Gray, Ginna

by The Witness

  "The weather forecaster?"

  Sam grinned and pointed toward the TV in the corner. "Yeah. The owner may enjoy the wilderness, but apparently he can't do without his TV. I picked up the Weather Channel on his satellite dish."

  That startled a laugh from her. "A satellite dish? Way up here?"

  "Yeah, well, some guys have withdrawal pain if they can't watch Monday Night Football."

  "I'm just grateful he's civilized enough to have installed a bathroom," Lauren said with a chuckle and headed for the bedroom.

  The bathroom was rustic almost to the point of being crude. The shower, a prefab unit, was so small there was barely room to turn around, and the toilet and the clawfoot tub looked as though they had come out of a salvage yard, but Lauren didn't care. The water that flowed from the faucets was nice and hot.

  In the shower she shampooed her hair and scrubbed herself until her skin was pink, all the while moaning in ecstasy. When done, she filled the deep tub and sank down into the hot water with another protracted moan. After all the hiking and climbing and snow-shoeing she'd done over the past couple of days every muscle in her body ached and purple bruises splotched her skin. Leaning her head back against the rim, she sighed and closed her eyes. Heaven.

  She was drifting somewhere between sleep and wakefulness when something thudded against the bathroom door. Lauren screeched and bolted upright, splashing water over the sides.

  "Are you all right in there?" Sam demanded.

  She put her hand over her thudding heart and lowered her head, trying to breathe.

  "Lauren? Dammit, if you don't answer in three seconds, I'm coming in."

  Her gaze flew to the door, which had no lock, and she hunched down beneath the water as far as she could. "No! Don't come in! I'm okay."

  "Thank God. You've been in there so long I thought you'd drowned or hit your head or something. You sure you're okay? If you need help—"

  "No! No, really, I'm fine. Just give me a minute."

  "Well, hurry it up, will you? Breakfast is ready."

  "I'll...I'll be right there."

  She walked into the kitchen moments later with her wet hair combed back away from her face and wearing the smaller of the two white terry-cloth robes she'd found hanging on the back of the bathroom door. The garment was miles too big and dragged the floor, and she'd had to roll the sleeves up two turns, but it covered her from her chin to her toes and it had been the quickest thing at hand.

  The small pine table was set with real dishes. A bowl of scrambled eggs and a platter piled high with the fried potato and ham concoction that Sam had put together, along with a basket of steaming biscuits, sat in the middle of the table.

  "Sorry I took so long," she murmured, slipping into a chair next to Sam. "I couldn't resist having a hot soak in that tub after I'd showered."

  Sam stopped in the act of picking up the platter. His dark eyes sizzled at her through the steam rising from the potatoes. The look in those ebony depths was so blatantly sexual and transparent that Lauren realized that he was picturing her naked, lounging in the steaming water.

  Only then did she recall the stunning admission he'd made two days ago, and her heart gave a little flutter.

  He'd claimed that he'd kissed her because he'd wanted to, that he'd been wanting to ever since he'd first seen her, but once she had recovered from her initial shock she'd dismissed the statement out of hand. She'd been so certain that he'd said those things merely to distract her from the danger they were in, which, of course, they had done.

  After that the arduous two-day hike had taken all her concentration and so taxed her, physically and mentally, that she hadn't given the matter another thought. Until now.

  The look in Sam's eyes told her that she had misread him.

  Feeling her face grow hot, Lauren ducked her head and reached for the bowl of scrambled eggs.

  "Those are from our supply of powdered eggs, I'm afraid, but the potatoes and ham are courtesy of our host," Sam said.

  As she began to eat she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and saw that his face wore its usual stern expression and that his attention had returned to the meal.

  "It doesn't matter. Everything is delicious."

  Neither spoke for several minutes, and as they ate Lauren recalled something else that Sam had told her.

  "I think it's time you explained what's going on, don't you?" she said. "You said you would when you had the opportunity."

  Sam looked up from spreading jam on a biscuit, his gaze direct and intense. To his credit, he didn't pretend to misunderstand. "You're talking about the dirty agent in our office, right?"

