It was a sensation utterly new to her. But it was a mistake. One that could prove fatal. She couldn’t afford to let her guard down like this. She had to get to Henderson’s cabin alone. Once she was there she could figure out how to disappear. And she couldn’t take anyone along for the ride. She had to cut all ties. Once again, she had to start cold, make the journey into this next phase of her life alone.
Or Malik would find her again.
She had little doubt that it was his men who’d come for her this morning. She’d been expecting this for the last thirteen years. But she still hadn’t been ready for it.
“Problem, Doc?”
She jerked back to the present, looked up into Scott’s questioning eyes. Caring eyes. The vulnerable child long buried within Skye’s psyche wanted to drown herself in those deep green eyes of his, to place her life in those warm, rough hands. This time a part of her really didn’t want to run away. She bit her bottom lip. Scott McIntyre was like a thread, holding her back as he was helping her flee.
Then she remembered the knife strapped to his ankle.
She set her jaw. She wasn’t a child. Never had been. She hadn’t been allowed such luxury. She’d used this man. He’d gotten her this far, but now it was time to split. She had no more use for Scott McIntyre.
“You okay, Skye?”
“Yeah. Fine. I’ll go get that coffee.”
Determined, she slung her pack across her shoulder, strode over to the diner, shoved the door open and surveyed the establishment. The restaurant part of the business lay to her right. To her left was a general-purpose store complete with maps, candy, soda and anything else a tourist might need. There were phones and washrooms to the rear. The diner was busy, the store empty. She had to make her getaway while she had the chance.
She moved quickly over to the map rack, selected one that covered the northern part of Vancouver Island, headed over to the counter. The male cashier rang up her purchase.
Skye handed over cash. “Can you tell me where I can rent a vehicle? I need something with four-wheel drive capability.”
“A four-by-four, huh?”
“Yes.” She shifted, uncomfortable under his scrutiny. She didn’t want to call any more attention to herself than was necessary.
“Don’t know if Barney’s has SUVs. Hang on, I’ll look up his number, give him a call.” The man reached under the counter for a phone book, started flipping through pages.
Skye turned to look out the windows that ran the length of the diner.
And froze.
Parked across the highway, outside a fastfood outlet, was the brown sedan.
She was trapped.
Scott filled the truck, paid for the gas and hopped back into the cab. “Okay, Honey, we’re going to park ’round back and call your real dad.”
He drove around to the parking lot at the rear of the diner, reached for his phone, dialed Rex.
“You shook the feds?” Scott could hear the amusement in Rex’s voice.
“You got a better plan? Any word yet from our RCMP guy?”
“He cancelled on me. Complications. We’re rescheduled for tomorrow.”
“Okay, when you meet with him, check whether Skye Van Rijn has ever had any mob connections. Her story is she’s running from two goons her ex has sent to kill her.”
Rex laughed. “Right. Good one. She’s creative if nothing else.”
“She’s scared of something.”
Rex paused. “You’re not buying her line, are you, Armstrong?”
“Hell, no. But this is one tough lady and, for whatever reason, she’s afraid for her life. Something, or someone, has gotten to her. Bad.”
“What’s your destination?”
“Don’t know yet. Oh, and check to see if there’s any history of a restraining order.”
“Against the mobster ex?”
“That’s her story.”
“Right. Don’t disappear on me now, we might have to hand her over depending on what the feds tell me tomorrow.”
Scott felt an inexplicable slip in his stomach. “Gotcha.”
He pocketed his phone, absently scratched Honey’s head. Hell, he wasn’t ready to part with Skye. Yet.
Lies or no lies. Feds or no feds. After this morning’s chase, a part of him really wanted to know what was making her tick. The woman had spunk. He gave a snort. Yeah, she intrigued him all right. Nothing—no one—had actually engaged him in this way for quite some time.
He reached down under the dash and filled Honey’s water bowl from his bottle. “There you go, girl. We’ll pick up some dog chow later this afternoon. Wait for me here.”
Skye was at the far end of the diner, tucked into a booth. She glanced up as Scott approached, her eyes wide.
Something had spooked her.
He started to slide into the seat opposite her.
She reached out and curled her fingers tight around his wrist. “No. Here, beside me.”
She pulled him around the edge of the table, down next to her onto the padded bench. “Away from the window.”
“What’s up?” He could feel the warmth, the firmness, of her thigh up against his. It stole his concentration. The woman had the lean, hard muscles of a long-distance runner. He resisted the sudden urge to place his hand over her thigh. Instead, he set both hands safely on the Formica tabletop.
She leaned into him, dropped her voice to a smoky whisper. “They’re there, across the street. Look.”
Scott’s mouth went dry as the warmth of her whisper brushed his ear. He could smell the spicy-clean scent of her. It floated up with the warmth of her body from the vee of her shirt.
His nostrils flared involuntarily. He pressed his hands firmly against the cool tabletop, forced himself to look out the window.
There it was. A brown sedan.
