by Lyn Stone
He shifted in his sleep, stretching out his good arm just above her head. Mary snuggled into his embrace, resting her face against his shoulder. The heat of his body seemed more natural now—not dry and dangerous as it had been these past few days.
His arm tightened around her and his hand found her breast. She squeezed her eyes shut and allowed herself to enjoy his touch. The touch became a caress, and she felt his breathing quicken.
He turned his face toward her so that his lips were near her ear. “Love me, Mary,” he whispered. “Let me love you.”
She raised her mouth to his and kissed him. For several delicious moments, they shared the gentle exploration of tongues and grazing teeth, the fullness of lips against lips. And then he turned into her, trapped her in an undertow of feeling she hadn’t been prepared for. Answering need suffused her, stripped away all caution. All reason.
Her eager hands pushed at the puffy fabric that covered him. She pulled up her sweater and pressed herself against his chest.
“Please,” he murmured into her mouth, catching her bottom lip lightly between his, moving his hand from her breast. “I want to see you.”
Mary drew away and pulled the sweater over her head. She quickly pushed off her pants and underwear, and began tugging his down over his hips and legs. Then she settled back on her heels and drank in the sight of him. Splendid.
The bandage on his arm distracted her. “Your arm,” she murmured.
“Forget it,” he growled. “Come here.”
She settled herself against him full length and sighed deeply at the pleasurable sensation of his skin next to hers, with nothing between them except a raging desire as hot as the flames in the fireplace.
With a deft maneuver, Ford rolled their bodies so that she lay on top of him. Before she settled, he grasped her bottom and thrust into her.
Mary cried out, her pleasure so intense, she thought she might come apart. “Oh, Ford,” she whispered.
“Yes,” he hissed through his teeth, and began moving within her. He squeezed her hip urgently with his hand. Each breath he took grew more ragged and irregular.
She rose above him, bracing herself with her hands on either side of his neck. “Be still,” she gasped. “Let me.” His fiery gaze locked with hers as she took control and set the pace.
With each lift and downward push of her body, Ford groaned low in his throat. She was so intent on rushing his completion, her own took her by surprise.
The shattering hit her all at once, like a burst of starry fireworks, each prickle of pleasure so intense, she shivered violently.
He plunged upward, into her one last time, and she felt the flood of his release trigger yet another inward shudder that shook her to the core. Her body melted onto his and she lay still, scarcely able to breathe.
A wordless peace descended. Ford’s hand trailed languidly from her buttocks, along her back to her neck. His fingers tangled in her hair and rested there possessively. Moments later, his breathing evened out and she knew he slept a sleep of pure fatigue.
She wanted to join him, but knew she had dared too much already. Any moment now, his boss might throw open the door, bringing medics to the rescue, expecting to find Ford half-dead.
Her eyes flew to his face, suddenly wondering if what had just happened had worsened his condition. Guilt gripped her. Oh, God, what if she had added to his injury?
At least he wasn’t feeling any pain at the moment, she decided. Even in his sleep, he wore the hint of a smile. His bandage looked undisturbed. She ran a hand over his forehead and down to his neck. Sweat was a good sign, wasn’t it?
Quietly, she moved away from him. She found her sweater, retrieved her pants and underwear, and tried to put herself in order for company.
Darkness had fallen completely now. Ford’s condition remained uppermost in her mind as she waited for Duvek and the rescue. She shouldn’t have made love with Ford. He had so little energy, they should have conserved it. What had she been thinking?
That she wanted him more than her next breath, of course. And that she loved him. The kind of love she had for Ford was the question that bothered her. Was it real, lasting? Would it matter if it was? They hardly knew each other—certainly not well enough for the sort of intimacy she had allowed.
Allowed? No, she might as well be honest here. He might have initiated it, but she had encouraged every single thing he had done to her, both times. The decision had been mutual. If she had uttered anything sounding remotely like a protest at any stage of their lovemaking, Ford would have backed off immediately.
