by Lauren Bach
But this wasn't about seduction. To her, his chest probably looked gruesome. Of course in comparison to what Lyle had told her, the truth was a fairy tale.
"They're not what you think," he said. Six kills.
Transfixed, Renata extended her hand and traced light fingertips over the six precise notches carved above his left nipple. Then her fingers skimmed lower, brushing the scarred patches of mottled flesh that covered his stomach and sides. Her hands were gentle, thorough, as they examined him. Healing hands.
"This doesn't look self-inflicted" she murmured. "Prison?"
"Childhood."
The flash of pity in her eyes was unbearable. That was the last thing he wanted.
Eager to shatter the moment, he unfastened his jeans and lowered the zipper.
Her face flushed as she twisted away. "What are you doing?"
He turned on the water in the tub. "We're taking a shower and going to bed."
"You're crazy! I'm doing no such thing."
She tried to shove past him but he stopped her by putting his hands on her shoulders. With a flick of his wrists, he ripped the remnants of her tattered shirt and bra apart, let them fall to the floor.
She ceased struggling and covered her bare breasts with her arms. "You bastard!"
Paying no heed Adam pressed on. He tugged at the snap on her jeans, slid them down. Unwilling to expose her breasts, she couldn't stop him.
He straightened leaving her underwear in place, her jeans bunched at her feet. "You can take them off yourself. Or I'll do it."
"This is my punishment, isn't it?"
"For escaping? Hardly. So undress. Now."
When she didn't obey, he stepped closer. "Your choice."
"Please don't." She lowered her head.
Catching her chin, Adam forced it up. He ran a hand through the wet hair at her nape, then held his fingers in front of her face. Thick muck caked them.
"Believe me, we're both this filthy. I need a shower just as much as you. And while I don't trust you alone, I won't hurt you, Renata. I promise. Get in."
There was no mistaking the finality in his tone. Get in or be put in.
Renata's options were excruciatingly limited. Fighting him was ludicrous. Even without her injuries she'd lose a physical confrontation with this man. And if Nevin came in to help...
Avoiding his eyes, she awkwardly stepped out of her jeans and underwear, keenly aware of her nudity. And his. To his credit, he didn't gawk.
Without warning, he tucked his hands under her arms and lifted her into the tub. "You first."
His touch scalded her flesh. He set her beneath the spray, cupping her elbow until she found her balance. Then he released her.
For a moment she thought he was leaving her alone to shower. Then he stepped in behind her and closed the curtain. She panicked. The area was too small for two adults, especially one as large as Adam. And as naked...
She slipped.
His hands shot forward, steadying her. "Breathe."
He whispered the word so softly she thought she'd imagined it. She struggled to draw in air. Couldn't.
"Exhale." His breath brushed her ear. "Blow."
She forced air out, inhaling again on reflex.
"One more time," he ordered.
Her trembling subsided.
"Here." He pressed a washcloth into her hand, pointed to the bar of soap on the ledge. "Trade places with me."
Renata twisted sideways as he slid past. Moving mechanically, she lathered her body, in a hurry to finish. Each sweep of the washcloth confirmed new hurts. The abrasions on her side stung. Biting her lip, she worked loose the bits of debris.
She glanced over her shoulder. Adam had his back to her as he scrubbed vigorously at his own skin. Unlike his chest, the skin on his back was smooth. Except for a small round scar on his left shoulder. A bullet. In the back. What all had this man suffered?
She turned away. Reaching for the shampoo, she soaped her hair, working free the clods of mud and small twigs. Brown water pooled in the bottom of the tub. She'd been even dirtier than she'd imagined.
When Adam touched her shoulder, she jumped, nearly fell.
Once again, his hand was there. "You can rinse your hair."
Turning sideways, Renata inched toward the front, grasping the molded ledge for support. But in the close confines their bodies brushed. She recoiled trying not to think about what part of him had brushed her buttocks.
