“I’m going to send a chopper to pick up you and Rachael.”
“Damn it, Cutter.”
“I’m sorry, Bo, but I’d rather have you unhappy than dead. This is the way it’s got to be.”
“ETA?”
“Give me two hours.”
Bo disconnected and looked out over the vast land he’d come to love in the last two years. Before Cutter’s phone call, the place had been peaceful. Now, he saw menace in the vastness, danger in the high forests and open plains.
And deep inside he suddenly knew that keeping Rachael safe was going to be a hell of a lot more dangerous than he’d ever anticipated.
THE HOUSE WAS oddly silent when Bo walked in. Usually, Pauline was in the kitchen, cooking or cleaning, with the radio blaring. But this afternoon, the kitchen was dark. Pauline was nowhere in sight. Concern clamped down on him like a vise when he realized he hadn’t seen Jimmy, either, who was usually working in the pens or mucking stalls this time of day. Where the hell was everyone?
“Pauline,” he called out. “Rachael?”
Worry augmented into a cold, gripping uneasiness when neither woman answered.
The Lear left the airport in Moscow two days ago.
Cutter’s words scrolled through his mind. The thought that followed sent a cold claw of fear scraping up his spine.
Cursing beneath his breath, Bo burst into the living room. “Pauline! Rachael!”
But no one was there.
Bo never panicked; the emotion was simply not part of his persona. But he could feel it burgeoning inside him now. He crossed the room at a run and took the stairs two at a time to the top. He was so intent on finding the women safe and sound, he didn’t see the shadowy figure emerge from the bathroom and plowed into it at full speed.
A distinctly feminine grunt sounded. The figure reeled backward. Bo reached out just in time to break her fall, but his legs tangled with hers. He stumbled, lost his balance—and came down on top of her.
He got the impression of soft curves and wet skin. Damp fabric against his dusty clothes. An exotic fragrance that reminded him of some tropical fruit wafted up from bare flesh.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
It registered that he’d found at least one of the women he’d been concerned about, but for an interminable second all he could think about was the feel of her beneath him. Soft. Warm. Curvy. Wet. The kind of woman a man wanted to sink into and not come up for air for a week.
“Ruskin, you are so dead.” Rachael’s voice reached him as if from a great distance. “Get off me before I hurt you.”
It took his befuddled mind several seconds to come up with an appropriate response that didn’t include kissing or caressing. When he finally spoke, his voice was angry and thick, his words far from brilliant. “I called out for you, damn it. Where the hell were you?”
“In the bathroom,” she snapped. “That’s where people go when they take a shower.”
She smelled good enough to eat in a single bite. Bo’s mouth began to water. Raising up on his elbows, he looked down at her. Her hair was damp and spread out behind her like wet silk. Moisture glistened on bare flesh. She was wrapped in one of his towels….
Oh, boy.
Realizing he’d gone hard, he scrambled off of her and offered his hand. “I didn’t mean to knock you down.”
“Wouldn’t have happened if I’d been dressed.” But she looked flustered as she rose. “What has you in such a big hurry, anyway?”
Bo knew better than to indulge in the moment. But his eyes took on a life of their own and flicked down the front of her. He’d seen plenty of half-dressed women in his time. But he’d never seen one that looked half as good as Rachael Armitage did in that towel. Her arms were long and well-muscled. He could see the cleavage of generous breasts where she’d tucked the corner of the towel. The towel itself came to midthigh, revealing long runner’s legs. Sud denly, the urge to peel away the towel and get a look at the woman beneath was every bit as powerful as his need for his next breath.
Bo’s mouth went dry. Forcing his gaze back to hers, he noticed her cheeks were tinged pink. That she looked uncomfortable. He was acting like an idiot. And she’d noticed.
“Get dressed,” he growled. “We’re leaving.”
“What?” Her eyes narrowed on his. “What are you talking about? What happened?”
“I just got a call from Sean Cutter.”
