The Naughty Nine: Where Danger and Passion Collide

by Nina Bruhns

  “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 Wilder’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–”

  “There is only one thing you are going to do. And you are going to do this immediately.”

  Wilder opened wide, hopeful eyes. “Yes, sir? Anything.”

  The Don eyed Wilder, giving the man a look that had made many lose control of their bodily functions. Wilder’s breathing became short and audible. Perspiration began to trickle down his cheeks.

  The Don’s voice vibrated with anger. “Find her.”

  Snowbound: Chapter Four

  Gage’s last words—there is no best of it—angered Mallory all over again. She had every intention of staying as far away from him as the tight space in the cabin allowed. With his disposition, he need not be concerned that she would be seeking out his company.

  She went to the front door, giving the knob a twist. She hadn’t locked it when she came inside with Gage’s ID tight in her fist. She’d been distracted and angry. The door, though, was locked. He must have done that when she’d gone into the washroom for pain reliever.

  Up here in this isolated location and in a blizzard, Gage had no reason to keep the door locked. Whether it was out of habit or training, she was glad to find it that way. Though, she acknowledged, the flimsy lock would not be a deterrent to Considine’s crew.

  “Thinking of going out again?” Gage said dryly.

  She hadn’t heard him come up behind her.

  She faced him. “Checking the lock.” She matched his tone, adding. “Not much of one.”

  “Don’t need much of one. Just enough to keep the raccoons from turning the door knob and getting in on summer nights.”

  Summer nights? “When did you come up here?”

  “August.”

  With that he left her and went into the bedroom.

  It was now February. That made it . . . six months.

  If he’d been up here for six months, he wasn’t on vacation. Could he also be working? That would explain his curt dismissal of her when she’d asked what he was doing up here. Being up here in the mountains could be a cover.

  She followed him into the bedroom, stepping carefully to avoid the broken glass from the mirror that glittered on the floor. Gage had left her bra and panties, now dry, on the bed. He was at the chest of drawers, rifling through the contents.

  Mallory went to him. “Are you working a case?”

  He looked up from the drawer. “Do I look like I’m on the job?”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “No, I’m not working.”

  “Is that the truth? Because I have no desire to mess up your case. I’m only asking because I need to know if we can also expect trouble from whatever you’re involved in.”

  “No one’s coming looking for me.”

  While she found that reassuring, she found it only marginally so. There was a finality to the words, to his tone, that she found unsettling. “When are you expected back at police headquarters?”

  “What is this, twenty questions?”

  “I want to know who I’m sharing space with.”

  He closed the drawer with a loud thud. “You’re sharing my space, remember?”

  Before she could press him further, he scooped up the clothing, walked by her and went into the hall. A couple of minutes later, she heard the shower.

  Another non answer from her reluctant host. She was so ready to leave here. Leave him. But she did get the answer she needed. He wasn’t working so she didn’t have the added worry of someone he was involved with also showing up here.

  Was there any chance the storm had ended during her conversation with Gage? In the living area she took up a position at the window. Leaning a hip on the wide sill, she pushed the curtains back with a fingertip. Of course the storm had not ended. Snow was coming down so hard it was impossible to make out individual flakes. It looked like solid sheets. The snow storm had likely saved her life, but at the moment she couldn’t be thankful for the bad weather. As long as she was stuck here, she could do nothing for the women. Feeling helpless, she gripped the edge of the thick blue curtain in a tight fist.

  Watching the storm would not make it stop and she would only drive herself crazy. She could feel her muscles tensed, ready to spring and her nerves as taut as bow strings.

  She pushed off the window sill, letting the curtain fall back into place, then took the broom and dust pan from the kitchen and cleared the glass she’d broken in the bedroom. After, she put on her underthings.

  She began a slow walk around the cabin. She needed to keep moving. She didn’t want her muscles to stiffen any more than they had already or she feared she wouldn’t be
able to move at all.

  Though there wasn’t much ground to cover, she went only a few steps before she sagged into an armchair that matched the couch. So much for moving around. Each step was an adventure in pain and took her breath.

  The bed things were still strewn across the couch. Clearly Broderick wasn’t a stickler for neatness. He’d spent six months here. Six months. How often did he leave the mountain and go into town? Considering his unfriendly manner with her, she doubted he drove into town daily to socialize. A small chest freezer backed against one wall. If he’d stacked it with frozen meals, he’d have enough to last him for weeks or months at a time.

  He had no means of communication. She couldn’t imagine being out of touch with the world and the people she knew and loved.

  She couldn’t understand why he would choose this solitude. And over his job with the police department. Had the stress of the job gotten to him? Was he a disgraced cop who fled from a dishonorable conduct? Could he have been involved in something that provoked his leave from the Washington PD?

  She wasn’t comfortable with him. Part of that was due to his hostile reception. He’d made it clear that he didn’t want her there, but that wasn’t all of it. She didn’t trust him. She knew next to nothing about him. The fact that he was not forthcoming, about anything, had her guard up around him.

  A glance around the cabin showed very little that she could say for sure belonged to Gage. In the months he’d been here he hadn’t accumulated much stuff. Aside from his outerwear by the door, there was just a set of weights and a bench press in one corner that she believed were his because the equipment looked well-used and would explain the hard muscled body she’d seen earlier and felt pressed against her. She didn’t care for the thought and continued her inventory of the cabin.

  A bookcase held an assortment of classics and hard boiled mysteries from the forties. There was a film of dust on the cases and spines. They hadn’t been touched in a long time. Likely, the books belonged to the cabin’s owner.