She could not move.
Sucking up a rough breath, she squinted up between pain-filled lids and saw the grizzly peering over the edge of the cliff. He seemed to grin as he started forward. Still on the move. Still after her. She reached for the .30-30, knowing it was no match for the huge creature. Cocking the hammer with her thumb, she rose slowly to her feet.
****
Nat was having trouble concentrating on the wolves. He’d taken a few rolls of film just after sun up, when the pack had brought home a kill for the alpha female who was holed up in the den. But since then he’d gotten nothing. The wolves were mostly out of sight, lying about in the hot sun. A couple of last year’s pups were still visible, but they hadn’t moved much beyond the flick of an ear to remove a pesky fly.
The hide he’d constructed two winters ago was a good hundred yards from the den, with a clear view into the dark recesses with his telephoto lens. He sipped coffee from a thermos and tried not to think about Eliza.
Hell, the woman was trouble with a capital T. He’d known it the first moment he’d seen her and still he’d been unable to resist the draw.
If what she’d told him was true, then she was on the run from the mob. His mind staggered at the possibility that someone out there might want to hurt Eliza. That somebody had already hurt her. Damn. He swallowed hard, feeling liked he’d failed her even though he hadn’t even known her then.
And what if they tracked her here? He locked his teeth together so hard the enamel grated. Give him ten minutes alone with the bastards and see how they felt to be on the receiving end of violence.
But there wasn’t just him to consider. He had his mother, his sister and his niece to look after.
A young wolf’s ears pricked up a second before the alpha male came to the opening of the den. The male was big, easily 130 pounds, maybe more. His sharp ears pointed straight at Nat, and his yellow eyes glowed. He was a magnificent animal, his pale silver coat glinting in the sunlight. The pack began to gather around him, others coming out of the den to wheel around in agitation.
The small, sleek, black female rose to stand shoulder to shoulder with her mate.
Something was happening.
Nat’s spine prickled as he shot off a few frames of film. The wolves turned as one unit and looked down the narrow valley. They bristled and started yapping, just before Nat heard the unmistakable growl of a grizzly. Automatically he reached for his Remington, tucked neatly against the wall of the hide. Still shooting film, he cycled the bolt and lowered the safety on the gun. Leaning over as far as he could, he tried to see what was going on, but that edge of the valley was out of his line of sight.
His horse, Winter, wasn’t far away, left loose in a tiny glade about a quarter of a mile away. The horse wouldn’t go anywhere. Unless the bear attacked it.
One by one, the pack peeled away, heading down the gorge, toward the bear. Protecting the den and the newborn pups. The female went back inside.
Nat grabbed the camera from its tripod, hung it around his neck and raced out the door as he heard the bear growl again. But his heart damned near stopped when it was answered not by barks, but by a shot from a small caliber rifle.
****
Marsh woke to bright sunshine, white light burning red against his eyelids, and wondered just how much he’d had to drink last night. He squinted at the time displayed by the square digits on the radio alarm.
Nearly eleven a.m. Christ—how long had he slept? What day was it? Scrubbing a hand over his sweaty brow he blinked, stared up groggily at the apple-green bedroom walls with less energy than a dehydrated slug.
Josephine. The truth came to him in a blinding flash. The witch had drugged him.
Marsh swallowed convulsively, his throat raspy with dryness, his tongue like thick cotton wool. He didn’t know how she’d found the GHB that had been locked in his briefcase, but she was a more accomplished thief than he’d given her credit for. Should have known better than to underestimate a street kid.
His memories seemed intact—too freaking intact. The room still smelled of sweat and sex. What the hell had he been thinking? But memories of her running her hands along the insides of his thighs had his body reacting all over again, which told him exactly where his brain cells had fled to last night.
At least she’d only given him a small dose of the drug. Any more mixed with alcohol could have had him passed out for days.
Shit, what day was it?
Or maybe she’d wanted him dead? Except she wanted to disappear, not be hunted down for the murder of a federal agent.
