“Jenny, sweetheart, I am a dead man walking, if that gives you any satisfaction. You have only to act on your impulses, and I’m perfectly convinced of your competence to kill me. That what you wanted?”
She didn’t answer, only tightened her arms around herself and pursed her lips. She was mad, and he hadn’t wanted that, but it couldn’t be helped now. He was fretting about Kendrick and that damn cottage, and the forced inactivity while he waited for action was winding him tight as a spring.
“Look,” he said, “I need to get over that knoll over there and take a look”—he indicated a small scrubby rise over the way—”just stay put for a few minutes, will you?”
He watched her visibly swallow the questions she was dying to ask.
“Not planning to abandon me now, are you, McAllister? After all we’ve shared?”
If he had the time, he’d work that sarcasm out of her, so help him God, but he didn’t, so he couldn’t.
“With a marksman like you behind me? I wouldn’t dare,” he said, dryly. Given the current circumstances, it was a pretty low thing to say, so he was startled when she turned to him and grinned right up at him. A big, wide, cheeky grin.
“Ah, well,” she said, “it does run in the family.”
For a moment he thought he’d misheard her.
“What?” He hadn’t meant to be sharp with her— that grin fell off her face immediately, and the wary, bruised look was back. He tried to speak lightly, but his mind was racing, mentally scanning the background files they’d given him.
“What, what?” she said, turning towards him a little in her seat, but backing up against the door. She wrapped one slim hand around the seat belt where it passed over her breastbone. The wind gusted, rocking the car on its springs, but she just stared right back at him, looking a little haughty, which was probably what she wanted him to see, and a lot scared, which almost certainly wasn’t.
“Are you saying marksmanship runs in your family?” He worked to keep his voice calm, and probably should have reassured her by not glaring at her, but this changed everything. Only he wasn’t sure what it changed it into.
She gave a confused little sound. “Of course. My dad won prizes for it, pistols, not rifles. Alan does reenactment stuff as a longbowman, and I used to clay pigeon shoot.”
McAllister flexed his right hand on the wheel. “Skeets?” Could they have missed something this obvious? It wasn’t as if competing in shoots was something you could hide.
“Yes. I haven’t done it in ages, but I still have two shotguns.” She glanced out the windscreen and her voice warmed into enthusiasm. “One of them is a beauty. A Beretta, over and under. Lovely.”
“So you held a firearms’ licence?”
She looked back at him, wearing a puzzled frown.
“Of course, I did. Still do. This isn’t the Wild West, you know. Not many people keep guns here, but if they do they have to be licenced and the rules about locking them away and what have you are very stringent.”
That, they couldn’t have missed. What the hell was going on? “Why didn’t you mention it before?”
She blinked at him in that way she had. “Well, I … I assumed you knew. You knew everything else, Kier, remember?” The tartness in her voice warned him. He wondered when he’d stopped being able to manage people without threatening them.
“Are you saying you didn’t know?” He heard the catch in her voice as she got it. He’d been so damn suspicious because there was nothing to suggest that she might even know one end of a gun from another, let alone produce two perfect kill shots in a handful of seconds. Why hadn’t this information been in the files?
Why hadn’t Jenny said anything about it?
“I—” His voice was hoarse and he had to stop to clear his throat. He remembered her sitting on the end of his bed, her voice flowing over him in the half light. Soft and broken. He remembered her lying over him, the scent of her hair, the press of her body over his. He remembered how she tasted.
“I asked you once if you were surprised that you were so fast and accurate. You said yes.”
Jenny lifted her hands and let them drop into her lap. “Well, of course I was surprised. I’d never shot at someone who was trying to shoot at me! I’d never shot at a person at all! For goodness’ sake, McAllister, it wasn’t exactly like shooting spinning disks, was it?”
She shifted in her seat again, folding her arms and facing front. There was a definite suspicion of a snit there.
He sighed and pressed the heel of his hands into his eyes until he saw stars. When he pulled them away, he saw her sneak a look at him. He looked carefully ahead, drumming his fingers lightly along the top of the wheel, but he watched her out the corner of his eye.
She opened her mouth on a breath, and then shut it again, wrapping her arms tighter around her.
So. What? What did this all mean? Obvious information had not appeared in the files they had given him. Not the sort of information that could have been overlooked. But definitely the sort of information that would have changed the way he looked at the case.
So the next question was, how? Or rather, as he was beginning to suspect, not how, but why? Because this looked like a deliberate act to him. They had deliberately kept extremely relevant information from him. What were they trying to—
She cleared her throat. “Are you trying to tell me you didn’t know about all this?”
“In a word, no.” Shut up, Jenny, I’m thinking.
“McAllister, you could be a little more informative.”
Damn it, there was the thread of an idea flitting at the corner of his mind, and she kept—
“McAllister!”
“What?” he thundered, snapping his head round to glare at her.
She jumped half out of her seat, arms and legs flailing for a second, and landed up against the door, with one hand pressed to her throat and the other pushing at the edge of the chair, keeping her as far away from him as possible. He worked his jaw and forced his muscles to relax.
