Had Coyote raped her?
He could take her to the hospital, but it would raise too many questions. A report would be made and all passengers would be questioned. USCIS wouldn’t tolerate that kind of scrutiny. Coyote was on their critical watch list. Lots of questions, that’s all a hospital report would generate. Best to avoid the hospital if possible.
They’d probably already missed their connecting flight to Kalispell, which meant they’d catch the red-eye. Somehow, the thought of spending the night in the airport didn’t bother him as much as it had before. Watching Madison, Aiden realized he could study that face a long time.
The ice cracked again, and Aiden drew a deep breath. The team would laugh to see him now.
Iceman.
He’d first heard the nickname in a bar in Barcelona. It was the end of a month-long op that had begun in Warsaw, continued through Frankfurt and Munich, and finally ended in Milan with one dead.
The team had gathered in a small pub in southwest Barcelona. By the end of the evening, only he and Dean were left sitting at the bar, nursing beers and trying to silence the ghosts that haunt all agents.
“Who is Iceman?”
“You are, bud.” Dean signaled the bartender to bring another round for them both.
Aiden grunted. Everyone was given a name. He supposed there were less accurate ones than Iceman.
“Want to know why?”
“My lack of personality?”
Dean studied him in the mirror over the bar.
“Back there in Milan, when you killed Stretch—”
“Any man in the agency could have made that shot, would have made it.”
“Right. With a locked and loaded 357 less than two feet from their own head, any one of us would have still taken the gamble, aimed our weapon, pulled the trigger, made the shot.”
“We’re trained not to back down.”
“We are.”
Dean downed half the beer the barkeep set in front of him.
“So why Iceman?” Aiden turned the glass, stared into the amber liquid.
“Because, my friend, any one of us would have made the shot,” Dean stood and reached for his wallet. “But the rest of us would have broken into a sweat.”
Aiden waved for him to put his wallet away. “It’s on me.”
Dean nodded and finished the beer in another long gulp. “There were three guys within ten feet of you and Stretch. They all swear you never flinched, just took the shot and walked away.”
Dean’s eyes met his in the mirror, then he slapped Aiden on the back, said good night, and was gone. Aiden was left alone, staring into his own reflection, the reflection of a man he didn’t really know anymore.
He’d killed three men since joining USCIS. Truth be told, he’d never hesitated, never broke a sweat, never had a moment’s regret about ending their pitiful existence.
No, the guilt that plagued him was a different sort. When he woke in the middle of the night, sheets wet from the sweat pouring off his body, adrenaline pumping so that he was sure he would have a heart attack, it was never the men he’d killed in the line of duty that haunted him.
The image that tormented him was his father’s. Aiden accepted the blame for his father’s death as if he had aimed a pistol and shot him dead. The way Aiden saw it, not pulling a trigger could make you as guilty of killing a person as pulling one—in certain situations.
Iceman. Yeah, he felt encased in ice all right. He might as well have the name tattooed on his arm.
Aiden looked over at Madison and wondered why the ice around his emotions threatened to crack now. Why did she awaken feelings in him that hadn’t stirred in so long, feelings he thought long dead? He remembered the softness of her hair against his fingertips, brushed his hand over his face, and found her scent lingering in his palm. Above all he wanted to hold her again as he had when he’d carried her into the lounge. Instead he counted her breaths, unconsciously timed her pulse against the clock in his head.
He’d wait, and he’d watch, and if Coyote dared to come near her, he’d break his neck with his bare hands.
WHEN MADISON OPENED her eyes, her first thought was that the pain was gone. Her second thought was it must have been a dream. Then she sat up and looked around.
She was in a room decorated with designer furniture and soft colors. The lights were dim, making it impossible to tell what time it was. Sitting two feet from her, staring straight at her, was the best-looking cowboy she’d ever seen.
“Where am I?” Her throat was dry, her voice a raspy whisper.
“You’re in an airport lounge. Drink this.” He handed her a bottle of water.
She tried to open it, but her hands were shaking too badly.
“Let me help you.” He lowered himself onto the floor in front of her.
Madison wondered if he always sat on the floor while wearing Armani and a Stetson. The suit looked like one she’d seen in a catalogue she’d poured over with her mother. They had been picking out perfect men, who of course wore perfect suits. The thought of her mother brought back the old pain, and she knew she wasn’t dreaming. If this were a dream she’d have the cowboy, maybe the suit, but not the pain in her heart. She automatically reached for her necklace, the comfort of her mother’s blessing.
Madison took a long drink. The coldness brought a measure of relief to her throat. She’d chugged half the bottle, when he reached out and took it from her.
“You should go slow with that,” he said, moving back to the chair he had pulled up close to the couch.
Madison let him take the bottle and looked around the room in amazement. “I’m not in Kansas anymore.”
His laugh was nice—deep and genuine. “I believe you started in Texas.”
“Right.” The silence went on for a moment as she scanned the room, looking for a clue to help her remember how she’d come to be in this place with this man. “Who are you?”
