Chasing Shadows (20 page)

He held two guns on her and here she was, playing him again.  Damn, she was good.  "I suppose you want me to let you go so that you can protect Jay's best friend, is that it?"

"Thought had crossed my mind."  She turned a half smile on him.  

Chase let that pass.  They pulled up in front of a log cabin, snow on its tin roof gleaming pink in the early morning sun.

"This is it, end of the road."

CHAPTER 27

Chase kept his gaze on KC, watching her reaction to his ominous words.  She kept it cool, only a slight tightening of her eyes revealed any fear on her behalf.  He could see why Jay had fallen for her, Chase was more than halfway there himself, and she wasn't even trying.

"What now?" she asked, her hands flat on the steering wheel.

"Relax," he told her, regretting his earlier testing of her and his need to continue to lie to her.  "I just want to talk.  Honest.  This is my dad's old hunting camp, no one will hurt us here."  

She looked at him in frank disbelief, her gaze moving from his eyes to the gun in his hand.  "Don't kid a kidder, Westin."

"It's freezing out here, let's go inside."

He gave her credit for not trying anything stupid as he followed her inside the small, one room cabin.  She lit the fire when he told her to, not needing instructions in building it or opening the flue.  Under different circumstances, he could imagine them here, cozy in front of the fire, making love.  

Hard to have love without trust or the truth, he told himself, gesturing to her to sit.  She perched on the platform bunk suspended by chains from the wall at waist height.  He straddled a straight-backed wooden chair, resting the hand holding the gun along its top slat.  As the fire crackled, the small space quickly heated up.  

"Jacket off," he told her.  "Throw it in the corner."

"Why?" she challenged him.

"Because I said so."  She merely stared at him.  He rolled his eyes.  "How about because I don't trust you not to have another weapon?  Or because I'm the one with the gun?"

She frowned, but finally did as he instructed, sliding off the bunk to stand before him.  She moved slowly, with exaggerated motions designed to reveal her lack of threat.  But to Chase, watching her peel her way out of the form-fitting leather was sexier than any striptease.  

Finally she held the jacket at arm's length, its chains glinting in the firelight.  Her breath was coming hard and fast as if she too had been aroused by her motions and the lizard on her belly danced in time with her breathing.  

"Toss it," he ordered.  The jacket landed with a clink and rattle in the corner of the bunk.  He shrugged free of his own jacket and let it fall to the floor behind him.

"What do you want, Westin?" she asked.  He only wished he knew the answer.  

"What can I do to make you trust me?" he countered.  Besides telling her the truth.

"Gee, I dunno.  Maybe give me back my gun?"

"Here."  He emptied the round from the chamber, ejected the magazine and handed the Glock to her.  "Pax?"

Anger flared in her eyes as she threw the useless weapon to the floor where it skidded across the rough-hewn planks.  "You think I can't take you?"

He shrugged.  "You've read my record.  What do you think?  I've got the reach, outweigh you by eighty pounds or more, I've been in combat—real combat where my life depended on it, not just simulations at Quantico.  You tell me."

She swallowed hard, but her gaze never wavered.  "I'd like to try.  Even money that I make it out the door before you can take me down."

She shifted her weight to the balls of her feet.  Jeezit, she was serious.  He needed to put a stop to this before someone got hurt.  Maybe even him, he thought, remembering KC hefting the fireplace poker, ready to brain him last night.

"Making it out the door and making it back to Coalton alive are two separate propositions," he reminded her in a quiet voice, his right hand reaching behind him to where the HK rested at the small of his back.

"I know," she admitted, looking down as if in resignation.  "But I'd still like to try."

"I'll bet you would."  He wouldn't expect anything less from her.  

Silence as she regarded the floorboards, searching for potential weapons with her peripheral vision.  If Chase hadn't been as experienced as he was, there was a good chance that she could have taken him.  He took the HK and its holster and, without taking his eyes off her, placed them on the mantle.  Then he moved to sit beside her on the bed.

