by Cassie Miles
“Right.” She frowned. “Why exactly did you rush me out the back door?”
“I had an edgy feeling. When we first saw Xavier, he seemed to be stalling. Maybe he called somebody.”
“But when we left, he wanted to come with us.”
“I changed his mind,” Cole said. “For tonight, I’m thinking of a small motel, a mom-and-pop operation.”
Though she was glad that he wasn’t planning to drive straight through to Granby and confront Jenna Cambridge, she asked, “Should we go after the money tonight?”
“Too tired. My slip with Xavier showed me that I’m not at the top of my game. I’ve got to be sharp when we go back to Granby.”
Granby. Her home base. She would have loved to take him to her comfy condo, but she was well aware that her home was dangerous. The hunt for them was still active.
“I’m thinking,” he said, “that Jenna might be Baron’s mysterious secretary.”
The same idea had occurred to Rachel. “It makes sense. Penny said that she met Baron at the high school where Jenna teaches.”
“If she’s the secretary, we could be walking into a trap at her house. Tomorrow is Friday. Jenna will be at the high school, and we’ll have a chance to search her place for evidence without interference.”
When Penny had talked about her supposed friend, she’d never mentioned a connection with Baron. Though Rachel hated to think ill of the dead, Penny hadn’t been very perceptive. She’d cast Jenna in the role of a homely girl who needed advice on makeup and clothing—a nonentity, a sidekick.
The pattern was familiar. A flashy blonde like Penny always seemed to have a dull-as-dishwater friend tagging along. An accurate picture?
Penny’s mother also considered Jenna to be a friend, until she found out that Jenna encouraged her daughter’s relationship with Baron.
Cole cleared his throat. “There’s another woman I suspect.”
“Pearl.”
Rachel hated that alternative. “If Pearl was working with Baron, why wouldn’t she have told him we were hiding at Lily Belle’s? We were there all day. His thugs could have attacked us at any time.”
He nodded. “My gut tells me Pearl is innocent. But that might be wishful thinking. I’ve got to believe that Goldie is safe.”
“Pearl won’t hurt the baby,” she said with certainty. “As soon as she took Goldie into her arms, she was in love, and there’s nothing stronger than the bond that forms with an infant.”
“I’ll call her tomorrow morning,” he said. “If she’s working for Baron, I’ll find out.”
“How?”
He shrugged. “It’ll come to me.”
In other words, he would come up with a convincing lie. His talent for deception and manipulation was a bit unnerving; she couldn’t be certain of anything he said to her. “Can you teach me how to lie?”
“Why would I do that? I like your honesty.”
She wasn’t so sure. The truth might be her downfall.
Chapter Nineteen
The adobe-style motel with a blinking vacancy sign promised low rates for skiers. Since nearby Eldora was one of the closest ski runs to Denver, not many people stayed in the area overnight. There were only four other vehicles parked outside the twelve units.
When Rachel entered room number nine, she felt oddly shy. Though she and Cole had spent the afternoon making passionate love, staying at a motel was different—not because there was a comfortable-looking bed or a shower with hot water. Tonight was planned; they intended to sleep together, and she couldn’t claim that she’d been carried away by the drama of the moment. Being here with him represented a deliberate choice. A decision she’d regret?
Every step closer to him deepened the feelings that were building inside her, and it was hard to keep those emotions from turning into something that resembled love. She couldn’t make that mistake. Cole wasn’t made for a serious relationship. Ultimately, he’d go back to California and leave her in the mountains. They had no future. None at all.
While she opened a greasy bag of fried chicken they’d picked up at a drive-through, Cole did a poor man’s version of surveillance and security. He checked the window in the small but clean bathroom to make sure they had an escape route. Then he shoved the dresser in front of the door.
“What if the bad guys climb in through the bathroom window?” she asked as she pulled out a bag of fries and a deep-fried chunk of white meat.
