by The Witness
Lauren responded to the soft seduction like a flower opening to the sun, kissing him back with the same trembling restraint.
As one, they sank down onto the bed together. Hands explored leisurely, boldly, while their lips caressed, their tongues twined and stroked, their teeth gently nipped.
Sam strung kisses down Lauren's neck, over her collarbone. "I want you," he murmured against her skin.
"Oh, Sam. I want you, too," she whispered back.
It was all the encouragement he needed. Buttons and zippers and clasps were dealt with and clothing stripped away and tossed aside. When they were naked Sam placed his palm flat against her chest and pressed her down onto the pillow, his intense gaze holding hers all the while.
He circled her breasts with his fingertips, trailed his hand over her collarbone, down the silky valley between her breasts, lower still over her rib cage, her belly. The silken texture of her skin fascinated him. So did the erotic contrast between its pale creaminess against the deep bronze of his hand.
"Sam?" Lauren smoothed her hands up over his chest and tagged on his shoulders, pulling him down to her. An instant later a long moan hummed from her throat as he took one pink nipple into his mouth and drew on her.
They explored each other's bodies, played and teased, tantalized, stretching the pleasure out. Finally, just when Sam thought he would surely go mad, Lauren moaned, "Please, Sam. Oh, please. Now."
He rose into position between her thighs and braced above her on his stiffened arms. "Look at me, Lauren," he ordered in a husky voice, and she complied. Holding her gaze, he sank into her in one smooth, powerful stroke that pulled a groan from each of them.
Neither spoke. Their passion was running too high for words. Sam made love to Lauren slowly, intently, telling her with his body, his eyes, his touch, what he could not put into words.
The only sounds in the room were soft sighs and moans, the rustle of sheet and the rhythmic squeak of the bedsprings as they made slow, sweet love to each other with an intensity that touched their souls.
Then there was only their hoarse cries of completion.
For several long, languorous minutes, while their heartbeats returned to normal and their breathing steadied, they lay sprawled together, unmoving. Then Sam startled her by abruptly rolling out of bed and scooping her up in his arms.
"Sam! What are you doing?" she squeaked.
"Time to head for the shower." He marched into the bathroom with her in his arms, plunked her down inside the glass-walled stall and stepped inside with her.
"Sam, this is positively indecent," she protested when he picked up the soap and began to wash her, but it was a halfhearted effort at best.
"So? Are you complaining?" Cupping her breasts with his soapy hands, he kneaded lightly.
Lauren's breath caught. She closed her eyes and tipped her head back. "I...no. No."
Working up great mounds of lather, they ran their hands over each other's body, massaging and caressing with long, sensual strokes. Inevitably the tantalizing bath rekindled their desire, and as the warm water rained down on them and steam rose all around, Lauren stood with her back pressed against the cool glass, one leg hooked over Sam's braced arm as he drove into her with a powerful, undulating rhythm.
"Mmm, that was good." Lauren leaned back in the chair and patted her lips with the linen napkin. "I didn't realize how hungry I was."
Sam fixed her with a steady stare. "That's what happens when you work up an appetite."
He watched her cheeks pinken, but she met his gaze squarely. Damn, she was really something, he thought. Sexy one minute and demure the next, but always full of that gutsy determination.
Rising, Lauren tightened the belt on the terry robe that the inn provided. "Yes, it has been a strenuous day. As soon as I push this room service cart into the hall I'm going to brush my teeth and go to bed. I feel as though I could sleep for a week."
"While you do that, I'll make my calls."
Sam fished Edward Stanhope's home number out of his wallet and picked up the telephone on the bedside table.
The other man answered on the second ring. "Ed. It's Sam Rawlins."
"Sam. Thank God. I was hoping you'd call. Where the hell are you?"
Sam stiffened, instantly alert. "Why? What have you heard?"
"Enough to know you're in a heap of trouble."
"Yeah, you could say that. Look, Ed, I don't know what you've been told, but we have a witness who can put Giovessi away for good."