Tension coiled through her body.  Damn, did she think he was about to rape her?  This had to end.  Now.  He didn't have time to keep sparring with her.  She was much too dangerous.

"I told you, I just want to talk."

"That's what all you guys say," she muttered.

"KC, stop the act.  This isn't a game.  It's just you and me, right here and now.  I need you to trust me or people will get hurt, good people, maybe even your team if things don't go well."

That got her attention.  "Are you threatening my team?  What are you going to do, call Gianotti, have them killed?"  

For the first time, Chase saw true fear on her face.  Her people, her team, they were her weakness.   

"I don't work for Gianotti.  I don't care if you arrest him and throw him in prison for the rest of his life, in fact I would applaud it.  But it can't happen today."

"Why? What's so important about today?"  

"Consider it a Christmas present.  You know, peace on earth, good will to men."  

She met his gaze with a frown.  "What's your deal, Westin?  You going to double cross Gianotti at the exchange today?  Or Dinkum?  Maybe both?  Were you worried one of them might get word of your plans and use Jay as a hostage?"

He was silent for a moment, considering the angles.  Her theory fit with all the facts as she knew them.  Might as well run with it, see where it led.  It was safer than the truth. 

"What if I am?" he asked.  "Would you trust me to see that no one, including Neil, got hurt?  Would you let me go through with it?"

"No," she said in a flat tone.  "I can't, even if you were someone—" her voice trailed off and her gaze dropped to his lips.

"Even if I were someone you cared about?" he finished for her, one hand tracing the curve of her jaw line, his thumb skimming over her lips.  Their bodies were close enough that he could smell the enticing mix of leather and sensual feminine musk surrounding her.  God help him, he wanted her, right here, right now, consequences be damned.

"Even if you were someone I trusted," she corrected him, but her voice had dropped into a husky whisper.

He tangled his fingers in her hair, pulled her face up to meet his and lowered his lips onto hers.  She froze.  Chase didn't push the issue.  Instead he hovered there, awaiting her decision.  Whatever she thought of him, he would never take advantage of a woman.

Then her arms flew around him, pulling him fully into her embrace, and he had his answer.

Her mouth opened beneath his, inviting him in as her fingers ranged through his hair, then teased their way down his spine.  The kiss deepened, going far beyond the forbidden sexuality of their first embrace, into a world of intimate sharing.  His hands slid beneath her vest, found her skin shivering with delight at his touch.

He allowed her to pull his flannel shirt away from his arms, broke contact with her lips for a precious instant as she tugged his T-shirt over his head.  She placed a mouth against one of his nipples, teasing him with her tongue as her fingers traced the cluster of scars along his left side.  Then she raised her face back to his, and he looked into her eyes, dark as coal in the dim light.  

For the first time since he'd returned to Coalton, Chase felt as if he had come home at last.

CHAPTER 28

For one brief second, KC thought about using her knife.  He was vulnerable, his guard down, within range.  She could take him by surprise, she was certain.  But she was equally certain that it would have to be a killing blow, nothing less would keep him from overwhelming her.

She looked into Chase's eyes and couldn't do it.  She knew it was the best way to end this quickly, the safest way to protect herself and her team, to finish her mission.  But she could not bring herself to end his life, to kill the light in those eyes.  

She remembered the few minutes they shared in his kitchen, discussing the merits of old time Westerns.  How could that man be the same one who had brought her here at gunpoint? 

Sentimental fool, she cursed herself as she placed a hand flat against his chest.  "I can't do this," she told him.  "This is crazy.  I don't even know you."

He sucked in his breath, hard, and pulled away from her.  He gave his head a small shake as if waking from a dream.  Rising to his feet, he stood over her for one taut moment, then turned his back on her.  

Light from the fire gleamed from the sweat between his shoulder blades.  Small, irregular scars continued from his side around to his back, white patches aligned against the well-defined muscles and tanned skin of his torso.  Another scar, this one straight, surgical in its precision, could be seen below his hairline, ran down several inches over top his spine.