Shampoo dripped into her eyes, stinging. Closing them, she turned her face up to the spray. When her hair was rinsed, she glanced back, wary.
Adam stood, unmoving, watching her. His arms were folded casually across his scarred chest and one shoulder leaned against the wall, in a stance that said he was uninterested. Bored.
Then her eyes dipped lower, grew wide.
With a strangled sound she turned away. Mortified. She hadn't meant to look at his groin, but once she had, she couldn't stop. It was impossible not to notice his penis. Semierect, it seemed overlarge. Too long. Too thick.
And that fast it had swelled, rising away from the dark whorls of pubic hair. Perilous. Threatening.
She sucked in air, recognized the signs of hysteria. Calm down, she ordered. Think. His wasn't the first penis she'd ever seen. She was a doctor, damn it! She knew the biophysical mechanics of erections.
But she was also a female. In a vulnerable position.
She heard the shower curtain move, the wet plastic making a slashing noise. Open. Close. She looked, found Adam had stepped out, left her alone. But not for long. The curtain parted slightly right behind her.
He set a disposable razor on the edge of the tub. "If you want to shave, be quick."
Without another word he jerked the curtain closed. She knew he remained in the bathroom, could hear water running in the sink.
She stared at the cheap razor, dumbfounded. The man makes her shower with him . . . then this? His show of thoughtfulness unnerved her. He was a bad guy. Her expectations of him were dirt low.
Yet he hadn't misbehaved in the shower. Which was probably a ploy to throw her off. His true colors would show through soon enough.
She examined the single-blade razor, satisfied it was new and dismissing its value as a weapon. It was useless. Even if she wanted to save it for later, where would she hide it?
Grabbing the soap, she lathered her leg. It was awkward shaving with her injured ankle and she nicked her skin twice. She gave up just as the water turned cold. When Adam stuck his head in the shower again, she automatically turned away.
"Give me the razor." He shut off the water.
She handed it to him, then watched over her shoulder as he checked that the blade was intact. "Satisfied?"
"Yes. Here's a towel." He thrust his arm forward.
Her fingers brushed his, the sensation as startling as grasping a live electrical wire. The towel dropped.
Adam bent to pick it up and when he straightened, their eyes met.
She lurched as his transformation registered. The three-day stubble that had enhanced his thuggish appearance was gone, leaving those high, perfect cheekbones that she'd admired that first night when she'd thought he was a doctor. She'd been struck then by his good looks. Now that fist-in-the-stomach returned.
He had his hair combed straight back, the wet coal- colored ends brushing his shoulder. But it was his eyes that held her. They were too blue, too deep. Too hypnotic. They haunted. Seduced.
She felt her nipples tighten almost painfully. Alarmed, she dropped her eyes to break the spell.
Immediately she raised them, blushing. He was still fully erect. And, damn it, she was still naked. How could she just stand here like this? Zoned out...
She wrapped the towel around her, nearly losing her balance when she put too much weight on her ankle.
Adam caught her, lifted her out of the shower and set her next to the sink so she could balance against the counter. "Dry off." Then he handed her a packaged toothbrush.
; "Can I have a little privacy?" she asked.
"To use the toilet? Yes. For everything else, no." He stuck out his hand pointing to the towel. "In fact, I'll take that with me. I doubt you'll climb out the window naked. The person you flag down for help might not be such a gentleman."
"My expectations of gentlemen were left in Durham," She stuck out her ankle. "Besides, I've had enough climbing out windows for one night."
He shrugged unapologetic. "Me, too. So hand over the towel. Or I'll take it."
His unspoken I-don't-trust-you angered her. "I hope you burn in hell for this."
"I have a seat reserved."
Turning away, Renata tossed the towel. When the door closed she looked longingly at the window. He was right. She'd try again first chance she got.
When Adam returned, she once more turned her bare back to him. He set a pair of jeans and a T-shirt on the counter beside her. She recognized them from the boxes that had been left on the kitchen table earlier.
"Where are my clothes?" she asked, momentarily forgetting her nudity.