Her eyes widened, but it wasn’t fear he saw in their depths. It was interest. Anticipation. An odd kind of thrill elicited by danger. He knew because he’d experienced all of those things himself back when he’d been an agent. At the moment, it scared him.
“Where’s Pauline?” he asked.
“She went into town to buy apples for pies.”
“You seen Jimmy?”
“He drove her. He needed a few things.”
Bo stepped back, refusing to let his eyes drop again. He wasn’t sure what he would do if he gave himself the chance to screw this up. “Get dressed and come downstairs.”
Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away.
RACHAEL WAS SHAKING when she walked into the guest bedroom and pulled the door closed. She tried telling herself it was anger that had her heart pounding, her hands fluttering like hummingbird wings. But that didn’t explain why her entire body still tingled with pleasure from Bo Ruskin’s touch. It might have been over two years since she’d been aroused, but she recognized the signs. That she was vulnerable to her own hormones scared her more than any armed criminal.
Throwing on jeans, a sweatshirt and boots, she left the bedroom and went downstairs. She found Bo sitting at the kitchen table, staring into the cup of steaming coffee in front of him.
He looked up when she entered. “I made coffee,” he said.
Because she wasn’t quite ready to make eye contact, Rachael went to the counter and poured. “What’s going on?” she asked.
“The mechanic who refueled my Cessna in D.C. was murdered,” Bo said.
Rachael stopped pouring, her mind spinning through all the terrible implications of that. “How?”
“He was tortured to death.”
“For information?” She asked the question, but she already knew.
Bo nodded. “Cutter called to warn me there’s a possibility Karas knows you’re here. He’s sending a chopper to pick us up.”
The words shook her. Not because she was afraid. Rachael had been waiting for a shot at Karas for a long time. It was the not knowing that disturbed her; she didn’t like not knowing where he was or what he was up to. If he came for her, she wanted to be ready.
She met Bo’s gaze levelly. “Instead of running, maybe we ought to use this opportunity to get the son of a bitch.”
“Not on my watch.”
“Bo, it’s me he wants. You know I’m the perfect bait. This could be the opportunity we’ve been waiting for.”
“My mission is to keep you safe.”
“This isn’t about you or your mission. It’s about me and Karas and a little thing called justice.”
“I’m not going to get into a war with Viktor Karas.”
“Too late,” she said crisply. “He’s already declared war. On me. On the MIDNIGHT Agency. On anyone who gets in his way. I’ve been fighting this war for two years and this is the best shot I’ve had at him since it started. I don’t plan to run away.”
Bo scrubbed a hand over his jaw. Rachael heard the scrape of his whiskers and found herself remembering the way those same whiskers had chafed her face when he’d been on top of her….
“Cutter was specific,” Bo said. “My objective is to keep you safe and alive. We will not engage Karas or his men.”
Rachael set down the coffee without drinking it. “With all due respect, Ruskin, I don’t take orders from you.”
“With all due respect to you, when I’m responsible for your life, you do.” He rose and approached her. “You’re getting on that chopper on
e way or another.”
Rachael could feel the anger building inside her, like a thunderhead filled with rain and about to burst. “Cutter is getting soft. He’s overprotective. Overreacting. Overlooking a major opportunity. Bo, he’s going to blow the best chance we’ve had.”
“Cutter knows what he’s doing, Rachael. You have to trust in the system—”
“The system is what got Michael killed!” she shot back.
He stiffened, blinked at her.
She hadn’t meant to say it. Until that very moment she hadn’t even realized she felt that way. Only then did she accept the possibility that for two years now she’d been dealing with something much more unwieldy than simple grief.
The screen door slammed.
Bo spun. Rachael reached for her sidearm—only to realize she hadn’t brought it downstairs with her.
Pauline walked into the kitchen with two bags of groceries in her arms, her eyes level on them. “I’m not even going to ask if I’m interrupting,” she said, setting the bags on the counter.
Bo shoved his hands into his pockets. “Pack an overnight bag,” he said. “You’re leaving.”