“They won’t,” he said. “The lock on the front door is so pitiful that a toddler could kick it open.”
“Hence the dresser blockade.”
He posted himself at the edge of the front window curtain to watch the parking lot. “Pass me a thigh.”
“I had you figured for a breast man.”
“I start with the thigh and savor the breast.” He tossed her a grin. “But you already know that.”
Earlier when they’d made love, she noticed that he paid particular attention to her breasts. The memory tickled her senses. “Have you always been that way? I mean, with other women?”
“You’re starting again with the questions.” He mimicked her tone and added, “Do you always give men the third degree?”
She washed down a bite of chicken with watery soda. “In the normal course of events, I don’t jump into bed with somebody I’ve only known for a couple of days. There’s a period of time when we talk and become familiar with each other.”
“Is that so?”
“You might have heard of the concept. It’s called dating.”
“Touché.”
Even though he spent a lot of time undercover, it was hard to believe that a good-looking, eligible guy like Cole hadn’t gotten himself hooked once or twice. She asked, “Have you ever had a serious girlfriend? Someone you lived with?”
“You mean like settling down? It’s not my thing.”
“You must have a home base. A bachelor pad.”
“I pay rent on an apartment, but I hardly ever spend time there. It took me over a year to hang pictures on the walls.”
She knew exactly what he was talking about. One of her brothers was the same way. He lived in a square little room with a beat-up futon and used pizza boxes for a coffee table. “Sounds lonely.”
“Sometimes.” He peeked around the edge of the curtain and sighed. “I wish I could have a dog.”
Great! His idea of a long-term commitment was canine. “What kind of dog?”
“Border collie,” he said without hesitation. “They’re smart and fast. And would come in handy if I ever wanted to herd sheep.”
Dragging information from Cole was like trying to empty Grand Lake with a teaspoon. “Is that a secret fantasy? Being a shepherd?”
“There are times when I wouldn’t mind having a ranch to tend and a couple of acres. Not heavy-duty farming but a place away from the crowds. A quiet place. Peaceful. Where I could raise...stuff.” He gnawed at his chicken and avoided looking her in the eye. “Someday, I want to have a family. When I hang out with my nieces, I get this feeling. An attachment.”
She remembered his look of wonderment when Goldie was born and his gentleness when he fed the baby her bottle. Maybe this undercover agent wasn’t such a confirmed loner, after all. If so, she was glad. Cole was a good man who deserved the comforts of home—a safe haven after his razor-edge assignments.
But was that what he really wanted? A niggling doubt skulked in the shadows of her mind. He might be lying, saying words he knew she wanted to hear. Deception was second nature to him, innate.
Fearful of probing more deeply, she changed the subject. “How long are you going to stand at the window?”
He checked his wristwatch. “Another twenty minutes. There was a sign posted in the office—Open Until Eleven. If they turn out the lights and go to bed, I reckon we’re safe until morning.”
She finished off her chicken and retreated to the bathroom. Not the most modern of accommodations but the white tile and bland fixtures were clean. She shed S
arah Loughlin’s clothes, turned on the hot water and stepped into a bathtub with a blue plastic shower curtain.
The steaming hot water felt good as it splashed into her face and sluiced down her body. Warmth spread through her, and the tension in her muscles began to unwind. She closed her eyes. The bonds of self-control loosened as she relaxed.
Big mistake. As soon as she let her guard down, her mind filled with images she didn’t want to remember. Too many bad things had happened. They played in her head, one after another. Gruesome. Horrible. Sad.
Her eyelids popped open. She tried to focus. Through the plastic shower curtain, the bathroom was a blur.
When she held her hand in the shower spray, she imagined crimson blood oozing through her fingers. Frank’s blood when he lay on the floor of the ice cream parlor. The blood that came when Goldie was born. Penny’s blood when her life was taken.
More blood would spill before this was over. They were getting closer to Baron. The threat was building. Danger squeezed her heart. Not Cole’s blood, she couldn’t bear to lose him. Not like that.