Scott frowned. He’d left the feds ankle-deep in farm dirt. He was sure of it. But he and Skye had wasted precious time traversing the network of Saanich Peninsula backroads before connecting with the Island Highway. Perhaps the cops had second-guessed them, headed straight for the highway.
The sedan was parked outside a fastfood outlet. Empty. Scott turned his attention back to Skye. “Order some food.”
“I’m not real hungry about now.”
“Just order something.” He got up, sauntered casually over to the store end of the establishment. At least that’s the image he wanted to project. Sauntering was probably the wrong term for his lopsided gait, he thought ruefully. He selected a pair of birding binoculars, paid for them.
“Want a bag for those?” The cashier asked.
“No, thanks.”
“Oh—” the cashier reached for a piece of paper “—I see you’re with the lady. Can you give this to her? It’s the number for Economy Rentals. They’ve got SUVs.”
Scott took the piece of paper, his expression studiously blank. He tucked it into his pocket. “Thanks.”
So the doctor had planned to ditch him.
Until she’d noticed the brown sedan.
He said nothing about the cashier or Economy Rentals when he rejoined Skye. He sat, careful not to touch her leg this time. He lifted the new scope to his eyes, found the vehicle in his sights, adjusted the focus. It was the same model. He dropped the binoculars to the licence plate.
Different plate.
He smiled inwardly, set the binoculars carefully on the table. “It’s them all right.”
She sucked in her breath sharply, turned to look at the car.
It all happened in an instant.
As Skye turned to face the window, Scott caught sight of a young couple and child. They were exiting the fastfood outlet across the street, making straight for the brown sedan.
Damn.
He needed her to believe the two men were still hot on their tail. It would keep her from bolting.
With one arm he grabbed Skye around the shoulders. He placed his other hand firmly along the side of her face, turned her head from the window, pressed h
is mouth down hard onto hers.
A small, muffled sound of surprise strangled in her throat as she squirmed under him. She forced her hands up against his chest, tried to push him away.
But he gathered her forcibly closer, tasted the wild sweetness of her mouth.
And just as suddenly he felt her go still, soft and malleable in his arms.
A wild sort of terror gripped him as he realized her lips were opening under his. His stomach lurched as he dipped, slipped over the precipice of no return.
Skye stilled in shock as a hot wave surged through her.
But the demand, the hot hunger in his mouth, was overpowering. It kindled some dormant need deep within. It sparked, flared, tore through her like rampant wildfire.
She could do nothing to fight it. She angled her head, gave him more access. His mouth was salty, male, rough. His tongue flicked hard, deep. She met his voracious hunger with her own feral need, let his tongue twist slick around her own. And every conscious thought liquefied as her world tipped out from under her.
Warmth radiated through her entire body to the very tips of her extremities. She could feel the hot pulse of it in her toes, between her legs, under the sensitive pads of her fingers.
She could no more push him away than stop breathing. Her hands splayed hard against the solid warmth of Scott McIntyre’s chest. She melted into him, drawing from his feral strength. She opened her mouth wider, starved for warmth, compassion, care. It was an elemental hunger she’d hidden, denied, for most of her life. It was kin to that deep primal need she’d first tasted more than a decade ago. That need to love and be loved, nurture and be nurtured. It was feeling.
Life.
And it had almost ended hers.
The memory stabbed sharp through her brain and jerked Skye to her senses.
She wrenched back, flushed, breathing fast and shallow.
But it was too late.
Something inside had been released and it would tax her to the limits to try to contain it. She looked into Scott’s face. Arousal etched his features into a granite study of dark, unleashed desire.
He’d been as surprised at the sudden explosive intensity between them. But she could read something else there. In his eyes. Something she recognized. An anguish. It made her want to reach out, touch his cheek. Ask him.
She held back.
Silence stretched, hung thick, tangible.
Neither could find words to break the density of the energy that surged, pulsed alive, between them.
“Your order.”
Both jolted, stared up at the woman as if she were a landed alien in the tight little world that had closed around their booth.
The waitress grinned knowingly, set the plates down in front of them, left without a word.
Skye tore her eyes from his, tried to focus on the plate of food in front of her. “W-what do you think you were doing?”
“I was kissing you.” His words were gruff. “The men across the road were leaving the restaurant. I couldn’t risk them seeing your face.”
Skye’s brow dropped down into a frown. She felt an inexplicable pang of disappointment. “You couldn’t risk it?”
He reached for the burger in front of him, bit into it, then spoke around the food in his mouth. “Yeah. We’re in this together, remember. What’s that you ordered?”
“Ham and cheese sandwich.” He’d thrown walls up. That was a good thing, she told herself as she poked at her meal. But inside her belly she trembled. She was afraid not only of what hounded her in the streets, but of what had been set free inside her very being.
And she knew, despite Scott McIntyre’s nonchalance, that whatever it was, had touched him, too.
She lifted the sandwich to her mouth, stopped.
Dammit, she felt emotion pricking at her eyes.
The intensity between them had suddenly made it all raw again. After all these years it was as if he’d ripped open some door, found her naked, exposed. She could feel the ancient pain again. She plonked her sandwich back onto the plate, turned away from Scott, tried frantically to blink back the wetness that threatened her eyes.
