by Cara Summers
Drawing in a deep breath, she took a careful step back and clasped her hands behind her back for good measure.
“I never thought you were a welsher,” she said.
He twisted around in his chair. “What?”
“We struck a bargain.”
Fury flared into his eyes as he rose and sent his chair flying. She took a quick step back.
“What are you talking about? I’ve kept my part of our bargain. I agreed to your rules—I’ve played all your games. Hell, it’s bad enough I can’t keep my hands off of you. I can’t get you out of my head. I can’t get you out of my dreams. What more do you want?”
Satisfaction streamed through her. It wasn’t noble, but right now she was glad that she’d made him suffer.
He gripped her arms and lifted her off the floor. “What do you want? Do you want me to make love to you right now, right here? Do you want me to make love to you in every room in the house?”
Sophie was very much afraid that she did. Later, she thought. They were going to get some things settled first. But with his eyes burning into hers, she wanted him more than she wanted to breathe.
“I can’t stop wanting you,” they both said simultaneously.
He already had her against the wall, his hands unsnapping her jeans, dragging them down. She just managed to hear his groan above the thunder of her heart as she gripped him and guided him in.
“I can’t stop wanting you.” Holding her hips, he thrust in and drew out.
His face filled her vision. He was angry, desperate, and he was hers.
“Damn you, Sophie.” He thrust in again, withdrew and thrust again.
“I need you.”
This time they spoke together as she fisted her hands in his hair and brought his mouth to hers. They were both going to have to get used to it. That was the last rational thought she had before the world spun away.
WHEN SHE OPENED HER EYES, she found she was lying on top of him on the floor. Raising her head, she tried to read the expression on his face. Stunned. Staggered. Those were the two words that came to mind. They were the same words she would have used to describe how she was feeling, too.
He raised a hand to her cheek. “Are you all right?”
“Fabulous.”
But he didn’t smile. He just studied her as she’d been studying him. “I—I’m not usually…” He paused as if searching for a word. “I’m not usually like a…”
“Rabbit?”
He laughed then, wrapping his arms around her. “I was thinking more of a teenager with raging hormones, but I guess rabbit will do.”
“Well, I’ve never been like a rabbit, either.” She grinned at him. “But why should they have all the fun?”
They both laughed then until they were winded and weak. When their eyes met and held she felt closer to him than when they’d been making love.
“T.J.—” she began.
“Sophie—” he murmured at the same time.
“Go ahead,” Tracker said.
She had to bite down on the inside of her cheek to keep the words from spilling out. I love you. He wasn’t ready to hear that. She wasn’t sure she was ready to say it, not with panic pounding up her spine. Thank heavens for fear and its very sobering effect.
TRACKER CONTINUED to stare at her as the silence stretched. What he’d nearly blurted out was only crystallizing in his mind. Thinking it, knowing it, was one thing. But saying it—he couldn’t allow himself to do that. Not yet.
“We have to talk.”
“No,” he said as a ribbon of sheer panic uncoiled through his veins.
“Well, then I have to talk. All you have to do is listen.” After levering herself off of him, she began to search for her clothes. “But first, I’m going to get dressed and so are you, so we don’t turn into rabbits again.”
“Good point,” he said as he gathered his clothes and struggled into them. He needed time to think, and that just wasn’t going to be possible as long as she was lying on top of him naked.
“I’ll sit on one side of the table and you sit on the other,” she said.
He grinned then. “If you think that’s going to help…”
“Any port in a storm.” She ran a hand through her hair, trying to straighten it, and he found himself charmed by the simple, feminine gesture.
“I’m going into the shop with you tomorrow.”
He forced himself to focus. “That’s understood.”
She glared at him. “Do you think I’m stupid?”
“No.”
“Then don’t think you can fool me by parsing your sentences. ‘That’s understood!’ Baloney! Natalie and Carter—I mean, Chance—were here for over an hour, and nothing was mentioned about tomorrow. And a few minutes ago you said ‘I have to be alert at the shop tomorrow.’ I not we. I know you have some plan up your sleeve to leave me behind, and I could come up with a better one to foil it. But I’d rather focus on catching this guy so I can get back to my shop and a normal life.”
Tracker sighed. Had he really thought he could fool her? “Sophie, I promised Lucas I would keep you safe. This guy is smart and lethal. I don’t want you near him.”
She moved around the chair, then placed both hands flat on the table and leaned toward Tracker. “Our only chance of catching him is if I’m in that shop tomorrow. For whatever reason—greed, arrogance, love of the game—he’s going to be there tomorrow. I know it.”
Tracker faced her across the table, determined to hold his ground. “All the more reason for you to stay away and let Gibbs and Chance and me do our job. You’ll be in our way.”
He watched the hurt flash into her eyes and felt it slice through him.
“I have to be there because I might be able to recognize him.”
“How? No one has seen him. He may even be a she.”
“When John Landry talked to me about seeing a stranger who looked familiar, I remember that I’d had the same impression at the party. It was fleeting, and I can’t remember who it was. But if I see that person again, I think I’ll remember. That could be why someone is trying to kill me.”