Quickly and succinctly Sam related Lauren's story and the chain of events that had followed, ending with their wild escape that afternoon.
"Without knowing who's dirty and who's not, I don't dare contact anyone in the Denver office for help. It's even possible the corruption goes higher than that. That's why I'm calling you. I'm hoping you can get a message through to the top and get me some help."
"That may not be easy. Is there a television where you are?" Ed asked.
"Yeah. Why?"
"Turn it on to a news channel."
Frowning, Sam picked up the TV remote and clicked it toward the set across the room. The first thing he saw was a split screen, with his face on one side and Lauren's on the other. Lauren's photo was obviously a publicity shot from her concert days that someone had unearthed. Dressed in an elegant evening gown, she looked poised and sophisticated, even a bit aloof. And gut-wrenchingly beautiful.
"I repeat—a nationwide search has begun for Special Agent Sam Rawlins of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and Ms. Lauren Brownley, a witness in the government's case against organized crime boss, Carlo Giovessi," the news anchor announced in his most serious voice.
"According to the FBI, they have evidence that Agent Rawlins has been taking bribe money from Carlo Giovessi for years in exchange for information on any evidence the Bureau had against the mob boss or any move planned against him.
"It is believed that Agent Rawlins has fled with Ms. Brownley, Mr. Giovessi's latest mistress, so that she can avoid testifying against him during his upcoming trial."
"What?" Lauren squawked around the toothbrush in her mouth, poking her head around the edge of the bathroom door. She stomped into the bedroom and stared at the television screen. Toothpaste foam still covered her lips.
"Agent Rawlins is believed to be armed and dangerous," the newsman continued. "If you see either of these people, please contact the FBI office nearest you or your local law enforcement agency."
Sam cursed roundly, then growled into the phone, "It's a setup, Ed. And the SAC knows it. I've been trying for months to flush out the rat—or rats—in the Denver office. At Harvey's insistence. He and everyone else in the office knew that I was getting close. Personally I think that's why he yanked me off that job and assigned me the job of protecting Lau...Ms. Brownley."
"Actually Harvey says he didn't want to believe you were dirty, but several of his agents convinced him otherwise."
"Yeah, right."
"The good news is, Giovessi has been arrested and charged with a laundry list of crimes," Ed went on. "He's being held without bond and a trial date has been set for March 20. The Federal Prosecutors are ready to go, but without Ms. Brownley's testimony they can't charge Giovessi with murder. Frank Pappano's body hasn't been found yet."
"What about the drug trafficking?"
"Giovessi's slick lawyer has gotten him off on that several times before. Harvey and others are urging the Federal Prosecutor to drop all charges."
"Damn."
"They do have a point. The two charges are connected, and both hinge on Ms. Brownley's testimony. If Giovessi is found innocent, and they dig up more evidence later, he'll be protected under double jeopardy."
"Look, Ms. Brownley is going to testify," Sam snapped. "My assignment is to keep her safe until the trial, and that's what I intend to do. Whatever it takes."
There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line. "I have your word on that?" Ed asked finally.
"Yes. You
just make sure there is a trial and I'll have her there."
Another silence followed. Sam could almost hear Ed thinking. "All right. You've got a deal. I still have some clout within the Bureau and the Federal Prosecutor's office. I'll make some calls. In the meantime, you keep your charge safe and show up at the Federal Courthouse in Denver on March 20 and we'll nail the old bastard."
"You got it."
"And, Sam. Be careful. With your mug plastered all over the television someone is sure to spot you. If I were you, I'd find a safe hideaway and dig in for the next couple of months."
"Right."
The instant Sam hung up the telephone he sprang to his feet and started snatching up their belongings and stuffing them into the duffle bag. "Get dressed. We're getting out of here."
"What? Now?" Lauren wailed. "But we just got here a couple of hours ago."
"It isn't safe. Did you notice how nervous the room service waiter was when he brought our dinner? Or the strange looks he gave us?"
Her face paled. "You think he recognized us?"
"Maybe, maybe not, but it's not worth taking the risk."
