by Elle James
“Tell me. It’s not as if I’ll tell anyone else.”
“Have you heard of a man named Richard Prentice?”
“No. But I’ll admit, I’ve been so busy with school I haven’t paid much attention to the news.”
“He’s a billionaire who owns the land at the entrance to the park.”
“The place with the big stone pillars and iron gate?”
“That’s the one. He’s made a lot of money buying historic or critical wilderness properties and selling them to the government or conservation groups for inflated prices. But the Feds wouldn’t bite when he tried to sell that place, and local governments passed restrictions that limited how he could develop it. So he made it his base of operations.”
“I suppose it’s a good location for overseeing a drug operation within the park, but why would a guy like that bother with drugs? He’s already rich.”
“Some people never have enough money. But maybe it’s not about the money for him. Maybe this is one more way to stick it to a government he seems to hate. Or maybe he gets a rush out of having control over so many people’s lives.”
“If he does have anything to do with this, I hope you can prove it and send him to jail for a long time.”
“That’s what we hope, too.”
She shifted onto her knees. “Take the baby for a minute,” she said. “I think our food is about ready.” Not waiting for an answer, she shoved the infant into his arms.
The baby was heavier than he’d expected, warm and a little wiggly, too. As he tried to figure out the most comfortable way to hold her, she opened her eyes and stared up at him. She seemed so bright and alert, her gaze fixed on him, as if assessing him. “You’re onto me, kid,” he said softly. “I don’t have the faintest idea what I’m doing.”
She shifted, curling toward him with a little sigh that made his heart stop for a moment. He stared down at her, gripped by the most intense, protective instinct he’d ever felt. “I won’t let them hurt you, little girl.” He stroked her cheek with the tip of his finger, the skin softer than anything he’d ever felt.
“She likes you.” Abby returned, holding a section of bark like a plate. “She settled right down.”
“I don’t have a lot of experience with babies.”
“You’re a natural.” She set the “plate” on the ground between them. “I can take her again if you want.”
“No. That’s okay.” The infant fit neatly in the crook of his left arm, leaving the right arm free. “I don’t want to disturb her.” He leaned forward to study the items she’d arranged on the bark. “What’s on the menu?”
“The salad greens I talked about earlier—no dressing, I’m afraid. The little white things are mariposa lily bulbs I roasted.”
He popped one of the buds—about the size of a garlic clove—into his mouth and chewed. “Not bad. A little earthy, but a little sweet, too.”
“They’d be better with salt or other seasonings, but they’ll keep us going until help arrives.”
“Not bad at all.” He crunched down on another bulb.
They finished the meal in silence. Hunger sated, with the warmth of the sun off the rocks and the profound silence of the wilderness closing in, his eyelids began to feel heavy. He sat up straighter. He had to stay awake and watch for rescue—or the return of the camp boss.
“I think the early morning and all that hiking is catching up with me,” Abby said.
“You can take a nap,” he said. “I’ll keep watch.”
“I might have to.” She looked around them. “Not that all this rock is going to make for a comfortable bed.”
“Come lean against me.” He patted the spot beside him.
She hesitated.
“Come on. I won’t bite.”
“You’d better not. I bite back.” But she settled beside him.
He slipped his arm around her shoulder. “Just lean on me.”
Again, she hesitated, but the gentle pressure from his hand coaxed her to lay her head in the hollow of his shoulder. She settled down with a sigh, her breast and side pressed against him, one hand resting on his thigh. He felt the same protective instinct toward her he’d felt toward the baby, but underneath the protectiveness was a more primal emotion, the awareness of her as a beautiful, desirable woman, and of himself as a man who wanted her.
The wanting was nothing new. He’d been physically attracted to her from the moment she walked into ranger headquarters. That in itself wasn’t that unusual. He was attracted to women every day, a passing desire akin to seeing a luscious brownie and his mouth watering.
His desire for Abby went deeper. She wasn’t a passing fascination. The more he knew her, as a complex, capable, sympathetic person, the more he felt drawn to know her more fully. Intimately.
She shifted against him and he looked down to find her head tipped up toward his. “You wanted to know what I was holding earlier,” she said.
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he said. “It’s none of my business.”
“No—I want to tell you.” She held out her fisted hand and slowly opened her fingers to reveal the figure of a leaping rabbit, about three inches long. “It’s just a kind of good-luck charm I keep. I know it’s silly, but holding it makes me feel calmer.”
“It’s not silly.” He was feeling anything but calm himself right now, but he didn’t want to scare her by overreacting. “Do you remember where you got it?”
“I don’t know.” They both studied the little rabbit in her palm. It was white with brown spots, four legs outstretched as if running, ears erect. “When I came to in the hospital, I was holding it.”
“I wasn’t sure if you remembered.” He could hardly get the words out past the knot of emotion in his throat. He tried again. “Before they unloaded you off the chopper, I put it in your hand and you grasped it. It seemed like a good sign. Even unconscious, you were fighting. Hanging on.”
