After they’d finished, he stepped back, surveying their work. The bottles were well hidden in the snow.
“Someone who doesn’t know where to look for them, won’t spot them.” Mallory raised her voice to be heard above the wind.
“Agreed.”
He unwound the spool of wire, cut a length, then strung it between two trees about four feet up from the ground. He repeated this several times, stringing wire between other pairs of trees that grew around the cabin. Whoever came through those trees first would be pulled off the snowmobile. At high speed, the result could be fatal. There was not enough wire for the entire perimeter, and large gaps leading to the cabin remained. Gage pocketed the now empty spool.
Back in the cabin, he tossed the spool into the trash. “If necessary, we’ll use my gun to take out Considine’s men and to set off those charges.”
But his expression was grim and she believed he was thinking as she was, they had Gage’s service revolver with limited ammo, five home made bombs, and six flares, not enough to provide the fire power they’d need against Considine and the contingent of men he’d bring with him.
After they’d removed their outerwear and dried off from the snow, Gage placed his weapon at the small of his back and went about the cabin, drawing curtains. Over the window on the front door which had no covering, he tacked up a towel. As the outside world disappeared, Mallory felt as if she were being entombed and her breaths shortened. Necessary, she told herself to cloak the windows, and worked to regulate her breathing.
Gage secured their environment as best he could. But the cabin hadn’t been designed to be a fort and his efforts at reinforcement were limited. By late afternoon, they’d done all they could and Mallory feared that the only real chance they had was to be gone from here before Considine found them.
Mallory linked her fingers. “How long do you think it will be before we can get off this mountain? How long do snow storms up here typically last?”
“No idea.”
“Didn’t you look into what the weather was expected to be like before you decided to vacation up here?”
“Never said I was on vacation.”
“Then what are you doing up here?”
Without responding, he brushed by her, effectively dismissing her. For the second time that day, Mallory was left to stare after him as he returned to the kitchen. If they’d been anywhere but there she would have walked away from him and never looked back. Just what kind of cop was he? What kind of police captain?
At the window, she pushed aside the drape slightly and noted that the whiteout condition hadn’t eased. If anything, it was snowing harder. Visibility had worsened in the minutes since they’d returned to the cabin from planting the bombs, but Considine would not let the weather stop him.
While the weather now kept her imprisoned as surely as Considine would, the clock was ticking for the women. Worry struck Mallory again and she railed at the snow.
Her shoulders slumped and while the constant sparring with Gage had sapped the last of her energy, the fault for her fatigue wasn’t entirely his. The last eighteen hours had taken a toll. She felt as weak as a kitten. Her head was pounding, her side ached, and she felt as if an anvil was on her chest.
She went to the bathroom in search of pain reliever and to assess her injuries. When she removed the sweat shirt she’d taken from Gage, she saw why she hurt. Her reflection showed deep bruises where the seatbelt had cut across her chest and where her body must have struck the door during the accident. At the very least, she needed a cold compress. As it was now, she could hardly move from the pain.
Passing on the aspirin for the moment, she took a washcloth from the cupboard beneath the sink, and soaked it with cold water. She pressed the cloth to her chest and sighed as some of the pain subsided.
Soaking the cloth again and again, she pressed it to the various bruises on the front of her body. No matter how hard she tried, though, she couldn’t get to the bruises on her back.
“You’ve been in there for thirty minutes. You may recall I didn’t have a chance to finish showering. I’d like to do that sometime before the next millennium.”
Gage’s voice startled her. Mallory swung toward the door and then cried out at the movement. The door flew open. Gage charged into the small room. Mallory scooped up her shirt—his shirt—and covered herself. Only partly out of modesty—he’d already seen her unclothed—but more to hide the bruising. The last thing she wanted was to appear vulnerable to this man.
Anger warmed her cheeks. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”
* * *
Eyes narrowed, Gage glanced around, looking for some threat. He found nothing and the tightness in his muscles eased. Until he looked to Mallory. His gaze sharpened on her. She was clutching his shirt to her front, but it didn’t cover all of her. In the time since he’d last seen her, the swelling and bruising on her right side and back had worsened and were now deep and raw. He recalled how he’d slammed her onto her back when he’d taken her down in the bedroom. That had to have hurt. He couldn’t say he’d never put bruises on a woman in the line of duty, and she’d sure as hell presented herself as hostile when she’d attacked him. He reminded himself that she’d been ready to put a hole in him with that glass shiv. Still, though he had cause, he regretted that he’d caused her additional hurt.
She was struggling to apply a damp washcloth to a nasty bruise between her shoulder blades. Gage frowned.
Mallory’s eyes went hot. “If you’ve looked your fill, Broderick, you can close the door behind yourself.”
Her insinuation that he was some sexual deviant getting his jollies peeping on her angered him. “Don’t flatter yourself. You obviously can’t reach that spot on your back. Give me the cloth.” He reached out and gripped the wash cloth.
“I can handle it. Now get out.”
She jerked on his hold but he held on. At that slight jostling, she drew a sharp breath and paled. Gage released the washcloth at once.
He stuck his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. “Fine. Suit yourself.”