"They were ruined. I threw them out."
The clothes had been Calvin's, so she didn't care about them, but she did want her underwear, had hoped to repair her bra.
"I meant the clothes I had on originally."
"I left them in the RV'
"What?" Incensed she looked up and caught his reflection behind her, in the mirror. He wore jeans, his chest bare.
And he could see every inch of her in the mirror.
Embarrassed, she snagged the shirt and slid it over her head, relieved it at least fell to her hips. She whirled to face him. "You had no right getting rid of my things."
"Give it a rest. These are dry and clean."
"But they're not mine!"
Adam reached for the jeans and withdrew. "Fine. Stay naked."
"Damn you!" She held out her hands for the jeans.
But instead of giving them to her, he dropped to one knee and held them open.
"I need underwear."
"I'll write Santa. Until then, we all go commando."
Her cheeks burned at the thought of him naked beneath his jeans. She thrust her injured foot forward wanting to get dressed as quickly as possible.
He leaned in, carefully tugging the pant leg over her ankle. The move put his mouth at the same level as her groin. She jerked, nearly falling and had to brace a hand against his shoulder. With one smooth move he caught her, supporting her weight.
"Let me," he whispered.
He pulled the jeans up easily, his fingers inside the waistband, trailing lightly along her leg. Sparks of awareness danced along her skin. Memories of him in the shower flitted across her mind. His wet, gleaming, muscles. His erection.
Alarmed, Renata drew her knees together and shoved his hands away, acutely aware she wore nothing beneath the shirt. His fingers would have touched her...
She cut off the thought, zipping the jeans. They were snug across the hips, had obviously been included forLyle.
Adam picked her up.
She protested. "I can walk " That he took extra care not to hurt her only made her madder. She didn't want his thoughtfulness.
"Keeping weight on that ankle is only going to aggravate it."
He carried her into the smaller bedroom and shut the door avoiding the living room and Nevin altogether. He sat her down in the middle of the double bed that was pushed against the wall. Propping her ankle on a pillow, he laid a plastic bag filled with ice across it.
"Rest. Ice. Compression. Elevation," he said. "Just not in the right order."
She frowned, not wanting to give him credit for correctly identifying the treatment for a sprain. "Your medical training is showing again. You were a medic, right?"
He shrugged away her question. "I still need your help with Lyle, so don't get any more ideas about leaving. Not until I'm sure he's out of the woods."
This last gave her hope. "And once he's out of the woods—then what?"
"We'll discuss it later." He nodded toward the door, reminding her of Nevin's presence. He picked up a tube of antibiotic ointment from the nightstand. "Raise your shirt."
She crossed her hands over her abdomen. "I can take care of myself."
"It's quicker if I do it."
"Why the big hurry?"
Out of patience, Adam shoved her hands away and raised the shirt to expose her abraded side. "The only reason you got away tonight is because I'm sleep deprived. And as much as you may think otherwise, the only thing I'm interested in right now is getting some sleep."
It was only a partial lie. Adam was exhausted. But that did little to abate his interest.
He eyed the white cotton T-shirt she wore. He could just make out the dark shading of her aureoles. The soft fabric outlined the thrust of her breasts perfectly, called attention to the fact her nipples were on high alert.
He wasn't a eunuch. He'd seen her fully naked, had enjoyed memorizing every sweet detail. Hell, he'd have to be dead not to be interested—but that didn't matter. She wasn't interested.
Oh, she was curious. They all were, making him feel like a circus freak some days. He was used to that. But he required more than curiosity from a woman. End of story.
He grabbed a square of gauze and covered her side. "That cut on your breast needs salve."
She snatched the tube of ointment so fast he almost laughed out loud. Instead, he gently picked up her ankle and began wrapping it with an elastic bandage.
"It needs more ice," she said.
"In the morning." Finished, Adam looked down at her. "Scoot over."
"I am not sleeping in the same bed with you."
"Don't fight me on this, Renata. You'll lose." He put a knee on the bed, hovering.
