by Debra Cowan
She retreated a safe distance away, backing toward the sofa. She didn't fear him, but rather what she wanted with him, from him. "Mace, about a while ago…"
He turned, his features taut with control, the banked fire in his blue eyes the only sign of rage.
"I shouldn't have kissed—"
"You've been clear about what you want, Dev, and it's not me."
She winced. "I'm sorry."
"I … hope you'll be very happy with your … bean counter."
He was trying. She had to give him that. Whereas before, his condescending reference to Josh would've made her defensive, now it made her bite back a smile. "I will, if we get out of this."
"Oh, we'll get out of it," he said grimly. "I just hope you know what you're getting into."
He turned for the door and opened it.
"Have you heard anything from Captain Price or O'Kelly?"
"Just called O'Kelly a few minutes ago. We know the leak is somebody inside and I told him to look at everybody, not just cops. He's working his way down a pretty long list of people."
"So what do we do?"
He leveled a gaze at her over his shoulder. "We wait."
Together.
Their gazes locked, hers uncertain, his resigned. Then he walked back out into the rain.
* * *
By late afternoon the sun broke through watery clouds. Mace felt as if an invisible chain had been removed from his body.
He'd stayed outside all afternoon, despite being soaked to the skin. Once he'd even gone for a walk in the woods, keeping the cabin in his sights at all times. The damn cabin seemed to shrink more every time he went inside, so finally he'd just stopped.
Especially after Devon's apology. And his well wishes. He grimaced at the memory, but told himself to suck it up. This was his life and it was time to move on.
After a silent supper, there still had been no word from O'Kelly. Mace cleaned and returned everything to its normal place, packed his gear and put it into a closet. He told Devon to do the same, which she did without argument. He was taking no chances. If they were suddenly surprised, he wanted to be prepared to leave.
But he couldn't last much longer in this small, two-room structure. Hoping to work off some of his cabin fever and the awareness that still nagged him, he set to work chopping up the tree that had been hit by lightning last night.
Sunshine glimmered off the water, sparkled off the wet trees. Even though evening closed in, the air was warm, nearly stifling with humidity. Mace shut his mind to Devon and the temptation she represented, and focused solely on the feel of the splintered ax handle in his hand, the stretch and burn of his muscles as he split the limbs into manageable pieces.
Once he turned to toss a piece toward the house and saw Devon staring out the window at him. It was because she'd found that damn ring. Why hadn't he put it back into his bureau? Hell, why hadn't he gotten rid of it like he'd said he was going to?
Even from here he could read the hunger in her eyes. Awareness tripped across the invisible wire that seemed to connect them, and Mace's blood heated. Damn damn damn.
He set his jaw and turned back to his task, determined to keep her out of his mind.
He finished with the wood, but he knew as soon as he stepped inside the cabin and smelled her sweet scent that he could not stay in there with her.
"Want to go fishing?" he asked.
There was no escaping the fact that they must remain together, but he would be able to breathe if they were on the lake rather than cooped up here where they would run into each other at every turn.
"Yes." She surged up from the couch as if he'd just offered her a life preserver. The small, confining space must be getting to her, too.
She hurried out to the car and he took one last look around the cabin. He folded his jeans and put them in his duffel, then shoved the bag into the back of the closet. Devon had packed her gear and shoved it under the bed as he'd instructed her.
All the dishes had been washed and put away. Their small amount of food had been stored in an ice chest out back. There were no readily visible signs that anyone had stayed here recently.
He jogged out to the car and removed a roll of clear tape he'd thrown into O'Kelly's glove box. Despite the haunting aftereffects of that kiss, he at least had the presence of mind for that.
He closed and locked the front door, then smoothed a piece of tape over the place where door met frame just above eye level. That way, if someone opened the door, the tape would tear.
He was taking no chances with their safety. In case they were discovered, he wanted to know before they walked into something.
