Cutting Loose (17 page)

“Excuse me?” he said.

“I'm not going anywhere, until we're done here. If that's what you were thinking, that I was going to let you into my shop and then you were just going to pack me up and send me home, you are mistaken.”

“I don't think being stubborn about this is in your best interest,” he said plainly.

“Gee,” she said, still watching the equations roll by. “I was thinking the same thing about you.”

He gave her a very perturbed look, which she failed to notice. They'd gotten off on the right foot, but it had all gone to hell pretty quickly. Maybe he'd been a little too blunt about her driving.

“Can you speed this up a little?” He'd be happier once they were inside. He knew what his sister could do with an exposed target, and he and Cherie Hacker were sitting ducks on this landing.

She pushed an alpha key twice on the eighth equation, and he heard the lock release. A second later, another lock released, and then another, and so on down the line through a series of seven, one after the other, until the door swung open—into Wonderland, a hacker's paradise, a room so full of equipment, he felt instantly at home. There were walls of drives, and screens, and peripherals, rows of them, everything on, lit up, running code, and in the middle of it all was the DREAGAR 454 hard drive—in a couple hundred separate pieces, strewn from one end of a worktable to the other.

CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN

Saturday, 9:00
A.M
.—Paysen, New Mexico

They'd found it.

Zach had looked for years, and more than once had thought he'd stumbled upon it.

He'd been wrong.

This was the real deal, right here: the middle of nowhere, Paysen, New Mexico, population 28, or so the sign said. If the number was true and correct, then the town was bigger than it looked. He'd counted population 5, and that was if he included the four coonhounds lounging in the dirt in front of the convenience store.

He stepped over the one stretched across the entrance and wound his way through the rest of the dusty pack, carrying two bags of food and supplies.

SB303 had said get off the interstate. Zach was pretty sure they'd gotten off more than that. Nothing but scrub, yucca, and a single narrow ribbon of asphalt stretched to the horizon in either direction. At the Road Runner Motel, Gas Station, and Grocery, they'd landed in the hub of Paysen's commercial activity. There were two trailers baking in the heat on the other side of the road, both of them sporting canopies held up by lodge poles. One had a small pen with a few goats close by. The other had two picnic tables pushed together in front, in the shade. Neither had so much as a square inch of paint on it anywhere. The sun had cooked it all off a long time ago.

He crossed the hard-pack parking lot, heading toward the end unit, number eight. He'd filled Charlotte's tank before he'd gone in to pay for the room, then parked her behind the building, on the other side of a rusted-out tractor. Once he went inside number eight, the Road Runner would look as deserted as it had before he and Lily had arrived.

Lily.
Yeah, the beautiful woman he'd snatched out of her bathroom and her life this morning. Better not to think too much about her, not the way he liked to think about her. He'd paid for a double with all the amenities, which included a small fridge, microwave, and coffeepot. After he got patched up, and they'd both had something to eat, it would be best to get some rest.

Best for everyone.

Right.

Once the sun went down, they'd be back on the road and heading for Denver in a straight-through drive. Alex could advise him then how he wanted to handle Lily Robbins.

Possibly Alex would let her go to Montana, after she was debriefed, and then debriefed again, and probably again. For reasons outside her control, she'd become a major player in an international incident—but she wouldn't be for much longer.

Possibly he would put in a request to be the one to take her to the Cross Double R. He'd never been to Montana. He'd like to meet her dad, thank the man himself for what he'd taught his daughter.

He knocked on the door to the room before he used the key to let himself in, just to let her know he'd returned. Inside, he set the grocery bags on a small table. She was at the back of the room, standing over the sink, splashing water on her face.

“They had a couple different kinds of sport drink,” he said. “I got you both.”

She turned, using a towel to dry her face, and she was perfect, standing there in her cowboy boots and low-slung jeans, with her water-splashed tank top and her midnight-dark hair damp and curling in tendrils around her face. Her skin was pale and creamy, with a light dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose and onto her cheeks. Robbins—she looked black Irish. Lines of strain marred the easy beauty of her face, and he felt a pang of guilt just for the general hell of it.

He hadn't done anything since he'd met her except try to keep her safe, and somehow, he wasn't quite getting the job done. Instead of being at home or headed to her family and the ranch, going about her days, she was here with him in this two-bit, run-down, flea-bitten dive of a motel, waiting for nightfall and a run for the border.

“Thanks,” she said, finishing with the towel and setting it aside.

