Hill Country Holdup

by Angi Morgan

  Jane moved against him, her readiness apparent. All he had to do was shift.

  Shoot, he didn’t want it like this. Their first time together again deserved romance and a real bed. He needed to tell her his feelings, right? He needed to say that he loved her. Didn’t she want that?

  Placing his hands on her hips, he stilled her movements. She was doing everything right and he was having a hard time remaining coherent. But he couldn’t take advantage of her. She was emotionally overwrought even if she kept it suppressed beneath all that calm. She’d hate him afterward and he’d hate himself more.

  And what about birth control? Yeah, there were condoms in the cabinet, but not his condoms. And he’d given up carrying one in his wallet a month after Jane had moved.

  Jane was special to him. It was going to be difficult enough rebuilding a relationship with her. They didn’t need any more complications.

  “Stop thinking such bad thoughts or I might get a complex.” She gently skimmed his forehead with her finger.

  “I’m not thinking. That’s the problem.”

  As she leaned forward, her nipples brushed his chest just enough to keep that “wild” thought in his brain. She poised long enough for her eyes to break contact with his and glance at his mouth.

  Her kiss was hungry. Her sweet breasts flattened against him, his hands ached to stroke her until she was as crazy as him. But he planted them firmly on her hips, knowing if he moved he’d be beyond return.

  “You’re right,” she said, moving against him again. “You’re not thinking about this. Am I doing something wrong?”

  “No! No. It’s—”

  “Don’t think about anything, Steve. I don’t want any commitment from you. I just, well, I need this. I want you.” She sat up again and wrapped her fingers around him.

  Whoa. He wouldn’t lose his reasoning ability and give in. This was more important than…than gratification. There were consequences. He couldn’t for the life of him think what they were, but he knew there were. He remembered that much.

  Stilling her caress, he began an exploration of his own. She needed release, so he’d give it to her. His fingers fondled and stroked between her legs. She rocked against him.

  Sexy sighs escaped her lips. Her moans shot him back to the long nights of lovemaking they’d shared. Hours and hours of pleasure-filled sighs of genuine love. He’d been such a fool to let her go.

  Consequences be damned.

  Unable to stand it any longer, he flipped her under him and entered her sleekness. She was hot and ready and unbelievable. He drew a ragged breath, shuddering with anticipation.

  How could he have lived without Jane for almost four years?

  Passion at its purest sent shivers up his spine. His body responded, wanting to drive into her as if there wasn’t a tomorrow.

  He had to slow down, take his time, make this last. He kissed her—long and deep, with as much love as he could. Sharing a moment out of time that he’d thought lost.

  Jane’s arms went around his neck, pulling him closer. Her all-knowing smile told him she’d accepted his unconditional surrender. He sank farther into her warmth and never wanted to leave. He couldn’t get enough of her. Not by a long shot. He’d never get enough of her.

  Ever.

  He nuzzled her neck with his lips. Placed sumptuous kisses to every part of her body within his reach. He watched the gentle sway of her breasts as he thrust.

  Powerless to set aside the temptation, he laved them with his mouth. First caressing the soft peaks and then the supple sides. He loved the perfect fit of them in the palm of his hand.

  Lowering his face to hers, she stared into his eyes. Her short practical nails scraped his scalp as she ferociously pulled his lips into a kiss that ceased his breathing.

  Seconds passed as he quenched his craving. He must have slowed their pace because she whimpered and ground her hips into his.

  Wanting more.

  Demanding more.

  Rain continued to pour, and the trailer rocked under them, as he loved her like nothing had changed. As if his telling her to go hadn’t kept them apart.

  Between their bodies, the heat built and raged hot enough to melt steel. She tightened, and he increased their rhythm to push her over the edge.

  The volcano that simmered inside him finally erupted. Jane squeezed again and drew every drop of energy from his body.

  He dropped his forehead to hers. Her warm breath drifted by his ear reminding him how everything had started, making him want to begin again as soon as he could breathe. He must be crushing her, but moving just wasn’t an option.

