by C. J. Snyder
Jack stroked her hair and stared up at the stars. “Be glad in the mornin’, Maggie,” he whispered. He woke when the sun started to cast shy shadows across the sky. One hand still cradled her head. The other was around her shoulders. He couldn’t think of a better way to wake up. He didn’t move, not wanting to wake her, pulling up images from the night before, studying them, and wondering—at her, and himself.
His body wanted her, more now than ever, but he turned his thoughts toward Melissa and the want quieted. Whatever sent Maggie barreling out of that alley two years ago had something to do with her sister. And one way or another, he would get the information—and the evidence he was sure she had—out of her. There’d been something in her eyes—a sad, lost something—when they’d talked about how he’d found her.
He never wanted to see that look on her face again. Maggie woke up the same way she’d gone to sleep—with a large yawn. Her mouth tasted like the dregs of the bar sink, and her head pounded. Was she coming down with something? Was illness the reason for her crazy dreams? She started to stretch and froze.
Not dreams at all.
Special Lieutenant Jack Myles was there. Her ear was pressed to his naked chest.
His hand moved through her hair, just as it had the night before. She ignored the sweet pull of sensation and memories. She’d moved during the night, burrowing inside his open shirt, creeping up to his shoulder. Just like she had the right. Just like she belonged there. And he’d let her. Wrong. Dangerous. Jack was every bit as much the enemy as Nathan and Kevin and Paul. Never mind that she wanted—really wanted—to snuggle closer and go back to sleep.
His moving fingers let her know she couldn’t hope to ease away from him before he awakened. She forced her eyes open and saw his mouth first. His bottom lip was swollen with a slight split. Frowning, she tipped her head back to find his eyes. She saw a flash of something like disappointment then it was gone and he smiled. “Mornin’, Maggie, sweet.”
His left eye was faintly bruised. She hadn’t noticed that last night. A fight? “What happened to you?”
His eyebrow—the one over the uninjured eye—lifted. “You don’t remember? You didn’t have that much to drink. But then you were half-asleep—“ She’d hit him. Twice, it appeared. Snippets of memory floated back over her as he filled her in. Bone-numbing cold then his jacket—she’d kissed him. Actually grabbed his face, pulled him close and kissed him. Mortified, she closed her eyes. The rest of the night replayed in sharp, clear horror.
“Hey, Maggie—it’s not bad.” He tugged on a disheveled curl. “Let’s start over.” She felt his warm lips on her forehead. “Mornin’, darlin’.” She pried her unwilling eyelids open. “Morning.” A whisper was all she could manage. She pasted a smile on her lips and sat up, away from that virtually naked chest—trying for nonchalance. She’d slept with him—or on him, anyway. All night. But first she’d kissed him. Maggie groaned.
“Headache?” “Mmmm.” She’d bet he could see one in her eyes. She turned her back to him. What in the world had gotten into her? Maggie-whiskey. . . How could she possibly face him? He was so calm—so normal. But then, he’d probably been in this situation dozens of times. She didn’t have a clue what the proper etiquette was. Was there a book she should have read? A giggle bubbled at the thought, but she stifled it just in time. She risked another glance at him. He was still calm—but she could see a hint of that arrogant smirk, too. And small wonder. Her plan had backfired big time. What the hell am I going to do now?
She dropped her gaze back to the fists clenched in her lap. “You didn’t bring any coffee, did you?” “Actually, yes. And I’ve probably got some aspirin, too. I’ll fix you some.” He stood and she could hear him stretch behind her. “The coffee’s in my car. I’ll get the fire going first.“
Jack had a small blaze going when the shout floated to them across the cool morning air. “There’s her car. I told you she was still up here.” Melissa.
Maggie opened shocked eyes and bolted up, listening as her sister continued.
“I smell smoke—she’s got a fire going. I guess that means she’s still alive. Can you see where it’s coming from?” Maggie zipped the jacket up to her chin, shot out of the sleeping bag and grabbed up her discarded jeans. It was a long struggle to get back into the soaked, filthy denim. By the time she had them on, Jack had buttoned his shirt and put on his boots. He had the sleeping bag rolled up in its case and both his backpack and the sleeping bag were slung over his shoulder.