She crossed the room, and his fascination with her increased with every slim-hipped, long-legged stride she took. It was ridiculous, and inappropriate, and absolutely impossible to ignore. She was so exquisite.

He might have to go sleep in the car, and that was even more ridiculous. Plus, it would probably kill him. The temperature was well on its way to the hundred mark. Inside Charlotte, it would be another ten to fifteen degrees.

And inside Lily, it would be so fucking sweet.

“We've got soup, crackers, canned fruit, cheese, and the best candy bars money can buy in Paysen, New Mexico,” he said, so cool, so steady, so in control.

Yeah. Right.

He unloaded the groceries onto the table, including the paper bowls and plastic silverware he'd bought—the whole point being to get out of Paysen and the Road Runner without getting ptomaine.

“What kind of soup?”

“Chicken noodle, and uh…” He reached out and turned the second can around. “And chicken noodle. There were some sandwiches in a deli section of the cooler, but they looked like death in plastic wrap to me.”

“You're spoiled,” she said, opening up one of the cans of soup and pouring it into the bowls.

He grinned.

“Too spoiled to eat mystery meat on white bread,” he agreed. “You had Isidora's croissants.”

“Don't remind me.” She let out a short laugh. “And don't tell me you want this heated in the microwave.”

She pushed one of the bowls in his direction and started to sit down at the table, but then paused for a couple of seconds and changed her mind, instead walking toward the back of the room and the bathroom. He watched her disappear inside, and didn't think too much about it, going ahead and eating without her, downing a couple bowls of soup and half a sleeve's worth of crackers with cheese. Partway through one of the cans of peaches, he glanced toward the bathroom and wondered if she was okay.

There was plenty of food left. He wasn't worried about her going hungry. He'd get her to eat something when she came out.

Chewing another mouthful of peaches, he glanced at the bathroom again and swallowed. The air conditioner in the room rattled and whined and whirred in the window, throwing out a pitiful stream of barely chilled air, proving itself more of a noisemaker than a cooling device.

Alejandro Campos had always stayed at five-star hotels. It had been one of the nicer perks of being a cocaine drug lord. But Zach had a feeling that was all in his past. Alex had been right to pull him out. He'd gotten in so deep in the last eight years, had so many suppliers, so many buyers, so many deals in the works, he might never have seen the end coming, the underhanded double cross, the unexpected turf war in a place he thought he had under control, the disgruntled cartel partner. The drug business was dirty and dangerous, and supremely violent.

Yeah, it was good he was out.

Without taking his eyes off the bathroom door, he picked up the peach can and drank some of the juice.

Something wasn't right, and under the rattle and whir of the air conditioner, he thought he heard what.

Fuck.

Setting the peaches down, he pushed away from the table and headed to the back of the room—and the closer he got, the worse he felt.

Shit.

He should have been paying closer attention. She was in there crying. Sobbing her heart out, from the sounds of it, and
dammit,
he couldn't just stand out here and hope for the best, that she'd pull herself together, wipe off her face, and come out to sit down and eat with a smartass smile on her lips.

That was Jewel, not Lily.

Actually, it wasn't Jewel. Jewel baby didn't cry. Ever. She sure as hell hadn't been crying when she'd walked out on him.

He hadn't been either, not really, no matter what it had looked like. He'd just felt like doing it for about five months. Okay, more like twelve. Scotch had helped get him through it, and if he'd been any less of a man than he was, he would have left the room and headed back to the Road Runner's convenience store to see if he could get a pint of whatever rotgut kept people from shooting themselves in Paysen, New Mexico.

Then he would have had a couple of shots before he came back, still hoping she'd pull herself together all on her own.

He wasn't a heartless bastard, not really. It was just the whole helpless thing with the tears and all. There wasn't much a guy had to offer in these situations—and yeah, he kind of remembered Jewel telling him that was one reason she never cried in front of him, the futility of it.

As he recalled, that was the day he'd starting winning points for his Asshole of the Year badge, one Jewel had been happy to award, though in his defense, it had taken her a while. He'd had to work at it to get her to walk out on him. She hadn't left willingly.

And maybe, just maybe, that was the first time he'd ever admitted that to himself.

Well, great, a fucking epiphany in the Land of Enchantment. He was so glad he'd made the trip.

Sure he was.

And Lily was still in there, sobbing.

Fuck.
Sobbing was so much worse than crying.

