by Cassie Miles
She hadn’t expected the big man to lash out. Not while she was helping him by dressing his wounds. Her mistake had been letting down her guard and getting too close to him. The warmth of the cabin had imbued her with false feelings of security.
She wasn’t safe. Not by a long shot.
Trusting Cole was out of the question. His subtle charm was more potentially devastating than a blatant assault. She’d heard Frank say that the FBI was chasing Cole. Those men with guns who came to the house had been after Cole.
He placed a bowl of the canned chili he’d been heating in front of her. Though she should have been starving, Rachel didn’t have an appetite. As she picked a kidney bean from the chili with her spoon, she felt Cole watching her.
“You don’t have to worry about Frank,” he said. “I’ve got him tied down in the bedroom.”
Though Frank scared the hell out of her, she didn’t want to mistreat him. “He should eat something.”
“I’m not going to feed him. He’d probably bite my hand off. Besides, he’s fallen asleep.”
“Or gone into a coma,” she said.
“I don’t want him to die,” Cole said. “I wouldn’t wish death on anyone. But I’ve done all I intend to do for Frank Loeb.”
At least he was being honest. She dared to lift her gaze from the chili and look into his face. His cognac-colored eyes gleamed. The color had returned to his roughly stubbled cheeks. It wasn’t fair for him to be so handsome. The evil he might have done wasn’t apparent in his features.
She shoveled a bite of chili into her mouth. The taste was bland and the texture gooey, but she swallowed and took another bite. If she was going to survive, she needed her strength.
Cole said, “Not the world’s best dinner. Would you like a stale cracker to go with it?”
She shook her head, not wanting to get into a conversation with him. Given half a chance, he’d seduce her with his smooth-talking lies.
“You might be wondering,” he said, “about some of the things Frank said.”
“Not at all.” She forced herself to swallow more chili.
“There are a couple of things you need to know, starting with—”
“Stop.” She held up her hand. “I don’t want to hear it.”
“Five words,” he said. “Give me five words to explain myself.”
“All right. And I’m counting.”
“I’m. An. Undercover. FBI. Agent.” He shrugged.
“Maybe FBI ought to count as more than one word. But you get the idea.”
She dropped her spoon. I didn’t see this coming. “Why should I believe you?”
He grinned. “Are you willing to hear more?”
Not if he was lying. “I want the truth.”
“Until tomorrow when we talk to the police, I can’t prove my identity,” he said. “The mere fact that I’m willing to turn myself in to the cops ought to tell you something. My handler works out of the Denver field office. I contacted him after the shoot-out at the casino, and he told me to stick with the gang.”
“Even though Penny was wounded and pregnant?”
“I thought the gang would make a clean getaway. She seemed okay. And I didn’t expect her to go into labor.”
“But she did. Wasn’t it your duty to protect her and her baby?”
“That’s why I got you.”
“And put me in danger.” If he really was an undercover agent, he was utterly irresponsible. “A real FBI agent wouldn’t put a civilian in harm’s way.”
“Think back,” he said. “I was doing my best to keep you safe. I kept you from seeing the other members of the gang so they wouldn’t think you could identify them. Damn it, Rachel. Before the shoot-out started, I was taking you to your van, helping you escape.”
Some of what he was saying backed up his claim to be an undercover lawman, but all she could see when she looked back was Penny, lying dead on the floor after delivering her baby. “She didn’t deserve to die.”
“I never thought Penny would be harmed. She was the mother of Baron’s child. That should have been a guarantee of safety.” His smile had disappeared. “But you’re right, Rachel. Her death—her murder—was my fault. I failed. I can tell myself that there was nothing I could have done to save her, but it doesn’t change what happened. Somehow, I’ll have to find a way to live with that.”
His regret seemed real. Did she dare to believe him? From the start, she’d sensed that he was a dangerous man. As an undercover agent, that was true. Even if he was on the right side of the law, he had that renegade edge. “Why didn’t you tell me before? We were alone in my van when you kidnapped me. You could have told me then.”
“If you’d known I was undercover, you would have been in even more danger.”
Again, his reasoning made sense. But she couldn’t allow herself to be drawn in to this improbable story. “Frank said the FBI was after you. Not the other way around.”
“And that could be a big problem.” He glanced toward the closed door to the bedroom where Frank lay unconscious. “Usually, I’d dismiss anything Frank said as a lie, but he came up with a name that makes me think twice.”
“I’m listening.”
“Let me start at the beginning.” Ignoring his chili, he leaned back in his chair and stretched his long legs out in front of him. “It was a month ago, give or take a couple of days. The FBI had an opportunity to infiltrate Baron’s operation. They recruited me from L.A. because they suspected there was an FBI agent working with Baron. None of the agents in the Rocky Mountain area know me.”
“Except for your handler.”
“His name is Wayne Prescott. That’s the name Frank heard. One of the shooters at the house mentioned Prescott.”
“The shooters were from the FBI?”
“I don’t think so. Attacking the house with guns blazing isn’t the way we do things, especially not when the shooters knew they had an agent on the inside. Before they opened fire, they would have negotiated and offered a chance to surrender.”
