Never Surrender (Task Force Eagle)

by Susan Vaughan

  The camp was her last chance, the last place to look for Jordan. He had to be there. Was it betrayal if she turned over her brother to a DEA agent? Decision time. She had to follow her heart and her instincts and trust Rick. But the thought was a lump in her throat.

  When she took the northbound ramp on the interstate, he asked, “Where are we going?”

  “The Lakes Region of Maine. The family has a cabin on Crooked Lake. It’s the last place I know to look for my brother.” She hiked her shoulders in a gesture of helplessness. Matters were definitely out of her control.

  “So that’s the secret you’ve been keeping. Your family sure has the hideaways.”

  “Uncle Grady’s on my dad’s side of the family. Crooked Lake is Mom’s family. You may think it’s strange, but lots of Maine families have hunting and fishing and summer camps.” Now why did she feel she had to defend the entire state of Maine?

  “Don’t you have to work today?”

  “Venice called in sick for me. Enough people there have had a bug that no one will question my excuse. Vinson will call for another temp.” She slanted a look at him. No muscle twitching. Maybe his calmed temper would transfer to Jordan. “And you? What about that car you left in Portsmouth?”

  “Another agent will pick it up. No problem.”

  “I was planning to spend the night.”

  “I’m good with that.”

  Whatever he meant by that, she wasn’t ready to examine.

  As the car sped northward, they fell into an almost companionable silence. North of Portland, they left the interstate and the wet weather behind. The SUV rolled onto two-lane country roads and into bright sunshine.

  She hummed with awareness of the man beside her. Realization pummeled her. Rick possessed more depth and honor than Molly’s shallow Good-time Charlies, but commitment and security weren’t in his vocabulary. Life was more vivid, more intense with him. In spite of all her efforts at guarding her heart, she’d fallen in love with him. With his laughter, with his gentleness and strength, and with the poetry in his eyes.

  With a man who’d break her heart.

  *****

  Rick’s fingers itched to caress Juliana’s penny-bright curls, freed from the fright wig and loosely bound atop her head. She wore dark purple jeans, but the parka concealed what else, maybe the matching sweater he liked. She focused on traffic and the maze of roads with the same fierce concentration she did everything.

  He wanted that fierce passion focused on him, wanted her beyond all reason. And hell, how could he stay angry with her for doing what he’d have done for his brother? She could’ve kept up the deception and taken them sightseeing around the Granite State. Instead she yielded to his accompanying her, to the inevitable. Finally she was seeing reason.

  A secluded cabin? He almost let himself hope Jordan was hiding somewhere else.

  “The cabin, Juliana, tell me about the cabin.” Adjusting for the sudden tightness in his jeans, he shifted in the bucket seat.

  “Just a hunting and fishing camp, really.” A nibble on her lower lip betrayed her anxiety. “Pretty basic. It’s on paper company land. My grandfather built the cabin back in the forties. Another relative pays the rent.”

  A cabin on timber land. No title. No wonder a search of assets didn’t turn that up. He watched the scenery, ready to see what developed.

  They stopped for clam chowder at The Galley in Naples. When they returned to the SUV, he grasped her arm. “Don’t start the engine just yet. I have news but I didn’t want to tell you inside or while you were driving.”

  She looked stricken. “Jordan?”

  He smiled to ease her worry. “See, that’s the reaction I thought might take us off the highway. No, it’s about the guy he was driving for. A sheriff’s deputy found Sudsy Pettit’s truck in the woods near Norway. Two dead bodies inside. Sudsy and an unidentified male in his twenties. Dark hair, chunky.”

  She laid her head on the steering wheel and inhaled deeply. “Thank God. Jordan’s blond and wiry.”

  “I wanted to tell you this in person. The reason I was headed to your apartment. And then the agent guarding you phoned me.”

  “Unidentified male,” she repeated, giving him a watery smile. “Because I’d have thought it was Jordan.”

  “Exactly. Both men died from a single shot to the back of the head. Execution style. If Jordan’s in the cabin, you better hope he’s ready to turn himself in.”

  “I’ll make sure he understands.” But she looked doubtful.

