by Jennie Marts
He wrapped an arm around her waist. “Are you okay? Can you walk?”
She nodded, a determined grimace on her face. “Yeah. I think I cut my knee trying to crawl through the broken glass of the window. I’ll be okay. What are we doing?”
“We’re gathering supplies. We’ve got about three minutes to go in to this convenient store and grab as much stuff as we can. We need food and supplies to last two or three days.” He talked as they walked around to the front of the store. “Hopefully it won’t be that long, but I want to be prepared.”
She nodded again—placing her trust in him. “Okay. What do you want me to get?”
“I’ll focus on first aid and batteries and such. You grab food. We’re going to an old friend’s fishing cabin—so easy stuff like bread and peanut butter, cans of soup, some coffee. He’s pretty good about stocking it with basic stuff, but I don’t want to take a chance on needing something he doesn’t have. It’s got running water and electricity, but other than that, it’s pretty rustic.”
“You spent my grandpa’s bachelor party at a fishing cabin?”
He sighed. “He’s in his eighties, and I thought he’d appreciate a few beers with the guys while sitting in a boat on the lake. And he did—he loved it. We just never told Edna what we did. He said he’d rather she imagined we were off doing something a little more wild than lounging in a boat telling dirty jokes and catching fish.”
She shook her head and let out a soft chuckle. “I can imagine.”
Mac’s body language changed—his senses alert as he gazed through the convenience store window, then scanned the road for any suspicious cars that might be following them.
Zoey swallowed, the laughter dying in her throat. For just one second, she’d forgotten. Forgot that she’d just escaped the clutches of a man who wanted to kill her. Forgot that she was literally running for her life.
Mac opened the door and made eye contact with the store clerk. “We need to grab some supplies and get out of here quick. I need you to watch the front windows, and tell me if anyone pulls up.”
The clerk was a teenage boy, probably still in high school. He jumped off his chair and scanned the front window, responding to Mac’s badge and the authority in his voice. “Yes, sir.”
Squinting at the boy’s name tag, he asked, “Your name’s Caleb?”
The boy nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Well, Caleb, we’re going to need your help for the next few minutes, and it’s a matter of life and death. Can we count on you to help us?”
Caleb’s eyes widened. “Yeah, sure. Of course, what do you need?”
He snatched a trac-phone from a display by the counter. He dropped it and a twenty dollar bill on the counter. “Can you activate this in less than a minute?”
The boy nodded, reaching for the phone and the cash. “Sure.”
Mac grabbed a basket from a stack by the door and handed it to Zoey. “Go. Grab as much as you can as quick as you can. I want to be out of here in less than two minutes.”
The store was empty, and Mac grabbed another basket and started throwing things in. Band-Aids, antibiotic cream, ibuprofen, batteries, a flashlight. His mind worked quickly, assessing their situation and thinking through what they might need. He threw in matches, a lighter, a couple of toothbrushes, some toothpaste, and a bar of soap.
The store was equipped to meet the needs of hikers, campers, and fishermen as they headed into the mountains, and he was thankful it was well-stocked. Heading back up the aisle, he met Zoey at the cash register.
The teenager was already ringing up her purchases. She’d made wise choices—bread, lunch meat, eggs, bacon, butter, cheese, and a bag of coffee. The clerk rang in two cans of soup, a small carton of milk, and the trac phone. His nervous fingers fumbled the box of matches, and it fell to the ground, but thankfully didn’t spill open. He grabbed it and dropped it into one of the bag with the rest of their items.
Zoey had also put in a small bottle of shampoo, two Snickers bars and a T-shirt that had been hanging on a souvenir rack by the register.
Mac ran his debit card through the reader and scrawled his signature. He handed the boy his cell phone. “After we’re gone, I want you to wait thirty minutes then call the number marked PV Dispatch in that phone. It’ll ring through to the Pleasant Valley Police Department, and I want you to tell them Officer McCarthy gave you his phone and a message that he has the girl and he’s taking her somewhere safe. You got that, Caleb?”