Lauren agreed. She dressed and tossed her things back into the duffle bag in under three minutes. Out in the hall, she turned toward the elevators.
"No, this way." Sam grasped her arm and led her toward the fire stairs at the other end of the corridor. They clambered down the metal steps as quickly as they could, wincing at the racket they made. On the ground floor, Sam eased open the exit door and peered outside, looking up and down the narrow service alley that ran behind the inn. "Okay, all clear. Let's go."
They followed the alley for a ways, then cut between two buildings that faced onto the village courtyard. The crowd had dwindled but there were still a few people milling around, moving from bar to bar or window-shopping.
Staying in the shadows as much as possible, Sam hustled Lauren through the courtyard and down the terraced steps that led to the upper level parking area. They had almost reached the bottom when two cars turned off of the highway below and came racing up the steep, winding entrance driveway.
"C'mon, hurry," Sam ordered, grabbing her hand.
They ran down the last few steps and ducked behind the first row of cars in the lot. Hunched down behind a minivan, they watched through the vehicle's tinted windows as the two patrol cars screeched to a halt just a few feet away at the bottom of the stairs. They had barely stopped when the doors were flung open and two sheriff's deputies jumped out of each car and dashed up the terrace steps.
"Looks like I was right about that waiter," Sam murmured. "C'mon, we don't have much time. It won't take them long to discover that we've flown the coop."
He started down the line of cars, darting in and out, trying the door handles. "Bingo," he murmured when the fifth one opened.
He ran his hand under the floor mats, checked behind both visors and in the ashtray and console. "Looks like I'm going to have to do this the hard way. Stay here."
He walked away, searching the ground. Moments later he returned with a grapefruit-size rock and sat down in the driver's seat of the SUV.
"What're you going to do with th—! For heaven's sake! What're you doing?" Lauren squeaked when he smashed the rock against the steering column and shattered the outer sleeve.
"What does it look like? I'm hot-wiring this car."
"What! But that's stealing!"
The car started, and Lauren jumped and darted a guilty look around.
Sam jumped out of the vehicle and planted a hard kiss on her mouth. "Commandeering," he corrected. He grinned at her startled expression. "Don't worry, babe, it'll all come out in the wash eventually. Now get in. We gotta get outta here. Now."
"We're coming into Durango," Sam announced a half hour later. "Climb into the back and lie down out of sight. They'll be looking for a man and woman traveling together."
Lauren quickly complied, stepping over the console to squeeze between the two captain's chairs. "What about this car? Won't they be looking for it?" She found a wool throw tossed over the rear backrest. She curled up on her side on the bench seat and pulled the cover over her.
"I doubt the owner will miss it until morning. Maybe not even then if he's going to be at the resort for a few days."
Sam drove with panache, sitting slouched casually in the seat as though he hadn't a care in the world, but at the same time being careful to stay well within the speed limit and obey all traffic laws.
Durango was a long, narrow town built along the Animas River, and it seemed to Lauren that it took forever to go from the north end of town to the south end. She lay tense as a coiled spring beneath the blanket, jumping at every bump in the road or unexpected noise.
Finally the lighted areas grew farther apart as they reached the southern outskirts of town, but just when Lauren began to relax Sam pulled over and stopped.
"What is it? What's happening?" She peeked over the back of the front seat and saw that they were parked in a service station driveway.
"Take it easy. I'm just going to call my aunt from that pay telephone. I'll be right back."
Lauren huddled beneath the thin throw, expecting at any second to hear a police officer bark at her to put her hands up. She jumped when the driver's door opened and Sam slid back inside.
"All set. My uncle is going to pick us up in Cortez. We'll ditch this SUV there."
"Is it safe for me to sit up?" Lauren asked when they'd left the lights of Durango behind.
"As safe as it'll ever be. But why don't you just grab some shut-eye while you're back there? You said you were sleepy."
That was before they had become car thieves and fugitives from the law. Lauren didn't think she could sleep a wink now. She was fairly comfortable, though, and most important, out of sight, so she decided to stay put.