He took a deep breath, lifted his hand to knock on the bathroom door, then swore again under his breath.

Looking down at his shoes, he knocked twice. Yeah. He committed. Acknowledging emotional distress in a woman was the first step off the cliff—and a guy only got one. He'd always thought sex was the first step, but Jewel had dissuaded him from that convenient conceit. He'd never had any trouble committing to sex.

In response to his knock, there was a pause in the sobbing, and he used it.

“Lily. Come on out and have something to eat. It'll make you feel better.” It always made him feel better; not as good as Scotch, but better. “We'll talk.”

He paused with his knuckles just a couple of inches from the door again, wondering where in the hell that had come from. He hadn't meant to say that, at least not and leave it quite so open-ended.

“Lily?” He reached for the knob and gave it a turn, and it opened.

He didn't see her at first, not until he peeked around the door. She was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, leaning against the wall with her face in her hands. She looked up when he opened the door, and something unexpected happened. He didn't get the urge to run. Quite the opposite.

“Hey,” he said, stepping inside and gently taking hold of her arm. “Come on. You're tired, and you need to eat something.”

He pulled her to her feet and got her back out by the sink, thinking he'd get her a wet washcloth, so she could wipe the tears off her face. But once he got the cloth wrung out, he decided to just go ahead and do it himself.

That was the smart move.

Sure it was, because it got him something he wanted—closer.

Closer to all her soft, warm skin. Closer to her body. Closer to her mouth.

Carefully, he smoothed the cloth down one of her cheeks and over her bottom lip.

Sweet thing, her gaze lifted to his, and he thought,
Nobody falls this fast. Not like this. Without even a kiss.

Yeah, a guy at least needed a kiss.

So he took his .45 out of his shoulder holster and set it on the counter, pointing away from them. Then he shrugged out of the holster and moved closer to her.

Slowly, he slid his nose down the side of hers and softly kissed the corner of her mouth. Her hand came up and closed on his waist, and he kissed her again, gently moving his lips over hers, breathing her in—and she sighed in his mouth.

Yeah. That was it. He cupped the side of her face with his hand and tilted her face up while opening his mouth over hers and pressing her back against the wall.

Contact. Her breasts cushioned against his chest, her hips cradling his, her other hand sliding up the back of his neck, pulling him closer. He loved the hot sweetness of it, the way she softened against him.

He slid his tongue in her mouth and felt the sharp need of desire take hold, the taste of her, the delicacy of her tongue sliding against his, teasing him. Yeah, this was going to work. Her hand slid under his T-shirt, her palm soft and hot against him, sliding over him and pulling him closer.

Closer and closer.
He felt the edge of her desperation, could taste her tears, the salty dampness of them where they'd pooled in the corner of her mouth, and for a moment wondered if he should stop. But then she bit him, so softly, so gently, closed her teeth on his jaw and licked his skin, then moved to his neck and did it again, and all the while her hand was traveling across his lower back, her fingers sliding below the waistband of his pants.

No, she wanted this. If nothing else, she wanted the mindlessness of it, to just feel. She needed a break. He knew, because he needed a break, too. A reprieve from thinking, from running.

He brought his hand up to caress her breasts, loving the weight and softness of them. Then he moved under her tank top, and further, under her bra, and yeah, that was when his own breath caught a little. Touching her was such an instantly erotic sensation, an instant addiction to intimacy and heated, satiny skin.

“Zach.” She whispered his name, and he started unbuttoning her jeans, one slow button at a time. He wanted this to happen, felt the inevitability of it taking over. If she wanted to stop, now was the perfect time to let him know—but she lifted her hips and kept kissing him, her tongue sliding deeper into his mouth, again and again, until he pushed her jeans and panties partway off her hips and slipped his hand between her legs. He cupped her, held her—and he found her with his fingers and rubbed her, very gently at first, exploring her and just letting the soft wonder of her get him hard.

Geezus.
Everything about her felt so good, and then he must have done something really right. She twisted against him, a small cry breaking free of her mouth, and he grinned.

And he did the right thing again, teasing her just so and taking her mouth with his. She melted, she sighed, she pushed herself against his hand, and he kissed her, letting her take her time and her pleasure. It was such a luxury, a rich gift to have her naked and moaning with just the touch of his hand. He sucked on her neck, then licked her before moving lower. With his other hand, he pushed her tank top and sports bra up over her breasts, and with his hand between her legs and his mouth teasing her tits, she started to come.