She was making sense, and Tracker didn’t like it one bit. If there was a chance that she could finger the guy, then they could get him.
“Otherwise, he could slip right through your hands, and we won’t know when he’ll hire someone to take another potshot at me.”
Tracker had to hand it to her—she really knew what buttons to push.
“And I could wear a disguise. Jerry and I are about the same size—and you know how good I am at pretending to be someone else.”
“I know that’s what got you kidnapped last year.”
“But you’ll be with me tomorrow.” She met his gaze squarely. “And there’s another reason why you have to take me with you,” she said. “We agreed when we started this that we were going to be equal partners. That’s part of the deal we made—unless you’re going to go back on your word.”
“No.” He’d never gone back on his word. He just had to make sure that he kept his word to Lucas, too. “Okay. I’ll take you to the shop tomorrow morning.”
She smiled at him. “Good. Now how about taking me with you to bed? Are you game for that?”
14
AS TRACKER EASED THE CAR onto the first road with a route number, Sophie drew in a breath of stale, air-conditioned air and tried to subtly wiggle into a more comfortable position. Jerry’s jeans were cut to fit a skinny man, and they interfered with her breathing when she sat down. But, all in all, she was pleased with her disguise—especially the mustache. Tracker had supplied the materials and Jerry had supervised the application. A baseball cap hid her hair, and with the addition of mirrored sunglasses, she’d barely recognized herself in the mirror.
Sneaking a quick look at Tracker, she noted that he’d slipped into protective mode again. She didn’t want to distract him. The fact that he’d put the top up on the convertible and tucked a nasty-looking rifle behind the seat had acted as a rea
lity check—they weren’t playing a game. The purpose of the disguise she was wearing was to protect her life.
“Damn,” Tracker muttered.
The brakes squealed and she glanced up to see that a tree had fallen across the road. She had just time enough to brace herself before the car fishtailed and slid beneath one of the larger branches on the shoulder.
She’d barely righted herself in the seat when she heard a sharp ping and felt the car shake. Someone was shooting at them.
Tracker’s hand clamped on her arm. “Do what I say. No questions.”
She nodded.
He grabbed the rifle. “We’re going out your door and down the hill on that side. Move.”
She crawled out among branches and leaves. Tracker was right behind her, pushing her through them, and then they were half running, half falling down the sharp incline.
EVEN AFTER THEY REACHED the shelter of the woods, Tracker didn’t let up his pace. He wanted to get as far into the forest as he could before he doubled back. The fact that Sophie was able to keep up with him was a surprise and a blessing. They’d been lucky so far. Very. He’d heard the sounds of bullets hitting stones twice during their mad scramble down the hill. Thank heaven there’d been one to run down and that the tree’s branches had provided cover as they’d left the car.
He wasn’t going to think of what might have happened if he hadn’t put the top up on the convertible.
“There.” He urged Sophie toward an outcrop of rock and fallen trees. He needed a place to stash her so that he could find the shooter. Once they were behind it, crouching low, he signaled her to be quiet. He listened. One minute stretched into two and then three. Gradually, he could hear other sounds above their labored breathing—wind rustling the leaves; a bird singing its heart out on a nearby branch. Another minute went by, and the branches overhead dipped and swung upward as a squirrel leaped to a new tree.
And then he heard what he’d been waiting for: the snap of a twig. Placing his hands on either side of Sophie’s face, he drew her close so that he could mouth the words in her ear. “Stay put. Promise me that no matter what happens, you’ll stay here.”
“I promise.”
Drawing back, he gave her a smile, then pulled a revolver from his pocket and handed it to her. She took it, then grabbed his T-shirt in one fist and drew him close for a quick, hard kiss. “Come back.”
Another twig snapped. This one was loud enough that he could calculate the direction. Tucking the butt of the rifle under his arm, he rose and ran in a wide arc that would take him back in the direction of the road.
He didn’t try to muffle his footsteps. He wanted the shooter to know where he was, wanted to lead him as far away from Sophie as he could. With all the noise he was making, there would be no way to tell that only Tracker was on the run.
In spite of the obstacles—roots, fallen trees and branches—Tracker settled into as steady a rhythm as he could, breathing in and out and letting his mind empty. Twigs snapped beneath his feet, birds shot out from the trees overhead. Any fool should be able to track him. He counted minutes off in his mind. He couldn’t afford to think of Sophie now or worry about whether she’d stay put. He had to trust her and focus on the prey he would lure into his trap.
Four minutes into his run, he spotted the kind of tree he was looking for, headed toward it and grabbed for the lowest limb. Swinging himself up into the branches, he began his wait.
SOPHIE SAT CROUCHED where Tracker had left her, listening and praying. He’d told her to stay put, but she didn’t think she could have moved if she’d wanted to. The cold knot of fear in her stomach numbed her. For a while she could track his progress over the carpet of dried leaves and twigs, and for that length of time, she’d known he was alive. Now all she could hear was the wind and the birds.
