by Cara Summers
“Mine.”
She was barely aware of him crying out the word. All she could see was his face, all she could feel was him as he drove her, drove them both, over an airless peak.
12
“ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?” Hunter asked.
“Mmm. Perfect.” She sat on his lap, her head resting against his shoulder. She loved this man. She felt as though she’d been sitting, letting him hold her, for a very long time. “I don’t ever want to move.”
“Tracker will be here soon,” he said.
Maybe not so perfect. The moments were ticking away, and the time that they had together was fading fast. As long as they were here in the woods, he was hers. Deep inside she knew that when they got back to the house, everything would change. Lifting her head, she met his eyes. “I wish there was a way to stop time.”
“Me, too.”
Was she imagining it or did she see in his eyes some of the confusion and the wonder that she was feeling? “Hunter, I—”
Behind them, Lucky snorted impatiently, and Priscilla gave a ladylike whinny. A cell phone rang.
“This will be Tracker,” he said as he shifted her off his lap and tugged out his cell phone out. “You’d better get your clothes on.”
Rory grabbed her jeans and pulled them on. If the phone hadn’t rung just then, would she have blurted out to him that she loved him? She jammed her foot into a boot and steeled herself to look at him again. He was totally focused on the call, frowning at something Tracker was saying. She had to get a grip. His boss was being threatened. He might be in danger. He certainly wouldn’t want to hear some babbled profession of love. She didn’t want to hear it herself. Great sex, fun and a story. That’s what they’d agreed to, hadn’t they?
“Right,” he said.
Right, she told herself as she jammed her foot into her other boot. When she glanced down, she saw that they were on the wrong feet and she tugged them off again. Life was just never perfect. She was standing ready, her boots on the right feet, by the time he finished his call.
“Tracker’s waiting for us at the bridge where the stream intersects the road.”
With a brief nod, Rory walked over to mount Priscilla. When he was seated on Lucky, he reached over to put a hand on hers. “You were about to say something when the phone rang.”
Rory managed a smile. “It was nothing.” She placed a hand on his cheek. “Just thank you. I enjoyed the ride. Both rides.”
His grip on her hand tightened. “Rory, I—”
Lucky took two steps back, forcing him to let her go.
“We’ll talk when we get back to the house.” He tightened his grip on the reins and urged Lucky forward. Neither of them spoke again as they followed the stream out of the woods.
Tracker and McGee’s son, Tim, were leaning up against the side of a large SUV that was pulling a horse trailer. Neither one looked very happy.
The moment she dismounted, Tim McGee took Priscilla’s reins. “Ladies first. Lucky has an aversion to trailers. It’ll be better if she’s on board before he puts up a fuss.”
As if on cue, Lucky whinnied and rose on his back legs.
“Easy, boy.” Tim and Hunter spoke the words in unison, and Tracker moved to help Hunter handle the black stallion. Rory stepped out of the way and waited on the grass verge as Priscilla walked like an angel into the trailer, and then all three men turned their attention to Lucky.
They had him halfway up the ramp when a tractor trailer whipped by, sending enough wind and vibrations to have Lucky backing quickly down the ramp and rearing again.
“Sure. You had to ride the stubborn one,” Tracker complained to Hunter, but Rory noted that his hands were gentle on the horse.
Hunter patted the horse’s neck and crooned softly, “Don’t listen to him, boy. You’re a beauty.”
“Ms. Gibbs,” Tim called from the mouth of the trailer, “if you see another truck, let us know.”
“Sure.” She moved out far enough into the road behind the trailer that she could see approaching vehicles from either direction. “Everything’s clear right now.”
The moment they had Lucky settled down, the three men started urging him up the ramp again. It was slow going. Tim was at the front, keeping the reins taut while Hunter walked beside Lucky, his hand spread on the horse’s neck, talking to him softly the whole while. Tracker joined her as he waited for the horse to get all four feet on the ramp.
Rory glanced at him and saw that his eyes were scanning the road and the fields. “You’re really worried about Hunter, aren’t you?”