  "Yes. If you knew that someone in the Denver office was working for Mr. Giovessi what on earth made you think you could protect me?"

  "Like I told you before, besides myself, only five others knew about you when we left Denver. All five agents have excellent service records and they'd been handpicked by the SAC because he trusted them."

  "The SAC?"

  "The Senior Agent in Charge—in this case, of the Denver Office." Sam took a bite of biscuit and washed it down with a swig of coffee. "He figured if he kept you and your story contained to just the six of us we could hustle you out of town before it leaked out. It didn't work."

  "Because one of the other five was your dirty agent."

  "You catch on quick." Sam took a bite of potatoes and ham and watched her while he chewed. "At least one of those guys is Carlo's man. Hell, maybe all of them are, for all I know. That whole powwow in the SAC's office the morning of Frank's murder could have been set up to get rid of me at the same time as you."

  "Why would they do that?"

  "Because I'd been assigned the job of identifying the dirty agent, and I was getting close."

  "Oh. I see."

  "I think we can eliminate Dave as a suspect. He hadn't been with the Bureau long enough to have been corrupted. Besides, he wouldn't have planted a bomb on the airplane, then climbed aboard."

  "There was a bomb on the plane?"

  "Had to have been. Bob Halloran was a fanatic about safety inspections and keeping his plane in tiptop shape. There was a bang that shook the plane an instant before the engines started sputtering. Whatever device they used was just enough to damage the engine and make us crash. They wanted it to look like an accident. Whoever rigged the bomb also planted a homing device on the plane so they could track us after we went down and verify the kill."

  Lauren shuddered. She put down her fork and slipped her hands inside the sleeves of the robe to rub the goose bumps covering her forearms. "Who knew which plane you'd be taking?"

  "No one. Not even Dave."

  "Are you saying someone followed us to the airport and planted the bomb without you seeing them? That doesn't seem possible."

  "It isn't. Bob was a close, personal friend of mine, but after he retired from the Bureau I used his charter service sparingly because I didn't want to establish a pattern. Someone who knew me and the way I operate must've figured on a case this important I'd hire Bob to transport us. While I was out gathering what we needed and making arrangements, he went to the airstrip and planted the bomb."

  "Dear Lord. What if he'd been wrong? Innocent people would have been killed."

  "Innocent people were killed," Sam reminded her.

  Lauren looked at him with a stricken expression. She put down her fork and slumped against the chair back, her appetite suddenly gone. "I can't believe this is happening," she said forlornly.

  "Believe it. And in case you haven't figured it out, we're on our own now. Since I don't know who I can trust, no way can I risk contacting anyone in the Bureau's Denver office."

  "What are we going to do?"

  "Don't worry. Things aren't as hopeless as they seem. There is someone higher up the chain of command who I think we can count on for help. Someone I trust."

  "Someone in the FBI?"

  "His name is Edward Stanhope. He was Assistant Deputy Director in Washington D.C.
Even though he's retired, he still wields a lot of influence—within the Bureau and in the Federal Prosecutors Office. As soon as we get to a telephone, I'll give him a call."

  He took a sip of coffee, watching her over the rim of the mug. Though rested, she still looked fragile. "In the meantime, eat up. You probably shed ten pounds over the last couple of days, and you can't spare them."

  Lauren attempted a wan smile. "Are you calling me skinny?" The comment had been a lame attempt to lighten the mood, but his reaction was not at all what she had expected.

  Sam gave her another one of those long looks, and she felt her heart go bumpity-bump. In a blink the taut somberness changed to tension of a different kind. Awareness crackled between them like heat lightning.

  "I don't think you're skinny at all," he replied in a raspy murmur. "I think you're damned near perfect. But you're small, and you've got nothing in reserve and we still have a ways to go. So eat. Maybe we can fatten you up before we have to start out again."

  Lauren experienced a flutter at the unexpected compliment, but the rest of his statement had been delivered in such a commanding tone that she cautiously resumed eating.