  Close to the turnoff for Crooked Lake, they bought food at a tiny village store. Ten miles of gravel road led in to the lake. From the road, a narrow dirt track plunged downhill to the small log cabin.

  He searched among the bare birches. “No power lines. Are they underground?”

  “No electricity. It’s only a sporting camp. No plumbing either. The only running water’s a hand pump in the kitchen sink.” Her features tightened. “Is that a problem?”

  “Don’t look so stricken.” He smiled. With a forefinger, he smoothed the worry lines that popped out on her forehead. “It’s fine.”

  “No cell phone towers, no internet connection of any kind.”

  No problem for his satellite phone. “I’ll deal.”

  Juliana guided the vehicle down the bumpy drive. “Mud season’s only begun to thaw the ground, so the driveway’s not too bad. But this hill needs four-wheel drive any time of year, or you might end up in the front door. Or in the lake.”

  She eased to a stop beside a small outbuilding and they got out.

  Judging from the lack of footprints in the patchy snow and the smokeless chimney, no one had used the camp all winter. Including Jordan.

  Warmth suffused him, swirling in his belly like one of Juliana’s butterflies. As much as he needed to find her brother, Jordan’s presence would have inhibited what Rick knew would happen, wanted to happen, needed to happen, between him and Juliana.

  “By the water,” he said in a mild tone. “Not a bad hideout. Too bad he’s not here.”

  Disappointment was stark in her eyes, but she rallied, straightening her shoulders. “I refuse to feel guilty for not telling you everything. I’m entitled to protect my brother. I told you from the beginning I intended to talk to him first.”

  “And yet you’ve brought me although you suspected Jordan was here. Does that mean you’ve had a change of heart about him?” He looked down at his boots and then up at her. “Or about me?”

  Chapter 10

  Not ready to answer what he was really asking, Juliana turned away.

  She unlocked the padlock on the plank door and opened it. “It’ll feel colder inside than out. We’ll need a fire in the Franklin.”

  “I’ll take care of that if you have other things to do.” He set their purchases on the kitchen counter and went out to the woodpile.

  In the downstairs bedroom she sank onto the bed and put her head in her hands. Her chest ached and tears burned her eyes. Nowhere else to look. No way to contact Jordan. Dammit, where are you, little brother? He had to be safe, tucked away somewhere no bad guys could find him. Even if she came up with an idea, she could do nothing now. She wiped her eyes with a tissue and pushed to her feet.

  She exchanged her good jeans and ballet flats for old jeans and sneakers. She pulled curtains open, swept sheets from the two rocking chairs and Naugahyde sofa, and shook mouse droppings from the rag rugs.

  What would Rick think of the place? The entire cabin took no more space than a two-car garage, with one large room for sitting and cooking, a bedroom downstairs with a queen bed, and a loft with bunks. Sets of deer antlers and mounted fish adorned the walls. Driftwood and carved lamps completed the woodsy décor. A path led to the outhouse.

  It couldn’t compare well to anything he was used to. Houses in Florida must be light and airy and open, not dumpy and dreary like this old cabin.

  “Cozy.” Rick entered with an armload of birch logs. “I love to watch a fire.” His mou
th curved with boyish enthusiasm.

  She puffed out a sigh and returned his smile. He’d removed his leather jacket. The wood’s weight stretched the shirt across his muscled shoulders as he arranged the logs in the hearthside box. His hair gathered highlights from the sunshine streaming in the window.

  Her heart rioted against her ribs. She longed to caress the high slope of his cheek, the bristly sweep of his jaw. Instead, she hurried to the SUV for the foam cooler.

  She wouldn’t reject him this time, but she wasn’t ready. Yet. Loving him confused her. Desire swirled with anxiety and fear. She’d deceived him, except he found her out. And since Jordan wasn’t here, she might have to deceive him again.

  “The lake, the cabin—it’s something from a post card,” he said when she returned. “I’ve bivouacked in tents and on hard and soggy ground, but never in an honest-to-God log cabin.”

