saw were his own questions reflected back at him.
“Yes,” he answered, and tried to mean it. “But I don’t want you to go out there unprotected.”
“I can protect myself.”
He shook his head. “At least give me some way to track you.”
She arched her eyebrows. “What do you have in mind?”
“There’s a miniature GPS tracker in the stashed bag we picked up. I put it there in case I had trouble finding where I’d buried it.” He nodded toward the bag. “It should still have plenty of battery power to work.”
“What if they frisk me?”
“Put it in your bra.”
She laughed softly. “You sound like Megan Pike—Jesse’s sister,” she elaborated at his look of confusion. “She’s a big proponent of female operatives hiding things in their bras. She says most men are hesitant to search your bra, and if they do, you have worse problems than being caught carrying a hidden object.”
“Wise woman. The tracker’s small enough that you should easily be able to conceal it.”
She rose from his lap and bent to kiss him lightly. “Okay. But let’s hurry and get it set up. I want to scope the place out a little before I walk into the lion’s den.”
He retrie
ved the small tracker, which was a little bigger than a flash drive, and handed it to Delilah. She tucked it under her left breast and held out her arms. “Do you see it?”
He studied her breasts, trying to be clinical about it. “No.” He grabbed his phone from the bedside table and called up the tracking device. The coordinates of her location came through and he checked them against his map application. Right on the money.
“Okay, then. I’d better go.” She kissed him again. “Don’t come after me if I don’t come back. Call Jesse Cooper and give him the GPS coordinates. Let him find me. You get out of here while you can.”
No way in hell was he going to agree to that, but he didn’t tell her so. Instead, he forced himself to watch her go, his heart in his throat. He remained still even though his muscles bunched with the need for action, waiting until he heard the door close behind her and the Camaro engine roar to life before he moved.
She’d been right to be suspicious of his easy acquiescence, he thought with a smile as he showered quickly and dressed for travel. Because there was something he knew about the cabin property that she didn’t: there was a shed just out of view from the cabin where Liz Vaughn had kept a four-wheel-drive truck.
If he was lucky, there was still gas in the tank from the last time she’d visited. Even if he was unlucky, he and Delilah had bought several gallons of gas for the generator. He could scavenge enough fuel from their stash to get him to the service station up the road.
Either way, he was going to make damned sure Delilah had backup for her meeting with Wayne Cortland.
* * *
TRAVISVILLE WAS A small town, not much bigger than Delilah’s hometown of Bitterwood, and Cortland Lumber was by far the largest company in town, at least in terms of square footage. It sprawled across several acres and contained not only the sawmill itself but a retail property, a shipping area and several hundred acres of trees from which Cortland harvested the lumber he sold under the Cortland label.
The place was bustling even that late in the morning, full of contractors and individual customers alike, moving at quick, workmanlike paces through the floor-to-ceiling displays of building supplies the lumber mill sold.
She wasn’t the only woman in the place, so she didn’t draw much extra attention, to her relief. She was able to reach the part of the retail store where the woman who’d answered her call had told her she’d find the company offices. Lining the wall behind the front counter were several closed doors, all marked with names and titles. The one directly behind the counter had a narrow gold plaque with Wayne Cortland, President engraved in bold, straight letters.
The front-desk clerk was a heavyset man with dark gray eyes and a florid complexion. He pasted on a smile at her approach. “How can I help you today, ma’am?”
“I have an appointment with Mr. Cortland at eleven a.m.”
The man’s sandy eyebrows rose slightly. “I’ll tell his assistant you’re here.” He picked up a phone, pushed a button and spoke to someone on the other end. He hung up the phone and nodded. “Mr. Cortland wants you to wait in the sawmill office. It’s just out that door to the right. Can’t miss it.” He pointed toward the side exit.
“Thank you.” Delilah kept her pace unhurried, determined not to appear nervous or overly eager. She’d told Cortland’s assistant she was interested in contracting with Cortland for supplies for rental cabins on some land she owned in the mountains. She’d hoped—she still hoped—that such a financial inducement might convince Cortland to meet with her himself.
She wasn’t sure what she’d expected from the sawmill office, but the room she stepped into wasn’t it. It was barely a shed, full of dusty equipment under dustier plastic covers. In one corner, a tall wooden box a little larger than a storage chest took up a large portion of the area.
The only light in the room went away when the door closed behind her.
“Hello?” she called into the gloom. But she could see herself that nobody else was there.
Alarm creeping up her neck, she turned back to the door and turned the knob. It rattled uselessly in her hand.
She banged on the door. “Hello?”
Though she heard shuffling footsteps outside the shed, nobody answered her calls. She tried the doorknob again, in case it was just stuck, but it didn’t budge. It was locked, and apparently from the outside.