She acted like he was some pervert. He left the room, but didn’t go far, remaining outside the bathroom door. The woman looked about to keel over. The last thing he needed was for her to fall and break a bone.
Moments passed and she still didn’t come out. He heard fumbling. Something hit the floor and she muttered under her breath, words he didn’t catch. He gritted his teeth. This had gone on long enough.
“I said I want to shower,” he called out. “Trying to treat yourself is holding me up. Now let me see to your injuries so we can both get on with our day.”
She didn’t reply, but when the bathroom door eased open, he took that as an invitation.
Back in the tiny room, she pierced him with a look. “What’s the rush to get in here? Have a pressing engagement?”
As he was about to come back with a biting remark of his own, his attention was caught by her injuries. On closer inspection, he saw that her bruising was raw, livid, and extensive. She’d said Considine hadn’t had time to interrogate her so this bruising was the result of something else. Out of necessity, Gage was now involved in her investigation. He didn’t want to become any more involved in her business. But even as he told himself that, his mouth tightened and he had to ask. Had to know.
“How did you get these?” He pointed to the marks. “Husband? Boyfriend hurt you?”
Mallory drew back. “A lot of questions all of a sudden.”
Ignoring that, he placed the cloth lightly on her back. She grimaced. She wasn’t looking at him, had her head lowered, averted from him. Deliberately, he figured, so he wouldn’t see her in pain. With her mind occupied by the discomfort, he didn’t think she recalled the mirror in front of her that gave back her reflection.
She hadn’t answered his question so he repeated it. “You got a husband who gets off hurting you?”
“I’m not married.”
“Boyfriend, then?�
��
She shook her head, her lush brown hair sweeping gently across her shoulders. “Car accident.”
Gage eased slightly at that. “You should have gone to a hospital.” His exasperation was clear in his voice.
She gave him a level look. “You think? Thanks for that advice.”
Gage felt his anger building at her sarcasm. His grip on the cloth clenched and he reminded himself to keep his touch light. “Well here’s another unsolicited piece of advice. You’re going to be sore for a while. I suggest you make use of a tube of ointment for muscle stiffness that’s in the medicine cabinet.” He tossed the washcloth in the sink. “Of course, it’s your call.”
Gage stepped away from her as she retrieved the cream from the medicine chest. He was about to leave her to it but stopped as she tried to spread ointment on a bruise in the center of her back that was beyond her reach. After a few seconds of watching her struggle, he scowled and held out his hand. “Let me do that.”
Her face changed expression and he could see she was searching for another option. He said nothing more, letting her work through it. He thought it a testament to how painful that bruise was that she gave in and handed him the tube.
Her hair was in the way. He gently pushed it aside. The silky smooth feel of the strands on his fingers had him pulling back as if he’d been burned. The sweep of hair fell across her back once again, but there was no way he was going to touch it a second time.
“Ah . . . your hair . . . ” He held up a hand. “You need to move it so I can do this.”
She wrapped her fingers around the mass and held it at her collarbone. Gage smeared cream on the bruise she’d been unable to reach, rubbing very gently. At his first touch, she drew a sharp breath but then released it and some of the tension in her body eased. He took that as an indicator that the cream had relieved some of the pain.
There was no bruising on her nape and upper shoulders but by her careful movements, he figured she had to be sore there as well. He applied cream and rubbed gently in slow circles. Again, she relaxed a little. He moved onto another spot on her back. Beneath his touch, her flesh warmed and her color heightened, taking on a rosy hue.
It was just skin, he told himself, as his throat worked. Her skin was not softer than that of any other woman he’d touched. Not smoother. The spray of freckles at her nape wasn’t really shaped like a heart.
No, there was nothing more special about Mallory Burke than any other woman. Problem was he just hadn’t touched another woman since coming to the cabin. It wasn’t this woman he was reacting to, he’d react to Godzilla’s twin as long as she was female.
His hand was trembling and his breath had become more rapid. Despite what he’d been telling himself, his body wasn’t buying it. He couldn’t keep this up much longer. Already, he was as hard as granite.
He finished applying the cream quickly, then plopped the tube on the counter. “All done.” He beat a hasty retreat.
Back in the kitchen, Gage braced both hands on the plain brown counter. What the hell had he been thinking, touching her? He must be out of his mind. Touching her had left him hard and . . . twitchy. It had been all he could do not to take her in his arms and find out if she was agreeable to doing something about easing his state of arousal.
Not going to happen. He shook his head. Not going to happen. The wind screamed. The storm was showing no sign of ending. Goddamn it. He needed to get Mallory Burke the hell away from him.
* * *
Mallory heard him moving around in the cabin. After he’d tended to her, he’d fled as if she had a contagious disease. Of the two of them, hers had been the greater hardship. She thinned her lips. Clearly he hadn’t enjoyed touching her. She certainly hadn’t enjoyed having him touch her either. It was necessary, and that was the reason she’d agreed. She was glad that was over and that he had no reason to put his hands on her again.
The cream felt good on her skin. Gage’s touch had been so gentle. Surprising that hands that large could be so gentle. No doubt about it, the man had good hands.