Mary considered the fact that Ford hadn’t withdrawn from her today, hadn’t even tried to do so. Of course, he was not quite himself after the fever, and quite frankly, she’d been too involved to think about it at the time.
A pregnancy wouldn’t be the end of the world. She would love to have a child, and Ford’s would be doubly precious to her because she loved him. Whether that love proved to be the real thing, or a temporary product of the circumstances, Mary knew she would always have feelings for Ford. Despite her shaky finances and the way single motherhood would change her life, she would manage. And she would be thrilled to have a child—his child—once she got used to the idea.
Her sudden laugh surprised her. Here she was, getting all misty and maternal about a mythical little Devereaux when it was highly improbable that she had conceived. Her subconscious was indulging in wishful thinking, no doubt. Wouldn’t a pregnancy force her and Ford into making a permanent attachment? Surely it would. Not marriage—neither of them wanted that—but a shared responsibility. An excuse to keep him in her life and see him regularly.
She did some quick calculations. Well, at any rate, she would have some indication by Monday next week whether the notion was feasible. Not even the catastrophic events of her past had ever altered her body’s cycle by so much as a day. There would be plenty of time after that to decide what future course she needed to take, if any. But the wish took hold in her mind, was no longer confined to her subconscious.
Mary poured herself a cup of warm water from the coffeepot. Idly, still lost in worry over Ford and what would happen after their rescue, she mixed instant coffee in the cup and drank it down quickly.
Ford was no longer caught in the clutch of that awful fever. Surely it was a good sign that his body was conquering the infection. He would be fine, she told herself. Ford was entirely too strong and in too good shape to let the injury keep him down for long. A round of antibiotics, a little rest in the hospital, and he would be as good as new.
A smile crept over her when she remembered how he had teased her about her voice. A lullaby, he’d said. A fine one he was, to joke about her being so south in the mouth. Not when he had such a wicked Southern drawl...
As suddenly as that, Ford’s words about Duvek echoed through her head. “Sounds like a Kennedy. ”
But Duvek hadn’t. Not when she had talked to him.
“Oh, no!” she wailed aloud, and tore across the room.
“Ford! Ford, wake up!” She shook his legs. She slapped him lightly on his uninjured arm and then his face. “Oh, please wake up!”
He slept on, not even stirring.
“Oh, God, oh, God, what do I do now?” Mary sobbed. She knew for certain she hadn’t spoken to Agent Duvek at all. The man who answered had sounded more like Jimmy Carter than a Kennedy.
She replayed the conversation in her head. Why, oh, why hadn’t she waited for him to identify himself first? It must have been Blevins. Who else would pretend to be Duvek?
But how could she have gotten Blevins on the phone by punching Redial? Had Ford called him after he’d called Duvek? Why would he have done that, and when?
Whatever had happened, Mary feared that either Perry or Blevins might be on their way here, intent on murder, and Duvek would be sitting somewhere in Memphis, totally unaware. There would be no rescue.
And Ford was out like the proverbial light. He would be awake now if she hadn’t
exhausted him. They would both die right here, and it would be all her fault because she hadn’t controlled her damned hormones.
“No, by God, we won’t die!” she declared aloud. It helped to hear her determination voiced. “I’ll handle it, don’t you worry,” she said to the sleeping Ford.
She took his gun from under the edge of his sleeping bag near his head. Then Mary positioned herself behind the door, so that she wouldn’t be seen immediately when it opened. Whoever came through that door would get shot, she decided. She wouldn’t wait to see who it was. Shoot first, ask questions later. That was what she’d do.
It wouldn’t be Duvek arriving, she knew, because he couldn’t possibly know where they were. No, like a dummy, she had given excellent directions to the wrong damned man.
Mr. Knoblett would call out first if he happened to come here for some reason. But he would have no cause to come. Not at night, anyway.
So, if anyone opened that door without identifying himself at this hour, he would definitely be up to no good. And he would die.