Faint light trickled through the narrow space beneath the door, easing some of the darkness inside the windowless shed. Delilah pulled her keys from her pocket and engaged the penlight attached to the chain, letting the narrow beam of light play around the small shed. She saw nothing she hadn’t seen before. Nothing that would convince her this was all a mistake that would soon be rectified.
She was in trouble. No pretending otherwise—this clearly wasn’t any sort of office, and someone had followed her out here and locked her in. She had to assume they had a pretty good idea who she was and, most likely, why she was there.
She had to find a way out of here, and fast.
There were no windows and only the one door, unless a second exit was hidden behind the pieces of equipment blocking her view of half the room. She picked her way through them, hoping to find another outlet near the back of the shed, but just as she’d squeezed her way between a large table saw and a battered-looking copy machine, she heard the door behind her open.
She whirled around in time to see something fly into the room and explode with a bang. A fine mist began to spray into the shed. At the first burning whiff of the gas, she realized what it was.
A tear-gas canister.
One of the most beneficial parts of working for Cooper Security had been the training program that Jesse Cooper had required of all employees, agents and support staff alike. Field agents had undergone extra training, of course, including riot-control training—from both sides of the tear gas.
“Think like a rioter,” Jesse had warned them during the training sessions. “There may come a time when you’re on the other end of the tear gas, and you have to know how to function.”
They’d gone through dozens of scenarios, dealt with the painful effects of the pepper gas, and over time they’d internalized the procedures to limit the effects of tear-gas exposure.
Prophylaxis was, of course, the most obvious answer. Suiting up and wearing a mask wasn’t an option in the tiny shed, but one of the dust sheets over the old equipment could block most of the gas if she could get herself under it.
Trying to keep her head turned away from the gas, Delilah held her breath and tugged at the sheet on the copier. It snagged on one side of the machine but pulled free, and she covered her face and torso with the plastic, edging to the far side of the shed to keep the worst of the gas from reaching her.
But the shed was tiny, and she didn’t dare close herself up completely in the plastic sheeting or she’d suffocate. It didn’t take long for some of the pepper gas to reach her nose and face, making her eyes and nose leak and her chest constrict with pain.
She heard the door open again, and two people entered the shed. Through the plastic sheeting, she made out only tall, broad silhouettes with misshapen heads. It took her a second to realize they were wearing gas masks to block out the tear gas.
They surrounded her, grabbing her arms and legs through the plastic sheeting. She kicked out at them, but the plastic limited her motion too much for her to be very effective, and as the sheeting came loose, more of the tear gas poured under it, exacerbating her pain and rendering her nearly blind from the effects of the pepper in her eyes.
They picked her up and carried her only a few feet before depositing her inside something. A door closed, shutting out the light and the pepper gas. A moment later, the world turned on its head and she slammed against the hard back of the container into which her captors had shoved her.
She felt her makeshift prison swayin
g. They were moving her, entombed in this coffinlike box.
She tried to shout, but the effects of the pepper gas had turned her voice into little more than a gasping croak. She struggled with the plastic sheeting, feeling the first smothering panic of diminishing oxygen, made worse by her gas-irritated lungs. She finally got her face free of the plastic and took a couple of rasping breaths, willing herself to ignore the burning pain on her skin and in her streaming eyes.
She tried shouting again, but it was too late. She felt a hard thud as the box she was in hit a solid surface and slid with a scrape against what sounded like a metal floor. There was a loud, rattling clang of a door being shut, and what little daylight had crept through the seams of the box disappeared, plunging her into claustrophobic darkness.
An engine roared to life, somewhere very nearby. Then she felt movement again, more subtle and indirect. She must be in the back of a truck, she realized. They were moving her.
But to where?
Chapter Sixteen
The GPS was still tracking, Brand reassured himself with a quick look at the app, which meant that they hadn’t found the device she had tucked in her bra. But that was the end of the good news.
Brand had seen it all go down, powerless to make a move. Perched on a hill a quarter mile away, he’d trained his binoculars on the lumber mill, spotting Delilah’s Camaro as it entered the parking area.
He’d watched her head into the lumber-mill showroom, and, moments later, leave by a side door and enter an adjacent shed, her exit so quick and unobtrusive that he might have missed it if he hadn’t seen two men slide into position behind her with the secretive stealth of soldiers. The second she was inside the shed, they’d closed the door and locked it behind her, then taken up positions on either side of the door.
Moments later, another man had arrived, handing one of the two guards a canvas bag. After donning a gas mask and handing another to the other guard, the man on the right had pulled something small and cylindrical from the bag, unlocked the door and thrown the cylinder inside before shutting the door again.