A sob crawled up her throat, and she realized that she was crying. Her tears mingled with the hot, rushing water. If only she could wash her memory clean and erase her fears.
Her knees buckled, and her hand slid down the white tile wall. With a gasp, she sat down in the bathtub. The shower pelted down on her. The steam clung to her pores.
She heard the bathroom door open. Cole asked, “Are you all right?”
Had she been weeping out loud? “I’m fine.”
“The lights in the office are out.”
“Great. Close the door.”
She didn’t want him to see her vulnerability. So far, she’d done a pretty good impression of somebody who could keep it together no matter what. She didn’t want him to know that she was afraid. Or needy. That was the worst.
He closed the door but didn’t leave the bathroom. “Rachel? Talk to me. You can say anything.”
The tenderness in his voice cut through her like a knife. She doubled over into a ball with her head resting on her knees. “Go away.”
He eased open the shower curtain. Humiliated by her weakness, she refused to look up at him.
“It’s okay,” he murmured. “You’re going to be okay.”
He turned off the shower and draped a towel around her shoulders. The cool air made her shiver. She wanted to move, to pull herself together. But she couldn’t pretend that she was fine and dandy. She’d witnessed murders, had been attacked and pursued. Right now, it felt like too damn much to bear.
“You need to get into bed,” Cole said as knelt on the floor beside the tub. “Under the covers where it’s warm.”
“Leave me alone.”
His arm circled her back. With a second towel, he dried her face. She batted his hands away.
“Let me help you, Rachel. You’re always helping others. It’s your turn.” His low voice soothed her. “When you’re with a woman in labor, you guide her through the pain. That’s your job, and you’re good at it.”
“So?”
“This is my job. The violence. The lies. The fear. And the guilt. It’s not easy. If you take my hand, I can help you through it.”
She allowed him to guide her into the bedroom, where she slipped between the sheets. Fully dressed except for his boots, he lay beside her and held her.
Though she snuggled against him, she was afraid to close her eyes, fearful of the memories that might return in vivid color. How would she sleep tonight without nightmares?
“I’ll tell you a story,” he said. “A long time ago, almost ten years, I went on my second undercover assignment. Shouldn’t have been complicated, but things went wrong. Some of it was my fault, my inexperience. Anyway, the situation turned dangerous. A man was killed and—”
“Stop.” She shoved against his chest. “I really hope this isn’t your idea of a cozy bedtime story.”
“There’s a happy ending,” he promised.
“Get to it.” She ducked her head under the covers. Her hair was still wet from the shower and she was dripping on him and on the pillow.
“After the assignment, I fell apart. Couldn’t sleep. Didn’t want to eat. Every loud noise sounded like gunfire. And there were flashbacks. I shed some tears, but mostly I was angry. Unreasonably angry.”
“But you’re always so cool and controlled.”
“I lost it. This little two-tone minivan stole my space in a parking lot, and I went nuts. Slammed on my brakes, grabbed my tire iron. I charged the van, ready to smash every window. Then I saw the driver—a petite lady with panic in her eyes. There were two toddlers in car seats.” He shuddered. “Probably scared those kids out of a year’s growth. I got back in my car and drove directly to a shrink.”
“You got help.”
“Yeah.” He pulled her closer. “Having a reaction to what you’ve been through in the past couple of days is natural. It’s all right to cry or yell.”
Or curl up in a fetal position in the shower? She appreciated his attempt to let her know she wasn’t crazy, even though she still felt like a basket case. “When do we get to the good part of your story?”
“Eventually, you learn to live with it.”
“What kind of happy ending is that?” She drew back her head so she could look him in the eye. “I want sunshine and lollipops.”
“The truth is better.”
“That’s my line,” she said. “I’m the big stickler for the truth.”
His mouth relaxed in a smile. “If you want to cry, go ahead. I understand. And if you want to hit somebody, I can take it.”