My baby. I just wanted a life for my baby. Damn Malik for creating life, then violently snuffing it out. May he rot in hell.
She felt the heavy pressure of his hand on her shoulder. She tensed, didn’t turn to face him, didn’t want him to see her vulnerability.
“You all right, Skye? Not hungry?”
She whirled around. “I told you I wasn’t hungry,” she snapped. “You’re the one who forced it on me.” She was talking about more than the food.
“Whoa, easy. I told you to order. I didn’t say you had to eat and enjoy. Besides, I wouldn’t have thought you were one to take orders without question, Doctor.”
She set her jaw, glared at him. “You got that right. I don’t. Never have. Never will. But I’ve paid dearly for my obstinacy, McIntyre.” She regretted the slip the minute the words tumbled out of her mouth.
He studied her face, reading something there. The flint in his eyes softened. When he spoke, his voice was low, like mist in a green valley. He reached up, touched the edge of her jaw. “Who wounded you so badly, Skye? Your ex?”
She jerked out from his touch, motioned with her head to the wooden cane resting on the opposite seat. “You have your own battle scars, McIntyre. I can see it in your eyes. You need more than that crutch of yours.”
He stiffened. His nostrils flared. His brow pulled low. His mouth setting a grim line across his tanned face.
She’d hit a raw nerve.
He said nothing.
She challenged with her eyes. “I’m right, aren’t I?”
His gaze was implacable. He’d shut down completely.
She pressed. “I doubt you hurt that leg of yours skiing anyways. I saw that scar. It’s not consistent with a twisted knee.”
He was dead silent. She should let that serve as warning.
“Can I get you anything else?” The waitress’s voice sliced into the tension.
“Just the check,” barked Scott. He jerked his chin toward Skye’s plate. “And can you bag that to go?”
He grabbed Skye’s arm. “Come.”
Chapter 8
Honey bounded out the truck and relieved herself on the strip of lawn fringing the parking lot. Scott unwrapped Skye’s uneaten sandwich, crouched, fed it to Honey.
But his focus was not on the pooch, it was on Skye. He watched her long legs pace the length of the parking lot, her arms wrapped tight around her waist. She reminded him of a wounded and dangerous animal trapped in a cage.
Dangerous enough to lash out and cut.
He was rattled by the way he’d lost control the minute his mouth had met her warm, sweet lips, shaken at the way she’d brazenly sliced so close to the bone.
He studied her as she strode, back and forth, back and forth, boots clicking against asphalt.
“She’s looking to bolt, Honey,” he whispered to the dog. “But she’s scared. We gotta play this cool. Don’t want to push the lady too far into a corner.”
He stood, leaned on his cane as she approached. “So where to now, Doctor?”
She halted. “Those men, how did they find us?” she demanded. “I thought we left them in that field.”
“We did. They must’ve made an educated guess we’d head north. Nowhere else to go from the Saanich Peninsula except by boat. And the only road north through the Malahat is the Island Highway. Perhaps we wasted time using the backroads to get around the inlet.”
Her eyes flickered from one end of the parking lot to the other. The fine mist of rain was leaving diamond drops in her thick dark hair.
“Why aren’t you worried they’ll see us now?”
“I figure they headed on north when they left, and they’ll keep going for a while, until they see no sign of us. My guess is they’ll backtrack.”
She angled her head, her almond eyes narrowed. “You some kind of expert?”
He shrugged. “
I’m a writer. I have an imagination.”
She glanced down at his leg. “How did you hurt your knee, McIntyre?”
It was a test.
She was pushing him, trying to decide whether to ditch or to trust him. He’d better give her damn good reason to trust.
He sighed, fingered the smooth, hard wood of his cane, buying time. “I do a lot of traveling to remote places, for research. Some of my work is controversial. I got into trouble with a rebel group in the desert in India. They robbed me, shot me and left me for dead.”
“What desert?” she demanded.
He swallowed. He hadn’t expected this level of inquiry. “The Thar.”
“Where? Near the Kashmir border?”
His gut squeezed into a ball. Most people didn’t have a clue where the Thar lay. “What does it matter?”
Her eyes flicked down to his ankle, where he hid his knife, then back to his eyes. “There’s a lot of political trouble there, near the Kashmir border.”
“Has been for years.”
She took a step toward him. “Why were you there?”
“Like I said, research. I write about stuff like that. The conflict between India and Pakistan is of particular interest to me.”
She moved closer. “And the knife? The one strapped to your ankle?”
Scott met the challenge in her gaze. “You get into a habit, Doctor. You learn to take care of yourself in foreign lands where a government may be of no help to you. Old habits die hard.”
He’d touched something, connected. A link had been forged. He could see it in her eyes.
But her words spoke otherwise. “I find it strange, Mr. McIntyre, that someone with your taste for adventure would find himself in pastoral Haven.”
That’s where people find themselves when put out to pasture. “My leg, Doctor. I needed rest and medical attention for my leg. I’m trying to heal. And that’s the bloody hell truth of it.”
Safe Passage Page 10
