Her eyes narrowed.
Okay, maybe this isn't the time for flattery.
Unlocking her ankles, she released her legs from around him. He dragged in a deep breath, the action pressing his body heavily against hers. She gasped.
"Drop the knife," he ordered.
She tightened her jaw, obviously not wanting to.
"Come on," he coaxed. "If you hadn't come into the shed, you wouldn't even have known I was here. I just need some supplies and I will get out of your way. But cross me and this won't end happily for either of us."
She held his gaze for a long moment, sifting through his protective barriers looking for something she could exploit. He hadn't been observed like that in a long time.
"Fine." She stabbed the knife into the ground. "Now, get the hell off of me."
Chapter Two
Briar Levine had worked with enough wild animals in her lifetime that showing how scared shitless she was would be to give away everything.
The man solidly aroused on top of her, holding her own gun to her head—didn't that bite—was none other than West McAllister.
A statewide manhunt had been issued for him last night.
He'd been found guilty yesterday and sentenced to life in prison after a long drawn out court case in Anchorage. His face and story had been splashed all over the news for months as he was on trial for murdering the detective working for the district attorney, Wade Yakov.
Somehow McAllister had escaped while being transported to the Spring Creek Correctional Center in Seward. The officials weren't saying what happened—pending an investigation—but something had gone really wrong and one US Marshal was dead and another in the hospital. A firestorm of law enforcement had inundated the small coastal town of Seward, Alaska. It had taken her forever to return home after her supply run this afternoon. If only it had taken her a little longer...
McAllister was considered extremely dangerous.
No kidding, and now thanks to her, they could add armed to that.
They should have mentioned that he was also wily, had serious endurance, and tenacity. An average man wouldn't have been able to traverse the treacherous distance from the Correctional Center to her secluded acreage of land, which butted up against the Chugach National Forest.
"We're going to slowly get up," McAllister said, lessening the force of the gun he held against her neck by small degrees. "No sudden moves. You don't twitch unless I tell you to. Got it?"
She grunted. The sound was about all she could get out with her heart stuck in her throat. It seemed to be enough for him.
He kept the gun trained on her and inched to his feet. Yanking the knife from the earth, he depressed and pocketed the blade.
That was her dad's knife. He wasn't keeping it, she see him dead first.
Damn, but McAllister was big. It seemed to take him forever to stand straight, and then his broad shoulders blocked out the sun that hung heavy in the August evening sky.
"Get up," he ordered.
Didn't matter that he was dressed in red cotton prison drawstring pants and a loose-like surgical top, his presence was arresting. His black hair was cut short on the sides with longer layers on top. Sharp bones lay under skin the color of honey. Robust and risky, he looked like every woman's idea of a bad boy. And murder was about as bad boy as you could get.
Briar steadily pushed herself up, knowing she'd feel the results of their wrestling match in the morning—if she was still alive by then. The muscles in her legs already ached and shook under her as she stood. Subconsciously she dusted off her jeans, stopping when his slate eyes heated as he watched her.
Eyes that color of gray should be cold and dull. His were molten and shimmery as he drank her in.
"If you attempt to rape me," she said. "I'll feed you your balls, so help me God."
She'd been loose with her tongue earlier. She tended to be normally, even more so when nervous or scared.
He appeared offended by the suggestion, but then those silvery eyes—arched with raven brows—smoldered as they seemed to consider.
Her pulse pounded in her ears and everything around her suddenly went crisp in clarity.
"I need to finish my chores." Somehow she had to get another chance at getting away. What better way than to make a dash for it when feeding Alice Cooper, her resident grizzly.
"Not tonight." He shook his head.
"You don't understand. This is a wildlife rehabilitation habitat. I have injured and wild animals relying on me for their food and medicine. They won't wait."
"Neither will I." He motioned with the gun for her to head back down the path to the cabin. "Now move."
What happened once they were in the cabin? She'd been taught never to be taken anywhere by a kidnapper. Was he considered a kidnapper if he 'nabbed' and held her in her own house? Who was she kidding? The man was a known murderer. She had to figure out how to get away from him and call the police.
She didn't have any close neighbors, and usually preferred it that way. Having bears and wolves on the property meant that she needed a big enough spread to care for them. And people didn't like living next to her because of the dangerous animals she took in.
Animals that got really testy if they didn't get their food on time.
"Move faster." West prodded her from behind. His voice was strained. Probably didn't want to be out in the open wearing his bright red convict uniform. Anyone would be able to see him. He'd done a good job of dirtying them up, trying to tone down the target red color, but it hadn't helped much.
She rounded the corner of the path and her cabin came into view as well as the breathtaking sights of Resurrection Bay. Deep cobalt waters glistened in the evening sun surrounded by glaciers and carved fjords. Living here, looking out at this imposing landscape had always made her feel free, untouchable.
Until now.
Now she was all alone and at the mercy of a convicted killer. She'd let her guard down when it came to the two-legged animals. She knew better. They were the most dangerous of all.
"Stop," he ordered. "Anyone inside the cabin?"
No one.