“Is that always the way they work?”
“In my experience, yes.”
His gaze was steadfast and unguarded. His posture, relaxed. He didn’t seem to be lying, but an expert liar wouldn’t show that he was nervous. “Well, then. How do you explain what happened at the house?”
“The shooters know Prescott, but they have to be Baron’s men. Penny told us that he owned the cabin and knew the location. Baron has a reputation for cruelty. During the casino robbery, our gang screwed up by getting into a shoot-out and attracting attention. My guess is that he wanted us all dead rather than in custody.”
“All of you? Even the mother of his child?”
“I’ve been undercover a lot, and I still don’t understand the criminal mind. A lot of these guys seem perfectly normal. They have wives and kids. They live in houses in the suburbs and drive hybrids. But they don’t think the same way that we do. They don’t follow the same ideas of morality. Baron might have a moment of sadness about Penny and Goldie, but he won’t let their death stop his master plan.”
“Even if he loved her?”
“A guy like that?” Cole leaned forward, picked up his spoon and dug into the chili. “He’s not capable of love.”
Penny had certainly thought differently. During the time she was in labor, she’d talked about her relationship with Goldie’s father. They’d known each other since she was a teenager. Not that they were the typical hand-holding high school sweethearts. Baron was older than she was—much older. The way they’d met wasn’t clear to Rachel, but he was somehow connected to her high school.
Penny had talked about the way he swept her off her feet. He drove an expensive car and gave her presents and took her to classy restaurants.
The thought of this older man taking advantage of Penny disgusted Rachel, but she’d kept her opinion to herself. When a woman was in the midst of labor, she didn’t need to have a serious relationship discussion.
She asked, “
Why did Frank think I knew where Penny hid the money?”
“Do you?”
“She mentioned the hidden cash. It was her insurance policy to make sure the gang wouldn’t kill her. But she never said where it was, and I didn’t really know what she was talking about.”
“It’s complicated,” he said.
“Explain it.” She leaned back in her chair. “We’ve got time.”
Cole took one more bite of chili before he responded. “Baron runs five gangs—maybe more—throughout the Rocky Mountain region. He does the prep work—figures out the site of each robbery and the timing. The gang goes in, makes the grab and gets away fast.”
“Always at casinos?”
“Usually not. Casinos generally have better security than banks. The typical target is a small bank. The heists are nothing clever. Just get in and get out. Then comes the genius part of Baron’s scheme.”
In spite of her skepticism, she found herself being drawn into his story. “How is it genius?”
“A lot of robbers get caught when they start to spend the money. Sometimes, it’s marked. Passing off hundred-dollar bills isn’t easy. And the robbers can’t exactly take their haul and deposit it in a regular bank account.”
“Why not?”
“Think about it,” he said. “If somebody like Frank strolls into a bank and wants to open an account with hundred-dollar bills, a bank teller is going to get suspicious.”
She nodded. “I see what you mean.”
“Baron has a designated person—in our gang, it was Penny—who puts the cash into a package and mails it to a secure location.”
“What do you mean by secure location?” she asked. “It seems like Baron would want the money sent directly to him.”
“But that would mean that his location could be traced.”
“Okay, I get it,” she said. “Then what?”
“After a couple of weeks when the heat is off, the designated person either picks up the money and hand delivers it. Or they give Baron the location and he arranges for a pickup. He launders the cash and keeps half. The gang gets paid a monthly stipend, just like a real job.”
She could see why the FBI wanted to shut down Baron’s operation. “How much money are we talking about?”
“Five gangs pulling off two or three jobs a month. The take ranges from a couple thousand to twenty. I figure it’s more than a hundred thousand a month.”
“I can’t believe all these gangs keep getting away with it,” she said.
“You’d be surprised how many bank robberies there are,” he said. “Last year in Colorado alone, there were over a hundred and fifty. Most of the time, they don’t even make the news. Especially when there’s not a huge amount of cash involved and no one is injured.”
She finished off her chili while she considered what he’d told her. Baron’s scheme sounded far too complicated for Cole to have made it up, but that still didn’t prove that he was working undercover for the FBI.
His behavior while she’d been held captive was more convincing. During the whole time Penny was in labor, he’d been a gentleman. Like he said, he’d kept her separate from the other gang members. And he had been helping her escape when the shooters attacked.
She shivered from a draft that slipped around the edge of the front door. Though they’d pushed a chair against it and blocked the air with towels from the bathroom, the door didn’t fit exactly into the frame after Frank burst through it.
Rising from the table, she carried her bowl to the kitchen and looked out the uncurtained window. “Still snowing.”
“That’s a good thing.” He reached around her to put his bowl in the sink. “The blizzard will keep anybody from searching for us.”
Though they weren’t alone in the cabin, she felt as if they were sharing a private moment in the kitchen. Outside the wind rushed and hurled icy pellets at the window, but they were tucked away and sheltered.
When she turned toward him, he didn’t back away. Less than two feet of space separated them. “Why did you tell me all this?”
“I wanted you to know. I’m one of the good guys, and I’m not going to hurt you.”
