by Cherry Adair
"I guess the bad guys up there are a more immediate problem, right? How can you find out who they are?"
Jake picked up his sandwich and brought it to his mouth, looking through her. "The last one will talk."
Which meant he planned on getting them before they got him. "I definitely like a guy who's so sure of himself. In the meantime, since I'm here and a captive audience, why don't you tell me what I can do to help?"
His eyes refocused as he looked at her. "I can't think of a thing. Don't freak out. Don't chat, and stay put."
Ookay. "Not what I had in mind."
"Know how to shoot?" When she shook her head Jake said flatly, "Then you can't help. Do what you do best—lie around and look pretty."
Been there, Marnie thought, unoffended, done that.
She smiled and nudged his hip with her bare toes. "You're a chauvinist, Jake Dolan. I do have a functional brain, you know." She kept her foot against his hip.
"Don't," he snapped, shifting impatiently. A muscle ticked in his jaw. "I'm not a chauvinist. If you could shoot what you aimed at, I'd consider taking you topside with me."
Marnie brought both feet together next to his thigh and leaned back comfortably against the pillows, watching him over her knees. "Liar. You wouldn't let me shoot at someone. You might not like me, but you'd never risk me taking a bullet you thought was meant for you."
He turned his head and gave her the strangest look. "Oh, yeah?" he almost snarled. "Where the hell did you get that idea?" He didn't contradict her statement that he didn't like her, however.
"You must have a hundred cowboy books in here. It's the code of the West." Her feet were still cold. She wriggled them a little deeper between the cushion and Jake's butt. "Come on, admittedly I've never even held a gun, and frankly I don't particularly want to start now. But I don't want to lie around doing nothing, either."
"Fine. Watch the monitors for me."
"Where will you be?"
"Taking care of business."
His body heat warmed her cold bare toes. Her eyes felt gritty, as though the sandman had sprinkled sleepy dust in them. Marnie blinked, trying to stay awake. "Who else knows about this place?"
"No one."
She slid a little lower, nestling her head into the cushions. She liked looking at him and let her gaze move over his face as he concentrated on the monitors across the room. She wished she had her sketch pad and pencils so she could catch his brooding, pensive expression. His mouth was made to kiss a woman, yet right now it was a tight, grim line. Although he sat absolutely still, an air of unleashed electricity crackled. She wondered if she was a good enough artist to capture the suppressed energy in a man who sat so still.
He was analyzing the situation in his head. When he reached a conclusion, he'd be gone. Up there in the icy snow and dead of night. One man against… too many.
Her eyelids drooped, and she closed them for a moment to relieve the burning sensation. Opening them, she found Jake watching her. She wished she had the right to slide her arms around his narrow waist and rest her head on his shoulder.
"Anyone interested in finding you could check with the county offices and do a title search." She was talking to stay awake, but yawned anyway.
"Nope. I've buried this so far down, there's no way. My name isn't on anything. Are you going to finish that?" He indicated the other half of her sandwich.
"I'm not really hungry. Go ahead." Other than a few cookies, she hadn't eaten since the chili and soup this morning, but her stomach warned her not to add to the churning acid.
The muscles in his back shifted under the black cotton sweatshirt as he reached over and picked up her sandwich, demolishing half of it in one bite.
"Someone could have followed you," she suggested, snuggling her head on the soft sofa back.
"No."
"Maybe not this visit, but some other time?"
"I never come here using the same mode of travel. My routes are so convoluted not even I could have followed me, and I knew where I was going." He polished off the sandwich.
"What about family?"
He shook his head.
"Friends?"
"We don't exchange chatty letters."
"Now, why doesn't that surprise me? Come on, Jake, someone has to know about this place."
"Other than me, and now you, anyone who knew about the lair is long dead. Four of us pooled our resources more than ten years ago to buy the land and the cabin. Now I'm the only one left, and there's no maybe about it. I saw them die. Long before this 'basement' was started."
"But they knew about it?" She closed her eyes for a moment to relieve the dryness. Hmmm. That felt good. She left them closed for a while longer.
"Sure they knew. We planned it together," he said impatiently. "But they didn't tell anyone. Just like I didn't. Subject closed."
"Do you have a phone?" She squinted up at him. Jake nodded. "Secure line? On roam mode?"
He scrutinized her. "For an artist, you seem awfully knowledgeable about computers and secure lines."
Ridiculously pleased he'd remembered, Marnie smiled. "I'm a programmer, Jake. Wright Computers, my dad's company in Silicon Valley, remember? I know something about tracing crackers, the more sinister form of hackers. These guys are good, but I've caught quite a few of them. We do work for several high-profile companies who have the best possible security. If you were traced through this computer, I'll be able to tell you how and probably who as well. Is the computer on a secure line, too?"
"Yeah."
She couldn't help it—she yawned again. "Have you sent any messages out while you've been here?"
"A couple to my headquarters. But I changed the signature file. No one could have traced me that way."
"Yes," she told him grimly, "they could." A small quirk curved her lips. "See? There is something I can do. I'm good at what I do, too. I can figure out who traced your E-mail. And once you have that info, maybe you can figure out who those men work for and why they're after you.
