Maggie's Man

by Alicia Scott

  "Nearly 4:00 a.m. You in a hurry?"

  "A little."

  "No problem." Jeffries grinned. "No one can make up time like a trucker."

  True to his word, Jeffries dropped them in Burns in just over half an hour, making good time on a straight, flat road that was being consumed by the storm. Ever helpful, the trucker pulled over at a bank in the middle of town so Maggie could use the ATM machine—she'd thankfully found the bank card in the pocket of her skirt, having tucked it there after the last withdrawal. Armed with cash, they requested that the driver leave them at a small, innocuous strip motel just outside the city limits. From there, they would be fine, Cain assured Jeffries.

  They tried to offer him money for his assistance, but Jeffries wouldn't take anything. He shook their hands, blushing a little as Maggie thanked him in her sweet, soft voice, and wished them the best. Then he headed for the truck stop and Cain and Maggie stood under the porch trying to figure out what to do next.

  Four-thirty in the morning. They'd now covered three hundred miles since leaving Portland and put one hundred miles between themselves and Bend. Their clothes were drenched and covered in mud.

  Cain figured there was only one thing to do. He rang the buzzer in the motel lobby, waking the proprietor, and then with all the exhausted charm he could muster pleaded for a room.

  The woman's gaze went from bedraggled Maggie to Cain to Maggie, her expression showing she was disgruntled at having been dragged out of bed. Then she reached beneath the counter, and just as Cain was beginning to hear alarms ring in his head, the woman whipped out a hair dryer, two boxed toothbrushes, a tiny tube of toothpaste and a room key.

  "Thirty bucks for the night. Danish and coffee available in here at seven."

  Maggie handed over the money. The woman fairly snatched it off the counter, then tightened the belt of her green velour robe and waddled away.

  After exchanging startled glances, Maggie and Cain breathed easier.

  "There are nice people in the world," Maggie said softly, picking up the generously offered toiletries and looking at Cain pointedly.

  "There definitely are," he concurred and picked up the key. "Now let's find the room and get some sleep."

  They had to go back out into the rain, but at this point, they barely noticed. The storm appeared to be lessening, which was a mixed blessing. Cain preferred clear weather for faster driving time. On the other hand, the cops, Ham and everyone else would also benefit from the break.

  That was tomorrow's worry, though. He still had to get through the night.

  He opened the door of the room at the end of the strip motel, and discovered the night wasn't going to get any easier. The tiny room offered one bed—a queen-size mattress with just enough room for a cozy couple to sleep tangled in each other's arms.

  He swallowed thickly, feeling Maggie still beside him and knowing she was thinking the same thing. His body was already hard, his hormones insistent. His hostage was a beautiful, passionate woman, and he already remembered the taste of her mouth, the texture of her skin.

  God help him, he wanted her. He wanted to slam the door shut behind them, lock it so the world was held at bay and strip off her clothes and consume her. Maybe he should have been fast and furious in the car. Maybe he'd had his opportunity and this unbelievable ache in his groin was his penance for going so damn slow.

  He hadn't wanted to rush, though. Even as a kid, he'd hated to gorge. He and Ham had only gotten candy on the rare occasions Zech had gone into town. Then, he'd bring them back pieces of hardtack or sticks of butterscotch. Ham always devoured his in a single sitting. Cain hoarded his candy, however, stashing the pieces away in secret places where he could pull them out and simply stare at them, knowing they would taste sweet and delicious and deriving as much pleasure from the anticipation as from the actual act.

  He ate his candy slowly. One piece every few days, sucked and never chewed as he walked the mountain trails of his home, inhaling the fresh air and tasting the sugar melting on his tongue.

  When he'd looked at Maggie, her pale skin, her delicate, supple body, he'd felt the same way. He wanted to take it bit by bit, dragging out each precious moment of delight, holding back until it hurt, because good things were few and far between, and perfect moments passed so quickly, leaving you with nothing afterward.