He’d been gone too long. The words began to run through her brain, over and over. A quick glance at her watch told her that only five minutes had ticked away since he’d left, but even now, whoever had shot at them could have found him….
More than anything, she wanted to get up and race after him. But she’d given him her word. And whoever had taken a shot at them was playing a deadly game. If she went after Tracker, she might distract him and he might be killed. Just the thought had panic sprinting through her.
Think of something else. Closing her eyes, she pictured the names on the place cards that they’d lined up on the table in Tracker’s library the night before. One of those people was behind this. If she just studied their faces, she might remember what had been there tickling the edges of her mind last night.
One by one she conjured up an image of them. Studious and serious Noah with his dark-framed glasses; the effusive Chris Chandler waving his hands, the diamond on his pinky catching the light. Millie Langford-Hughes, a fashion plate in one of her wide-brimmed hats; and Sir Winston, a twinkle in his eyes, his hands reaching to take Sophie’s.
Stop. She could feel it again—that sensation of something familiar. An image, just out of her reach.
Three shots broke the stillness. Her heart leaped to her throat even as the birds flew up overhead. Tracker. As wave after wave of terror washed over her, Sophie gripped the gun he’d given her. He’d worn it close to his body, and the metal had been warm when he’d given it to her. The gun was cold now. So cold.
Was he lying on the floor of the forest, bleeding even now? No. She wouldn’t let herself think that. He’d said he’d be back, and he would. She held on to the thought and willed it to be true.
Concentrating hard on that, she listened. One minute stretched into two. A squirrel raced headlong across dead leaves and up the trunk of a nearby tree. Overhead, a bird began to sing its heart out again.
Too long. Too long. The words were becoming a chant in her mind. She shouldn’t have let him go. She should have made him stay with her, safe behind the rocks. She should have told him she loved him.
A twig snapped. The sound had her gripping the gun and listening hard. She bit down hard on her lip to keep from calling out Tracker’s name. If it wasn’t him… Letting the silence stretch, she slipped her finger over the trigger, and then, clasping the gun with both hands, she raised her arms and waited.
Another twig snapped. “Sophie? It’s me.”
At the sound of his voice, she let out the breath she was holding and scrambled to her feet with a sob. He stood on the other side of the outcrop of rocks. The moment she saw him, she raced around them and launched herself into his arms. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” he said, wrapping his arms around her. “You waited for me.”
“You should trust me more. I thought…” The moment she said the words, the image that she’d been struggling against filled her mind. Tracker’s body on the forest floor, lifeless, bleeding. “I heard the shots and…” As she began to tremble, she tightened her grip on him and fought against a wave of nausea.
“You should trust me more, too, Princess. There were two of them and they won’t bother us anymore.”
Swallowing, Sophie concentrated on the hard strength of Tracker’s body pressed against hers, the steady beat of his heart. He was warm; he was real. In a minute, she’d believe it and be able to pull away. In just a minute.
TRACKER WASN’T SURE how long they stood there beneath the trees. She was alive; she was safe. The tremors moving through her were proof of that, and in just another moment, he was going to believe that they were both fine.
The two men had been professionals and, like the one currently in the hospital, they’d had top-of-the-line weapons. If the fallen tree hadn’t provided cover or if the shooters hadn’t chosen a place on the road where the woods had been so close…
Tracker tightened his hold on Sophie as he shoved the thought out of his mind. It was then that he realized she was crying. A wave of weakness washed over him, and for a moment he was afraid that his knees were going to buckle. She wasn’t making any noise, and he doubted that she was even aware of it. But h
er tears had begun to soak his T-shirt, and he felt as helpless as he had over a year ago when she’d cried in Lucas’s office.
“Shh,” he murmured as he brushed his fingers along her cheek. “We’re both fine.”
“I thought I’d lost you.”
“Yeah,” he said roughly. Then he slipped his hand beneath her chin and tilted her face up. Slowly, he brushed his lips over the tears that were still wetting her cheeks, and then lowered his mouth to hers. Her lips were soft, and the moment they began to heat beneath his, he felt his body begin to relax. Very gradually, he let go of the fear. She was safe, and he was going to keep her that way.
Drawing back, he said, “C’mon.”
“You’re right. If we hurry, we can still make it to the shop before I have to open up.”
He stopped short and turned to stare at her. “You’re not going there. I’m taking you back to my place.”
“We settled that.”
“I’m unsettling it.” Whirling away, he began to pace. “I’m supposed to protect you, and I can’t. I’m not thinking objectively. If I were, I would have figured out that they could trace us to my place. They must have tracked us through one of our cell phones. I should have been—”
“You stop that right now! Objectively speaking, I’d say you were doing one hell of a job protecting me so far. One hit man is in the hospital and two others are dead.”
“That’s just it. There’ll be more. This guy—this Puppet Master, whoever the hell he is—will just hire more hit men. I want you somewhere safe.”
Sophie moved toward him then and took his hands in hers. “That’s why we’re going to the shop.”