The next thing she knew someone was shaking her shoulder.
"Wake up, Lauren."
"Wha—" She sat up with a start, her gaze darting all around. They were in the parking lot of an all-night grocery store, she realized vaguely.
"C'mon, let's go."
Responding automatically to the sharp command in Sam's voice, Lauren scrambled out of the vehicle. At once he ushered her into the battered pickup parked beside the SUV and ordered her to scoot over.
"Sorry," Lauren murmured, shooting the old man behind the wheel an apologetic look. He merely nodded.
They were driving out of the parking lot almost before Sam slammed the pickup's door.
"Lauren, this is Walter Price. He's married to my dad's sister, Eunice," Sam said. "Uncle Walt, this is Lauren Brownley, the woman you've been hearing about on the news."
Walter Price nodded and touched the brim of his battered Stetson with the tips of his first two fingers. "Miss."
"Has anyone been around looking for me?" Sam asked.
"Nope."
"Good.
"How about Dad's place? Anyone nosing around there?"
"Don't know. You'll have to ask him."
Sam snorted. "Not likely."
The taciturn old man kept his eyes on the road and said nothing, but he shook his head almost imperceptibly.
The steady hum and crackle of the tires on the snowpacked highway was the only sound for several minutes.
"I know you've seen the news on TV and read the papers," Sam said after a while. "Do you want to hear my side?"
"You do what those fellers said?"
"No."
"Then save the rest till we get home and your aunt can hear, too. No sense telling a story twice."
That was it? That's all it took for Sam to have this crusty old man's unquestioning trust? Lauren thought in amazement.
Apparently so. They drove for over an hour before reaching the Price spread, and throughout the trip both men seemed perfectly at ease and content with the silence that filled the cab.
Sam's aunt, on the other hand, could not have been more opposite of her quiet husband. The minute they stepped into the ranch house Eunic
e Price met her nephew with open arms and effusive greetings.
"So...this is Ms. Brownley," she said when she finally released him from the choking bear hug. "My, my, child, if you aren't a pretty little thing. Even prettier than that picture they've been flashing all over the TV and papers."
Lauren felt her face grow hot. "I...um...thank you. And thank you both for helping us. I know this is a terrible imposition, and potentially dan—"
"Oh pooh. No need to thank us." Eunice dismissed Lauren's words with a wave of her hand. "Sam is family, and the closest thing Walt and I have to a son. Never had any young'uns of our own. After Augustus and his wife split up, me'n Walt helped raise this scamp. Of course we're going to help him. Why, it made me madder'n a wet hen when I heard that newsperson on television telling lies about our boy, here."
She looped her arm through Lauren's and urged her down the long central hall toward the back of the house. "Now come along to the kitchen. You can tell us over pie and coffee how the two of you got yourselves into this pickle."
"If you don't mind, I'd like to freshen up first," Lauren said.
"Why of course you would. What was I thinking?" Eunice directed her to the powder room with instructions to take her time and join them in the kitchen when she was done.
After using the facilities, Lauren looked at her reflection in the mirror and shook her head. Regardless of what Sam's aunt said, she thought she looked pale and washed-out. She hadn't put on so much as a speck of makeup in almost a week. Quickly she powdered her nose and applied lipstick and ran a comb through her hair. It wasn't much, but it was the best she could do for the moment.
She left the powder room and started toward the back of the house, but as she passed a wide, arched opening that led to an old-fashioned parlor she came to a halt. Against the wall, just inside the door, was an ancient upright piano.
Drawn like a moth to a flame, Lauren stepped inside the room for a closer look. She ran her hand over the mahogany surface, tracing the ornate carvings on the upper panel, the scroll-shaped music desk. The instrument was at least six and a half feet tall. Lauren knew it had probably been made in the mid-nineteenth century. She lifted the fallboard and trailed her fingertips lovingly over the keys. They were ivory and yellowed with age and a few were chipped, but she'd never seen anything so beautiful. It had been almost a week since she'd played a piano.
