The kiss was frenzied, out of control. He gripped her hair while his other hand yanked her up against him. He ached with need that she answered willingly. With his teeth he discovered the softness of her full lower lip, with his tongue the slippery heat of her mouth. He did his damndest to devour her, to claim her so thoroughly she would never forget his brand on her. When they breathed at all, it was harshly, while her head fell back and he bit the tender skin of her neck. She whimpered then, and ran her splayed hands over his chest. He was on fire, the flames roaring in his ears, but when he lifted his head to capture her mouth again, he saw her tears.
Her eyes were closed, but a drop shimmered on her dark lashes. His muscles seemed to lock and an eternity passed while he stared down at her. God, he wanted her...but not like this. Not under pressure.
She opened her eyes then, and the blue was as bottomless as the lake that had almost claimed him. "Mac?" she whispered.
Sickened at himself, he lowered his hands to his sides and stepped back. "We can't go on like this," he said in defeat.
She didn't move, though her eyes closed again, and she seemed to pale.
"Goddamn it, Megan! Talk to me."
"All right," she whispered. Her lashes lifted and her gaze met his, though he could no longer read her thoughts. Her eyes were...blind, he thought, as though she didn't see him.
"All right what?"
"You win. I'll go."
So it had worked, using her own sexuality to frighten her. Why didn't he feel triumphant?
"It won't be for long," he said. No, vowed. "I promise I'll get the bastard. Then we can both go back to our lives the way they used to be."
"Sure," she said flatly. "Now, I think I'll go to bed, if you don't mind."
He wanted to step aside, but didn't. "You'll leave tomorrow?"
"After work." Her mouth compressed. "I'll have to make...arrangements. Somebody will have to take over at the beach, and...and I'll need to tell my parents." She gestured vaguely. "And pack."
"Okay." He did move out of her path then. "I'm sorry."
Her eyes fleetingly met his, and he felt as though somebody had punched him. She didn't bother even commenting, just swept past him.
CHAPTER 7
The county parks department accepted the loss of Megan without too much fuss. An old friend was having a difficult pregnancy and was desperate for help this last month, Megan told them, suppressing feelings of guilt. What choice did she have but to lie?
The next day—her last—she stayed late to tidy the records and to leave notes in the personnel files on each of the lifeguards. Departing, she discovered as she looked around the empty boathouse, was easy. Too easy. Which went to show how much she was needed.
Mac was waiting at the car. He'd hovered close all day, though she wasn't sure whether he was reinforcing last night's lesson or worried about her safety. Well, after tomorrow he could quit worrying, she thought morosely as she crossed the parking lot. She would be twiddling her thumbs in a hotel somewhere, while he chased down killers.
She'd considered a long visit to an old friend from college, who she knew would have welcomed her, but remembered what Mac had told her. The easiest way to trace someone on the run was through family and friends. She couldn't take the chance. If he was right, if someone really did want her dead, she would only be endangering Anne. Boredom beat that.
Without comment Mac let her throw her duffle bag in on the backseat and climb behind the wheel. She shot him a glance. "Gee, are you sure it's safe for me to drive tonight?"
"Do I detect some sarcasm?" He slouched low in the seat.
"I wouldn't dream of it." Looking at him had been a mistake. Her throat tightened and she concentrated on starting the car and steering out of the lot. They drove in silence. Megan couldn't think of anything to say. Tomorrow morning would be goodbye. At most, someday she'd hear his voice on the telephone letting her know she could go home again.
Only, she had a feeling that home would never be the same refuge. Her cottage, the lake in all its moods, the town itself and neighbors she'd known since childhood, would no longer represent safety and contentment. Mac had breached both.
On impulse she took the turn from the highway onto the lake road. Mac made no comment. Because she had stayed late, dusk was almost past. Sunset was fading behind the ridge and the lake was enveloped in darkness. Still she had a sense of deja vu. She drove carefully on the windy road, but her foot eased from the accelerator as she passed the turnoff where she had stopped that fateful night.