He caught her chin in his hand and smiled into her eyes. The combination of smile and touch sent her heart into wild hysterics. He brushed a kiss across her cheek and disappeared behind the tall rocks behind her.
Maggie sat down. She sorted out her socks, shoes, sweatshirt and t-shirt, willing her heart to stop chattering. Her two shirts still dripped. She draped them over the rock beside her. She managed a barely credible yawn when her sister hiked into view.
“You look terrible. Derek said you’d freeze. Did you?”
Maggie nodded and shoved her foot into a stiff, mud-encrusted sock. “It was cold. What are you guys doing up here?” Clint followed Melissa into camp, looking a little bewildered. Melissa often had that effect on her men. “She was worried about you, after what Derek said, so I offered to drive her up to look for you.”
Maggie bit her lip on all the replies that sprang to mind and simply smiled. Putting her soaked tennis shoes back on over her wet socks was more of a chore than she’d expected. “Well, I’m fine. The rain didn’t last long.”
“How did you get your coat all dry?”
“I built a fire, when it quit raining. You know how this material is—hardly gets wet in the first place. I was really glad I had this coat.” Melissa accepted her words. Maggie wasn’t surprised. She tied her shoelace and wiped her muddy hands on her jeans. Melissa held out her hands for her wet clothes and Maggie picked up the heavy, sodden sleeping bag she’d abandoned hours ago. A glimmer of a smile curled her lips. She would actually get out of this without Melissa knowing. Then Melissa spotted the flask, forgotten at Maggie’s feet.
Melissa picked up the flask, uncapped it and took a sniff. She made a face and handed the flask to Maggie. “Whiskey.” She smiled fondly. “That’s what Jack drinks.” Maggie watched the smile start to fade. Melissa was young, but not stupid. “You don’t drink.” The accusation was already there, but a good deal of disbelief, too.
Maggie snatched her chance. “I don’t, no. But I was sure glad to have something last night. Probably saved me from freezing to death.” She tightened her grip on the heavy sleeping bag. “Who’s buying me coffee?”
Melissa hadn’t moved.
Maggie kept her voice light and cheerful. “Did you guys eat breakfast already?” “Your coat’s over there. You’re not wearing your coat.”
Could she lie? Not to her sister. She never lied to Melissa. And the kisses she’d shared with Jack were right there between the two of them, as tall and tangible as the man himself. “No.” She watched quick tears spring up in Melissa’s beautiful eyes and wanted to die.
“He was here. Jack was here. With you.” She stared hard at her sister, seeing what she hadn’t before. Like Maggie’s full, reddened lips. Like the t-shirt and sweatshirt she held in her own hands. She flung them to the ground.
“Melissa,” Maggie breathed, but Melissa turned away. Clint looked every bit as stunned as Melissa, at least until she stumbled into his arms.
Maggie barely heard her tearful, “Take me home, Clint.”
Chapter 5
Maggie sat for long minutes after Melissa and Clint left. She wanted the short encounter back—another chance to explain. Why hadn’t she seen the damn whiskey—and remembered her jacket—before Melissa arrived?
She stared at the charred remains of the fire, seeing only her sister’s hurting eyes. She could have told her nothing happened; technically nothing had. Except she’d arrived on the mesa with an empty heart and would leave with one th
at whirled with emotions.
His kisses weren’t exactly ‘nothing’ either. Neither one had thought of Melissa. She’d sat on the mesa, stared at the fire, and dreamed about the man that her sister thought was hers. That rubbed at her now more than anything else. Jack arrived like some scheduled part of a wonderfully scripted dream and she couldn’t wait to kiss him. That was the truth. Unfortunately, reality didn’t get any better after that kiss.
She thought about the night, about how he’d suddenly called a halt to their love play. She wouldn’t have stopped him if he’d taken it further—she’d expected him to take it further—to take her. And although she hadn’t the night before, she wondered now what had stopped him.
She jumped when he dropped an armful of logs. Jumped, but didn’t look up. Instead of the cold fire pit, she stared at his cowboy boots. Worn and comfortable-looking, they suited him. Even with the pointy toes she’d always thought looked silly.
