On the Edge

by Heather Graham, Carla Neggers

  About five minutes into the trip to Quinn’s motel, a horn honked loudly behind them. Kelly gasped, then sat up with a jerk. As she did, the T-shirt that Quinn had laid over her body fell into her lap.

  “Christ almighty,” she muttered, and grabbed the shirt with both hands as she looked wildly around.

  The look in her eyes made Quinn withdraw as far away from her as possible.

  “Easy, lady, it’s only a—”

  “Who the hell are you?” Kelly asked, and then clutched her head, as if the sound of her own voice caused her pain. But when she raised her arms, the T-shirt fell back into her lap.

  Quinn didn’t know whether to answer her question or hit the brakes and get out of the truck. Something told him that putting distance between himself and his reluctant mermaid was a really good idea. However, traffic precluded the notion, so he kept his hands on the wheel and pretended he didn’t see the lush sway of her breasts as she picked up the T-shirt and pulled it over her head.

  Kelly Sloan felt as if her face was going to implode. The pain between her eyebrows was wrapping around her head with increasing tension. But the pain was nothing compared to the fact that she was nearly naked and riding with a stranger. She had a vague memory of calling him Mel, then decided she’d imagined it. Desperate to put something between them besides panic, she managed to pull the T-shirt over her head. Having done that, she dropped her head between her knees for fear she would faint.

  “Lady?”

  The man’s voice was gentle, as was the touch of his hand on her back.

  “I’m all right.” Then she took a deep breath. The intake of oxygen was too much. “On second thought, no I’m not,” she mumbled, and slid off the seat onto the floor.

  “Son of a—” Quinn didn’t finish what he’d been going to say as he floored the gas and shot through the intersection. The motel was closer, or he would have headed for the hospital right then.

  Only a couple of minutes later, he pulled off the highway into the motel parking lot and slammed on the brakes. Once the motor stopped, the silence in the cab was almost frightening. Quinn glanced around the area, then at his watch. It was obviously still early for tourists. From all appearances, the guests of the Sea Gull Inn were still sleeping.

  He jumped out of the truck, palming his room key as he circled the cab. When he opened the passenger side door, the woman’s legs slid out. He caught them—and her—before she hit the pavement. Then, lifting her into his arms, he headed for his room, thankful it was on the ground floor.

  A tousle-headed man wearing nothing but a pair of gym shorts and a hangover came around the corner with a bucket of ice. He eyed Quinn, then the woman he was carrying, and lifted the ice bucket as if in a toast.

  “Way to go, buddy,” he said, then lurched into his room.

  Quinn played along by grinning and nodding, but he kept on walking. Seconds later, he had the key in the lock. When the door swung inward, he strode through quickly, careful not to bang her head on the frame. Only after he’d kicked the door shut and laid her on the bed to check her vital signs did he begin to relax. Her pulse was strong and steady. He checked her hairline for the source of the blood flow and found a small break in the skin near the crown of her head. It didn’t look serious, but he couldn’t be sure.

  She needed a doctor. The possibility of a concussion was too strong to ignore, although instinct told him that the worst things wrong with her were exhaustion and hypothermia. Her skin was cold as ice.

  He slid his hands beneath the hem of the T-shirt and ran his fingers along her rib cage, checking for broken bones. Almost immediately, she flinched, then moaned.

  “Ooh…sorry, honey,” he said softly, then rocked back on his heels. He had nothing resembling first aid supplies. At the least, she needed to be examined by a physician, not a beached cop.

  But he couldn’t forget the urgency in her voice, begging him not to call the cops. Until he knew the reasons why, he would have to err on the side of caution. The best he could do was clean up her cuts and douse them with alcohol. Ice packs would have to do for the bruising, and a few quick prayers for the stupidity of what he was about to do would suffice for the rest, but not until he got her warmer. He cleaned up the scratches, used a washcloth for a bandage on her head, and then piled all the bedcovers in the room on top of her.