“I don’t like to lose a client,” Tracker said.
Rory frowned. “I thought your client was Jared Slade.”
Tracker glanced down at her. “Mr. Slade and his associates. Right now that includes both Hunter and you.”
Lucky chose that moment to stall halfway up the ramp.
Tracker grinned and called, “Maybe you’d like a pro to show you how it’s done.”
“The more the merrier,” Hunter said.
As the three men continued to chide one another and coax the horse, Rory glanced between the road and Hunter while her mind raced. If Tracker McBride had been hired to protect Jared Slade, why wasn’t he with Jared Slade right now? He had security people stationed at the Wainwright estate who could guard Mark Hunter. Yet he’d been here yesterday and today in person. Why? And why would he go to all this trouble to make sure they got back onto the estate safely unless…?
Could Hunter be Jared Slade? The moment the question completed itself in her mind, it began to make sense. Hadn’t she had a hunch all along that Jared Slade was merely a figurehead? What better way to keep Jared Slade’s identity a secret than to travel under a different name like Mark Hunter?
The scene in the lobby of Les Printemps replayed itself in her mind. Two men had gone to the registration desk, one had stayed with the luggage. No one—not even the bell captain in the lobby, would be able to say they’d seen or met Jared Slade for sure. The reception clerk would have been as confused as she’d been. And in the meantime, Hunter would simply slip into the elevator with the luggage and go up to the suite. Anyone would assume what she had—that the Terminator was some kind of manservant/bodyguard.
And if Jared Slade hadn’t chased her out of the lobby and tracked her down in Silken Fantasies, would he have been injured by that bomb?
The chilling thought was still spinning around in her mind when Rory heard the car approaching. Shading her eyes, she tried to gauge the distance. “There’s a car coming,” she called out. “But you should still have time to get Lucky in.”
As if he’d understood what she’d said and wanted to protest, Lucky whinnied and pawed the end of the ramp where it intersected with the trailer bed.
Hunter laughed softly. “Easy, boy. It’s going to be all right. I promise.”
Rory looked at Hunter again, studying him as he used both his hands and his voice to gentle the horse. The more she thought about it, the more logical it seemed that this man really was Jared Slade. Why hadn’t she seen it sooner?
The answer to that was as simple and uncomplicated as it got, she thought as the three men and the horse finally made it into the trailer. She’d been totally blindsided by lust.
And then she’d taken that long, slow tumble into love.
From inside the trailer, Lucky whinnied, this time as if in agreement and Rory glanced back at the road. The car was still about a hundred feet away, but it was slowing. She barely had time to absorb that before Hunter/Jared started down the ramp. He was halfway down when the car pulled to an abrupt stop right beside her.
She shifted her gaze to the driver. He wore mirrored sunglasses, and he had the window down and the sunroof open—in spite of the heat. Then she saw a man with a gun push himself through the open sunroof. After that, everything happened at once.
Hunter stepped off the ramp.
“Jared!” She had time to scream that one word before she launched herself at him.
The shot rang out, loud enough and close enough to make her ears ring, and her shoulder burned as if it had been stung by a giant killer bee. She absorbed those two sensations as she smashed into him. Then they fell, hitting the ground hard enough to knock the breath out of her. With the pain still singing right through to her bones, they began to roll.
HUNTER STOOD IN THE STUDY of the Wainwright house in much the same position as he had on his arrival—was it only two days ago? He ran a hand through his hair and shoved down hard on his emotions as he listened to Tracker making arrangements on the phone.
He couldn’t afford feelings right now. A cool head had always served him well, and it was his only solution now. Rory was all right. Banged up, a bit bruised. The bullet had only creased the skin of her upper arm. But the blood…
Turning away from the window, he shoved the image ruthlessly out of his mind. He’d been able to stop the bleeding right away, and McGee was seeing to first aid. She would be well taken care of by him. She’d gotten to the Wainwright’s butler just as surely as she’d gotten to him.