Ignoring the fuzziness of his brain, he tried to sit up, only to be pulled short by something rigid attached to his wrist. In horrified fascination he stared at the metal bracelet that secured him to the cast-iron bedpost. Then he fell back on the bed and laughed so hard he nearly cried.
Seduced and abandoned.
Handcuffed to the fucking bed.
Goddamn. You had to admire those women.
Wiping the tears from his eyes, he recalled making it to the bed, just before they’d made love. Had sex, he corrected himself, they’d had sex—not made love.
He should have suspected something was up from the first moment she’d smiled at him and said ‘Kiss me.’ He imitated her words in a low falsetto. Hah!
Humor seemed preferable to screaming the walls down. He sat up, the metal clattering against metal as he checked out the bedstead. She’d been surprised as hell when he’d gotten her naked, and he realized with sudden clarity, that Josephine had gotten a damned sight more than she’d bargained for last night. She’d screwed up the dosage—had expected him to collapse long before he had done—and he’d screwed her in return.
At least he’d gotten something out of it.
Shit. He hadn’t used a condom. Gripping his head with his free hand, he sank back to the pillow. Fuck. Disease shouldn’t be a problem. He was clean, she was a virgin.
But a baby?
Damn.
Maybe she was on birth control, didn’t seem likely, but... Marsh wrapped his free hand around the back of his neck, tried to rub away the unease. The thought of Josephine swollen with his child didn’t scare him the way it should. He was surprised by the feelings the image evoked—even though he could murder the woman.
The bed was antique and solidly made. He was stuck. There was nothing for it. He had to call Dancer. Marsh was going to be the laughing stock of the division—if they ever found out.
Marsh dragged the bed across the floor, leaned into the movement with all his might to keep up the momentum. He ignored the screech as it scraped, inch by reluctant inch, across the polished wooden floor. Sweat dripped down his back, slick and hot as he reached the jacket that hung behind the door. He grabbed his cell, thankful that it, at least, was still there. He didn’t know what he’d have done if she’d taken that with her.
He put in the call and figured there might just be a way for him to extricate himself from the bed in the next thirty minutes before Dancer arrived. All he needed was a screwdriver.
****
Eliza glared up at the bear. She’d wasted her first shot firing over the animal’s head in an effort to scare it away before she became lunch. The bear just growled a laugh. A noise that rumbled along the ground like a minor quake before it rested at her feet.
Dogs yapped in the distance.
Weird. Her attention was pulled away from the massive creature for a split second.
Then she realized it wasn’t dogs, but wolves.
Great, two of natures’ top predators right on her heels. The bear was about thirty yards away working his way around the edge of the cliff, lumbering towards her like a slow moving freight train.
Shit.
If Nat were anywhere around here, he’d have heard the shot. But judging from the bear’s stance, it wouldn’t make a blind bit of difference. He was pissed and hungry. And she was dinner.
The irony didn’t escape her. All her plans and plotting, wasted. Her
Glock was back at the cabin and her hand-to-hand combat skills were successfully neutralized by a thousand pounds of teeth and claws.
Damn. Sweat gathered along her brow as she took aim at the huge beast. The bear seemed to immediately realize it had become a target, for it sidled off and reared up to its full height. Eliza kept looking up. Nine feet of solid power, fur and muscle.
Hell. Her little gun wasn’t going to do much damage to this sucker, but she was damned if she was going to just lie down and die. A tear escaped and ran down her cheek. She wiped it on her shirt cuff. Kept her aim.
A wolf appeared at the edge of her vision, pale gray and huge. She dared not turn towards it, but could feel its energy focused on the bear.
Not her, thank God.
She was relieved to have an ally. Not that the presence of the wolf seemed to bother the bear. He ignored it, edged closer to her, and she knew he was going to charge in the next few seconds.
This was it.