  Somewhere in the back of Kelly’s mind, she sensed she was safe. At least for the time being. Even though her eyes were closed, she knew she was lying on a bed. The sheets were soft against her skin, as was the pillow cradling her head. She could hear the man moving about the room and remembered the strength of his arms. Twice she tried to open her eyes, but each time the gentleness of his touch as he urged her to lie still reinforced her need to let go and just sleep. Only once did he cause her pain. When he did, she heard the tenderness and regret in his voice.

  She was trying not to go under. Fearing, if she did, the memories that would come. But exhaustion and the relief of knowing she’d cheated death—and Dominic Ortega—were too great. When she felt the warmth of the covers he was pulling over her body, she gave up the fight and let go. Just for a while. Just until she was warm.

  It was her last cognizant thought until she woke up in the water.

  2

  The woman was still shivering, despite the pile of covers Quinn had put over her. He knew he needed to get her warm, and the quickest way he knew how to do that was a hot bath. He ran the tub full of water, keeping it as hot as he dared. Hesitating only briefly, he slipped the T-shirt over her head, then carried her into the bathroom. Gently, he began lowering her into the tub, unprepared for any kind of protest. But when the water reached her knees, it obviously triggered a memory she would rather forget. She bucked in his arms, then began to thrash and moan. Before he knew it, she’d swung a fist in his direction. He ducked as she cursed and then swung again. At that point, he realized the wiser thing would have been to wake her first.

  “Lady…lady…it’s okay. I’m trying to help you, remember? You’re freezing cold. You need to get warm.”

  She swung at him again and slung a long, shapely leg over the side of the tub, still trying to get out.

  “Christ almighty!” Quinn said and, in disgust, just let her go.

  Unprepared for the sudden freedom, Kelly slipped and then sank beneath the water before coming up sputtering, still ready to fight. Only there was no one trying to push her head beneath the water or stick a knife to her throat—just a wet and rather disgusted looking man watching her from the doorway.

  “I’m sorry I’ve misunderstood your quest,” Quinn said. “If I had realized earlier you were trying to drown, I would have left you at the damned beach.”

  And then Kelly remembered—everything from the knife sinking into Ortega’s chest to the stranger on the shore. He’d probably saved her life.

  “I’m sorry,” she spluttered, wiping hair and water from her face. “I thought you were…I mean…I didn’t know where I was.”

  Quinn’s frustration faded. “You were trying to get away from someone, weren’t you? Who is it? Who are you afraid of?”

  Kelly grabbed a washcloth from the edge of the tub and held it over her breasts.

  “Do you think we could continue this conversation after I’ve finished my bath?”

  Quinn eyed the minuscule bit of terry cloth she was using as a shield. He wanted to tell her he’d already seen all there was to see and then some, but he figured it wasn’t the prudent thing to do.

  “Yeah, sure,” he said. “I’ll lay some dry clothes on the bed for you to put on. Yell at me when you’re ready to come out and I’ll close my eyes.”

  With that, he turned around, closing the door behind him as he left. Kelly didn’t know whether to be relieved or more nervous than ever.

  Close his eyes?

  That was rich. It was clear that he’d already seen everything. However, she appreciated the fact that he had failed to mention it. She sat without moving, staring at the doo
r, ready at any time to bolt if the need arose. But the doorknob didn’t turn, and except for the sound of a television being turned on in the next room, she might have thought she was alone. Satisfied that he meant her no harm, she slowly sank into the warm, steamy depths and closed her eyes.

  More than thirty minutes passed before Quinn heard water running out of the tub. He tried not to think of what was going on behind the door and concentrated on the television program instead. It was a rerun of Walker, Texas Ranger, and he frowned as he watched, doubting that Chuck Norris ever had this much trouble helping a damsel in distress. Before he knew it, the door was open. He glanced up, swallowing past the knot in his throat, and pointed toward the T-shirt and boxer shorts on the back of a chair.

  “Dry clothes,” he muttered. “Doubt they’ll fit as good as what you’re wearing, but they’re clean.”