The boy bobbed his head in agreement, his voice trembling a little as he repeated the instructions. “Got it—thirty minutes—PV Dispatch—Officer McCarthy—has the girl and is taking her somewhere safe.”
Mac smiled and gave the boy a reassuring nod. “Good. I’ll call them again later from the trac phone with more details. You just hold on to that phone and keep it safe until I come back for it. Okay? You got a safe in the back? Why don’t you lock it in there?”
The clerk clutched the phone in his hand. “Okay, I will. I’ll keep it safe.”
“Thank you,” Zoey said, her voice filled with sincerity as she reached out and touched Caleb’s arm. “Thank you for helping us.”
Mac had already grabbed the bags of supplies and was standing at the door, holding it open. “We’re out of time. We’ve got to go. Now.”
He gave Caleb one more solemn bit of instruction. “And if anyone comes in asking about us, we were never here. You got that, son?”
The boy nodded, his expression sincere. “Yes, sir. I never saw you.”
“I’m holding you to that,” he said as Zoey slipped out the door in front of him. They hurried around the side of the store toward the car.
He stole a quick glance at the road. “I just hope they haven’t tracked us already.”
Chapter Twelve
Zoey carried a bag of supplies as she stepped into the old hunting cabin. The interior was dark, the only light coming from the moon shining through the front window.
A group of furniture, covered in old blankets, stood in the center of the room, clustered around a heavy coffee table. All she could think about were how many scary movies started with a woman walking into a deserted cabin in the woods where all the furniture was covered with cloths. What dangers could be hiding under those blankets?
A shiver ran down her spine. Don’t be ridiculous. The really scary stuff had already happened to her earlier that day.
The cabin had a woodsy smell—like a combination of pine trees, dust, and moss. It also had that closed-up scent of stale air that a place gets when it hasn’t been opened up in a while.
Mac followed behind her and reached across to hit the light switch. A dim bulb came on in the center of the room, giving off enough light to push the scary images of the hulking covered furniture into the corners.
She was just being silly—letting herself get spooked. It was just a cabin. Out in the woods. Isolated from everything and everyone. With a man she barely knew.
That wasn’t really true. She felt like she knew Mac—like she could trust him. Even though she hadn’t truly known him that long. But it was long enough, right?
He crossed behind her and set the bags on the counter.
The cabin was one big room with a large stone fireplace along the front wall. A little kitchen area filled one back corner, and a full-size bed filled the other. Her mouth went dry at the thought of spending the night here with Mac. She pushed those thoughts out of her head. She’d think about the sleeping arrangements—and that bed—later.
Right now, she needed a bathroom. And a shower. Her clothes stunk like marijuana and dirt and sweat. The kind of sweat born of fear and desperation. The man who took her wore a distinctive cologne—something expensive—and she could still smell the faint scent of it on her clothes.
All she wanted was to climb into a hot shower and stay there for an hour. Or a week. Yes, a week would be nice. She could come out when all of this was solved and over, and the bad guys had been caught. She could come out
when she knew she was safe. On the drive, she had filled Mac in on everything that had happened that day, and now she just wanted to wash it all away.
She turned to Mac. “Is there a bathroom? Somewhere I can take a shower?”
He pointed to a door off the kitchen area. “There’s a little bathroom, nothing fancy. But it’s got hot water.” He dug in the bags and pulled out the toiletries. “I saw you grabbed shampoo. I got some soap and a couple of toothbrushes and toothpaste.”
She accepted the handful of things gratefully. She could have kissed him for remembering a toothbrush. Well, she could have kissed him anyway.
Down, girl. Focus. She offered him a smile. “Thank you.” Heading for the bathroom, she turned back, emotions welling in her throat again. “I mean it, Mac. Thank you. For everything.”
He ducked his head, his expression sincere. “No problem. And don’t worry. We’re safe here. At least for the next few days. We notified the station and your grandmother, and I’ve got tomorrow off anyway. So I think we’re covered. We’ll talk more about what happened when you’ve had time to breathe.” He waved her away. “For now, go get a shower. Yell if you need me.”