She was all on her own since her dad had died a year ago. He'd had a heart the size of Alaska. He'd started rehabilitating animals when she'd been a child. It had been the most amazing childhood, to grow up feeding foxes, coyotes, wolves, raptors, and then onto the bigger animals, moose and bears.
"Is there anyone in the cabin," he said again, louder this time.
"No. It's just me." How lonely did that sound? She hadn't felt lonely until now. Would she die tonight at his hands? Killed at the age of twenty-nine, not even reaching her thirtieth birthday this fall? She'd go down in history as being another victim to this man. After killing her, who else would die until he was caught again?
"You don't really think you're going to get out of this, do you?" she asked.
"Yes, I do."
"They've started a house-by-house search for you. It's only a matter of time before they show up here."
"I'll be gone before they do. Come on." He pushed her between her shoulder blades.
The gun was at her back and, though she couldn't see it, she sure felt the eye of the barrel pointed at her.
Briar climbed the four steps to the wide porch, scanning the area for something she could grab to defend herself.
Damn, why was she so OCD about everything needing to be in its place? If there were, say, an axe handy she might have a chance. Right, like he couldn't get off a bullet in the time she could swing an axe. She was strong, but speed was a factor, and McAllister was too on guard.
"Slowly open the door." He grabbed her arm.
"Don't touch me." She yanked in his hold, and he tightened it.
Ooh, she wanted to take him down. Fire burned in her gut, churning with the fear, making a toxic daredevil mix. She had to keep her head about her. Stay calm and not let her temper fly. Somehow she had to think of him as a wounded bear. All teeth, muscles, and claws. She had a way of c
alming an animal so they allowed her to treat them. But animals were honest and people—men—were not.
She opened the door, knowing with a sinking feeling in her soul that once West McAllister crossed over the threshold, her home would no longer feel like a safe haven.
His grip tightened on her arm as he kicked the door shut behind them. The light considerably dimmed. The log walls muted and absorbed the lowering sunlight filtering through the large windows overlooking the bay.
It was a simple space of living room, dining room, and kitchen combination, with a loft overhead and two bedrooms and a bathroom at the back. The space got considerably smaller with McAllister at her side.
There was nothing around her to utilize. If the place was messy, she could have stumbled, surprised him by picking up a frying pan and beaning him with it or something.
He pulled out a kitchen chair and placed it in the middle of the room. "Sit." He pushed her into the chair and released her, but kept the gun pointed at her as he started ransacking the kitchen drawers.
"What are you doing?" she asked, her mouth going dry.
He found the utility drawer and paused. He set the duct tape on the counter and grabbed the rope.
"No." She swallowed the terror that strangled her. "Don't. You don't have to do this."
He didn't say anything. His jaw just tightened as he strode determinedly toward her, the rope hooked in his hand.
She jumped to her feet and tried to make a run for it. No way was she letting him tie her up. Besides, a moving target was harder to shoot.
He was quicker than he should've been for such a big man. He scooped her off her feet with one arm around her middle before she reached the door and slammed her ass back onto the chair. "I said not to move."
She struggled in his one-arm grip, kicking out trying to hit him in a sensitive spot and connecting in a few.
"Shit. Stop," he said through clenched teeth. "Damn it."
She heard the rope hit the floor, and he tucked the gun in the back of his pants. Seizing her arms, he straddled her legs, and sat on her, effectively preventing her from moving or kicking out at him. Hooking his ankles over hers, he pulled her arms behind her back, and encircled her wrists in one of his large hands. Chest to chest, face to face, their heavy breaths mingled.
"Don't fight me," he said. "You will lose."
Physically he held her prisoner, but it was his eyes that truly captivated. There was nothing but truth in his silver gaze. The hairs on the back of her neck rose on end and her already racing heart skipped up in speed. His breathing slowed and his gaze traveled over her face, pausing at the pulse beating in her neck, then dipped to where her t-shirt pulled across her breasts and showed more cleavage than it should. She had large breasts. Everything about her was ample size, but he made her feel small.
He could crush her.
He smelled like the woods. Rich dirt and trampled leaves. His shoulders were massive, and his arms with their bunched muscles and veins worried and yet appealed to her. A sprinkling of chest hair showed above the V in the loose prison shirt.
Prison shirt.
He was a criminal. Didn't matter how nicely he was packaged, there was nothing here for her to admire. But then even a deadly animal was impressive, and West McAllister was very impressive. The essence of survival. She just hoped his desire to survive didn't mean the end of hers.
He reached for the rope and his body pressed harder into hers, decompressing the air in her chest, and fear returned.
Once he tied her up, she'd be at his mercy. Who was she kidding? She was at his mercy now. His body surrounded hers, and she could feel him everywhere. He was so...large.
Still holding her hands behind her with one of his, he brought up the rope. Using his teeth he worked free the ends she'd wrapped and knotted around the length to keep it from tangling. His teeth were even, white, and strong with pink healthy gums. What a fine specimen. There didn't seem to be anything physically wrong with him.
What was she doing? Summing him up like one of the animals she treated?
He looped the rope and tied a slip-knot one-handed, then leaned into her again, his chest squashing her breasts. Air whooshed out of her lungs. Quickly he tied her hands together and sat up, his eyes meeting hers.