“I’m sorry,” he said, scooting over on his seat a little, and laying a hand on her leg, just above her knee. She was stiff and perfectly still, eyes wide, fixed on his face. It pained him somehow, to see her afraid of him again, after she’d walked out of the forest into his care.
Jenny moved her leg; he felt it under his hand and was suddenly aware of the whole length of her, her lithe beauty and that deceptive fragility. He moved his hand experimentally, scooting it higher up her leg, and felt the smooth muscle shiver against his palm. His heart was suddenly beating painfully hard.
She didn’t shy away when he leaned in to her, didn’t move, didn’t do a damn thing, even as his other hand wove into the soft curls at the nape of her neck, even as his eyes dropped to her lips. They were slightly parted, dusky raspberry pink and moist. He dipped his head the last few inches, coaxing her face up to his, and kissed her.
He was dimly aware he hadn’t meant to do this, even as his lips slanted across hers, taking in the soft, sweet feel of her. He felt the exact moment she relaxed, her breath skittering out against his mouth, her body coming off the door to press against him.
Kier wasn’t sure he could ever remember feeling like this, like everything he was depended on kissing her, on tasting as much of her delicate beauty as he could. He ran his tongue along the inner surface of her lower lip, drunk on her softness, and tried not to crush her when she whimpered, deep in her throat, and the half-forgotten fire burned high.
The heat was threatening to consume him, roaring in his ears, pumping in his blood. He found, as he pushed his fingers under the hem of her sweater, that he had to move deliberately, inch by inch, just to stop himself from charging in like an animal. She twisted in her seat, giving him better access to her stomach. Then his fingers met skin, and he shuddered, twisting his head, opening her mouth for him, and plunging his tongue inside. She made a maddening sound deep in her throat, and arched against him again, so that his fingers suddenly grazed the und
erside of her breast, soft as a cloud.
He kissed her wildly, stroking her tongue with his, plunging deep again and again, as his palm moved to cover her breast. He groaned when he felt her, peaked and pointed against his palm. She panted against his mouth as he teased the nipple with his thumb, almost squealed when he pinched it lightly.
Her leg thumped painfully against the gear lever as she struggled to get even closer, and the sound of her soft grunt of pain brought him back to himself. He smoothed her sweater back down with a hand that shook, fought with himself to gentle the kiss until her breathing steadied enough for him to contemplate backing away from her.
He lifted his head a fraction. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” he whispered against her lips, just touching his tongue to her soft bottom lip again.
“S’okay.” She sounded half-drunk, soft and compliant against him. He shivered, and she simply soothed a hand down his back, from shoulder to backside, and let it rest there, as if she’d been touching him all her life.
Kier closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against hers. Kissing her, touching her again was inevitable. Sleeping with her was becoming all he could think about. Loving her? He didn’t know.
But he did know now he’d never be able to walk away from her and not lose something of himself. Except maybe he’d already lost it, and Jenny could help him get it back. His throat was tight, like it got when he’d been shouting at someone for hours.
A crow called outside, reminding him there was an outside, and he was supposed to be paying it attention. With an effort, he set both hands on her shoulders and put her gently away from him. The feel of her fingers sliding over his backside made that task harder than it should have been. They grazed round his hip, slipping dangerously close to something else that was harder than it should have been.
He dragged in a breath and looked at her. She was relaxed back in the seat, her hazel eyes gleaming at him from under the fringe of her lashes. Her skin was flushed, her lips parted, her breathing fast and uneven. He badly wanted to get her somewhere private. Preferably with a bed, although, frankly, that wasn’t exactly necessary. He was hard and aching, and resolutely was not going to look at that big old backseat.
He put that thought from him just as he had the temptation right in front of him. “I won’t be long. Just stay put, okay?”
She actually smiled at him, just a little, but enough to twist the knot in his gut even tighter.
“Okay,” she said.
He grabbed the binoculars and got out of the SUV, heading quickly for the rise. From that vantage point he could get a better view of the place where the track disappeared into the trees, the only way to approach the cottage by car.
Kier settled himself down on the lea side of the knoll, and put the binoculars to his eyes, training them on the low building in its clearing. He watched for hours, until his arms started to ache, until a light drizzle started to fall, constantly aware that Jenny would be getting more and more impatient and nervous in the SUV behind him.
He didn’t know exactly what he expected to see, but it certainly wasn’t what he got.
In the end they were totally audacious. Cocky, he thought, as the little deputation burst out of the trees and bounced down the track. Two brand-new, gleaming Toyotas, barely touched with a few splatters of mud. Black bodywork, blacked-out windows, coming to a neat halt side by side just beyond the bridge. Doors opened and group of men spilled out. Two from one SUV and four from the other, he swiftly counted. Kendrick was one of the first out, and Kier could tell from the way he stood that he was enjoying himself. Which was not good news.
Kier glanced at his watch, a chunky monstrosity that looked like it weighed a ton but was surprisingly light. Barely four hours since he’d picked up Jenny. Damn, they work fast. And then: He must have already been in the country. Which opened up a whole new set of questions.
He watched Kendrick lean up against the vehicle behind him, one foot lifted and pressed against the wheel, hands loosely thrust into his pants pockets. He was trying for negligent, Kier guessed, but the way he watched the others approach the cottage was far from casual.