  Kelly’s eyes narrowed. He had just alluded to the fact that, except for a rather skimpy towel, she was still naked. But beggars couldn’t be choosers, so she grabbed the clothing and slipped back into the bathroom. Minutes later, she was back, this time girded for battle.

  But when she came out, the television was off, and the man was sitting on the side of the bed with his elbows resting on his knees, staring at the toes of his tennis shoes. When she opened the door, he looked up.

  “My name is Quinn McCord.”

  Kelly flinched. He certainly wasn’t a man to waste words.

  “I’m…uh…Kelly Sloan.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  He stood, and as he did, Kelly took a protective step back.

  “Well, you didn’t sound so sure. Is that a made-up name, or are you just forgetful?”

  She frowned; then, remembering what she’d endured the past few days, she lifted her chin and pushed past him.

  “It’s mine,” she said, and sat down on the side of the bed, then reached for the phone. She started to dial a number, then remembered she didn’t know how much she could trust this stranger who called himself Quinn McCord. “I need to make a phone call. Do you mind?”

  Her high-handed attitude rubbed him the wrong way. Instead of exiting the room, as she expected him to do, he took the phone out of her hand, replaced it on the cradle, then stood in her space.

  “Actually, yes, I do mind,” he said. “This is my room, which makes this my business. This goes no further until you tell me what the hell is going on.”

  “Look,” Kelly said. “My name is Kelly Sloan. I’m a cop. Actually, DEA, okay? And the call I need to make is private.”

  A cop? All Quinn could think was halla-freakin’-lujah. He started to grin. “I don’t suppose you have any ID to back that up?”

  She glared. “Did you see any ID when you carried me out of the bay?”

  His grin widened. “I guess I saw everything but ID.”

  Kelly’s glare intensified. “You’re certainly no gentleman.”

  “You’re right about that,” Quinn said, then sat down beside her. “So you’re DEA?”

  She nodded. “Yes. Now back off, smart-ass. I don’t have time to play your little games.”

  Quinn’s grin disappeared as he got up and walked to the table and opened his duffel bag. A few seconds later, he turned around and tossed something onto the bed beside her.

  Kelly stared at the silver star in disbelief.

  “You’re a Ranger?”

  “Yes, ma’am, that I am.”

  “What are you doing in Galveston?”

  “I was fishing. Caught a mermaid instead.”

  She fingered the badge. “Is this for real?”

  “At least you can see mine. I’m taking your story on faith.”

  Her shoulders slumped with relief; then she winced as the motion caused her some pain.

  “You need to see a doctor,” Quinn said.

  “Can’t take the chance,” Kelly said. “They’ve got to think I’m dead.”

  “Who’s they?”

  “Ever hear of Dominic Ortega?”

  Quinn’s eyes widened. “That’s who you’re running from?”

  “Not him specifically…at least, not anymore. Before I got off the boat, I left a ten-inch knife in the middle of his chest.”

  Quinn stared at her, judging the wounds that she had against the strength of mind it must have taken to get away from someone that powerful and that bad.

  “What happened?”

  “My cover was blown. He spent a few days trying to find out what I knew and who I’d told it to.”

  Without thinking, Quinn touched the bruise on her face, then the cuts on her legs.

  “How did you manage to stay alive?”

  Kelly shrugged. “For the first three days, I kept throwing up on him. It was only today, when the seas calmed, that I knew he was through playing around. Never thought I’d be happy to say I suffer from motion sickness, but it’s for certain that I won’t complain about it again.”

  Quinn laughed, and the sound curled Kelly’s toes.

  “They need to think I drowned,” Kelly said. “But I also need to contact my boss at the DEA. He’s helping coordinate a federal case against Ortega’s brother-in-law, Ponce Gruber. The Feds made a deal with Gruber in exchange for the information it took to get me inside Ortega’s organization. Only I think Gruber double-crossed both of us, and it almost cost me my life.”

  “How so?”