What if he didn’t come in at all? What if he decided to burn them out? She swallowed the lump of terror that nearly choked her. No, not a fire. He would need to make sure he had the right people, wouldn’t he? Couldn’t leave that to chance. And if he hadn’t found them already, he would also want the diamonds he thought she had.
Thanks to her big mouth, Blevins would know Ford was helpless. Maybe he would also believe that she was. That was their only hope.
Perry would probably be the one to come. Blevins would want to keep his own hands clean. Obviously, that was why he had hired Perry in the first place.
The idea of facing down a professional killer, a successful assassin, terrified her.
“I can do this!” she declared aloud, huddling closer to the wall, clutching Ford’s Glock with both hands. She slid her finger onto the trigger, feeling the rasp of the cold, scored steel.
She shouldn’t have ignored Ford’s subtle offer to teach her about the gun. Did it fire ten rounds? Thirteen? If she just squeezed the trigger hard, would it fire only once or keep firing repeatedly? She pulled the slide back to see if it was loaded. There was a round in the chamber.
Guns frightened her, and she had wanted nothing more to do with them. Her dad had tried to make a marksman of her by taking her to a local shooting range and making her fire his fancy Colt .45 and his .38. A woman ought to know how to handle a weapon, he had said. She hadn’t thought so at the time, but now she agreed and wished she’d paid more attention. That had been so long ago.
She could still feel that hated recoil and hear the deafening reports, even muffled as they had been by ear protectors. Mary thanked God that at least those things wouldn’t take her by surprise.
“Come through that freaking door and you die,” she whispered gruffly, trying to make friends with the hard, lethal instrument in her hands, bolstering her confidence the only way she knew how.
“Okay, sucker, do your worst,” she growled, sliding her arms out straight, pointing the pistol. “And eat my lead!”
Within the next half hour, she had used up more fourletter words than an AI Pacino film. Her brain felt tired from thinking up nasty threats. Her arms were weary from holding the heavy weapon. And her stomach contained enough knots to produce a galloping case of nausea. Still she persisted. Couldn’t let down her guard. Didn’t dare slacken her vigil.
The longer the absolute silence outside the cabin lasted, the more ominous it grew.
Where was Westy? He usually spent less than half an hour out in the cold before he scratched to come back inside. Of course, it wasn’t quite so cold out there tonight. Some guard he’d turned out to be.
Mary began to wonder then whether something had happened to the dog. Had someone—namely Perry or Blevins—rendered him useless? Killed him, maybe?
A scraping sound from outside stole her breath. She didn’t dare show her face at the window. Slowly she stood, still backed against the logs of the wall.
Wait, she told herself. Wait and get ready. A board on the porch creaked slightly. She would never have heard it unless she’d been listening for that sound. Someone was just beyond the door.
“Mary Shaw?” a voice called out. A velvet voice, rich and deep and deadly calm.
Her terrified gaze flew to Ford, who still slept, totally oblivious to the danger that stalked them. Please, God, don’t let him wake up right now. She looked back at the door.
A moment later, her eyes grew wide and her nerves drew even tighter than before. The doorknob turned—slowly, deliberately, soundlessly.
Show time.
Mary brought the gun up to shoulder level, holding it the way she had, long ago, at the firing range—one hand gripping the weapon, the other supporting it. Come on. Come on. Come on. Her mind chanted the words.
The door swung open—freely, as though pushed. Mary glanced at her hands, tightened so on the gun that her fingers looked bloodless. And she remembered the safety was on. Damn!
Quickly, holding her breath, she switched it off and regained her stance, legs apart, arms braced outward in front of her.
Westy ambled through the door and made directly for the fireplace. The coals beneath the andirons, a glowing fluorescent-orange heap, and the flames licking at the nearly consumed logs, provided the only light in the room.
Suddenly the man was there, standing in the doorway, lowering his weapon a little and staring across the room at the sleeping Ford.