  "I'm assuming, given this cabin's amenities, that we're fairly close to civilization," she said, as much to dispel the strange intimacy that had sprung up between them as anything.

  "Not quite. As the crow flies, I figure we still have about three to five miles to go. Unfortunately, we have to walk over or around the mountains, so for us it's probably more like seven or eight miles to Purgatory."

  Lauren nearly choked on her coffee. "To where?"

  "Purgatory. Well, actually, new management has changed the name to Durango Mountain Resort," he corrected. "It's a ski resort thirty-seven miles north of Durango. Except for a few scattered ranches, it pretty much marks the beginning of human habitation to the south of here."

  "You mean we have to hike five more miles?" she said with dismay.

  "Actually we're in luck. There are four snowmobiles in the shed out back."

  "But we can't just take them. That's stealing."

  "The hell we can't. Not only are we going to take a couple, I'm going to empty the gas tanks on the other two so our friends can't follow us. Anyway, it's not stealing. I'm a federal law officer and this is an emergency situation. I'm commandeering the vehicles. All the owner has to do is file a claim and he'll be reimbursed."

  She looked at him doubtfully. "Are you sure that's legal?"

  Sam shrugged. "Close enough."

  Damn, she's beautiful, he thought. Not a bit of makeup or artifice, her face scrubbed clean and shining and all bundled up to her chin in that too-big robe. Her damp hair was beginning to dry into wispy tendrils around her face, she looked so utterly fragile and vulnerable she took his breath away.

  That exquisite delicacy, combined with an impressive inner strength and will was a potent combination, one he found damned near irresistible.

  She was nervous, he realized. Skittish as a wild kitten. And not about the spot she was in or the men on their trail. No, she was nervous about being alone with him, something she hadn't been the whole time they'd been holed up in the old mining cabin together.

  He could see it in her eyes, in the slight tremor in her hands and the wary glances she kept darting his way.

  Good, he thought with satisfaction. At least he wasn't the only one experiencing this sizzling awareness. He felt as though a current of low-voltage electricity was humming through his entire nervous system.

  Lauren ate the last bite of potatoes on her plate and washed it down with coffee. When done, she immediately stood. "Since you cooked, I'll do the dishes," she announced a shade too brightly.

  Amused by her agitation, Sam watched her scurry to the kitchen with her plate and mug. She was trying to put distance between them, he realized. He also knew that it was probably a good idea, the wisest thing for both of them, but perversely, he was in no mood to allow her to retreat. If anything, her resistance only fired his male instinct to pursue.

  "We'll do them together." Scraping back his chair, Sam calmly rose and gathered his own dishes.

  "Oh, but that's not fair. You did the cooking."

  "No big deal. Don't worry about it."

  "But I thought while I did this you could...uh..." She waved her hand vaguely toward the rear of the cabin. "Do whatever it was you were going to do to the snowmobiles."

  "That can wait. There's no hurry." He put his dishes down on the counter, then turned and deliberately looked into her eyes and smiled slowly. "We're going to be here for a while."

  "But—"

  He placed two fingers across her lips. He felt them tremble beneath his touch. Desire streaked through him and settled in his loins, hot and heavy. Sam gritted his teeth to stop himself from snatching her into his arms. "No arguments, Lauren," he commanded.

  Her eyes widened at his gravelly tone, but she nodded and turned away and began filling the sink with soapy water, focusing on the chore with a lot more concentration than it deserved.

  Sam finished clearing the table then picked up a dish towel and moved to stand beside her at the counter.

  She cast him another wary glance. "You don't have to dry them. They can drain."

  "Give it up, Lauren. I'm doing this." He gave her a stem look, took the plate she had just washed, swished it through the rinse water and proceeded to dry it.

  Damn, she smells wonderful, he thought, reaching around her to put the plate in the cabinet. Bath powder, soap and shampoo with a hint of flowers. And sweet, clean woman.

  Sam dried another plate and eyed the top of her head. Her auburn hair was almost dry now and shining with fiery highlights. It draped around her shoulders like silk.