“Aiden Lewis,” He reached up and tipped the Stetson. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Hart.”
“Madison, please.” It was an automatic response, quickly followed by suspicion. “How do you know my name?”
“We were on the same flight.”
“A flight that didn’t crash.” She pushed that old fear away as she distinctly remembered a paramedic assuring her they had landed safely.
“No, but that seems to be a big concern of yours—”
His explanation was interrupted by a soft tap on the door. An older woman walked into the room. She wore a nametag which said, DIANA, LEAD RECEPTIONIST.
“It’s good to see you awake, Miss Hart. Is there anything I can bring you?”
Madison looked at Mr. Lewis.
He shrugged. “They have great food here. Are you hungry?”
“No, but I would like more water.”
“I’ll bring some more right away,” Diana said.
“Thank you.” Her voice was still scratchy, and she still couldn’t remember what had happened.
Mr. Lewis waited until the door had closed before he continued.
“You don’t remember?” He handed her the water, which she quickly finished.
“No. I remember arriving at the Dallas airport, and that’s it. Why can’t I remember the flight to Utah?”
A look of uncertainty passed over the cowboy’s face so quickly Madison wondered if she imagined it.
“You fell asleep during the flight and woke with a terrible headache.”
There was more he wasn’t telling her, but she had no idea what or why.
“A headache?”
“A blinding headache. Any history of migraines?”
“I have the occasional one, but I’ve never forgotten an entire evening. It is still evening. Right?”
“Actually it’s morning.” He looked at his watch. “Three a.m.”
Madison nearly jumped off the couch. “I have to catch my plane.”
“It’s gone already. The next one is in three hours.”
Madison sank ba
ck into the couch and stared at him, fidgeting again with her angel pendant. She searched her mind for any detail, any clue to the hours she’d lost, but there was nothing.
For some reason, the cowboy looked familiar. Sandy-blond hair, tailored suit, black Stetson. He was trim, muscular, but not overly so, with a tan that indicated he made his living outdoors—something she seriously doubted given the suit. He watched her as she tried to work through her fog, not rushing her, not interrupting, just watching. He didn’t stare exactly, but neither did he look away.
She’d looked into those gray eyes before. Hadn’t she? It was in there. She could feel it—a memory that she couldn’t retrieve.
“I don’t mean to sound rude or ungrateful, but who are you, Mr. Lewis? Why are you here, and how did I miss my plane?” Her voice rose as the questions tumbled out and her pulse quickened.
Something wasn’t right. She should be in Kalispell, Montana now, tucked into the hotel room she’d reserved for the night. She should be resting up for the morning drive to Edgewood, not sitting in a first-class lounge with a rescuing cowboy.
The door opened again, and Diana returned with two more bottles of water. She handed them both to Mr. Lewis, who popped open the seal and handed one to her.
“Thank you, Diana,” Mr. Lewis said.
The woman nodded and left without another word.
Madison thought about following her, but hesitated when she saw the expression on the cowboy’s face. He looked tired and somehow vulnerable despite his size.
“I should go, Mr. Lewis.”
“Please call me Aiden. I was on the same flight out of Dallas that you were on. When we arrived in Salt Lake, I remained on the plane to check a few emails. I’m usually the last to leave the plane. I see no reason to hurry up and stand in line to exit the contraption just so I can wait somewhere else to board another.”
Aiden hesitated, opened his own bottle, and drank the entire thing. Setting it on the Persian rug beside his chair, he rested both his hands on his knees.
“And?” Madison asked.
“And as I was gathering my things to leave, I heard an elderly woman call for help from the back of the plane. I have my emergency medical certification, so I went to see what was wrong.”
“And you found me?”
“I found you.”
Aiden stared into her eyes, and Madison again struggled against that stirring deep inside. He had the look of a man trapped, and she wondered why.
“Your blood pressure was very low and you had a blinding headache. The flight attendants tried to send you to the hospital, but you refused.”
“That sounds like something I would do.”
“Why? Most people would want help when they’re in extreme pain.”
Madison searched for her angel pendant, found it, adjusted it on the chain around her neck so she would have an excuse to touch it. “I don’t like doctors.”
“Apparently.”
“Then what happened?”
“Then I brought you here.”
“And here is—”
“First-class lounge.”
“I’ll say.” Madison looked around her, took in the fine furnishings and original oil on canvas paintings. She would never have guessed such a place existed inside an airport. “So, I’m in Salt Lake City.”
“Correct.”
“And it’s three in the morning.”
“Correct again.”
“And you’ve been sitting there watching me sleep.”
“I couldn’t just leave you.” He had the grace to blush. “I felt responsible since I brought you here.”
“Right.”
“And we’re both connecting to Kalispell.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I live in Edgewood.”
Madison chuckled softly. “I’m going to be living in Edgewood as well. I somehow doubt we’ll live in the same part of town though.”
“You might be surprised. It’s a fairly small place.”
She stood, gathered her pink and purple backpack and looked around for her carry-on.
“They’re holding it at the gate for you.”