Shoving his hands into his pockets, he stifled the urge to pace. He was going to be cool and logical. He knew what to do when he wanted something. And he wanted the person who was responsible for hurting Rory Gibbs.
Tracker set down the phone. “The helicopter will be touching down in a few minutes.”
“Her sisters will be on it?” he demanded.
Tracker’s brows lifted. “Yes, sir, as ordered.”
“Sorry. I just—I know I’ve been snapping out orders ever since we got back.”
“Forget it. She’s important to me, too. Natalie Gibbs is a very good friend, and she’s not going to be happy that her sister got hurt. At least it wasn’t more serious.”
“Dammit, she tried to take a bullet for me!” Hunter whirled and paced back to the window as all the emotions he’d been suppressing bubbled to the surface. “She could have been killed.”
“She wasn’t,” Tracker pointed out. “She’s fine. McGee served in a medical unit when he was in the military. He says she likely won’t even have a scar.”
Hunter ran a hand through his hair. “I just keep thinking of what could have happened.”
“Don’t. Believe me, I’ve been in your shoes. If you keep letting your emotions rule, they’ll cloud your thinking.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” Hunter said. Then he sighed, strapping down his control as he ran a hand through his hair again. “Sorry. You’re right.”
“Let’s concentrate on getting the bastard who’s behind this,” Tracker said. “I got a license plate. My men are checking out the owners as we speak. My guess is that they’ll find the car was reported stolen. Those men were pros.”
“Alex, Michael and Denise—I pay them well enough that any one of them could afford to hire someone. But how did they know I was here? What did you get out of Lea Roberts?”
“Not a whole damn lot,” Tracker said, disgust clear in his voice. “When I asked her where she got the information that Jared Slade was here on the estate, she said that Rory Gibbs had told her that in a phone conversation yesterday.”
“That’s a lie.”
“Maybe.”
“No. Not maybe. She’s lying. Rory doesn’t know that I’m Jared Slade.”
Tracker studied him for a moment. “I’m afraid you’re wrong there. Just before the shooter drove up in that car, she was interrogating me about why I was here and why I was so concerned with your safety when I was supposed to be protecting Jared Slade. Then do you recall that she called you Jared just as she shoved you out of the path of that bullet?”
Stunned, Hunter replayed the scene in his mind, but he couldn’t remember what she’d called out. The whole scene was a series of flashing images and sensations—the man pointing the gun, the sound of the shot, the impact of Rory’s body against his, and the fear that had iced him through to the bone.
He began to pace. “No, I don’t remember. But if she did call me that, she’d only just put it together.” He turned to face Tracker. “I have to see her. I have to explain…” What? That he’d lied to her, that he’d given her an interview with a man who didn’t exist? How in hell was he supposed to explain that?
Tracker’s cell phone rang just as Hunter heard the sound of the approaching helicopter.
“Yeah,” Tracker said into the phone. “We’re ready.” When he hung up, he said to Hunter, “Your conversation with Rory will have to wait. I’d like to get you out of here as soon as that helicopter lands.”
“I want to take her with me.”
“I can understand that,” Tracker said. “But I’m voting against it.” He held up a hand when Hunter opened his mouth. “Hear me out. If we’re going to get to the bottom of this, I could use your full attention on the problem. And Rory is safer here. I’ve called in extra men to protect her. Besides, you’re the target. If you’re not here…” He shrugged and he let the sentence trail off.
Hunter paced to the French doors and watched as the helicopter landed on the grass near the stables. Dammit. Tracker was right. Rory would be safer here with her sisters, and the best thing he could do for her right now was to figure out who had shot at her.
“If Rory didn’t tip off Lea Roberts, do you have any idea why she showed up outside the gates?”
“Yeah,” Hunter said. “She knew that Hunter Marks went to college with Lucas Wainwright.”
“There you go,” Tracker said, nodding.
“Can you confront her? Get her to admit what part she’s playing in all of this?”