  His admiring tone of voice said he was enjoying himself in spite of his reason for coming. That eager joy in life had endeared him to her from the beginning. He made everything special, made being with him special.

  “We can light the fire later.” She zipped her parka. “It’s turned into a beautiful day. Why don’t we go for a hike? Melting ice is too punky for snowmobiling or ice fishing.”

  From a hook by the door, she tossed him an old barn coat of her dad’s.

  “No racing. I want to savor every bit of this place, the lake, the clean air.” He slid a finger down her forehead to the tip of her nose. “You.”

  “Absolutely. No competition.” She deliberately ignored the tingle his touch ignited. She unclipped her barrette and smoothed her hair.

  Before she could clamp it again, he plucked up the barrette. He let a handful of hair run through his fingers. “This is beautiful, like a sunset halo. Leave it loose, querida.” He tucked the clasp into her coat pocket. “For me.”

  Mesmerized by his poetry and his musky scent, layered with mint, Juliana could only bob her head like a mechanical toy. Before he could kiss her, she ducked out the door.

  She traipsed to the water’s edge. Mushy ice covered most of the center, but at the shore, the clear water lapped gently against a narrow cobble beach. She picked up a rock. “Does skipping stones come under the heading of competition?”

  “You’re talking to the stone-skipping champ of South Beach.” Rick hefted a small, flat rock. “This’ll be a snap. You don’t have the water hazards we do in Florida.”

  From the devilment gleaming in his eyes, she should have known not to bite, but she couldn’t help it. “Water hazards?”

  “Alligators.”

  Laughter bubbled up. She didn’t believe his wild tale, but she’d play along. “Alligators. I’d like to see that. What do you do, try to skip off its head?”

  “I’m crushed, Juliana. I get the feeling you don’t believe me.” His grin faded, his dark brows beetling in a severe expression she couldn’t interpret. “No, the game is to avoid the alligator. Best not to rouse him. The beasts are unpredictable.”

  “So you hope you have a body of water without an alligator. Much safer that way.”

  “Even if you don’t see one, the possibility injects tension into the game.”

  Were they still discussing alligators? Or maybe she was reading too much into a playful conversation. She averted her gaze to search for a flat stone.

  “Let’s see what I can do with these Maine rocks.” One smooth swing sent his stone skimming the water. Three skips and it sank with a plop. “Out of practice.”

  “No alligators.” Eyeing the glittering surface, she curved her fingers around her skipper, smooth and gray as rain. With a snap, she sent it flying.

  One, two, three, four hops before it thudded onto an ice raft.

  “Not bad. Without the ice, you might have gotten another bounce or two.” He stepped in front of her. “You want to teach me your technique? You could guide my swing. Come wrap your arms around me.”

  “You are such a hound.” Laughing, she pushed a stone into his hand. “I’m not falling for that. And I’m not showing you any tricks. You have quite enough of your own.”

  After a lengthy competition, which Rick declared a tie but Juliana insisted she won, they trekked around Crooked Lake. Bare maples and birches interspersed with spruce and other evergreens ringed the angular body of water. At irregular intervals, cottages loomed in the woods, dark and boarded up.

  His appreciation of this remote spot was contagious. With him at her side, the crisp air seemed sweeter and sharper, permeated with the tangy scent of the surrounding firs.

  By the time they returned to the cabin, shadows stitched over the sun diamonds on the lake surface. He lit the Coleman lantern hanging in the small kitchen and she laid a fire in the Franklin.

  She sorted through the groceries. “Chicken, green pepper, onion, rice, garlic. “Mmm, I can’t wait to taste this Cuban culinary creation you’ve been promising me. I looked it up.”

  “Of course you did.”

  “Arroz con polo, is that how you say it?”

  “Pollo.” He pronounced it poyo. “Won’t be authentic without the saffron, but it’ll do.”

  “Arroz con pollo sounds exotic. Does it mean something glamorous?”

  He ambled closer, his rich laughter echoing against the log rafters and down her spine. “If you think ‘rice with chicken’ is glamorous.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Glamorous doesn’t matter, but tasty does. Do you have the recipe?”