  Now here was a hotel room with a single bath and a single bed. He could climb into the shower with her, a hot, steaming shower where he could strip off all her clothes with leisure and, starting at the widow's peak of her magnificent hair, soap her entire body. Her skin would be as supple and smooth as satin. Her nipples would be hard pebbles, grazing his palm, and her thighs would be soft and slender.

  He would like to hear her moan through the steam. He would like her fingers digging into his shoulders once again, as she clung to him and begged him for release.

  A moment of passion, sweetness melting in his mouth. And the aftermath?

  He wasn't so big a fool that he thought a woman like Maggie could separate her heart from her body. He saw the way she looked at him now. He had recognized the shocked wonder of her first fulfillment. She didn't appear to be that experienced nor to understand the full depth of her sensuality. But now she was discovering it and the more Cain touched her, the more he bound her to him.

  It was grossly unfair of him. Blatantly unjust. For the aftermath remained bitter. He was a wanted man with no good plan of escape. His next moves on the chessboard were full of so many assumptions and held such a huge margin of error he should be ashamed. He didn't have any better ideas, though. Ham had checkmated him with brutally simple efficiency the first time around, and Cain was still playing catch-up.

  He took a deep breath and turned to Maggie. Her blue eyes were huge, slightly wary but also luminescent. She looked from the single bed to him to the bed. Her lips parted and he almost lost his resolve.

  "Why don't you shower first?" he said, his voice uncommonly thick. He cleared his throat. "We don't have much time, Maggie. I want to be up again at seven."

  Her eyes widened. "That's only two hours from now."

  "I'm a wanted man," he said pointedly.

  Her back stiffened. "It's not as if I've forgotten," she fired back.

  Her spirited retort made him smile, made him ache. He brushed her cheek with his thumb without conscious intent. "Good." He hesitated, then was unable to stop himself from whispering softly, "Don't let me hurt you. Don't let me do that."

  Her chin came up. "You think too much of yourself," she said haughtily, using his own words against him. "I take full responsibility for my actions, too, Cain."

  "Then we understand each other."

  Her nostrils flared sarcastically, a new look for her. "Sure, Cain. For all the good that does us."

  She squared her shoulders. "I believe I'll shower first. Why don't you get some sleep? We only have two hours, you know."

  He accepted her pointed jabs. She fought, that was good. Even women with generous hearts should know how to throw a few good punches.

  She sauntered away from him, her shoulders straight, her head held high, her back graceful. She looked very different from the meek, hunch-shouldered woman he remembered kidnapping twenty hours ago.

  He thought she'd never looked so beautiful.

  Maggie showered for a long time, letting the steam soak into her chilled, shattered senses. Her nipples were tight, her breasts more sensitive than she ever remembered. She felt restless and wound up and more aware of her body than she'd ever been.

  She shampooed her long hair and remembered Cain's fingers performing the same, massaging circles. She soaped her throat and remembered his soft lips nipping at her pulse. She soaped her breasts and gritted her teeth against sharp sensations that were near pain. Her body didn't seem hers anymore. Every place she touched reminded her of him.

  And she knew from the tightly wound sensations that she wanted him again. And again. And again.

  Was passion always like this? So
unquenchable? So consuming?

  There was so much more she wanted to know, so much more she wished he would show her. If only that darn semi hadn't shown up…

  He was back to being removed again. Back to thinking too much, to trying to be honorable. The damn man thought way too much.

  She scowled, turning off the water and stepping out of the shower at last. She dried off briskly, still feeling wound up, restless and disgruntled. At the last minute, she took the towel and wiped the steam from the mirror, staring at her naked reflection.

  She still looked the same, she thought. Tiny, too thin. But then, maybe she was just slender. Her ankles were delicate, her calves nicely rounded, her thighs supple. Her waist was very narrow, her breasts small, but high and firm. And she had alabaster skin, she decided abruptly. Not pasty-white. Alabaster.

  She perused the collection of bottled toiletries lined up around the sink and finally discovered a little bottle of lotion. With a spurt of resolution, she dumped out the rich cream and began massaging the carnation-scented lotion into her skin. Next, she plugged in the hair dryer and attacked her hair.