* * *
Nothing compared to being on the water at night. The moon hung full and platinum in the dark gray sky. With each glance into the sky, Devon found a fresh burst of stars. Moonlight bounced off the water's smooth, black surface and reflected back onto the rocky shore. Granite and chalk boulders dribbled across the dark beach. Scraggly shrubs and tiny yellow flowers peeked out from between the shields of rock.
Mace had done something to the front door of the cabin with a roll of tape, then he'd hitched Micki's bass boat to O'Kelly's car. They'd driven to the nearest launch ramp, about a mile from the cabin. Stopping at the bait shop there, they grabbed two containers of worms. Placing everything in the boat, Devon climbed in and backed it off the trailer.
It had been over a year since she'd done it, but she smoothly maneuvered the boat between the tall metal guards of the trailer and floated away. Mace pulled up the ramp and parked the car, while she eased the boat close to the shore.
He jumped in, and they edged past each other as he moved to the rear to man the controls and she took the seat in the nose of the craft.
As they sped out over the water, moonlight rippling in their wake, Mace shouted and pointed toward the shore. His aunt's cabin cruiser bobbed in a slip at the manna. Devon had wondered if Micki still kept the larger boat.
They passed the speed-limit buoy, and Mace gave the boat more gas. Devon lifted her face to the sky, smiling as the spray sprinkled her face. The wind hummed in her ears, drowning all other sound. Tension seeped from her shoulders and she smiled from the pure joy of increasing freedom.
They were alone on the water. No reminders. No regrets. This was just the thing to keep her mind from dwelling on the past, from smarting at the memory of that kiss this morning.
After five minutes of winging over the water, Mace slowed the boat and they turned into a small cove. The motor dimmed to a quiet hum, then Mace killed the engine and they drifted toward a tangle of tree limbs protruding from the water.
He glanced at his depth gauge. "Looks like about sixty feet here."
Devon pushed the anchor off the bow of the boat and after a few seconds felt a satisfying tug as it hit bottom. After dark was the perfect time for crappie fishing. All one had to do was find a likely spot, rig up a lantern to attract a few bugs, drop a worm-laden hook into the water and wait.
When Mace and Devon had been together, they had often fished this way. She bent to one side, reaching for a rod and reel stored between two clips, which kept it out of the way during travel. After checking to see that the line was free of tangles, she swung around in her chair and reached for one of the cups.
"Want me to bait your hook?"
She sniffed. "Hardly."
He chuckled, quickly fitting a worm onto the end of his own hook. "Remember that first time we came out here? You wouldn't touch a worm."
"That's because I was flirting with you." She smiled, sliding her own worm onto the hook. "I thought I could get Mr. Big Stud Fisherman to do it for me."
She glanced up and found Mace's gaze on her. Their smiles faded, and for a moment, the past wedged between them again.
Then Mace angled away from her and dropped his line straight down into the water. "I'm sure I can still hook more than you can."
"You never could!"
"Wanna bet?" He grinned, his teeth a wicked s
lash of white against the darkness of his face.
Her stomach gave a funny dip, but she thrust out her chin. "You're on."
"Whoever loses has to clean them." He slanted a glance at her, knowing how she hated that part.
She wrinkled her nose, but said, "You'd better get ready then."
For a while, they fished in amiable silence. Devon hadn't realized how much she'd missed this easy side of life.
Despite the lateness of the day, heat still shimmered in the air. Only the sporadic whirl of a breeze across the water kept her from being sticky.
Water lapped softly against the boat. Holding her rod firmly, Devon gazed out across the lake. Moonlight skimmed the water, transforming it into a wavering mirror.
Occasionally a fish splashed in the distance or an animal dipped into the water. Bullfrogs hiccuped in a sporadic melody, joined by the constant chirping of crickets. An owl hooted; a whippoorwill's whistle swelled through the night.