  She lifted his face, turning him to meet her mouth. Another soul-exploding kiss and he didn’t want to separate at all. As his breathing became less ragged and the roaring subsided in his ears, he heard the muted beeping of a phone.

  “Jane, I think we need to get something straight.”

  The phone beeped, then played the irritating beep again.

  “Shoot. That must be Rhodes.”

  “Hurry.” She shoved at his shoulders and he hesitantly rolled off the bed. “The phone’s under the clothes you dumped on the bench.”

  All chances of discussing what had just happened between them were gone. He finally located the cell phone. “Yeah?”

  “I got everything and should be there in ten minutes.”

  “See you in a few.” Steve disconnected.

  Jane was already pulling on her clothes.

  Chapter Twelve

  “We really need to talk about what just happened.” He reached for his boxers and dry shirt. God, he knew he’d hate himself. He should have kept tighter control on his fly.

  “No, we don’t. It was…nothing.” She shrugged and had her jeans up around her hips and was reaching for her T-shirt before he could blink.

  “Really?” He shoved his fists through the armholes. He’d seen her face as she’d come apart in his arms. Neither of them had just experienced “nothing.” It was the real thing and she was avoiding it like the plague.

  “We need to find Rory.” She pulled the wet shirt over her head without flinching.

  “We need to call the Bureau.” He would not grimace at the wet, cold jeans. No way would he react. She hadn’t. He wouldn’t. Shoot, he hated wet jeans.

  “I can get the information we need, Steve. You asked me to trust you. Now I’m asking the same.”

  “We’ve wasted enough time today. We haven’t accomplished a thing.” He sat on the thin mattress and pulled on his boots.

  Jane closed her eyes. She took a deep breath and slowly released it. He was aware of her actions and then realized exactly what he’d said. The words had to have hurt her feelings. They’d just made love. She had to be hurt, but gave away nothing. She had complete control over any emotion a normal person would have shown.

  “I’ve got to try. I can’t live with myself if I don’t.” She reached under the table—right between his legs without any comment—to pull free the bag she’d brought. “Your friends didn’t believe me before. What makes you think they will now?”

  A spark of anger. He saw it. Recognized it. But just as quick as a campfire ember covered by a northern wind, her spark was snuffed out.

  “I’m sure they’ve already spoken to Hayden. We need to find out.”

  “I won’t discuss it.” That blank emotional curtain was back in place.

  “Blast it, Jane. Get mad at me, at the kidnappers, at somebody. Yell. Scream. Kick the wall. Do something. Talk to me about what just happened between us.”

  “Making a spectacle of myself by yelling or acting out won’t do anyone any good.” She turned the lock. “I trust what my parents strived to teach me about keeping a calm, rational mind in a crisis.”

  “You asked why the guys at the Bureau didn’t believe you.” His words made her stop, her hand on the doorknob, her back to him. “Your emotionless nonreactions sealed your coffin, sweetheart. Acting like a Vulcan had everyone convinced you were lying.”<
br />
  Stupid.

  Her shoulders slumped forward and a short dismaying breath escaped. He was an absolute idiot. She couldn’t hide the hurt and didn’t believe he wasn’t included in that “everyone.” Before he could explain, she threw those same shoulders back, hugged the bag to her chest and stepped outside.

  He banged the bed back to its stowaway position, threw the sleeping bag to the other end of the camper and raised the blind to watch Jane sit in the duct-tape chair.

  A motorcycle pulled up behind the truck. The driver tapped the horn twice, signaling it was Rhodes. The bike had hard-side saddlebags, making it easy to keep a laptop out of the rain.

  God, he was losing the edge that had him doing this job and had kept him alive for ten years. If it had been someone else threatening Jane or those two crazy brothers… His gun was somewhere under the table. Jane would be dead. He might be dead. Rory would be lost.

  He crawled from under the cramped table just in time to back into Jane. She held a laptop the size of a suitcase in her arms and gestured that she wanted to get by.