  He itched to touch it, to bury his face in it, feel it slither across his skin.

  For several minutes they worked in silence. They were almost finished when a glass she was giving to him started to slip out of her hand.

  "Oh!"

  "Easy."

  Sam's hand clamped over hers, stopping the downward slide.

  "Oh, that was clo—"

  The words died on her tongue when her eyes met his. In their green depths he saw surprise and wariness. And something more.

  Sam raised his free hand and ran his fingertips along her jaw. She quivered at the gentle touch but made no effort to pull away. "You're so damned beautiful," he murmured. His forefinger trailed across her cheek, touched the corner of her mouth, and the quiver became an uncontrollable shudder. Sam's gut clenched.

  "So beautiful," he repeated in a barely audible whisper. With slow, deliberate movements he took the glass from her hand and placed it and the dish towel on the counter. Then he framed her face with his hands and stared down at her, devouring her with his eyes.

  The lemony smell of dish soap teased his nostrils, and he felt dampness seep through the cuffs of his flannel shirt when Lauren grasped his wrists with her wet hands. He waited, but she made no effort to pull his hands away or step back from the gentle embrace.

  She gazed back at him helplessly, her lips slightly parted. Her breath came out in shallow puffs. A host of conflicting emotions swam in her eyes—longing, uncertainty, need, a touch of fear, but most of all, the same burning desire that was tearing him apart.

  His gaze dropped to her soft, unadorned mouth, and her lower lip trembled. It was more than he could take.

  "Lauren." He breathed her name like a caress. His eyelids drifted shut as he lowered his head and settled his mouth on hers.

  A small, agonized sound hummed from Lauren's throat—part despair, part surrender. Resistance was futile. From the first touch of his hand on hers she had been lost, her body weak with longing and need.

  Why? She wailed silently, even as she melted into the kiss. Why did he have this effect on her? She should feel outrage, not this sizzling desire. He was hard and distant and he'd been rude and insulting to her from the moment they met. For two years she had rebuffed every man who had shown an interest in
her. Handsome, wealthy, intelligent, charming, sophisticated—it hadn't mattered. She simply hadn't been interested. So why did this tough, taciturn man make her yearn?

  The only thing that had kept Lauren from crumpling to the floor as she'd stared into those mesmerizing black eyes had been her grip on his wrists. Now, with his mouth on hers, her knees turned to liquid, and she moaned as she felt them buckle.

  Sam wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tightly against him. Coiling her arms around his neck, Lauren held on, giving herself up to the kiss.

  Her heart pounded and her body tingled as the searing heat in the core of her body built to a raging inferno and spread outward. The sensations pulsing through her were so lush, so voluptuous, she felt as though she was drowning in pleasure.

  She needed this, she told herself as she kissed Sam back with all the seething emotions roiling inside her. For almost a week she'd been living with an icy knot in the pit of her stomach, operating on adrenaline and fear. In that period she had been terrorized and hunted, survived a plane crash, endured hardships she'd never imagined and had come close to losing her life more times than she cared to think about. She needed to feel desired, to feel pleasure again. To feel alive.

  She felt Sam bend his knees, felt her feet leave the floor. Then he was moving through the cabin with her clamped against his chest, her feet dangling in air.

  In the bedroom he fell with her onto the bed, twisting to take her weight, then rolling with her until she was on her back. Breaking off the kiss, he rose up on his elbows and looked down at her, and Lauren's breath caught at the raw desire in his eyes.

  "If this isn't what you want, tell me now," he said in a raspy voice that sent a delicious shiver down her spine.

  "I...this...this is crazy."

  "Hell, I know that. But do you want me to stop?"

  "I..."

  She caught her lower lip between her teeth, common sense and desire tugging her in opposite directions. She knew she should say yes. Getting involved with Sam was foolish and reckless. It would only complicate an already difficult situation. It wasn't like her to even contemplate taking such a rash and impulsive step. She would no doubt live to regret it.