Peace wrapped around Devon and she took in a deep breath. Oak and pine trees staggered along the uneven bank, starkly drawn silhouettes against the gunmetal canvas of sky. The bare hint of wind carried scents of pine needles and earth and fish and a teasing whiff of Mace's spicy aftershave.
She settled more comfortably in the chair, lulled to relaxation by the sense that she had truly left behind all the horror of the past couple of days. Out here on the water, it seemed as if she'd never recalled Dad's murder, as if it had never happened. As if she'd never walked away from Mace.
"Got one!" The excitement in his voice made her smile.
"Already?" She turned her chair slightly, watching him pull up a nice-sized fish. It flopped from the line for a moment before Mace extricated the hook from its mouth, then tossed the fish into a cooler full of water.
"Better hurry if you're gonna catch up." He baited his hook again, then dropped the line into the lake.
She reeled in her line to make certain she still had bait. When she saw she did, Devon dropped the line back over the side.
She couldn't resist another glance at Mace. He'd worn the same faded baseball cap he always wore fishing. The navy material was faded now; the letters that proclaimed OCPD were nearly erased. But he looked so darn cute!
The bill cast his already shadowed face into more darkness. Light from the lantern slanted across his hands, illuminated the white of the tank top he wore. Shadows played across the faded denim of his jeans, dulled the shine of his worn ostrich-skin boots.
Light gilded the sculpted planes of his broad shoulders, the chiseled strength of his arms. He moved and the flex of muscle was starkly defined in the pale light.
The gleam of moonlight on the water reflected silver over his hands. They were strong and gentle as they worked the rod and reel, testing, guiding, reminding her of those hands on her body. She glanced away, feeling that jump in her belly she'd felt earlier. It was the same quivery feeling she'd always gotten when he trailed those fingers up her nape and tickled that spot behind her ear.
Unable to dismiss the image, she let another come. She closed her eyes, reliving the way she'd always been able to get to him by rimming his ear with her tongue. At the memory, her belly clenched and Devon pressed her lips together, redoubling her efforts to concentrate on fishing.
But seconds later, she found herself staring at him again. Could I have been all you need, Mace? Why couldn't things have been different?
Devon drank in the sight of him. The translucent light of the moon smoothed the lines that fanned out from his blue eyes, deepened the crease in his cheeks, sharpened the edge of his jaw, darkened by whisker stubble, with an even-more-dangerous allure.
"I think you've got a bite," he said quietly.
Her gaze flew to his, and in his eyes she saw the same hunger, the same fierce need she felt. She realized he'd caught her staring.
She jerked out of her reverie and tugged at the line, reeling it in. The line went limp. "Oh, I think I lost him."
"Too bad." His voice seemed strangled, almost rusty.
She heard the whine of his line and glanced over to find him reeling in a bigger fish than before.
She sagged against the back of her chair. "You've got to be kidding."
"Hey, he who daydreams loses the big one."
He said the words lightly, but Devon saw the sudden tension that lashed his shoulders.
He'd absolutely caught her staring. He'd probably been able to read the thoughts on her face. He always had been. Embarrassment seared her cheeks, but she also felt a nagging sense of disappointment, as if she'd nearly reached something she'd long fought for, only to fall short in the end.
Anxious to regain the compatible feelings they'd shared for a few moments, she challenged, "Hey, this contest isn't over yet. I can still beat you!"
"We'll see about that."
For the next hour, Devon paid strict attention to what she was doing. She reeled in two, then Mace caught two. Then they both sat in wishful silence for long minutes before Mace caught another one.
"I'm ahead by three. You want to say 'uncle' yet?"
"No way!"
He shook his head. "You never would give up."
"You better watch it, Garrett." Just then she felt a tug on her line and she squealed. "Hah! I've got another one!"
"Way to go—hey, so do I!"
Almost in unison, they reeled in their lines and dropped their catch into the cooler.
"I'm still ahead." He grinned, thumbing back his ball cap.