Mac gave her an unreadable look as her head turned. "See something?"
"That was where I was parked when I hauled you in," she said. "I guess you wouldn't remember."
"Not one of my sharper moments," he agreed.
Megan pressed more firmly on the accelerator and the car speeded up again. When she saw headlights in her rearview mirror, it struck her that there had been no other traffic. Well, no wonder. It must be nine o'clock. Even the summer residents of Devil's Lake weren't big on nightlife.
Suddenly a flash of brightness in her mirror made her flinch. "Damn it, that car has its high beams on," she muttered.
Mac straightened and looked over his shoulder. "Hell, he's coming fast. Speed up. See if you can stay ahead."
"Mac . . .?"
"I don't have a good feeling about this," he said grimly.
Apprehension grabbed at her, and Megan pushed down harder on the gas. They jumped ahead, but as windy as the road was, she didn't dare go much faster. Somehow the car behind them was still gaining. She couldn't make out its outline or color with the high beams blinding her.
They were going too fast for safety. In the next turn she heard her wheels crunch momentarily on the gravel shoulder. Here the road was high above the lake, cut into the side of a cliff. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to pull off. Megan clutched the steering wheel with hands that had begun to sweat.
In the next brief stretch of straight road the car behind made its move. "Shit, he's going to try to pass!" Mac said. "Don't let him by!"
Absolute terror held her rigid, but somehow she made herself turn the wheel sharply, cutting off the hurtling car that was trying to come abreast. It fell back at the next blind curve, then swerved again into the other lane. This time metal crunched and Megan began to pray aloud. "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my..."
Another scrape of metal and she desperately held her car on the road. Out of the corner of her eye she saw that Mac had his gun out, braced on the headrest.
Slam. The Honda shuddered and skidded onto the shoulder. Megan quit even praying. This time when metal scraped it was the guardrail. Somehow they made it back onto the road. Another curve was coming, but the other car didn't fall back. "Mac!" she screamed, and he pulled the trigger.
A window shattered, then another one. Mac uttered an obscenity, fired again. The other car seemed to hesitate, then slammed into them again. This time Megan lost control. They were swerving helplessly toward the precipice. She heard herself screaming, but somehow she held onto the steering wheel. The Civic bounced off the guardrail again and miraculously back onto the road going the right direction.
The road straightened again and the other car hurtled forward. Mac shot again, deafening Megan. She looked in the rearview mirror. Bright lights. No, just one, Mac must have shot out the other. Another shot, and the pursuer abruptly lost speed.
"Got him," Mac said in satisfaction.
The drama reflected in her mirror riveted Megan. The Civic limped into a curve, but the one headlight behind didn't follow. It was still moving, as though the driver no longer saw the road. Metal ground in agony when the car hit the guardrail straight on. The beam of light pointed over the lake, then spiraled as the car flipped off the edge.
"Oh my God," Megan said again. Her foot had involuntarily reached for the brake. The Civic slowed and she guided it onto the narrow shoulder. Though the engine still ran, the silence seemed absolute.
Then Mac asked hoarsely, "Can
you back up?"
Somebody nodded—she wasn't sure who it was. She felt...detached. That was it. Megan put the emergency flashers on and her little Honda obligingly crept in reverse, though the steering wheel pulled. Her car would never be the same.
"Stop." When she did, he climbed out, gun still in his hand. "Flashlight?" he asked in a low voice.
Megan nodded and fumbled in the glove compartment, then handed the flashlight to him. Though her legs were shaking, she got out, too. Megan followed the tiny beam of light to the torn guardrail. The drop was sickeningly sharp, the lake black below. She stared down, thinking how easily it could have been them, swallowed by the cold dark water.
Mac walked away, his feet crunching softly on the gravel, but she didn't even watch him go. She just stood there, impossibly tired, almost numb. When he came back, he said, "I didn't think there was time for one of them to jump out, but I thought I'd better take a look."
"One of them?"