“What?” Pauline’s eyes widened and flicked from Bo to Rachael and then back to Bo. “¿Qué pasa?” What’s happening?
“All I can tell you is that if you stay here at the ranch, you’re in danger,” he said.
“Because of her?” Pauline shot a glare at Rachael. “I knew she was trouble the moment I laid eyes on—”
“Because of my former job,” he interrupted.
Turning, Pauline angrily started putting the groceries away. Bo walked to her and put his hand on her shoulder. “There’s no time for that,” he said quietly.
When Pauline turned toward him her eyes were sober. “Are you in danger?”
“We’re all in danger if we stay.” He squeezed her shoulder gently. “Pack an overnight bag. I’ll have Jimmy drive you in to Cody so you can check into a hotel. I’ll cover all the expenses—”
“It’s not the expense I’m worried about Señor Ruskin.” Her gaze lingered on Rachael long enough for Rachael to see the dislike in them. “It’s her.”
The last thing Bo wanted to do was put his employees in danger—or referee a cat fight between two women he cared for and admired. He already had one death on his conscience; the thought of anyone else getting hurt made him queasy.
“You’re going to have to trust my judgment on this, Pauline.”
The woman didn’t look happy about it, but she nodded.
Bo only hoped he was able to get everyone out of there before all hell broke loose.
WITHIN THE HOUR the ranch was vacated. Jimmy took the Tahoe and drove Pauline into town. Bo turned out the horses, so they could forage on grass for a few days. The chopper should arrive any minute now.
If he could only figure out what to do with Rachael Armitage…
He couldn’t stop thinking of the way she’d felt beneath him when he’d been on top of her in the upstairs hall. It had been a long time since he’d been that close to a woman, and she’d made one hell of an impression. Soft flesh. Intriguing curves. A scent he couldn’t get out of his head.
The reality that she was Mike’s widow taunted him. The truth of what happened that night haunted him with renewed fervor. It was the ultimate irony that this woman—a woman whose husband had been gunned down by his own hand—had entered his life again…and he was attracted to her beyond anything he’d ever known.
He didn’t have to ponder how she would feel about the ugly role he’d played in her husband’s death. He knew. Just as he knew she would hate him for it even if he did have the truth on his side.
“I can’t believe we’re running.”
He nearly jolted at the sound of her voice. Turning, he found her standing in the center aisle of the barn with her backpack in her hand. “We’re not running,” Bo growled. “We’re doing the smart thing and playing it safe.”
“Playing it safe isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Just ask Michael.”
He felt himself flush, the old pain cutting him with the proficiency of a blade. “You’re not the only one who lost him.”
“He was my husband.”
“He was my best friend.” And I’m the one who fired the killing shot. The words dangled on the tip of his tongue, but Bo didn’t speak them. He wouldn’t, either. But there was a small part of him that believed she deserved to know the truth. Sooner or later she would find out. What would she think of him then?
“I didn’t mean to bring up Michael.” She sighed. “I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for.” The words came out more harshly than he’d intended.
“It’s just that…I’ve been thinking about him a lot lately.”
“Me, too.” Because he couldn’t speak of Mike and want his widow at the same time, he looked around the deserted barn, hating it that he couldn’t meet her gaze.
The distant whop! whop! whop! of a chopper’s rotor blades broke the silence. Rachael’s eyes met his. Within their depths he saw anger. Frustration. Most of all, he saw disappointment. In the agency. In Sean Cutter. In him. There was nothing he could do about any of those things. The only thing he could do was keep her alive and pray she didn’t hate him when all was said and done.
“Let’s go,” he said.
Without speaking, she turned and walked out of the barn. Bo followed. Standing in the gravel driveway, he looked toward the horizon. Sure enough, the dark shape of a Bell 207 chopper came into view.
“Where’s he going to put it down?” Rachael asked.
“There’s room right here in the driveway.”