Devon groaned. "What kind of rod and reel do you have? How come you always win?"
"I've got the magic touch, honey. Pure magic." Whether it was the endearment or the soft timbre of his voice, Devon didn't know, but goose bumps prickled her skin. By sheer willpower she kept her gaze from straying to his.
After a moment, he said huskily, "I know you're going to try to get out of cleaning these fish. Just like you always did."
"Oh, I only did that one time," she protested, reaching for another worm.
"Yeah."
His quiet acknowledgment tripped the door to the past and in a heartbeat, she was back in that spring weekend.
Just before they'd broken up, they had spent the weekend at Micki's cabin. Mace had caught more fish than Devon that time, too.
She had grabbed the hose to clean off the cutting table stationed next to the cabin. Mace kept ribbing her about catching less fish than he. You just don't have the touch, baby. At least not for fish.
Finally she had turned the hose on him. She had doused him good before he'd managed to wrest the hose away and turn it on her. By the time she was soaking wet, they'd both forgotten about the fish.
They had stripped off each other's clothes on the way into the cabin, but they'd never made it farther than the porch. They'd made love up against the door.
She could still feel the rough wood of the cabin door abrading her back, smell her scent mingling with Mace's. Her breasts burned where his lips touched her. And she could feel his hands flexing on her hips, holding her steady as he pushed into her, torturously, achingly slow.
His tongue played in her mouth until she was boneless and screaming with need.
"Devon?"
She saw his lips move and wanted to feel them on hers, on her skin.
"Devon!" This time her name cracked sharply from his lips.
She blinked and looked into his eyes.
His features were pinched and taut. Hunger ravaged his eyes and they burned with savage desire. A muscle flexed in his cheek. "Hell, stop looking at me like that."
Slowly, like a shade being drawn over the sun, she saw him withdraw, saw his expression change from hunger to denial. He looked away, his hands tightening on the slender fiberglass rod in his hands until she thought it would snap.
Regret burned in her chest. She edged to the other side of her seat and silence clogged the air between them.
Ragged tension scraped at her nerves. What was the matter with her? She was the one who'd broken off with
Mace, who'd told him she was practically engaged to Josh and yet she couldn't stop thinking about Mace, about being with him.
She wanted to believe that she had changed over the last year, that she could handle things about his job—she was on the run with him, wasn't she?—but she feared she was the same skittish, anxious woman who'd left him a year ago.
That meant she shouldn't want him.
But she did.
She felt helpless and struggled to maintain some semblance of control. Oddly, she recalled the feeling of power she'd experienced when she'd held Mace's gun. That heady sensation was strangely similar to the way she used to feel about Mace's love for her, knowing that she could sometimes be what he needed, but certain that she could always be what he wanted.
Sadness wound through her. Those days were gone, and now she and Mace were back to the tension that had dogged them incessantly in the cabin. Being alone together, whether indoors or out, was going to destroy both of them.
The motor roared to life and Devon started, grabbing for the anchor line to haul up the weight before Mace took off. She quickly stored her fishing gear and capped the container of worms. The ride back felt somehow colder, and she realized that the chill had wedged deep into her heart.
They didn't return to the boat launch; instead Mace drove toward the cabin and tied the boat to a small sapling on the shore.
He helped her out, but his hand didn't linger in hers. She wrapped her arms around her waist and followed him up the slight incline toward the wooded area in front of cabin.
His boots and her sneakers made only occasional noise as they stepped on a twig or scattered a bunch of pebbles.
Devon dared a glance at him and noted the stiff shoulders, the ruthless set of his jaw. "If you want to turn the case over to someone else, I understand."
His gaze sliced to her, gleaming like dark fire in the night. "That's not going to happen."
"You probably didn't expect—" She broke off, rubbing her arms. "I didn't expect it to be so difficult."
He stared at her for a long moment, his features locked and hard. "I said I'd protect you and I will. Let's not talk about it again, all right?"