She stared. He tried to read the emotion in her eyes and drew back a little. She looked upset. Maybe even angry. “Why did you do that?” she asked.
“My cousin gave it to me when I deployed,” he said. “She said if one rabbit’s foot was supposed to be lucky, she figured four feet, still attached to the rabbit, were even better. I figured you needed the luck more than I did right then.”
She wrapped her fingers around the little figure again and returned it to her pocket, not looking at him. “Thank you,” she said. “I always wondered where he came from.”
“Did it help?”
She nodded. “It did. Whenever I was stressed or worried or needed distracting, I’d take him out and hold him. It reminded me that someone I didn’t even know had been rooting for me to make it.” She raised her head and looked at him, her eyes glinting with unshed tears. “Now I know that someone was you.”
He couldn’t speak, afraid of saying the wrong thing. Of breaking the connection between them. She sat up a little straighter, though she remained pressed against him. “I have a hard time warming up to people. Especially since I got home from Afghanistan.”
“The things you went through over there—you can’t really share them with others. They’re like an invisible wall, separating you from everyone else who doesn’t know what it’s like. They can never see things from your point of view.”
“But you can.”
“Not entirely. But I have a better idea than some.”
“Yes.” She put her hand on his chest.
“Do you think that’s all we have in common—the war?” He forced himself to look into her eyes, not sure he’d like the answer she gave. He hated the idea that she’d see him as just another damaged veteran with whom she could compare notes.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” she said. “Only that I felt comfortable enough with you to
let my guard down a little. When you look at me, I feel like you see all of me—not just the beauty queen, and not just the scarred veteran, but the whole package.”
He touched her cheek with his free hand. “It’s a very nice package.” He dragged his thumb across the corner of her mouth.
She let out her breath in a soft sigh and leaned closer. That was all the invitation he needed. He bent his head and covered her lips with his own. She returned the kiss, arching into him and sliding her hand around to clutch his shoulder. He wrapped his free arm around her and pulled her to his chest, her soft, feminine curves molding to him. He slanted his mouth more firmly against hers and she parted her lips, her tongue tracing the crease of his mouth, setting his heart racing.
She melded her body to his, urgent, needy. This wasn’t a casual, flirtatious kiss, or one of tentative exploration. This kiss spoke of built-up longing, of a craving for a connection that went beyond words.
Angelique squirmed against him and began to whimper. Reluctantly, he broke the kiss and tried to comfort the baby. “I must have been crushing her,” he said.
“I’ll take her.” Head down, hair falling forward to cover the side of her face and shield her expression from his view, she reached for the infant.
He slipped the baby into her arms, unsure of what he should say. Kissing was one thing—talking about it was another. Still, he couldn’t let the moment pass as if nothing had happened. He reached out and brushed back her hair. “Are you okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine.” She took a deep breath and raised her eyes to meet his. “We probably shouldn’t have done that.”
“Why not?”
“Because...” She bit her lower lip, then shook her head.
“Tell me.” He cradled the side of her neck. “You seemed to be enjoying yourself at the time.”
A warm flush crept up her cheeks—all the answer he really needed, but he held back a smile of triumph. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea,” she said. “I’m not really ready...for more than kisses. For a relationship.”
Her obvious distress touched him. “I’m in no hurry. No pressure, I promise.” He sat back again. “If the baby’s all right, you can take that nap now. I promise I won’t bother you.”
After a moment of hesitation, she settled against him once more, the baby wrapped in the sling and fastened around her. He stared out across the empty landscape and listened to the rhythm of her breathing slow and deepen as she fell asleep. At least with her this close, every nerve in his body aware of her, he wasn’t too worried about falling asleep himself. He’d stay awake and keep watch, protecting her with his life if he had to.
* * *
MICHAEL WOKE WITH a start and stared out at the sun, which was sliding toward the horizon, the intense heat of midday fading toward the cool of dusk. He didn’t think he’d dozed long; beside him, Abby and Angelique still slept. But every nerve vibrated with awareness. In the short time he’d lost his fight against sleep, something in the environment around them had changed.
All around them was silent—too silent. No birds sang. No lizards skittered on the rocks. No flies buzzed. The hair on the back of his neck rose, and he sat up straighter and started to turn around.
Hard metal pressed against the back of his head. “Don’t move or I will blow your head off,” a man said, in slightly accented English. “Give me the baby and I will think about letting you live.”
Chapter Eleven
Abby gasped and clutched Angelique to her shoulder. The infant mewled and burrowed closer to her. An unfamiliar hand tightened on Abby’s shoulder and she wrenched away and whirled to face an older Hispanic man. He held a gun to Michael’s head. “Give the baby to me or I will kill your friend,” he said. He held out his free hand for the baby.
“Who are you?” she demanded, clutching Angelique even more tightly to her. “What do you want with this baby?”
“You can call me El Jefe. Now give her to me or your friend will die.”
“Don’t give her to him.” Michael spoke through gritted teeth. He still sat with his back to the man, his head wrenched to one side by the pressure of the gun barrel against his skull. But his eyes remained fixed on her, calm and determined.