She braced herself for the moment, knew that this was where it was going to end. On an isolated hillside in Montana—a meal for either the wolf at her side, or the bear that stalked her. Nat would never get the answers he deserved. She’d never get her second chance...and she suddenly realized she didn’t want to die. Her heart cried out against the unfairness of it all.
The bear wheeled, charged. Eliza fired her rifle—levered the last round—fired again. The bear flinched, but kept on coming, furious, irritated by the bullets that peppered his hide. Elizabeth threw herself to the ground and curled up into a ball, braced for the blow that had to come.
A shot rang out, followed by a second a moment later.
She heard the bear fall, felt stones and dirt pelt her skin as the huge creature smashed to a halt. A hot gush of breath grazed her cheek. The musty smell of damp fur and fresh blood overpowered her nostrils. She opened her eyes, stared into the blank eyes of the massive beast that had hunted her. And started to shake.
Tears of relief wet her cheeks as she heard someone scramble down the rocky cliff towards her.
“Eliza!”
It was Nat.
She tried to rise to her feet, but her knees wobbled too badly. She staggered away from the body, stumbled and scrambled backwards, unable to believe the beast was dead and not about to charge again. She flung her empty rifle to the ground and launched herself into Nat’s outstretched arms and hung on. He wrapped her up with a warmth and strength so solid that she wondered how she’d ever be able to live without him.
She clung to him with every ounce of strength she possessed.
“Oh God, I was so scared.” Easy to admit now, she realized.
Nat pulled her closer so their bodies clicked into place at every curve.
“I’ve never been so goddamned terrified in my whole life.” Nat’s breath whispered through her hair as he spoke.
She pulled back, looked up into blue eyes that were dark with emotion. Her gaze lowered and she stared at his full bottom lip and knew she wanted to kiss him, desperately. She wasn’t good enough for him, but still...
The hard lines around his mouth faded as he attempted a smile.
“Oh hell.” Nat lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her.
Eliza’s head whirled as she pressed her mouth against his in a kiss that bled into her soul. She held him so tightly her muscles locked—unwilling and unable to let go.
His arms were steel, supporting her back, his legs pressed against every inch of her own. She wanted to drown in the sensation of safety and strength, dive deep into the friction of physical release. Memories jabbed her conscience, but she shied away and sank deeper into the feel of Nat’s warm lips, the subtle rasp of stubble against her skin. Her arms crept up around his neck, she wanted to throw herself into this man, reaffirm all that was good about life. Discover—before it was too late—what she’d been missing. The heat of his erection nudged her belly and she welcomed it. Felt his breath shorten and strain within his chest, his heart race to match hers.
Coming up for air, she blinked at the bright sunshine, was surprised by the sound of birdsong.
Nat let out a deep sigh, combed his fingers through her tangled hair and framed her face with his big hands. He rested his forehead against hers and laughed. The sound of a deep blast of relief that warmed her heart.
“You sure do have a fondness for trouble.”
Elizabeth bristled in his arms. “I do not—”
She felt his laugh rumble through his chest again, saw him swallow hard. “Yeah. You do.”
She sagged against him, eyed the bear that had stalked her with deadly intent just moments earlier.
“I do seem to attract it,” she admitted, rubbing her cheek against the soft cotton of his shirt.
Nat relaxed his grip, turned his head to look at the wolf pack that hovered a short distance away.
Elizabeth noticed them and stiffened.
“They won’t hurt you.” Nat read her mind, nodded his head towards the bear. “They’re eager to start lunch.”
Elizabeth shuddered, knowing she’d almost been lunch.
The big silver wolf sat in the dirt no more than ten yards from where she and Nat stood. He panted lightly, his teeth flashing white against the black of his lips.
Elizabeth backed up a step. Nat wrapped his arm around her shoulders, leaned down to pick up her rifle and pulled her away, back down the valley. The wolves parted around them, sidling in half circles to let them pass. If anything, they seemed amused rather than threatened by the human interlopers.
“A lot of ranchers shoot them on sight,” Nat told her as the big wolf followed their progress with his yellow gaze.