"Either way, it sounds as though the only way you could have been traced was through your computer. And if I know anything, Jake, I know computers. You deal with the bad guys up there. I'll figure out who they are from down here."
Chapter Eight
« ^ »
Jake didn't want her doing anything.
The fact of the matter was he didn't want her within a hundred miles of this mountain. He didn't want her on his computer doing God knew what and talking to God knew who. He didn't want her close enough to smell her unique fragrance. And he damn sure didn't want her to watch him with sleepy, heavy-lidded eyes filled with a warmth he hadn't known he was missing until she came along.
He hated like hell that he'd brought up the guys. Even after all this time the loss of three of the Musketeers, the best damn friends a man could ever have, was still a spike in his chest.
"I don't think that's a good idea," he told her impatiently. At his words those baby blues narrowed. "While I appreciate the offer, you won't be here that long. As soon as the river goes down I'll get you across the upper bridge. It'll take you a while to get to your vehicle, but you'll probably be home by tomorrow night."
She burrowed her toes under his thigh. The woman loved to touch.
"I'll be here long enough to—" The light dawned. "You don't trust me enough to let me help you, do you?" She paused and gave him a calculating look, then said conversationally, "Do you have a sharp knife?"
He shifted his hip but couldn't get out of her reach. "In the kitchen. Why?"
"Because if some blonde tried to slice your throat, and you lump all blondes together, then I might as well get it over with. It must be hell waiting for the other shoe to drop." Her pretty blue eyes looked quite serious.
"Although I ought to warn you," she added, "the sight of blood has a tendency to make me faint. And frankly, I'm too tired to move. So why don't you go over there and pick out one you think would do the job? Then come back here, lay your head on my la
p, and indicate which way you want me to cut your carotid artery, right to left or left to right."
"You want me to get you a knife so you can cut my throat?"
"Isn't that what you're waiting for?"
Jake stared at her; he'd never met anyone like her in his life. "Do you always just blurt out what's on your mind?"
"It's a waste of time to dance around the issue. Why not cut to the chase? It eliminates misunderstan—Hey," she said brightly. "Those guys are gone."
He'd noticed several minutes ago. She jumped from one subject to the next like a dragonfly. It was disconcerting.
He levered himself off the couch, away from her scent, her guileless eyes, and her pale bare feet.
"I'll go get the dog."
"Terrific. Could you bring my backpack while you're at it? And Jake? Be careful."
He'd rather face a hundred assassins than stay down here with her and her screwy logic. "I always am."
Despite her physical and mental exhaustion, the second Jake left, Marnie found herself too wired to sleep. Standing between two monitors, she watched Jake take the short trip topside in the elevator. From her vantage point she could observe both the cabin and Jake. She wanted to be alert in case the men came back.
Seconds later they did.
"Oh, shoot."
Three of them entered the front door of the cabin. Her imagination filled in color and detail. Black clothing, headgear, knives, Uzis. The infrared images diverged on entering.
"Oh, my God. Jake!"
Her eyes shot to the screen showing Jake, still in the narrow confines of the elevator. If he had spoken, she knew, she would be able to hear him. But there was no way he would be able to hear her.
Frantically she scanned the walls on either side of the metal door across the room, half hoping for a call button. She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, right." Naturally Jake had some high-tech gizmo that read his palm print. It wasn't going to help her any. There was no way to let him know that within seconds he'd be walking in on three of the bad guys.
The iffy moonlight sliced into the cabin, bisecting it into light and dark. It also messed up the infrared of the camera, making it hard to see. The men looked like fuzzy red blurs—though somehow their weapons seemed much clearer. Perhaps it was her imagination working overtime.
One man spoke, and the other two spread out. The words, while perfectly clear, were totally unrecognizable to Marnie. She scowled.
Powerless, she observed one of the men cross to the counter separating the kitchen from the rest of the room.
"Nuh-uh, you don't need to look at tha—Darn it."
He picked up her sketch pad, still propped on the counter. The sketch pad filled with her drawings of Jake. Her heart sank.
It was possible, possible, they weren't sure Jake was here. But one look at those sketches and there would be no doubt. Although she wasn't sure anyone would recognize the mellow-looking Jake Dolan in her drawings. The guy said something to the other two, indicating a page in the large sketchbook.
They answered in the same unintelligible language. The base didn't sound Latin, it sounded like…
Language was the least of Jake's problems, Marnie reminded herself, pulse thumping in her throat. There was no way to stop the confrontation about to take place.
Her head swiveled the other way. Jake, trapped inside the elevator, hadn't moved. "Good, you stay right where you are," she urged, dry-mouthed, waiting for the door to slide open, for the three men to ambush him. For the inevitable conclusion.
The phone in the cabin rang. Her phone.
Paralyzed, she stared at the screen. "Oh, hell, it's Dad."
One of the men picked up her cell phone from where she'd left it on the kitchen counter.
"No. No. No."
The phone continued ringing as the men conferred. The shrill tring-tring-tring sounded like fingernails on a blackboard as she waited. Marnie couldn't drag her gaze away to see how Jake was reacting to this latest development.
The ringing stopped abruptly.