She’d heard that promise before. Other men had assured her that they wouldn’t break her heart. The smart thing would be to step away, to put some distance between them. But they were awfully close. And he was awfully good-looking.
Arms folded below her breasts, she tried to shut down her attraction to him. Diffidently, she asked, “Why do you care what I think?”
“I like you, Rachel.”
He could have said so much more, could have called her his baby doll and told her she was beautiful. “Is that all you have to say?”
“I like you…very much.”
And she liked him, too. In spite of her resolution to steer clear of dangerous men, she unfolded her arms. Gently, she reached up and rested her hand on his cheek. His stubble bristled under her fingers. Electricity crackled between them.
His hand clasped her waist as his head lowered. His lips were firm. He used exactly the right amount of pressure for a perfect kiss.
She pulled away from him and opened her eyes. His smile was warm. His eyes, inviting. Perfect! Of course! Guys like Cole—men who lived on the edge—made the best lovers. Because they didn’t hold back? Because they took risks in everything?
“That was good,” she said.
“I can do better.”
He stepped forward, trapping her against the kitchen counter, and encircled her in a powerful embrace. Through the bulky sweatsuits, their bodies joined. This kiss was harder and more demanding. If she allowed herself to respond, she didn’t know if she could stop. In minutes, she’d be tearing off his clothes and dragging him onto her and…
His tongue slid into her mouth, and her mind went blank. Sensation washed through her, sending an army of goose bumps marching along the surface of her skin. She felt so good, so alive. Though she was unaware of moving a muscle, her back arched. Her breasts pressed against his chest, and the sensitive tips of her nipples tingled with pleasure. Her feet seemed to leave the floor as though she was weightless. Floating. Drifting through clouds.
When the kiss ended, she lightly descended to earth. Oh, man, that was some kiss! A rocket to the moon.
Still holding her, he leaned back and gazed down at her. She stared up at his face, watching as his lips pulled into a confident smile. He knew his kiss had affected her. He knew that he was in control.
In spite of her dazed state, Rachel realized that she needed to pull back. She’d have to be crazy to make love to him tonight. It wasn’t possible. Not with baby Goldie sleeping nearby. Not with psychopathic Frank tied up in the bedroom.
She couldn’t manage a single coherent word, but he must have sensed her reticence because he loosened his grasp and stepped back.
“I want to make love to you, Rachel.” His voice was low and rough. “I want you. Now.”
“Uh-huh.”
“But the time isn’t right.”
She nodded so vigorously that she made herself dizzy. “Not tonight.”
“You’re a special woman. I want to treat you right.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And I want you to trust me.”
“Okay.”
He took her hand and squeezed. “When we’re safe and this is over,” he said with the sexiest smile she’d ever seen. “It won’t be over between you and me. That’s a promise.”
Chapter Eight
After Cole converted one of the sofas into a double bed and got Rachel and Goldie settled down to sleep, he stretched out on the other sofa on the opposite side of the cabin. Between his side of the front room and Rachel’s the gas fireplace blazed warmly. His gun rested on the floor beside him, easily reachable. Though the sofa was too short for his legs, this wasn’t the worst place he’d gone to bed. His undercover work meant he sometimes didn’t know where he’d be sleeping or for how long.
Over the years, he’d trained himself to dr
op easily into a light slumber. Never a deep sleep. Not while on assignment. Even while resting, he needed to maintain vigilance, to be prepared for the unexpected threat.
As soon as he closed his eyes, he became aware of aching muscles from their hike and bruises from his fight with Frank. Ignoring the pain, he concentrated on letting go of his tension, keeping his breathing steady and lowering his pulse rate.
He tried to imagine a blank slate. Soft blue. Peaceful. But his mind raced, jumping from one visual image to another. He saw Penny in a pool of her own blood. Saw Frank being gunned down, throwing his arms into the air before he fell. He saw snow swirling before his eyes. Then through the whiteness, Rachel’s face emerged. Her startling blue eyes opened wide. He saw Goldie in Rachel’s arms. The baby reached toward him with her tiny hands.
No matter what else happened, he had to make sure Goldie and Rachel got to a safe place—a task that should have been easy. He should have been able to make one phone call and rest assured that the FBI would swoop in for a rescue. But he was wary of his connections, and he’d learned to trust his instincts. If he smelled trouble, there was usually something rotten. Special Agent Wayne Prescott?
Cole had only met with Prescott once at a hotel in Grand Junction for a briefing before his assignment. Though dressed in casual jeans and a parka, Agent Prescott had presented himself as a buttoned-down professional with neatly barbered brown hair and a clean-shaven chin. An administrator. A desk jockey. He had passed on the necessary information in a businesslike manner.
Cole had refused his offer of a cell phone with local numbers already programmed in. By keeping his own cell phone, Cole had more autonomy. Not only did his private directory have phone numbers for people he trusted, but his phone also had the capability of disabling the GPS locator so he couldn’t be found.
Though his handlers didn’t agree, Cole found it necessary at times to be completely off the grid. His current situation was a good example. If Prescott could track his location, they might be in even more danger.