Kier pulled the glasses away from his eyes for a moment, squinting across the intervening space. It was way too much, complete overkill for this situation. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise and he swallowed. What the hell was going on?
Two men moved about while two others crossed the bridge. Kier saw one of them reach out to the door, while the other tucked his hand into his jacket in a gesture that spoke in the universal language of the armed man. Rage tightened Kier’s gut with a hot, angry hand. When, exactly, had this become an issue that begged a violent solution? Whom had they been planning to put a bullet in? Him? Jenny?
She’d obviously locked the door after her—good girl—because the first man gestured towards Kendrick. Kier swung the binoculars across the space between them, and was just in time to catch Kendrick’s decisive nod.
A crowbar was produced. Although Kier was too far away to hear the splintering wood, he heard it in his head anyway, and his fingers tightened on the binoculars until they hurt. Even though he used it for work, a part of him had always considered that cottage sacrosanct. Their forced entry defiled it.
Before long, one of the other men took a tool belt and a couple of boxes from the nearest SUV, and walked jauntily across to the cottage. So they were bugging it, too. “Well,” muttered Kier, “did you really think I was stupid enough to go back there, Kendrick? All the budget you’ve spent on listening devices, and the only reason I’m likely to go back there is to torch it.”
The anger was still pumping adrenaline through his system when he saw the men in the trees near the cottage. Two … no, three men, in camouflage gear, although Kier would have strung them up for being that conspicuous if they had been his men.
But they weren’t his men, they were Kendrick’s. Who appeared to have called in everyone short of the cavalry to collect one girl and a freelance operative who was supposed to be on their side. Who was supposed to be delivering said girl to the aforementioned Kendrick on Monday.
Which begged the question: whose side was he on, then? The old answer came quick enough—his own. But it wasn’t quite sufficient to explain his actions anymore. He tried to think what he should be doing, what the professional response would be. What response he should make that wouldn’t be betraying himself and his chosen occupation. But nothing was clear anymore; everything was clouded and indistinct. Even his own justification.
He’d seen what he needed to see. His instincts had been right. Although he hadn’t predicted this size of a problem. He’d expected, what? A check-up? A quick visit from Kendrick and a friend to encourage him to bring Jenny in on time and tie up the loose ends?
Well, it looked like someone had knotted all those loose ends on their own initiative, and was busy playing cat’s cradle with the result. Only, just at this moment, all Kier could see was a tangle.
He got up slowly, and strode back to the SUV.
Jenny watched Kier stalking back to the car, his handsome features marred by a colossal scowl. Whatever he’d seen, he didn’t like it, and suddenly her heart began to race. Had the stakes been raised again?
That look on his face should have been warning enough. Even if she survived questioning him, she wasn’t about to get any answers. But she couldn’t help herself.
“What?” she asked, as soon as he swung himself into his seat. He cast her a quick concerned look under his brows as he clicked his seat belt into place. That worried her. She tracked his face for signs of the irritation she’d expected. Instead she found concern; real worry, twisting his lips, darkening the eyes that were carrying out a perusal of their own. He hesitated visibly, leaning towards her, almost looming over her, seemingly considering her question. Her question that had been phrased like a demand. What in heaven’s name had he seen out there?
It seemed to Jenny as if the bulk of him filled the vehicle, the breadth of h
is shoulders blocked out the light. She didn’t exactly hate that, either, she realised. There was comfort in the bulk of him, as well as threat. He stayed there, one hand braced on the steering wheel, his other shoulder pressed into the back of his seat.
She licked her dry lips, and tried to ignore the way his gaze slid over her face to lock onto them, and track their every hesitant move. “Is there any way I can get information out of you that is not like getting blood from a stone, McAllister?” she said.
Still maintaining his jut-jawed silence, he looked over her shoulder, but she knew he wasn’t seeing the glorious Scottish scenery.
“Kier?” she said softly, laying a tentative hand on that braced arm. “It’s about me. It’s my life we’re playing with. Doesn’t that mean I have a … doesn’t that mean I need to know what’s going on?” She steered clear of talking about rights. He might not actually be her captor anymore, but she wasn’t sure if he was going to concede to her any rights at all.
At her first touch his arm under her fingers went rock solid, but at her words she felt the tension go out of him, and his grey-blue eyes came back to hers, seeking them, it seemed, almost for reassurance. He swallowed. Then he spoke.
“When I met with them, they accepted that you weren’t a specially trained operative, but they wanted me to deliver you to them.”
“Deliver me? Whatever for?”
“So they could …” He looked away from her again. “So they could train you themselves. As one of their field agents.”
“That doesn’t make any sense! Why would they want me? And why would I consent to do something like that? I would never do that, Kier!”
“But you’d take a swift trip to Scotland in the care of a complete stranger?” His voice was wry, but it was softer than it might have been, and the thread of pity there stopped her midair in her leap towards anger. “Of course,” she said in a small, tight voice. “They weren’t going to ask nicely, were they? How silly of me.”
“They weren’t going to ask at all, Jenny.”
Run Among Thorns Page 11