The man handed the phone off to one of the others. They continued searching the cabin.
In the elevator Jake glared at the camera.
"Come down here and say that, darn it." She found herself standing a foot away from the sleek elevator door in Jake's high-tech basement. As if she could will the door to open, and him to step back inside the room where she waited, practically biting her nails.
Her attention shifted from one view to the other. One monitor showed the progress of the men systematically going through drawers and cabinets.
The other showed Jake, still as a statue.
Marnie shook her head. He'd never leave himself in a position to be trapped. Somewhere in that small box where he stood was a warning device.
"There'd better be," she muttered grimly, head turning to see what the baddies were up to now.
"Hey!" she yelled at the screen as one of them found her backpack and roughly went through the contents. "Don't you know it's rude to go through a lady's purse?"
He took something out of the side flap of the pack, called to one of his friends, and showed him the small brown plastic prescription pill bottle.
Her heart literally stopped, and she felt the blood drain from her head. "Oh, damn, don't take that."
After a brief dialogue the bottle disappeared into his pocket.
Marnie closed her eyes.
A thought occurred to her, and she groaned. Taking her pills was bad enough, but now the bad guys knew she was here, too.
Jake was going to kill her for not telling him about her need for medication.
"If I tell him. Which I won't," Marnie decided. It served no purpose. Jake had enough problems on his plate. One of them worrying about it was enough.
But oh, God. What if she had an attack?
She had to tell Jake.
She had to. There was no choice now.
Since Jake was immobile in his fancy silver box, and the men in black continued going through both the sketchbook and her backpack, Marnie went to retrieve the Oreos.
It was that or panic big time.
She was suddenly aware of each beat of her heart as she hadn't been in years. "Damn, damn, damn."
Pushing aside, for the moment, thoughts of impending doom, she took the half-empty package and perched on the very edge of the foot of Jake's bed.
She felt as she did when she watched a ball game. If she didn't root for the home team, they invariably lost. No matter how tired she was, she had to stay alert in case Jake needed her.
Time crawled. It seemed like forever, but it was only four cookies later that the men left the cabin. Marnie watched their progress from monitor to monitor until they disappeared into the trees.
"Okay, Jake, they've left. Be careful. And would you please speed this up? I'm having excessive heart palps here."
One cookie after they'd disappeared, Jake exited through the pantry.
No wonder the shelves appeared so shallow.
He moved silently through the shadows to the window. After checking outside, he went to the counter, where he quickly flipped the pages of her sketch pad. He glared directly into the camera and quirked a brow. Marnie gave him a little wave, knowing he couldn't see her.
He slipped inconspicuously across the room to check her backpack, as the bad guys had done. Then left both objects exactly where he'd found them. She sighed and bit into another cookie.
There wasn't much point having her backpack now, anyway.
She should have realized the moment the baddies had seen her stuff that Jake would leave everything as they had found it. Obviously he didn't want them to know he'd returned to his cabin.
She tamped down a shudder of panic.
She'd be fine without her medication.
Just fine.
There was no point getting herself into a knot when there was nothing she could do about it.
She allowed her gaze to slip from Jake to the reddish glow outside where Duchess still lay l
ow, almost hidden by the foliage.
"Come on, big guy, she's waiting for the all-clear."
Jake's broad back came into view as he cracked the front door. He whistled softly. She imagined Duchess's ears swiveling at the sound. Marnie perked up. Yes!
He whistled again.
Head low, Duchess crawled cautiously from her hiding place, then became a swiftly moving red ghost as she shot like a bat out of hell across the clearing. The large dog took the fallen tree in front of the cabin in one long, low, graceful leap.
Jake opened the door a little wider. Duchess darted into the room. He pushed the door shut behind her.
Marnie punched the air with her fist. "Yes!"
Duchess was one happy dog. Her nails clicked ecstatically on the wood flooring as she danced around Jake, tongue lolling as she told him in doggie-speak just how grateful she was he'd saved her. It was frustrating to be able to hear them up there and not be able to join in.
Marnie had to grin. She wished she could see the expression on Jake's face at such lavish gratitude.
A movement from one of the other monitors caught her eye. Still smiling, she turned to get a good look at the red image.
The smile slipped. "No, no, no, no, no!"
An assassin stood silently, half hidden by the corner of the building. "How long have you been there, you turkey?"
Had he seen Duchess? Had he seen Jake open the door?
Her heart lodged in her throat and stayed there.
His movements illuminated by uncertain moonlight, Jake moved around inside the cabin. What in heaven's name was he doing now?
The man moved stealthily around outside the cabin. Marnie could observe every inch of the front of the small structure in one or the other of the monitors. She watched him pause three feet from a window and realized she'd been holding her breath. She exhaled shakily and leaned forward.
In the cabin, Jake lay his hand on Duchess's large head in a clear warning.
The assassin slid another foot, his back to the wall. His right hand lifted, holding what was obviously a weapon.
"Comeoncomeoncomeon."
Jake crouched, then stood, holding a hundred and five pounds of dog in his arms. With movements as slow and graceful as a choreographed ballet dancer's, Jake, carrying Duchess, moved to the back of the cabin.