They heated, and she sucked in a breath.
"Don't kick me," he said, his voice deeper, the timbre of vibrations almost seemed to caress her. Planting his hands wide over the tops of her thighs—to prohibit any attempt at defense on her part—he moved off her and rested on his haunches. His position brought their heads level.
Heat coiled in her middle. Something very much like interest flared.
What the hell? No, not interest, awareness. She was too aware of him. His size, his strength, the threat he represented. Not interest.
He was too close to kick and do any damage. She'd just hurt herself if she tried.
Slowly he dragged his hands over the tops of her thighs, his eyes flickering from hers to her legs. Ripples of sensation followed in the wake of his touch. One palm cupped her knee and his hand closed over her calf. She shivered and it became hard to swallow.
He reached under the chair for the rope hanging from her tied hands and looped the end around one ankle, securing it to the chair. Once that was done, he carefully restrained her other leg. She couldn't move this way. If she pulled on her hands, it tightened the ropes at her feet, and vice-versa.
He checked her bindings, and then his hand caressed up her calf. "I am sorry for this," he said. Sincerity shined from his eyes, but she bet a murderer was probably good at lying.
Then again why would he bother lying to her? He had her hog-tied. She was no threat to him this way.
"What are you going to do now?" she asked, the words coming out before she could hold them back. She couldn't show weakness, and damn it, her voice sounded all shaky and shit.
He didn't answer her, which left her at the mercy of her imagination.
Straightening, he took a couple steps back and glanced around the cabin. "Nice place you have here. Good workmanship. Someone knew their craft."
Her dad had built the cabin over a period of two years. Taking his time with every tree he cut down and notched to fitted-perfection. Until the cabin had been built, they'd lived in a small camp trailer. Her dad had been talented and innovative in anything he chose to tackle.
"What's your name?" McAllister asked.
"Does it matter?"
He gave her a sad smile. "Yes. It matters to me."
"Briar Levine."
"Briar." He tried out her name like he was tasting something he found pleasant. "I like it."
"I don't care."
Now he smiled with humor. "Your name certainly fits." Slowly he looked her over from the top of her red hair, pausing at her breasts, which were maximized for his viewing pleasure with her arms tied behind her back, to her feet in her Xtratuf boots secured to the legs of the chair. "Every rose has its thorn," he murmured.
He did not just mention her favorite song by Poison. She was a fan of the oldies as her dad had been a metal head.
West McAllister rubbed his side and pulled away the fabric of his shirt stained with blood. "Where's your first aid kit?"
"I'm too tied up to tell you."
He snorted. "You're a spitfire."
No, she was stupid. It would be best if she didn't talk to him. Didn't engage. But he was right. She had thorns and no filter. If she thought it, she said it, much to her regret. It was one of the reasons she spent more time around animals than people. She tended to offend.
"It would have been fun to have met you under different circumstances," he said.
"Not likely." Damn it, Briar. Shut the hell up.
Now he outright laughed. "I always did like a woman with a lot of spit and vinegar."
That shut her up. She gulped and the silence stretched between them. She was the first to look away.
"I'm going to make myself at home," he said. "Be right back."
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"Don't hurry on my account. I'm not going anywhere," she muttered. Somehow she needed to get free. She had responsibilities, animals who counted on her.
A lone wolf howled off in the distance as though in agreement.
Chapter Three
West gave Briar one last look and hated the feelings of shame sinking in. He wouldn't mind tying her up under different circumstances. One where they'd both enjoyed it. As it was, he had liked restraining her more than he should have.
He couldn't remember another time he'd responded so quickly to a woman. The situation couldn't be worse. He was fighting to stay alive, and all the cards were stacked against him. His illustrious career as a US Marshal was down the toilet and he'd been labeled a murderer.
There was nothing he had to offer Briar, or anyone, except living a nightmare. The best thing he could do was to gather supplies and get the fuck away from her as fast as he could.
He left her gazing out of the window, a calculated look on her face, her hands clenched in fists behind her. She might be scared, but he hadn't broken her spirit and that pleased him. She was one feisty woman. Maybe once all this business was over he could return and they could start again?
Right. Chances were he'd be dead tomorrow.
West turned down the hallway and found two rooms. He entered the first one and the scent of something sweet and wild greeted him. Briar's bedroom. It was simple, functional, with no sign that she shared it with a man. The queen-size bed was handmade out of logs, and had the workmanship signature of the craftsman who'd built the cabin. A white down comforter covered the bed with large fluffy pillows resting against the carved headboard. No frills, no lace, or extra anything. A book on animal husbandry lay face down on the night table.
West opened drawers in the dresser and found all the clothes neatly folded and stacked. Colors were coordinated in piles from lighter to darker, nothing more than t-shirts, jeans, and sweatshirts. Briar Levine was not a fashionista. A no nonsense woman. His favorite. Then he opened the top drawer of her dresser and his eyes widened. Color exploded in a rainbow of satins and silks. He hardened as he picked up a thong. She wore these under those utilitarian clothes.
Wild Women of Alaska Collection Page 18