  So they weren’t going to talk. He needed to call Stubblefield and wanted Jane’s okay. Not her permission, just a reluctant agreement that it was the right thing to do. But he didn’t want a full-blown argument. Shoot, maybe he did, but it wasn’t going to happen.

  He left the trailer and leaned on a pile of junk just within view. Rhodes had run an extension cord from the outlet on the light pole so Jane could run the laptop longer without using the battery. Then he disappeared in the junk.

  With her wet hair quickly braided to stay out of the way, she leaned back and stretched on the bench. He was drenched again from the top of his Stetson to the tips of his boots, but he couldn’t stop watching her.

  Sitting there acting as if nothing was wrong. As if they hadn’t just argued. As if she hadn’t been pissed at him three minutes after they’d made love.

  But she was. He’d seen it in her eyes. The Valkyrie hadn’t left. Jane was barely subdued under that ironclad determination not to show emotion. Jane’s fingers began flying across the keys. All after fifteen minutes of flipping pages. Her version of reading.

  That amazed him. Her brain. And to think that her son may have her gift. She’d called it a photographic memory for lack of a better term. Millions of pages of information stored away in her gray matter—instant and total recall with the blink of an eye.

  And yet she was still so naive.

  With Jane safely planted in front of the computer, he turned back down the path, his boots now sloshing through the mud.

  “I’m right about calling the Bureau!” he yelled into the storm.

  She can’t hear you. And you are an idiot. He could have done something to convince her he was right. They needed the FBI and cops on their side. Ten years experience amounted to something. Didn’t it?

  It would take someone with more than a photographic memory to break into protected state records. He knew a little about systems, too. A hacker with a lot of experience could eventually gain enough pieces of the puzzle through trial and error. But it would take a long time without that experience to find a forged death certificate.

  They simply didn’t have the time.

  Close by, he found an overhang with enough protection to get his face out of the rain. Water poured off his hat as he dipped his head to retrieve the number from his wallet. He stared at the one picture of Jane he’d kept with him the past four years. A black-and-white snapshot from a photo booth out at Valley View Mall.

  For a brief moment he imagined covering it with a picture of Jane with her son. He hesitated punching in his former partner’s number, but it was the right thing to do. Before they could do anything, they needed information—on Jane’s friends, an ID on who forged Rory’s death certificate, forensics from the murder scene. If any of the Brant ransom had turned up, that could lead them to the kidnappers.

  But no ransom note was a bad sign. If it weren’t for the attempt to frame Jane, it would be Bobby Joe Hill in the third grade all over again. Missing without a trace.

  Not Jane’s son.

  As brilliant as Jane was, she couldn’t hack into all those systems by herself as fast as they needed. Or trace where the suspect might currently be headed. They needed information two days ago.

  And he didn’t like Jane being shot at, either. What if George or Windstrom or McCaffrey had found them? He’d never have fired his weapon. But could he say the same for his colleagues?

  He couldn’t do this alone.

  And Jane would never surrender herself. He saw that look of defiance in her eyes.

  His only option was to glean information from Stubblefield.

  Convincing himself he had to make the call, Steve punched Talk. The line stopped ringing, but no one spoke. Damn rain caused all kinds of inconveniences and bad connections. No tellin’ when the storm would pass.

  “Stubblefield, can you hear me?”

  “Steve. You called.” It didn’t particularly sound like Selena was thrilled to hear from him. “The death certificate was forged. We sent an agent to interview Jane’s friends. The boy’s alive.”

  “It’s about time,” he said, relieved. That meant the team was working on the case. They’d find Rory.

  “We followed procedure.”

  “I don’t care whose head rolls later, Stubblefield. All I want right now—”

  “Where are you?”

  “We’re…safe.” Something held him back. His gut reaction told him to keep his location to himself. He couldn’t take another chance with Jane’s life. “We need to come in.”

  “No. No, you can’t.”