“First-class service is certainly accommodating.”
He had stood as well, and when she walked over to him she had to look up to see into those guarded gray eyes.
“Thank you, Mr. Lewis.” She held out her hand, which was immediately lost in his.
“Aiden. I’m on first name basis with all the women I rescue.”
Madison looked at his hand still holding hers and wondered how often he did this sort of thing. She was standing so close she caught the light woodsy scent of his cologne and something else as well. Soap and deodorant and something that had her wanting to lean up into his neck. Why did he seem so familiar? She pulled her hand away gently and shouldered her bag.
“Thank you, Aiden. You’ve been more than kind. I do appreciate it. Now I have a flight to catch.”
She turned and walked out of the room. He caught up with her before she’d found the main reception area.
“Where are you going?”
“To the gate.” She stopped at the reception desk and spoke to the receptionist. “I’m connecting to Kalispell. Can you tell me which gate that flight departs from?”
“Sure thing, Ms. Hart. You’ll be leaving out of Gate 16, Terminal 2.” Diana handed her a boarding pass. “Your bag is waiting for you there.”
“Thank you so much.”
Madison walked out into the corridor and scanned the signs for Terminal Two. It wasn’t until the room started to spin and she began to fall that she realized Mr. Lewis was still with her.
AIDEN SLIPPED AN ARM around Madison as she was about to go down.
“Steady there.”
When she looked up he couldn’t help smiling into those brown eyes. You’d think he’d saved her from a burning building.
“Mr. Lewis.”
“Aiden.”
“Aiden, thank you. I’m fine though. Really.”
“Collapsing in the middle of the airport isn’t what we call fine in Montana, and I doubt it’s what they call fine in Salt Lake. I’m sure those paramedics are lurking around somewhere if you want me to call them.”
Her eyes went wide, and he knew he’d hit the spot he was aiming for.
“Maybe I did rush it a bit.”
“Yeah, I guess you did. Maybe you need something to eat.”
He guided her toward his usual stopover spot. He’d have to trust the food was safe, that it at least was out of Coyote’s reach. If he’d wanted to poison her, he could have done it on the plane. She really did need to eat something. Food would help push the Valium out of her system.
Dinner would also give him an excuse to stick with her a bit longer. She could have latent reactions to the drugs Coyote had given her—it was rare, but not unheard of.
Then there was Coyote himself. In all likelihood the man had left as he’d claimed he was going to, but Aiden wasn’t willing to bet Madison’s life on that probability. Of course if Coyote had wanted to kill her, he could have done it on the plane. Homicide on a plane is a messy affair though. It would have been discovered within minutes, and murders tended to shut down airports for several hours.
Why had he drugged her to begin with?
What am I missing here?
Aiden kept his arm around Madison’s waist, supporting her as they walked through the airport.
“I can walk on my own,” Madison said, attempting to pull away. “I’m fine, really. I was only dizzy for a minute.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Aiden stopped in the middle of the concourse, which was nearly deserted given that it was close to 3:30 in the morning. “If you pass out I’ll have to throw you over my shoulder.”
“Is this what you normally do in the middle of the night? Walk through airports looking for women to throw over your shoulder?”
Aiden tilted his head back and laughed, then placed his hand un
der her elbow and continued propelling her toward the only eatery open all night. “You are definitely feeling better.”
“I’m beginning to wonder if you were following me.”
“We are going to the same connecting flight. Or were you in such a hurry to ditch me you forgot that?”
“It’s kind of creepy though. Having this rich guy pop up every time I pass out.”
“How do you know I’m rich? And I was raised with better manners than to follow women. I was worried when you rushed out of the lounge like a crazy woman.”
“Hmm.”
“Is that what you say when you don’t want to answer a question?”
“Which question?”
“How do you know I’m rich?”
“Please. The clothes, the haircut, don’t ask me to make a list.”
“I like lists,” he teased.
She shook her head from side to side, causing her lovely brown hair to cascade over her shoulders. “I feel like I know you from somewhere, other than the lounge I mean. I can’t remember though.” Her frown deepened. “Actually, I seem to have forgotten most of the evening.”
“All the more reason you should have a bite to eat. I bet you don’t remember whether you’ve eaten either.” He did his best to lighten the mood, desperate to put her at ease.
“I am sort of hungry.”
Her smile nearly took his breath away.
Stay cool, Iceman. You’re on a mission, not a date.
But regardless how his brain argued, his body and heart responded to this woman.
It took all his control to leave his hand at her elbow and not travel up her back. He wondered again what it would feel like to hold all of that hair, to touch the back of her neck, to kiss her lips. He was so focused on what he shouldn’t do and keeping an eye out for Coyote, he walked right past the café. He stopped in the middle of the terminal, trying to get his bearings.
“Where were we going?”
Madison laughed and pointed to the OPEN 24 HOURS sign they had passed. “There?”
“Right.” He shook his head and turned them back toward the café. “Food and coffee, which I obviously could use right now.”
Coyote's Revenge Page 6