"There were two," He looked through the gap in the guardrail, then said gently, "Can you go for help, Megan? I'd better wait here."
"Help?"
He took her chin in his hand and lifted her face. The light glanced across her face and she felt his fingers tighten. Then he said in a bracing voice, "Come on, if you could rescue me from way out there, you can drive a mile or two."
She blinked. "If the car makes it."
"The car will make it if you do."
"Okay." Docilely she turned away, but his hand stopped her.
"You did a hell of a job, sweetheart." His mouth came down hard on hers in a kiss so brief, it shouldn't have been so electrifying. Then he gave her a gentle push. "Go on. Get Pete if you can."
"Okay," she agreed again, but this time she was thinking, not just reacting. By the time she reached the car it had all caught up with her. She got back in, but her hands were shaking so badly she couldn't turn the key in the ignition. Even her teeth were chattering. She leaned her forehead against the wheel and made herself take long, slow breaths.
It was over. She and Mac had won. All she had to do was drive to the sheriff's department on the outskirts of town. How hard was that?
This time, though her hand still shook, she succeeded in turning the key and her small, battered car responded.
*****
Hours later, Zachary barked and Megan heard a car pull into the drive in front of her cottage. She and the golden retriever met Mac and Pete Tevis at the door.
Mac's gaze took in her state of shock. "You okay?" he asked.
"I'll survive," she said. "Did you...did you find the car?"
"Yeah, though we still have a little problem." Something in the way he said it made her realize he didn't really mean the "little."
Oh, Lord. Had she really believed the nightmare would all be over? Megan bit her lip and stepped back. "Come on in. I'm glad you're here, Pete. Can I get either of you a cup of coffee?"
The deputy looked older tonight, his face drawn. He grimaced. "Thanks, but I've had plenty. We had a Thermos of the stuff."
Megan could still feel Mac watching her as they automatically headed into the kitchen. She had started a fire in the small potbellied stove, but it hadn't cured the chill that still made her shaky. She picked up the mug of herb tea she'd been sipping and waited until the two men sat at the round table.
"What happened?"
Mac said bluntly, "One of the two men got away."
Megan sucked in her breath.
Pete Tevis shook his head. "Pulled the car out, but only the driver was in it. Appears Mac shot him. The passenger window was open, though, and Mac insists there were two men in that car. Did you get a look?"
Quelling the panic that flipped in her stomach, Megan shook her head. "The headlights were so bright, and I had to concentrate on my driving..."
"You did a hell of a job," Mac said again.
"Couldn't the body have...have floated away?" she asked.
"Unlikely," Pete said with obvious regret. "The divers took a look around. Of course, it's black as ink down there, so they could have missed something, but a car window is pretty narrow. I'd have a hell of a time squeezing through one."
Megan turned to Mac. "Are you sure...?"
His dark brows rose. "That there were two men? Yeah. The shots were coming from the passenger side."
"Shots?" she echoed.
Now Pete looked surprised. "You're missing a few windows in your own car out there."
"I thought that was Mac."
Mac slouched in his chair, his intent gaze never leaving her. "They were shooting back."
"Oh, God." Megan abruptly rose from the table and rushed to the small bathroom under the stairs. The soup she'd made herself eat finally decided not to come up, but she leaned against the sink and splashed cold water on her face. What was the matter with her? Why was she falling apart now?
Why not? she thought, half hysterically. The only reason she hadn't fallen apart the night she rescued Mac was because there wasn't time to think. Tonight she'd had four hours to sit here and remember. She had replayed every second of the battle: the scream of metal, the fight to hold on to the wheel, the sound of shattering glass, the skid toward the edge, the miraculous recovery. Over and over she saw the other car ripping through the guardrail, hanging in space for an eternity that might have been a second, then plunging down nose first.
And over and over she told herself that this had been the end. Whoever was in that car had been asking for it. She would not feel pity, only gratitude because she was alive.
She dried her face and looked at herself in the mirror. "Big mistake," she muttered, and turned the doorknob at the same time Mac opened it.