  “Why not? Why the hesitation?” If they knew Rory was alive, then evading the FBI could eventually be worked out. He might be suspended, but Jane wouldn’t have men shooting at her anymore.

  “Steve? Steve, are you there?”

  He moved until the phone had less crackling on the line. “I said why can’t we come in?”

  Water seeped through his jeans. He was more than ready for a dry set of clothes. More than ready for something to go their way. More than ready to find Jane’s son.

  “We’ve accessed Hayden Hughes’s e-mail.” Yes. “He’s hired a hit on Jane. We think he’s behind the kidnappings.”

  “There were two goons at the mall.”

  “It’ll be better for you to go straight to a safe house,” she said.

  “I need to be a part of this, Stubblefield.” He couldn’t just walk away. “God, it’s her son.”

  “Everyone’s working on it. We both know what your primary concern should be, and that’s to keep Dr. Palmer safe. Especially if you won’t tell me where you are.”

  “That’s not an option.” So he was paranoid. Better safe than sorry, right?

  “I could set you up in a hotel here in San Antonio, but I don’t think you want that.” She paused and the line crackled more. “Remember how to get to that place just west of town? It’s still a safe house. Do you have your cell? I could call with updates.”

  The hair rose on the back of his neck despite being plastered by rain. That gut instinct that had worked for him for so long kicked him a couple of times.

  Cells were just too easy to trace. Had he screwed up by calling? Didn’t he trust them? His friends. His coworkers. The people he’d fought crime with on a daily basis for the past ten years.

  For himself…yes. But for Rory and Jane?

  “I’ll call you when Jane’s safe.” In fact, he’d been on the line long enough. He disconnected. He slid the prepaid phone into his wet back pocket. Better than drowning it in the rain that was still coming down in buckets.

  One step in the direction of the trailer had him nose-to-nose with Rhodes. “Got a minute? I went to the office and grabbed us some cold ones.”

  They just stood there. Steve’s hat created a gutter for the water to flow straight down his back. Rhodes’s yellow rain gear didn’t protect his face with the wind blowing in every direction. Hi
s friend had gotten a bit older, but hid it well.

  “Dude, what were you thinking?” Steve asked. Thunder crackled in the far distance, barely audible above the rain pouring down on the rusty castoffs of the junkyard. “You brought a classic 1967 Ford to a gun fight.”

  They moved under the awning and both wiped the water from their faces.

  “Not my choice, man. She’s my only car that holds more than two. Want a beer?” He handed him a can and pushed the rain hood off his head. “I borrowed them from the owner’s stash.”

  “Last assignment they had me in a beige Volvo.” They both popped the tops.

  “You told the lovely Jane I’m DEA. Probably blew my cover.”

  “Sorry I sucked you into this, Rhodes, but I didn’t have a choice.”

  “Not a real problem. I’m ready to get out anyway.” Rhodes shrugged. “She’s cool, you know, for a genius.”

  “They framed her for murder. Stole her son. And she’s trying to do the work required of an experienced intelligence team.”

  “And yet she keeps on going,” Rhodes said. “I want to finish this assignment. You’ll keep my part out of this with your boss?”

  “You got it.”

  “One call and you can retrieve the information you need. Why waste time trying to breach the firewall?”

  “It’s complicated.” Steve wiped the moisture from his face. At least the rain hid the sudden sweat that covered his upper lip. Something settled wrong in his gut. The feeling that he needed to get Jane away from here wouldn’t leave him alone.

  “Say the word and I’ll pull out with you.”

  “I can’t let you do that, man.” Steve admired Rhodes’s loyalty. “One of us losing his job is enough.”

  Through the window, they watched Jane work. Her concentration remained focused on the computer screen.

  “She’s hiding something,” Rhodes stated out of the blue. The undercover agent finished his beer and Steve had barely sipped his.

  “Yeah.” He turned his can up and gulped. “What do you want for the truck?”

  “You know how it works, Woods.” Rhodes tipped his bottle in a mock salute. “There may be a day when you’ll answer the phone and can’t ask any questions.”