She stepped into the small bathroom, shut the door, and leaned back against it.
Was it too early to start yelling? Because she needed him. Needed him now.
Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she cringed. Her face was a mess of dirt, smudged makeup and blood. Her skin looked pale against the black hair of the wig. She pulled it off, wincing at the hair stuck in the bobby pins.
Tugging the elastic band free, she shook out her hair. Her head hurt from wearing it up. And from the cut above her eye. Actually, everything kind of hurt right now. She peeled off her grandfather’s clothes and took stock of her injuries.
Her knees were cut, and a dark bruise had already started to form on the side of her leg. The flannel shirt had protected her arms from cuts, but another bruise covered her forearm where Tattoo-Guy had grabbed her and shoved her into the SUV.
Hmm. Sexy. Nothing like a few scrapes and bruises to really make a girl feel good about herself.
She unwrapped one of the toothbrushes, squeezed a line of toothpaste onto its bristles, and scrubbed her teeth. Brushing away the taste of smoke, she cupped her hand under the water and rinsed her mouth.
That helped. She turned to the tub. Now to scrub down the rest of her.
The bathtub was old and cracked, but it appeared clean. Pulling the clear shower curtain closed behind her, she turned on the hot water and stepped under the spray. All she could do was stand there as she let the water wash over her, washing the stink of marijuana off her skin and out of her hair, washing the dried gravel and blood off her legs, washing the smeared makeup from her face.
The bathroom filled with steam, and she finally picked up the soap and shampoo and washed her hair and body. The clean scent of the soap helped to revive her, and she thought about the man standing outside of the bathroom door.
She rubbed a soapy hand across her belly and breasts and imagined how Mac’s hands would feel sliding across her skin. Tipping her head back, she let the water run over her hair and envisioned the feel of his hands gripping her back. He’d hugged her to him before, and she remembered how it felt to be held in his strong arms.
It felt safe.
Safe from strange men that broke into her apartment. Protected from men who shoved her into cars, intent on hurting her and the people she loved. What would have happened if Mac hadn’t shown up when he did? How badly would they have hurt her?
Or worse. Would they have killed her? She could’ve already been dead by now. Or beaten and left for dead.
That reality, and the events of the day, came crashing down on her. Emotions welled inside of her, and she leaned against the shower wall and broke into tears.
Hugging her arms around herself, she slid down the wall of the shower, crying huge shoulder-shaking sobs as the water poured down on her back and pooled in the tub around her.
A knock sounded at the door. “Zoey, are you all right?”
She heard Mac’s voice, but she couldn’t answer.
The door of the bathroom opened, and he stepped in. “Aw, hell.” He reached out and drew back the curtain then turned off the water. Grabbing a towel, he stepped into the tub behind her, crouched down and wrapped the towel around her before pulling her in his arms.
His feet were bare, and all he wore were jeans and a white T-shirt, which were now soaking as she leaned back against him.
She tried to pull forward. “I’m getting you all wet,” she said, her voice still teary.
He drew her closer and tucked her head under his chin. “I don’t care. My clothes will dry. It killed me in the car earlier when you were upset, and I couldn’t do anything about it. I still can’t change what happened, but I can damn sure get my arms around you and hold on to you. And I offer a pretty good shoulder to cry on.”
It was a great shoulder to cry on. In fact, everything about him was pretty great. And here she was blubbering all over him. “I’m sorry. I just started thinking about today and what could have happened. I kind of freaked out.”
“It’s okay. I’d be more worried about you if you didn’t freak out a little bit.”
She shivered against him.
“Come on, let’s get you out of the tub and warmed up.” Lifting her into his arms, he carried her into the living room and sat down with her on the sofa, cradling her on his lap.
She burrowed into his chest, inhaling the clean laundry scent of his T-shirt. He’d carried her as if she weighed nothing.