“Are you sure about that? I hit pretty hard.”
“There’s no need for you to put up a front, Rachel. You’re brave. You’re smart. There’s nobody I’d rather have for a partner.”
As she gazed at him, she realized that she didn’t need to explode with tears or screams. She wanted him. To connect with him. To make love.
When she leaned down to kiss him, she dared to close her eyes. She wasn’t afraid. Not right now.
His caresses were gentle at first. He tweaked her earlobe and traced the line of her chin. His hand slid down her throat. He cupped her breast, teased the nub, lowered his head and tasted her.
A powerful excitement crackled through her veins, erasing every other emotion. She was torn between the desperate need to have him inside her and a yearning to prolong their lovemaking for hours. Somewhere in between, they found the perfect rhythm. He scrambled out of his clothes and their naked bodies pressed together.
This was the kind of happy ending she’d been looking for.
* * *
WHEN SHE FIRST CAME TO BED, Rachel hadn’t thought she’d be able to sleep. The bloody culmination of everything that had happened to them haunted her, and she was afraid of the nightmares that might come.
But after making love, her fears dissipated and exhaustion overwhelmed her. She had slipped into a state of quiet unconsciousness.
She awakened gradually. Last night, she and Cole had once again made love without a condom. Her hand trailed down her body and rested on her flat stomach. Had his seed taken root inside her? Was she pregnant? Other women had told her that they knew the very moment of conception, but she didn’t feel any different.
The thought of having a baby—Cole’s baby—made her smile. For her, it was the right time. Even if he wasn’t the right mate, even if she never saw him after Baron was in custody, she’d be glad finally to be a mother.
She rolled over and reached across the sheets, needing to feel him beside her. But he was gone. “Cole? Cole, where are you?”
“Here.”
She saw him standing at the edge of the front window—his sentry position, where he kept an eye on the parking lot outside the motel. The thin light of early morning crept around the curtain and made an interesting highlight on his muscular chest.
“What are you doing all the way over there?”
He sauntered
back to the bed and returned to his place beside her. When they touched, her heart fluttered. In spite of her independence, she never wanted to be apart from him.
“I called Waxman,” he said.
The last time he talked to his handler in Los Angeles, the man had thrown them under the bus, refusing to help and telling them to turn themselves in. “What did he say?”
“He’s coming around.” His voice was bitter. “After working with me for years, it finally occurred to Waxman that he could trust me.”
“That’s good news, right?”
“Not entirely. Without solid evidence, there’s nothing Waxman can do about the local feds. Prescott is still running this circus.” He ruffled her hair. “Do you like road trips?”
“It depends on where I’m going.”
“California,” he said. “I want to pick up the loot from Jenna’s house, drive to Denver, get a rental car and go home, where Waxman can offer us real protection.”
He wanted to take her home with him. She loved the idea. “I’m ready for a trip to the beach.”
Chapter Twenty
“In other developments,” said the TV anchorman on the early morning local news, “the police in Grand County are still on the lookout for two suspects in the Black Hawk casino robbery.”
Cole groaned as his mug shot flashed on the motel room television screen.
The anchorman continued, “If you see this man, contact the Grand County Sheriff’s Department. And now, let’s take a look at sports. The Nuggets...”
Using the remote, Cole turned off the TV. Apparently, the manhunt was still active but didn’t rate headline status. He figured the Grand County cops were plenty busy, processing the crime scene at the Shadow Mountain Lake house and investigating Frank’s death—a murder that Prescott would undoubtedly try to pin on him.
Rachel emerged from the bathroom looking fresh and pretty. He liked the way her wispy hair curled on her cheeks when it was damp. Her blue eyes were bright and clear. For the moment, she seemed to have recovered from last night’s meltdown, but he knew it would take more time for her to fully cope with the trauma of the past couple of days—trauma that was all his fault, one hundred percent. He’d kidnapped her and dragged her into this mess.