Elizabeth walked quickly. She’d had enough wildlife to last her for a lifetime. Snarls and growls filled the air behind her as the pack began to tear up their enormous meal.
Christ. Images of her own death lurched into her mind and made her stomach turn. She shuddered. Nat pulled her closer and held on tight. Without him she’d be dead. Without him she didn’t want to live.
****
When Steve Dancer walked into the cottage, Marsh had his pants back on. He was standing in the middle of the lounge, still handcuffed to a very large, very bent, cast-iron bedstead.
Marsh’s hair was slick with sweat. His arm badly wrenched at the shoulder. Blood trickled from his wrist and stained the floorboards beneath his toes. The smaller man grinned. Got out a camera and took a photograph.
“Give me your keys.” Marsh’s breath was short, his temper shorter. His own keys had disappeared and he’d bet the bank who had them.
He’d used a nickel and colossal amount of determination to unscrew the bed. He was going to melt it down for scrap, first chance he got. He glared over at Dancer who lounged against the doorjamb. Grinning bastard.
Steve Dancer looked like the archetypal boy next door. Straight floppy hair, the color of burnt ginger. Marsh snorted. Women seemed to think he was ‘cute’, much to the male disgust in the division. The crazy freckles and light blue eyes didn’t seem to hinder his appeal either.
Guy was about as ‘cute’ as barbed wire.
Marsh took one look at the eyes that were bursting with glee and a reluctant grin tugged his lips. “Just give me the keys, okay?”
“Jeez boss, I hope she was worth it.” Dancer pulled out his keys and threw them to Marsh.
He caught them in a firm one-handed grip.
“I haven’t decided yet.” Christ, he was going to pay her back for this. She was probably laughing her ass off right now. Just so long as she was safe. He undid the handcuffs, threw the keys back to Dancer and slipped his own cuffs back into his pocket. He’d deliberately placed her in danger, and now she might be pregnant. The nagging worry wouldn’t go away.
“Everyone all right?” Marsh asked. He’d been out of touch for twelve hours, and a lot could happen in that time. Elizabeth wasn’t his only responsibility.
“Sure.” Dancer moved away from the doorjamb to wander towards the view of th
e lake. “Aiden’s champing at the bit though. He got a sniff of a Manet that’s been missing since WWII, wanted me to go to Texas to help him check it out.”
Marsh swore, annoyed with the delays, which were costing their operation. They worked long hours to catch thieves and fraudsters—had to be ready to move at a moment’s notice. But Elizabeth was one of his team, and she was in danger. The Manet could wait. The Forgery and Fine Arts Division looked after its own.
“He can do the initial examine himself.” Marsh hoped this business was over soon. Mob trials were coming up and things were coming to a head. Rumor had it that the assassin, Peter Uri, had been on the move again, but nobody could get a solid lead on the man. He was like a damned ghost. Marsh’s gut clenched at the thought of the danger the two women faced.
Dancer moved behind the couch to peer out the window. He bent down and picked up a scrap of lace. Josephine’s bra.
Marsh held out his hand and Dancer passed it over, smirking with his eyebrows raised. Marsh stuffed it in the pocket with the handcuffs.
“So where is she?” Marsh tried not to sound anxious, busied himself by examining the cuts on his wrist. Despite the blood they were nothing serious.
He followed Dancer into the cabin’s oak-lined kitchen and watched him boot up his laptop.
Seconds felt like minutes as Marsh dragged his weary hands over his face and tried to rub the after-effects of the drug from his vision.
“She’s had twelve hours to get where she’s going. Shit.” Panic gripped him, “What if she’s out of range?”
“She could be on the moon and she’d still be in range of this baby. Quit worrying.”
Marsh avoided the look Dancer threw him. They’d been colleagues for over a decade now, and knew each other well. They’d worked in countless dangerous situations, and some godawful funny ones. Marsh was well aware his customary cool had moved way beyond frayed.
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