While she’d been in the shower, he’d uncovered the furniture, made the bed and lit a fire. A warm glow filled the room and her earlier worries fell away. Instead, her worries now revolved around the fact that she was alone in the cabin with a ridiculously handsome cop, and she was naked except for a small towel.
He pulled a quilt from the sofa and wrapped it around her shoulders. “I’ll get you some water.” He slid her off his lap and crossed to the kitchen. She shifted the blanket, pulling the damp towel free and setting it on the coffee table. She twisted the quilt around her, like she would a towel, and tucked the edges in under her arms. The warmth of the fire reached to caress her bare arms.
Mac returned with a bottle of water, unscrewed the lid and handed it to her. “Have a drink. You’ll feel better.”
She took a sip, the water blessedly cool on her dry throat. “Thank you.” She pulled the blanket tighter around her, her wet hair dripping onto her shoulders. Loose droplets ran down her back.
He grabbed the towel from the coffee table and blotted her hair. Tipping her chin up, he took stock of her injured face. “I got something for that cut. It doesn’t look too bad, but let me get it cleaned up a little.”
He brought over the first aid supplies and a comb. Checking the cut on her eye first, he dabbed antibiotic cream on it and covered it with a small Band-Aid. Then he sat on the sofa behind her and picked up the comb.
“Did you hit your head at all? You should probably take a couple of ibuprofen. It’ll help with the pain and any swelling.” He picked up a section of her hair and pulled the comb through it.
She took the bottle of ibuprofen, shook a couple into her hand, then washed them down with the water. Trying to concentrate on the task, all she think about was the feel of his hands in her hair. The slow pull as he drew the comb through to the ends, then the feather brush of the tines on her back.
Every nerve in her body was centered on the anticipation of his touch as he picked up another strand of hair and ran the comb down it. It was a simple task, one she did every day, but it was different with him. Different as his fingers brushed her skin and delicious tingles ran through her as the comb traced down her back.
Having Mac comb her hair in a dark cabin in front of a fire and wearing only a quilt was one of the most sensuous things that had ever happened to her.
Suddenly the events of the day fell away a
nd nothing else mattered. Nothing except the feel of this man’s hands as he ran his fingers through her hair.
He finished each section, then swept her hair to one side, leaving her shoulder bare. He leaned slightly forward, and she held her breath, anticipating the feel of his lips on her skin. Every part of her ached for him to kiss the soft indent where her shoulder met her neck.
He was so close, his breath tickling her shoulder. But instead of his lips, his fingers lightly brushed her shoulder and moved down to the bruise on her arm.
His voice was soft, barely above a whisper, his lips close to her ear. “I’m sorry he hurt you. I wish I could have gotten there sooner.”
She turned her head, just enough to bring her lips within an inch of his. “You’re here now.”
He dipped his head, not toward her lips, but instead pressed his forehead to her shoulder. Saying nothing, he sat like that for a moment, his hand resting gently against her hip, the soft cotton of his T-shirt touching her bare arm.
Taking a deep breath, he pulled back and knelt in front of her. He touched her leg, his voice low and serious. “Let me take a look at your knee. I figured you cut it when you were crawling through the broken glass trying to get out of the car.”
She swallowed, trying to follow his switch in behavior. A minute ago she thought he was going to kiss her, but now he was back to business, applying antibiotic ointment and Band-Aids to her scraped knees.
Except her feelings were anything but business. Every touch of his hands on her leg sent shockwaves of sensation running through her. Knowing she was naked under the blanket and having his hands brush her thighs was torture.
She caught her breath—aware of his every movement. The way the denim of his jeans felt as his hip bumped against her leg. The corded muscles of his forearm as he pressed the bandages to her knee. Every brush of his fingers.
Edging forward, the blanket slipped further up her thigh. A slight part of her legs, and Mac froze.
He clamped his hand on her thigh and looked up at her, an expression of doubt in his eyes. His voice was husky as he said her name. “Zoey. You’ve been through a lot today. I don’t want to take advantage…”