  Fifteen minutes later, she stood still naked, but her skin glowed now, supple and satiny. And her fiery red hair cascaded down her body in rich ripples, falling from her widow's peak to her navel with warm, crackling life.

  She spent five minutes washing out her clothes with shampoo and hanging them over a small radiator. Then she squared her shoulders, adjusted her hair over her shoulders and breasts as a flaming veil and decided if her great-great-great-grandmother could do it, so could she.

  She stood in front of the door, took one last deep breath and strode naked into the tiny room.

  Cain was sitting in a tiny, wicker chair by the window, his long legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankle. He didn't look up as she entered; he didn't turn. She took another step toward him, her hair brushing her hips. Then another.

  And realized that the object of her ardor had fallen asleep.

  His chin was nestled on his chest, his face clearly lined with fatigue. In the past twenty hours, he'd slept only three and it showed.

  She bent down beside him and simply watched him for a moment. He looked so unbelievably dear she didn't have the heart to wake him.

  The new improved Maggie. More self-confident, still no audience.

  She stroked his hand lightly, but he still didn't wake. There was only one thing left to do.

  Half an hour later, after attacking her clothes with the hair dryer and pulling them on, she slid out the front door.

  Cain's eyes cracked open at the sound of the door clicking shut. He stared at the closed door for a moment, blinking.

  "Maggie?" he called out.

  No answer. His head turned slowly to the bathroom.

  Door open, lights off, room empty. The fatigue crashed down on him hard, his shoulders finally bowing beneath the strain.

  He could only shake his head in the cool, silent room.

  "You promised," he whispered. "Maggie, you promised."

  Six-thirty a.m.

  In Beaverton, Joel Epstein's phone started ringing and the junior officer fumbled for the receiver. He'd fallen asleep only an hour ago and he had too much on his mind to sleep well anyway.

  "Officer Epstein?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "This is Captain James. We got a lead on the Cannon case. I thought you'd want to be the first to know."

  "Yes, sir!"

  Captain James was succinct. Two kids had been pulled over in Bend in a stolen vehicle and had been identified as suspects in a recent convenience store holdup. Looking for bargaining chips, the young couple claimed they hadn't really stolen the truck, but had taken it from another man and his tiny, red-haired companion. The police were pretty sure the second couple was Cain Cannon and his hostage, Maggie Ferringer.

  The APB had just been updated in Bend with the license plate of a gray hatchback car the kids had abandoned in favor of Cain's truck. All police in the area were now on the lookout for that vehicle. When they found it, they would most likely find Cain.

  "I would like to go to Bend, sir," Joel said immediately. His heart was pounding in his chest. Sometimes he remembered playing the saxophone in the smoky clubs with Cain and Kathy smiling at him from the audience, clapping their hands as the notes got high and sweet. But mostly he remembered the morgue, identifying his sister's body, and realizing for the first time what kind of man Cain truly was. And just what he'd done to Joel's sister.

  Captain James hesitated. Joel understood that. The department would like to keep him uninvolved, given his emotional ties.

  "Captain," Joel said in a steady voice, "we both know I have leave due to me."

  The captain sighed, knowing at his age there was no point spitting in the wind. "Take your leave," he said. "Go to Bend, but not with your badge. And don't do anything stupid."

  "Thank you, sir."

  Joel hung up quickly. He hesitated one moment, then dialed a new number he'd been given just ten hours earlier. He should keep the information confidential, but then he knew too well what it was like to want to protect your sister. And he didn't want someone else to be too late for their sister, as he'd been too late for his.

  "Brandon Ferringer, please." A two-second pause. "Brandon? This is Joel Epstein. I have a lead on Cannon. We're going to Bend."

  Chapter 11

  « ^ »

  Maggie banged open the motel room with her hip, juggling three plastic grocery sacks and one bulky coat. Dawn was just beginning to lighten a lavender sky and triumph already stained her cheeks.