"You've read my file," he said, his voice distant, his back still to her as he threw more wood on the fire.  "You know everything there is to know about me."

She heard regret in his voice and wondered if what he said was true.  Was the man depicted in the dry legalese of the court-martial proceedings the same man who stood before her?  He could have killed her, could have turned her over to either Gianotti or Dinkum, could have betrayed her entire team with a single phone call—but he hadn't.  Her instincts told her there was more going on here, that she shouldn't be fooled by appearances.  After all, she of all people knew appearances were often deceiving.

She moved to stand behind him, felt him tense as she reached a hand out and touched one of his scars.  Everything had changed for Chase Westin, Staff Sergeant of the Marine Force Recon, after a raid outside of Deh Rawood, Afghanistan eleven months ago.

"Tell me about Deh Rawood," she said.

His breath shuddered through him as if even hearing the name spoken aloud caused him pain.  

"Not much to tell," he began after a long moment of silence.  "I won the lottery—was granted leave for Christmas.  Just in time to get my parents killed.  They gave me a two-week hardship furlough to get things squared away with Jay.  Then I went back to my unit."

"You were working with a tribal chieftain, Rahman.  Stabilizing his territory, helping to rebuild, right?"

His gaze was locked on the fire.  "Recon doesn't rebuild.  We were there to provide security to Rahman, his family, his village.  That area has historically been under the influence of warlords who control the opium trade routes.  Rahman was running for Parliament, there'd been threats against his life.  It was a Green side op—boring duty, we were all itching to get back into action.  There were some Army Engineers stationed there as well as some civilian contractors and NGO's."

"NGO's?"

"Non-government organizations.  Doctors without Borders, some long-haired, hippy types from Potters for Peace, and a few reps from the UN.  We cleared away minefields, escorted aid workers bringing in medical supplies, grain, animals.  Between the drought and the war and the tribal fighting afterward these people had nothing—nothing but their pride."  He took another breath and finally turned to face her.

"We knew we had to earn their trust, but hell, they were the reason we were there, right?  The best way to protect the US and our homes was to bring them democracy, help them rebuild their home.  At least that's how the mission briefing went.  Me and my men, we risked our lives to protect them, not just Rahman and his family although he was our primary assignment, but the entire village.  By the time I left at Christmas, I thought we were making real progress, that they accepted us."

"What happened when you went back in January?"

His eyes grew distant.  "Some hotshot from State decided Rahman's village would be the perfect poster child for democracy.  Had this idea that the more we got to know each other, the more that trust would grow and eventually the villagers would betray the opium dealers who were causing most of the violence in that area.  My men were encouraged to visit the village—they even had weekly soccer games with them.  

"Security had gone to hell in a basket, so when I got back the first thing I did was get the NCO's back in line and tighten things up.  Too little, too late."

His voice dropped, his face changed in the firelight as memories flooded over him.  Haunted shadows darkened his eyes, made his cheekbones look gaunt.  This would be a good time to make a move.  But she couldn't betray the part of her that was desperate to hear more, to learn the truth about this man.

It was only curiosity, she told herself.  It wasn't anything more serious, like love.  How could she love a man she was going to have to arrest, maybe even hurt if he resisted?  Impossible. 

She ran a hand through her hair, clearing her thoughts. The man was a devil, the way he'd wormed his way under her skin.

"Two nights later," he went on, "we were escorting Rahman and some relief workers with a load of medical supplies to a neighboring tribe up in the mountains.  He led us right into an ambush.  Turns out the opium dealers made him a better deal than we had, all he had to do was betray us.

"My men were out numbered forty to one by the drug runners.   It wasn't just a skirmish, it was a massacre."  His voice trailed off.  

"Five men under my command died in the fight.  It took most of the night before they finished off the aid workers—well, the women, anyway.  The men got the easy way out, a bullet to the head."

KC looked away, appalled by the nonchalant tone of his voice.  She knew what that meant—that the truth was far more horrific than even his awful words revealed.  She imagined him trapped, forced to listen to the cries of women being raped and tortured, of men dying, unable to do anything.