He took a hesitant step forward, his head turning to examine the far corner of the room—the door to the bedroom.
It was now or never.
Mary swung outward from her position against the wall and fired, squeezing the trigger for all she was worth.
The first shot knocked her off-balance. The next two went wild.
Chapter 15
Shots! Ford’s eyes flew open and he gasped as two great paws bounced on his midsection. Westy’s continuous barks echoed around the cabin, drowning out everything else. Ford rolled over to grab his Glock. Gone!
Mary’s keening cries brought him to his knees in an instant Surely to God he was dreaming. Shadows from the fire danced over the frozen tableau. Nothing in the room moved but Westy, who bounced around the two figures, barking for all he was worth.
For a moment, Ford’s mind refused to believe what he saw. Mary stood, arms stiff, holding his weapon aimed at the head of the man on the floor. Perry?
“Hush!” he shouted. The dog ceased his uproar immediately, but Mary continued making that ungodly sound—misery made audible.
Ford dragged himself upright and rushed to her, approaching from the side so she wouldn’t shoot him accidentally. He stepped around her and grasped her shoulders from behind. Slowly, he slid his hands down her arms. “Let go, Mary,” he said firmly. “Turn the gun loose. I’ve got it.”
Her breath shuddered in. He could feel the vibration against his chest. He liberated the Glock and then released her. She still didn’t budge from the spot. Her hands remained outstretched, fingers curled inward now and shaking. “Killed him,” she said, the words rushing out in little puffs of air.
He could see the dark puddle of blood between the man’s left side and his upthrown arm. Ford moved around Mary, gently shoving her back, farther away from the body.
Then he crouched beside the prone form, pressing his fingers against the carotid artery. Not dead yet or even close. The pulse felt a little erratic, but was strong. Of course, Ford could fix that.
“Devereaux?” the man gasped. “You—you’re a hard man to find”
“Got a little more than you bargained for, didn’t you, buddy?”
Perry shook and then groaned. “Blevins—he’s coming. Came to warn you. Help.”
“Yeah, right,” Ford said, tearing at the zippered jacket and the shirt beneath to check the damage Mary had wreaked. God, what a woman she was! If he hadn’t loved her before—well, he sure had good reason now. Perry could have iced them both wit
hout Ford’s even knowing it.
“You thought—I was trying to kill you,” Perry stated.
“crossed my mind a couple of times,” Ford said wryly.
“I’m with the Bureau,” he said, as if that explained everything.
“Oh, right! We have a hit squad now?” Ford continued pulling the clothing away from the wound.
“Badge. My hand.” Perry ground out the words and then drew his breath in, hissing.
Ford glanced toward Perry’s clenched right hand and saw the weapon resting a good two feet away from it In the left, he held a leather wallet, lying open. The meager light glinted on metal.
“Uh-oh,” Ford muttered, picking up the folder. No doubt about what it was. “Jeez, man, what’s going on here?”
“Deep cover. Special—”
“Then what the hell are you doing toting ID?” Ford demanded, dropping the credentials and getting back to his original purpose. Now he could see the entry wound in Perry’s side just below his ribs. At least he wasn’t gut shot, but Mary had done a pretty good job on him, as it was.
“Yoo—wouldn’t have believed—me. The file...”
“Yeah, I know all about that. Fake, right?”
“Uh-hmm,” Perry moaned. “Had to establish...cover.” He clenched his eyes shut “Will I make it?”
Ford nodded. “Oh yeah, we’ll get you patched up. Hang in there, now.” He turned then to see how Mary was doing. She had retreated to the mattress and sat with her knees tucked under her chin, her arms encircling her legs.
“It’s Perry, Mary. But it looks like he’s one of the good ol’ boys. Can you give me a hand, here?”
She roused immediately and rushed to his side. Backlit as she was by the fire, he couldn’t see her face, but could just imagine those eyes rounded and her pretty lips pressed together the way she did when she tried to keep them from trembling.