The chopper made a pass. Grinning, Bo raised his arms and gave the signal for a landing, letting the pilot know he could put it down right there.
The chopper circled around and returned. Dust kicked up as the craft lowered. Forty feet. Thirty…
The blast struck him like a flaming, speeding truck. One moment he was waiting for the chopper to touch down, the next he was flying backward into space. Bo landed on his back, hard enough to knock the breath from him. Debris pelted him as he sat up, hot missiles traveling at a high rate of speed. Something slammed into his shoulder hard enough to send him back down.
But Bo barely felt the pain. All he could think of was the woman whose life lay squarely in his hands—and the people who’d perished on that chopper.
Chapter Six
A groan ripped from Bo’s throat as he scrambled to his feet. He looked around, his heart hammering like a piston. The area looked like a war zone. The twisted fuselage lay on its side twenty yards away, smoke billowing. A piece of the rotor lay on the ground next to it.
“Rachael!” he shouted.
Seconds earlier, she’d been standing behind him. “Rachael!” He heard fear in his voice now. Felt that same fear zinging through his body. “Rachael!”
“I’m…here.”
He spun to find her sitting on the ground a few yards away. Several emotions struck him at once. Relief that she was alive. Concern because she was bleeding. A powerful need to protect. But all of those things were tempered by a cold terror that crept over him like a wave of ice water.
He rushed toward her. “How badly are you hurt?”
But her own injuries seemed to be the last thing on her mind. Her eyes were on the smoking remnants of the fuselage. “The pilot.” Her voice shook. “Bo…we need to see if there were any survivors.”
He glanced down at her leg. A piece of sheet metal had struck her, cutting through the fabric of her blue jeans and into her flesh. She was bleeding, but not with life-threatening profusion.
“Is your leg broken?” he heard himself say.
She shook her head. “I’m just…cut.”
“Stay put. I’m going to check for survivors. Don’t move until I look at that wound. You got that?”
Bo started toward the downed aircraft. For the first time it struck him that the catastrophe could have been sabotage.
This kind of destruction was Viktor Karas’s style. Violent. Spectacular. Carefully orchestrated for powerful effect. But how could the crime lord have managed it? Had one of his thugs planted a bomb in the aircraft before it left the hangar? Or did he have someone on the ground here at the ranch who took the chopper out with a ground-to-air missile?
The thought made the hairs at his nape prickle. He looked around uneasily as he approached the craft, but saw no sign of life through the rising tendrils of smoke. He tried the hatch, but it was jammed. Taking a deep breath, he kicked it open and looked inside.
Bo had seen death before. Too many times if he wanted to be honest about it. But the ugliness of it never ceased to shock him. Both the pilot and co-pilot were deceased.
Closing his eyes briefly, he choked back a wave of nausea. He quickly checked the radio, but it was badly damaged by fire. “Damn,” he muttered as he backed from the craft.
He should have known better than to think Rachael would heed his request that she stay put. He found her standing near the barn, her cell pressed to her ear.
Without hesitation, Bo crossed to her, took the phone from her hand and snapped it closed.
“What are you doing?” she asked angrily.
“Keeping you from getting sloppy.”
Her eyes flicked to the devastation of the crash, and he saw her blink back tears. “The agency needs to be notified,” she said. “Those men…their families…”
“We use the phone inside,” he said. “Karas probably already has it bugged. But we don’t want to clue him in on the location of the cell towers here.”
But they both knew Karas already knew everything he needed to know in order to kill them both. It was only a matter of time.
She jerked her head once, but didn’t take her eyes off the smoldering fuselage. The urge to comfort her was strong, but there wasn’t time. Taking her shoulders, he turned her toward the barn. “Get in the barn.” Just in case the house is next, he thought darkly. “I’ll make the call.”
He could feel her trembling beneath his hands. The sight of the crash had obviously shaken her badly. Him, too, if he wanted to be honest about it. But if they wanted to live, there was no time to mourn those who had died.
Operation: Midnight Cowboy Page 6