  “A man showed up at Ortega’s place down in Mexico. I arrested him three years ago and watched him go to prison. I knew he and Gruber were in the same prison, but what I didn’t know was that Garza was going to get early release. I’m guessing Gruber told him to reconnect with Ortega and hope that he would recognize whoever the DEA had sent undercover. That way Gruber was off the hook both ways. He’d made his deal with the Feds. It wouldn’t be his fault if it didn’t work out. And he’d pointed Jose Garza in my direction, knowing if the undercover agent was someone Garza knew, then Ortega would have him or her killed. Either way, Gruber was going to be a winner. And if I don’t show up to tell them what he did, then Gruber misses the death penalty he deserves.”

  “What about Ortega? Are you sure he’s dead?”

  Kelly sighed. “No. Only that I hurt him bad. If he is alive, I have enough evidence linking the two to put both of them beneath six feet of Mother Earth. And if Ortega is alive and he finds out that I didn’t drown, he will do everything in his power to make sure I don’t get to Washington, D.C., alive.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “May I use your phone?”

  Quinn sighed. “Be my guest.”

  Kelly picked up the receiver and made the call. Her fingers were shaking as she punched in the numbers. She hated being weak. Then Quinn McCord moved into her line of vision as he sat down in the chair across from the bed. He’d seen her weak and naked. How much worse could this get?

  “Michael Forest speaking.”

  The male voice in her ear made her jump. She’d been so busy thinking about the Ranger that she’d almost forgotten she’d made the call.

  “Captain Forest, it’s Kelly.”

  There was a soft gasp on the other end of the line; then Kelly heard the delight in her boss’s voice.

  “Kelly! Thank God! We had intelligence leading us to believe you were dead.”

  Kelly sighed. “You weren’t so far off the truth.”

  “Are you all right? Where are you?”

  “I’m fine. As for where I am, let’s just say I’m no longer in deep water. I called to let you know that I’ll be in D.C. on July 15 as planned.”

  “Fantastic. What about Ortega?”

  “I might have killed him.”

  There was a moment of silence; then Michael Forest spoke, but this time the elation was gone from his voice.

  “What did he do to you?”

  “I’m in one piece. Leave it at that.”

  Reluctance was heavy in his voice. “Okay, but—”

  “There’s som
ething else you need to know,” Kelly said. “I think Gruber double-crossed us.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Was he incarcerated in the same prison as a man named Jose Garza?”

  “I don’t know. I can find out. Why?”

  “I helped put a man named Jose Garza in prison about three years ago. He had a five-year sentence, but apparently they turned him out after three. He was one of Ortega’s men. The first place he went when he got out was back to the fold, so to speak.”

  “Son of a—”

  “Yeah, that was pretty much my reaction,” Kelly said.

  “How did you find out?”

  “Garza showed up at Ortega’s, recognized me, of course, and that was pretty much it.”

  “Damn. I’m sorry, Kelly. We didn’t know.”

  “Just make sure that Gruber knows his deal is screwed. I want him to think about how many ways there are to die while he’s waiting for his trial.”

  Forest sighed. “If I tell him that, then he’s going to know that you’re alive…and that you’re going to testify against him.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m not going to do it, so get over the notion. Please, Kelly. Let me send some men to bring you in. We’ll put you in a safe house until the trial.”

  Kelly looked up, eyeing the long-legged Texan with the stubborn jut to his chin, and stifled a smile.

  “I’m in a safe house already. Just look for me at the trial.”

  She hung up as Michael Forest continued to argue.

  Quinn leaned forward without taking his gaze from her face.

  Kelly stared back, judging the man without finding him wanting.

  Quinn was silently pleased that Kelly considered herself safe with him. He didn’t stop to think about why that mattered, only that it satisfied something inside him to know there was, at the least, trust between them now.

  “Your head is still bleeding,” Quinn said.

  Kelly lifted a hand to her forehead, frowning as her fingers came away sticky with blood.

  “You also need your cuts tended, but all I have is some antibiotic cream and a bottle of alcohol.”