Abby struggled to her feet and took a step back to put more distance between her and the man with the gun. She looked from him to Michael. Michael’s face was pale, but nothing else about him betrayed agitation or fear. He’d gathered his legs under him, as if preparing to pounce. “Don’t do it,” he said again.
“Give her to me!” El Jefe insisted, and jabbed his weapon into Michael, who winced.
“What do you want with her?” Abby asked. She wrapped both arms around the baby. “She’s an infant. She cries and wets her diaper. You don’t look like a man who has time to change diapers.”
“I will return her to her mother. She can take care of her.”
Abby stared. Mariposa would certainly know how to take care of her own baby, but would this man really return the child to her? He was one of her jailers—the man who had ordered her to fetch water. Mariposa had wanted the child to be away from him.
“Her mother gave her to me to care for,” Abby said. “I can’t just hand her over to a stranger.”
“You will give her to me!” He shoved the gun again, but this time Michael jerked his head to the side and swung his fist up and back, jamming it into the gunman’s nose. El Jefe screamed, a wild, almost girlish sound, and blood poured from his broken nose. Michael shoved him back and grabbed for the weapon.
For an agonizingly long minute the two men struggled for the gun, rolling on the ground while Abby watched, heart in her throat, tensing herself for the explosion of the gun firing. She could have pulled her own weapon, but she didn’t trust herself to get off a clear shot. El Jefe swore and struggled to grasp the weapon, but Michael was bigger and stronger, and he wasn’t also fighting the pain and bleeding from a broken nose. At last, the older man gave up the fight, covering his face with his hands and shouting in Spanish.
Michael stood over him, breathing hard. “Who are you?” he demanded.
The man didn’t look up, though he was no longer shouting, only muttering nonstop.
“Shut up and tell me who you are,” Michael said.
The baby began to wail, and Abby rocked her in her arms, trying to comfort her. “Is she all right?” Michael asked.
“She’s just hungry.” And she was going to get a lot hungrier if they didn’t get away from here soon.
Michael turned his attention back to the gunman, changing his line of questioning. “How did you get here?” he asked. “Where is your truck?”
Abby’s spirits lifted. Of course. The man must have a vehicle somewhere nearby. A vehicle that could return them to safety—if they could find a road. But even the dirt tracks that crisscrossed the area must eventually lead somewhere. They could cover more ground searching in a vehicle than on foot.
“Why should I tell you anything?” the man asked.
“Answer my questions or I’ll kill you.” Michael’s voice was hard; Abby shivered. She believed him.
“Kill me and you’ll still be stuck out here with no way to leave,” the man sneered. The bleeding had slowed. He patted gingerly at his nose, wincing.
A point for the bad guy. Abby looked around, hoping she’d spot the glint of sunlight off a truck hood or windshield, or maybe even see the vehicle, sitting in plain sight. Maybe it was too much to hope that the vehicle would come equipped with a GPS and a phone, but a woman could dream, couldn’t she?
But instead of a lone truck sitting on the otherwise deserted plain, she saw something even better. “Michael, I think your friends finally found us,” she said.
He kept the gun leveled on his prisoner, but glanced over his shoulder at the line of Cruisers snaking across the deser
t. Then he pointed the weapon up and fired three shots. The baby wailed and Abby’s own ears rang, but the signal had worked; the line of vehicles sped up, headed straight toward them.
“Now we’ll deal— Stop!”
At Michael’s shout, Abby turned. The gunman was running away, speeding over the rough ground like a jackrabbit, out of reach within seconds. Michael started across the rocks after him.
“Michael, no!” Abby said. “He’s got too much of a head start. You can deal with him later.”
“We may not have another chance.” But he stopped and came to stand beside her. Together, they watched the Cruisers stop and park by the creek, then they walked down to meet them.
Graham greeted them as they picked their way across the creek. “What are you two doing out here?” he asked.
“Never mind that.” Michael passed his boss, headed toward the trucks. “We need to try to catch up with the man who just ran away from here.”
“What man?” Graham asked.
“He calls himself El Jefe. I’m pretty sure he’s the guy who was in charge of this camp. If we can get him to talk, we may be able to break this case wide-open.”
Graham and Michael left in Graham’s Cruiser, leaving Abby with Carmen and Marco.
“Is that a baby?” Carmen stared at the bundle in Abby’s arms.
“Her name is Angelique.” Abby arranged the shawl to shade the infant’s face. “And we really need to find some formula and feed her.”
“Where did you get her?” Carmen smiled and stroked one of Angelique’s tiny hands.
“Her mother was one of the workers camped here,” Abby said. “How did you two ever find us?”
“We’ve been following the tracks of the trucks,” Marco said. “We found Dance’s Cruiser, wrecked and burning in a wash almost ten miles from here. We’ve been searching ever since.”
“There was a camp of workers here,” Abby said. “Four trailers—about two dozen people. Some men with trucks came and moved them this morning.”