She backed away, eyes darting toward the door.
That fast Adam pinned her flat. His hand cradled the side of her neck, his face just inches from hers. "You won't get away again," he whispered. "I promise."
"And I promise: I will! You'll see!"
Shaking his head, he rolled away, freeing her. But not for long.
Punching his pillow, he stretched out and caught her waist. Drawing her close, he threw one leg over hers, effectively shackling her to his side.
"You're right. We'll see."
Chapter Eleven
Willy McEdwin shuffled through the last of the paperwork Tristin had given him.
While his eldest son, Nevin, shared Willy's military and ordnance genius, Tristin and his twin, Burt, were computer experts. Whoever said that spending too much time on the Internet was bad for kids didn't have a clue how hackers were groomed.
He closed the file. Tristin had accessed every record that existed on Adam Duval. Duval had been a delinquent since high school, but had avoided serious trouble with the law until his senior year. Then he'd been accused of selling test results he'd stolen from the school's mainframe. Accused but never charged.
Duval's penchant for getting away with murder started early. A guidance counselor had suggested a deal in which Duval enlisted in the army in lieu of expulsion. He'd spent six years in the military, earning an honorable discharge. Two years later his name popped up in a federal investigation of stolen military arms. But without proof, he remained merely a suspect.
The man was good, with one exception: his poor judgment when it came to women. Duval had been sent to prison after he and his girlfriend were busted with stolen property. It was obvious to Willy that the man had been set up. The FBI had cut his girlfriend a generous deal. Too generous. The sneaky little bitch had sold him out. They weren't called the weaker sex for nothing.
"Still no word on the girlfriend's whereabouts?"
Tristin nodded. "They're calling her Number Seven."
Seven. Willy knew the story behind the notches Duval had carved on his chest. One for each person who'd betrayed him. Once more: There was no proof Duval had murdered anyone. But whether it was truth or legend, it made him a fearsome enemy. Willy admired that.
&nb
sp; "What did you get on his partner, Daniel Montague? Anything?"
"From what I gather, Montague's a brainiac. He hacked the prison computer, moved Lyle and Duval onto the same road gang, then scheduled the bus for a trip to BF, Egypt." Tristin leaned forward. "There seems to be a link between Duval, Montague, and a military project called the Jade Labyrinth."
"What the hell is that?"
"Near as I can figure, Uncle Sam has caches of weapons scattered about that could be accessed by small, specialized military units in the event of a widespread terrorist attack. Top, top secret. We're checking on it now."
Willy narrowed his eyes. Had Duval and Montague raided these stockpiles? "Where's this Montague at now?"
"The FBI thinks he fled to Canada, but they have no real leads. The man's a master at disguises, too. You can bet your ass that Duval knows exactly where he's at."
"Get me more on Montague, then. A man with those kinds of talents has real value. Now what did you find on those prison guards?"
Burt, who'd been quiet up till now, cleared his throat. "They both have a long history of shaking down inmates, but it looks like Irv Wallace—the guard who's missing—was working for the Feds. Lyle swears they left him behind. Uninjured. So I'm guessing the reports attributing his disappearance to the prison break are part of the FBI's propaganda campaign. I bet Wallace is sitting in a safe house somewhere."
"Probably. The FBI wants Lyle and Adam to look dirty as hell." Willy steepled his fingers. "Don't worry about the guard for now. There's too much heat and I don't want to jeopardize this job. It's bad enough Nevin almost blew it."
"But Pa—"
"Don't start. I've got enough problems. Once Lyle's better and that doctor's taken care of, I'm reeling Nevin in."
Chapter Twelve
As Adam expected once Renata quit struggling, her body collapsed from sheer exhaustion. She hadn't slept more than a scattered handful of hours in the past three days. That lack combined with high stress had taken a toll.
Once more he marveled at her strength. She'd been abducted, threatened. Add to that her short-lived escape and subsequent injuries. Most people would have crumbled long before now.