"You okay?"
"Why do you keep asking me that?"
His eyes were so dark they appeared almost black. His face was gaunt tonight, too, showing as much weariness as she felt. He grunted. "Maybe that's because you look like hell."
Megan made a face. "Just what I needed to hear."
Pete stood behind Mac, his expression compassionate. "I'd better head back to the department and see what's going on."
"You know, there wasn't any other traffic on that road," Megan said. "Even if the guy did escape from that car, where could he have gone?"
Pete nodded. "We're searching the shoreline and woods, but with no luck last I heard. If he made it as far as the highway, somebody would have given him a lift."
"Do we even know if these were the same men?"
"Yeah." Mac looked away. "I identified the one.
"But it was so dark... Oh." Megan felt stupid. "You mean, after they recovered the body."
He made a noise she took for acquiescence, and she suddenly realized that his weariness was probably less physical than spiritual. Looking at dead men— especially one he'd shot—couldn't be easy, even for a law enforcement officer. "I'm sorry," she said softly.
Their eyes met briefly, but the effect was searing. She blinked and wondered if she had imagined the raw emotion she'd seen.
"Megan, I'll stop by in the morning," Pete said. "See you off. You'd better get out of town while the getting's still good."
Megan nodded jerkily. "I'd better go pack. I thought..." She shook her head hard. "Never mind." With the dog padding behind, she fled up the stairs, leaving the two men quietly talking by the front door. She was shaking again, she discovered as she hauled her suitcase out from under the bed. But, damn it, she would not cry.
Opening drawers, she grabbed piles of clothes and dumped them in the huge suitcase without sorting. Her eyes were wet, but beyond rubbing her sleeve across them, she refused to acknowledge the fact. Socks, an extra pair of tennis shoes, bras, underwear, all went in the suitcase with no rhyme or reason.
Finally she stopped and closed her eyes. She felt like a toy whose stuffing had been tugged out. Ignoring the suitcase, she slid to a sitting position on the floor, leaning against the bed. Sheer habit threaded her fingers in Zachary's coat. He was reassuringly warm, the head he laid o
n her lap heavy and comforting.
Beyond her fear and shock, she finally traced the root of her distress. It was tomorrow, the moment she would climb into a rental car and turn onto the highway, leaving Devil's Lake and southern Oregon behind. She had never set out on a journey and had no idea where she was going. Should she head north? South? Would she be safe here in Oregon, or should she keep going until she was in utterly strange territory?
Megan closed her eyes again and imagined herself alone, the road open ahead of her, leading...nowhere. Her only company would be her fear. Every car that gained on her would make her pulse jump, every driver who didn't dim his high beams, every stretch of road that was too deserted. How long would she have to look over her shoulder? Would she ever be able to stop?
Megan didn't hear footsteps on the stairs, but suddenly Mac was in the doorway to her bedroom. He propped a shoulder against the doorframe and opened his mouth to speak.
She beat him to it. "Don't ask me how I am. I'm lousy. You know it. I know it. I'm not cut out for this stuff."
"Is anybody?"
"You must be."
"I wouldn't say that."
Why she was angry at him she couldn't have said, but resentment blistered in her chest. "Aren't you the one who told me you could just pack up and leave anytime? No ties, remember? You must be looking forward to tomorrow. You can forget you were ever Ross McKenzie, whoever he was."
"What the hell is this about?" he snapped.
The fight went out of her. "I don't know," she mumbled. "Just forget it. That should be easy, right?"
She'd said too much. His eyes narrowed with sudden understanding. "I'll never forget you," he said quietly.
Her eyes were wet again. "You can if you want," she said in a muffled voice. "I don't care."
As soundlessly as he'd appeared in her room, he crossed to the bed and crouched in front of her. Strong fingers lifted her chin so she had to look at him. "Aside from everything else," he said, "you saved my life. I may be a bastard, but I'm not a big enough one to forget that. I'd do anything for you. You know that, don't you?"
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