  “You probably want it in a list to get it exact.” He caught her to him and brushed a kiss on her mouth. “A little of this, a little of that, I can prepare this dish with my eyes closed.”

  She wanted to snuggle in his arms, but recipes should be measured. “But—”

  “Relax. You’ll see.” He peered at the bottle of generic white wine she’d extracted from the shopping bag. “Too bad we have wine instead of rum. A mojito, now there’s a real drink, rum and limejuice. Sitting by a fire, you’d love it.”

  “You keep promising me Cuban delights. When will you deliver?” Uh oh, double entendre. She was in trouble. Strangely, the prospect didn’t bother her.

  His eyes darkened. His long-fingered hands molded her shoulders, then slid down her spine. “When you’re ready, Juliana, we’ll discover our delights together.”

  His smooth voice flowed through her, intoxicating as a mojito. He released her. “I want nothing more than to demonstrate. Keep that thought. It’s a little chilly in here for what I have in mind.”

  He knelt by the woodstove and added wood to the fire.

  *****

  After the fire was blazing, Rick rolled up his shirtsleeves and joined Juliana in the kitchen. She chopped onions and peppers while he prepared the chicken pieces. When the chicken and vegetables were bubbling, he started the rice.

  She set their places on a low pine table near the fire.

  The Franklin stove’s doors stood open to display the flames, still bright behind its screen. She’d left her hair loose, and the red-gold curls seemed alive with the dancing flames. A faint smile curved her mobile mouth, drawing him to stare at her lower lip and the arched bow of the upper. This view of her gilded with firelight stirred him to rampant life.

  No matter how crazy he was for her, it was still a casual relationship. And he meant to keep it that way. But casual didn’t mean hands off.

  He turned off the flame beneath the rice. He edged closer to her and hooked an arm around her, kissing the skin beneath her ear. Her jaw and velvety cheek lured his lips like magnets. “I could get used to this place. And the company.”

  She turned in his arms to flash a smile. For a change, not cautious with him, her gaze held desire. “Some families spend the entire summer here. And drive long distances to work.”

  “Must be nice to get away totally.” He glided the back of one hand along her cheek and down her neck.

  The lushness of her breasts pressed against him as she snuggled nearer. He held her, acutely aware of
the length of their bodies touching—thighs and knees, hips and torsos. He sensed a similar awareness in her. This dynamo who was never still stood quietly in his arms. He nuzzled her hair and inhaled her scent.

  She felt so perfect he didn’t want to move. Except lust shot through him with a furnace blast. He burned for her, ached for this intriguing woman made of stubbornness and loyalty, vulnerability and humor, reserve and sensuality.

  “Juliana?” Shit, you’d think he was a horny kid, a desperate one.

  She gazed up at him with dreamy eyes. “Mmm? Are you hungry? You’re the chef.”

  “I’m hungry, yes, starving—but for you.” He covered her hand where it lay on his chest and laced his fingers with hers. Soft and delicate.

  Her breath hitched. “Dinner will keep?”

  “It’ll taste even better later. Since we met I’ve longed to make love to you.”

  She sighed. “I want you too.”

  “And you understand—”

  She placed a finger on his lips to silence him. “Shh, don’t chill this evening with cold lake water. I know what I’m doing.” Her smooth finger trailed across his lips.

  “You won’t be sorry.” He captured her hand and kissed each finger. Her eyelashes drifted lower as he pushed up her sleeve and kissed his way up her arm.

  Almost moaning with relief, he kissed the unbearably tender spot inside her elbow. He wanted her so much he trembled. “Tell me, Juliana, tell me what you want.”

  Her chin lifted, and her lashes. Desire burned with green fire in the depths of her eyes, as if alight from within. A mischievous smile tilted her mouth. “You’re so romantic and poetic, but you’re forcing me to be clear, so I have a list.”

  “A list. I can’t wait.”

  “First, I want to be naked with you.”

  Flames ignited in his veins. “Juliana—”

  Her cool finger on his lips silenced him. “Two, I want you to kiss me all over.”

  He ached at the image.

  That cool finger swept sparks across his forehead and his temple. “Three, I want to explore your body as well.”