“Wasn’t a long conversation,” he commented. She lifted her eyes to his. He didn’t need more information than that. “Shit.” She almost smiled. Perfect description. “Yeah.”
“What happened?”
She picked up the flask with two disdainful fingers, gaze back on his boots. “Her sister doesn’t drink. Her boyfriend does.”
“I’ll go find her—“ Maggie shook her head quickly. That was the last thing she wanted. “I’ll talk to her. It’s probably more the shock than anything. I hope.” The last was barely a whisper, but the quiet comment had Jack dropping to his knees next to her. He caught her chin and lifted it to see into her eyes.
“You all right?” His eyes and his touch combined to bring everything back—his kisses, how very intimately they’d slept together—and all that they hadn’t done. She gave him a pitiful smile and pulled away. “I’ll be fine. I’m always fine. I’d better go find her.” He gave her a hand up, then picked up her wet things and followed her to her car. She opened the hatch and watched him drop in the sleeping bag and her shirts. “I—you’re not going to arrest me, are you?”
“Not this morning, no. It’s a little rule I have—either sleep with them or arrest them, but not both in twenty-four hours.” She wanted to smile. And cry. “You’ll want your coat back.”
He grinned down at her. “I will, yeah.”
She spoke over a heart that suddenly hammered. “Is there an address. . .” The grin was gone as her meaning became clear. Maggie didn’t back down. “I can mail it to you.” He didn’t back down either. “I’ll pick it up.”
“No.”
A single finger traced down the side of her face. “We’re not through, Maggie.” “I know. But we—I can’t. I’m sorry, Jack.”
“Because of Melissa?”
She fought the pull of his eyes. “Indirectly.” She gave a miserable smile. “I’m a criminal, remember? Life on the run. . .”
He shook his head. “You’re forgetting I found you.” “You found me. They haven’t.” She touched his face, needing just one more memory. His cheek was scratchy with dark bristle. He looked sad and desperate and every inch the cowboy. “You need a hat.”
“Don’t like ‘em. You’re really leaving me?”
She nodded, then lifted her face to his in response to the pull of his fingers. “I am sorry. I wish things didn’t have to be this way.” “They don’t.”
They did. “Don’t keep looking for me, Jack. I’m not—“
He hushed her with a kiss, then murmured against her mouth. “I told you last night what you’re worth, darlin’. I haven’t revised that opinion. I’ll let you know if I do.” He stepped away from her, suddenly smiling. The smile was confusing. Curiously disconcerting. He opened the back door of her car and pulled out her baseball cap, settling it gently on her wild curls.
She wanted to ask him about his sudden change of heart but didn’t. He probably thought he could find her more easily next time. If so, he didn’t know her very well. He kissed her again, still smiling, and she returned a baffled one of her own. “If you need me, darlin’—before you get that coat back to me—just whistle.” She frowned at that. He opened her door for her and his smile deepened to a grin when she looked back up at him from inside. “If you can’t whistle, then just look over your shoulder. I’ll be right behind you.” He whistled a few bars of a familiar tune she couldn’t quite remember.
His arrogance annoyed her. Or maybe it was just that he didn’t seem to mind that she was about to drive out of his life. It made her heartsick. And that was reason enough to start her car and head back down the mountain. But she didn’t. She just stared at him, unable to be the one to leave.
He closed the door and she rolled down the window. He crouched beside the car and leaned in for another kiss. The replay of the night before didn’t help, only raked over the coals he’d left glowing. When he pulled away this time, he reached to finger one of her curls. “Drive safe, my Maggie. Until next time.”
There wouldn’t be a next time—but maybe he didn’t believe that. Maybe he really did believe he’d find her again. The silly thought actually cheered her up. She reached for the key and got the engine to start on the first try. “Bye,” she whispered, watching as he stood and backed up two steps.
“Tell Melissa I’m sorry. And don’t forget what I said.”
She rolled away, watching him in the rear view mirror. He stood in the middle of the dirt road, staring after her, still smiling. She rounded a corner and he was gone. Forget what he said? Not damn likely. The song came on the radio just as she made the turn onto the highway. She listened to Sting, singing with the Police. Why hadn’t she immediately recognized the universal stalker’s theme song?