  She stumbled over the slight step and half tumbled into the room, a crinkling blur of plastic bags and giddy smiles. The coat fell off her arm, but was embraced comfortably by the carpet. The rest of the bags she held out with a flourish.

  Cain wasn't sleeping in the chair as she'd expected, but stood in the middle of the room with a single white towel wrapped around his lean flanks. His blond hair was damp from a recent shower and moisture still beaded his smooth chest. His face was curiously bland and guarded.

  "I did it!" she declared and shook her bags of supplies. One fell open and a box of granola bars went tumbling to the floor.

  Cain simply stared at her, his green eyes perfectly flat.

  She decided more explanation was in order. "I wasn't tired at all," she burst out in a rush. "So I thought, why not take care of everything now and save us a bit of time in the morning? I dialed the operator from the pay phone in the lobby and convinced her to hail a cab for poor stranded me. Then I got the driver—his name is Barney and he has three daughters, one of whom he swears looks just like me—to take me to a twenty-four-hour convenience store. Barney helped me pick out granola bars, orange juice, bananas and bagels. They didn't carry much in the way of clothes, but the man had some hunting supplies so I also got a thermos, a pocketknife, a canvas bag, two T-shirts saying Burns, Oregon—Been There, Done That. And then—" her smile grew huge "—my piece de résistance—a hunting jacket."

  She dropped the three bags in favor of the camouflage jacket, which she scooped up off the floor. "They only carried it in extra large, but Barney says the extra room is good so you can wear layers beneath it. Can you believe he didn't even charge me for the time in the store? He's such a nice man. I got his address so I can send him a thank-you card when this is all over."

  She draped the jacket over the bed and surveyed her trophies once more with a satisfied nod of her head. Her cheeks remained flushed, and her blue eyes unbelievably brilliant. At last she settled her hands on her hips and declared in a very smug voice, "Not even C.J. could've done it better. Hah!"

  She grinned at Cain, who still hadn't moved. His face hadn't changed, either.

  "You shouldn't have done this," he said abruptly.

  "What?" The roses faded from her cheeks. She stared at him, genuinely puzzled.

  "You didn't need to do all this, Maggie," he said levelly. "I'm not one of your lost causes
."

  She scowled at him immediately, her hackles rising. "And you're welcome," she snapped back. "Now go back to bed and don't get up again until you've found your manners!" Wow, she sounded just like Lydia when she said that. She resumed smiling, feeling ridiculously proud of herself.

  Cain did not appear amused. "I told you—"

  She gave up, throwing her hands up in the air. "What is wrong with you? I did a good thing here, I know I did. We have to have supplies. We'll save so much time now and—"

  "What we?" he gritted out abruptly, his voice uncharacteristically tight. "There is no we. There is me, the escaped felon, and you the hostage, but there is no we."

  She looked at him, and for the first time some of the wind left her sails. She studied his face, searching for some sign to tell her where she'd gone awry. She'd been so sure he'd be delighted. She'd gone so far as to imagine him scooping her up in his arms and telling her she was so wonderful, so perfect, a true blessing/angel/godsend. She'd thought he might at least smile and say, "Thank you, Maggie. That was very smart thinking."

  "I thought…" Her voice sounded so weak, so faint. She took a deeper breath. "I thought we were a little beyond that captor-hostage thing," she said at last.

  "Why? Because of last night?"

  "Last night? Cain, that was three hours ago."

  He didn't even look ashamed. He simply shook his head and said in a hard, relentless voice, "I told you at the time, Maggie, that there were ground rules. I told you that you wouldn't own me, that you couldn't adopt me or save me, or any of that—"

  "No!" she cried, his words hurting her horribly. She didn't crumple, though; she jabbed her finger at him and fought back vehemently. "You told me I couldn't own you, but now you're trying to own me. You're telling me how to think, how to feel. What I should expect, how I should act. Well, you can't do that. I'm helping you and you're just gonna have to suffer through it, mister. And I'm not leaving and you're going to have to suffer through that as well!"

  "You don't even know anything about me!" he exclaimed sharply.