Tracker shook his head. “I’m not the police—and you don’t want them involved. When I went out to the gate to speak with her, I kept it very friendly. All I had to do was ask her a few questions and she was making excuses about going back to D.C. We have no solid evidence that she’s connected to either the shooting or the bomb.”
“There’s no solid evidence connecting anyone to the shooting or the bomb,” Hunter said. The moment he heard the frustration in his own voice, he shoved it down. He’d built Slade Enterprises by being cool and logical. He was going to have to use those same skills now if he wanted to save it.
“It’s possible Lea told someone about the connection between you and Lucas. Or it’s possible that the person behind the threats is very smart and dug up the connection on his own.”
“All three of our prime suspects—Denise, Michael and Alex—are very smart.”
“We’ll just have to be smarter. C’mon,” Tracker said, leading the way out onto the patio. “Once we get to the Wainwright Building, I’ll show you everything I’ve dug up. And I can protect you there until we can figure this out.”
Hunter met Tracker’s eyes. “I’m going to Oakwood. Whatever the hell is going on, it started there, and I’m going to end it.”
Tracker sighed. “You’re just not going to make this easy for me, are you?”
Hunter met his eyes steadily. “I know that you went there, looked at the stories in the local paper, talked to some people. But there must be something you’ve missed. Maybe I’ll see it.”
Tracker studied Hunter for a moment as they walked toward the waiting helicopter. “Okay, this is the way it will be. My men and her sisters will protect Rory. We’ll stop at the Wainwright Building and take a look at my file. If we’re lucky, you’ll see something there and we won’t have to go to Oakwood. If we have to make the trip, I’ll be going with you.” He raised a hand to stop whatever objection Hunter might have made. “It’ll cause less notice if you cooperate, but either way I’m going.”
RORY SAT AS CLOSE as she could get to the edge of the couch, concentrating hard on the patterns in the kitchen floor. She didn’t dare look at the mark the bullet had left on her arm. The first time she’d looked at it in the ditch where she and Hunter had landed, she’d passed out.
“This is going to sting a bit, Miss Rory,” McGee said. “But I have a pot of tea brewing. I know that you prefer coffee, but tea ha
s medicinal benefits, and I made another batch of chocolate-fudge cookies this morning.”
“I know the drill,” Rory said, tensing. “A spoonful of sugar makes the medicine go down. The one thing that I always used to do better than my sisters was get hurt, so I’m used to it. Just do it. I want to see Hunter.” Or whoever he is.
She hadn’t seen him since they’d gotten back to the estate. She had a vague memory of him holding her in the truck, but she’d been drifting in and out. And the next thing she knew, McGee was bending over her holding smelling salts under her nose.
The kitchen was huge with a sitting area that boasted an overstuffed couch, a fireplace, and a patterned floor with white and black tiles marching along together.
“Ouch,” she said as McGee swabbed her shoulder with something nasty. “That really hurt.”
“Sorry. I promised both Mr. Tracker and Mr. Hunter that I could take care of this. But if you’d prefer, I could drive you to the emergency room in town.”
“No. Swab away.” She winced as he did just that. Mr. Hunter. Then she remembered. Not Mr. Hunter at all, but Mr. Jared Slade. That’s what she’d been thinking about when the shooter had risen out of the sunroof. Hunter had to be Jared Slade. That would certainly explain why Tracker had been so upset that they’d left the estate to ride the horses, why he’d told them to take to the woods, why he’d come for them in a trailer.
And why someone had shot at Hunter.
A bomb had been planted in his hotel suite, and Mark Hunter, alias Jared Slade, had gone into hiding at his friend’s estate. It all made horribly perfect sense.
“This will feel cool, Miss Rory,” McGee said as he rubbed something onto her shoulder.
McGee was right. It did feel blessedly and deliciously cool. She just wished it could do something for the sick feeling in her stomach. For a moment, she closed her eyes and tried to think. “I need to talk to Hunter. Can you tell me where he is?”