“Every breath you take...”
Maggie shuddered, flicking off the radio, her cheeks flushed and hot. Jack didn’t yet know where she lived, but she couldn’t wait for him to find out, either.
She stopped in at Shipwrecks to tell Derek. He surprised her, laying his hand over hers across the weathered bar. “Sure about this, Megan?”
She ducked her head in a quick nod. “I don’t have a choice, Derek. But you know I’ve enjoyed working here.” “You can at least work tonight, can’t you?”
She shouldn’t. But she owed him at least that much. She nodded.
“Where will you go?”
She didn’t have a clue—and wouldn’t tell him if she did. “North, I think.” She tried for a grin and almost pulled it off. “The summers here are too hot.” But summer wasn’t here yet. It wasn’t summer’s heat taking its toll on her. She went home to her empty cabin, ran a bath, sank into the soothing warmth and closed her eyes. Exhaustion won quickly. Sleep settled deep around her. But it wasn’t really sleep. Jack surrounded her, caressing her body, kissing her. She moaned, jerked awake and traded the now-cool water in the tub for her single bed. Jack returned as soon as she closed her eyes.
Hot, fiery kisses and his fingers running through her short curls.
Long minutes of staring into his magnetic eyes and his hands playing her body. Letting go of the worry and strain of the past two years and just telling him everything. . .
Later that afternoon, as she dressed for work, she shook her head. Dangerous, perilous dreams. She just had to get her stubborn subconscious to understand how dangerous. ***
In Chicago, Kevin Cormack was restless. He didn’t do restless well.
Growing up in Texas, Kevin’s father left when he was six. Billy was ten. Paul was barely more than a baby, only two. Kevin didn’t blame his father—their mother was a fat, lazy, drunken whore. Of course he didn’t know that about her when his father left. But he learned. A long stream of uncles had taught him. And as he learned about his mother from his new uncles, he stopped hating his father. That early hate for his father was nearly all gone now.
His mother died seven years after his father left. Kevin, at thirteen, was almost as tall as seventeen-year-old Billy, and had a face that looked even older. Between the two of them, they managed to evade social services.
It really wasn’t that hard. Billy said it was important to keep the family together. Kevin thought nine-year-old Paul was a pain in the ass.
Billy knew how to drive. Kevin didn’t. Billy was stronger than his thinner, younger brother. When Billy stole a car one night—right off a new car lot—he said Kevin didn’t have to come, but he wouldn’t leave Paul. Kevin really wanted to go to California. That’s where Billy was headed—with Paul. Kevin went too.
Billy detoured by Grant, New Mexico, to pick up their cousin, Nathan. Kevin didn’t think that was such a hot idea—the only person who bossed him worse than Billy was Nathan. But, once again, Billy insisted. And Kevin, with his heart set on California, went along.
Things changed when they picked up Nathan. Nathan was Billy’s age, and even though he wasn’t as tall as Billy, or as strong, he took charge. Nathan was the one who insisted they stop at that wrecked Ford—even though Billy spotted it first. All Billy did was get quiet at the damage that tree had done. He slowed to a crawl as they passed the totaled car. Nathan pointed out the car was the same make and model as their own—even the color was close.
Legitimate tags were just what they needed to make it to California. Nathan found the thousand dollars hidden under the front seat—and Nathan doled it out afterwards. Billy took the license plates, Nathan got the dead man’s wallet and his equally-dead wife’s purse.
It was Kevin’s idea to take along the quiet little girl. The people had a new car—a thousand bucks. Somebody, somewhere would pay to get the girl back. Kevin didn’t even ask Billy and Nathan—just plucked her out of the back seat of the ruined Ford and plopped her down next to Paul. Then Billy insisted they take both girls, but he changed his mind a few miles down the road when the littler girl didn’t stop crying. She didn’t open her eyes, didn’t ask where they were going—just kept crying incoherently for someone. They left her at a picnic table a few miles down the road.
The other girl—the older one with long, dark hair—never made a sound. She never woke up, either. That made Nathan nervous. He made Billy stop an hour later and drop her off between two cars in a hospital parking lot.