Mallory frowned. She swallowed. What she meant was, he had a gentle and easy touch. Soothing. Comforting. Like a good masseuse. She cleared her suddenly dry throat. That was all she’d meant.
She put the shirt back on, helped herself to the aspirin, then went to the kitchen to get another bottle of water to wash down the pills. Gage was at the refrigerator, standing in front of the open door.
Their gazes met and he scowled again. She was here uninvited. She got that. But really, his constant reminders of that grated on her nerves.
“Bathroom’s all yours,” she said with some bite.
“Do I need to take the truck key into the shower with me?”
She gave him a wide eyed stare. “Why, is it dirty?”
With a pointed glare at her, he dug the key out of a front pocket of his jeans and replaced it on the hook. Mallory rolled her eyes.
He turned back to the fridge. As he reached inside, Mallory did as well. Their hands met briefly. She jerked her hand back. Gage did the same. She swung away from the refrigerator as he did and they collided. Her injured leg gave out and she fell back. Gage reached out, seizing her arms and keeping her on her feet.
His hold was tight and she could feel the warmth of his hands through the sweatshirt. She felt an awareness of him that she couldn’t explain and didn’t like. It left her uneasy. The cabin now seemed a lot smaller than it had an instant ago. Ridiculous. Crazy.
“I’m okay.” Her words came out as a shout.
He released her at once, yet his touch seemed to linger. Silly thought. But she rubbed her arms up and down where his hands had been.
* * *
The throbbing in Gage’s lower body had become full-fledged pulsing. He gritted his teeth. “Until the storm ends and I can get you off this mountain, I’m stuck with you.”
“And I’m stuck with you,” she countered.
He eyed her. “We’re in pretty tight here. Let’s stay out of each other’s way.”
She gave him a brisk nod. “Fine with me. We’ll just have to make the best of it.”
Gage turned away from her. Without glancing back he muttered, “There is no best of it.”
* * *
He had a fascination with Don Corleone and had adopted the title of “Don” for himself, a title that commanded respect and instilled fear.
When he arrived at Billy Wilder’s cabin, the Don didn’t wait for his driver to open the door to the upscale SUV, but opened it himself and left the vehicle. The inclement weather would have prevented him from getting here at all if this cabin had not been low on the mountain and near the main road. As it was, the storm had severely extended the time to drive here and impatience was riding him hard. He moved as quickly as possible over the snow and ice to the front door.
Inside, the minions who worked for his minion Billy Wilder scurried out of his way or risked being mowed down as the Don made his way to the den where he told Wilder to await his arrival. The Don paid them no mind. His thoughts were consumed by the fact that his organization had been infiltrated by a federal agent.
One of the underlings sprang forward and flung open the door to the den. Wilder was seated behind a desk. His striped tie was askew. His thinning hair was disheveled as if he’d been running his fingers through it. An odor of perspiration carried on the air. Fear sweat. Wilder should be anxious and afraid. The Don pressed his lips together. It was Wilder’s fault that they were in this situation now with the woman. The Don pinned Wilder with a look that had the man’s Adam’s apple bouncing.
Wilder sprang up from behind the desk and vacated the chair. “Hello, sir.” His voice cracked.
Without returning the greeting, the Don commandeered the chair and said sharply, “Where are they? I expected they would already be here.”
Wilder’s Adam’s apple bobbed again. “On the way, sir. They should be here any minute.”
Someone tapped lightly on the door on the heels of Wil
der’s statement. Without looking at him, the Don said, “That better be them.”
Wilder admitted two men into the room. A woman was not with them.
“What are you two doing here?” Wilder said. “Get out.” He flung out his arm. “Can’t you see we’re in the middle of something here?”
One man, a small, thin fellow coughed behind his hand. “As to that, if the something you’re in the middle of has to do with Miles and Hugo, they aren’t coming.”
Wilder’s face went corpse-pale. He cast a nervous glance to the Don. “What are you talking about?”
The small man spoke up again. “There was an accident. On the road. Miles and Hugo are dead.”
“Wha—”
The Don could not have cared less about this Miles and Hugo. He cut off Wilder’s sputtering. “And the woman? Is she also dead?”
If so, he would not be able to find out what she’d learned of his organization and who she’d told about it. He clenched his fist. Added to that, he would not have the pleasure of making her very, very sorry for involving herself in his business dealings.
“Gone,” the thin man replied.
The Don spread his palms on the desk and rose slowly out of the chair. “What do you mean, gone?”
The underling patted the back of his hand against his upper lip that was now glistening with perspiration. He cleared his throat. “When Jim, here,” he jutted his thumb in the direction of the stoop-shouldered man beside him, “and me come upon the crash site, we saw her. She saw us and hightailed it into the mountains. We left the van and chased her on foot but the snow was just coming down too hard and we lost her in the storm.”
“You lost her!” Wilder got in the face of the small man. “You shouldn’t have bothered coming back here without her!” Wilder turned to the Don. “Sir, I apologize for my people’s incompetence. It’s inexcusable. I’ll make sure these two are severely discip–”
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