Exception to the Rule (14 page)

And she slipped back into the car and drove off after the sedan.

Kimmer stared at the black sedan, snugged up against the edge of the road at the entrance to Camp Cardinal. How the hell had they found—?

True, she’d been concerned about the car when it drove by Leo’s gas station—there weren’t so many rental cars in Mill Springs that she could afford to take even a single one at face value, not with goonboys closing in from all sides. But once she’d hit the dark road again, she’d realized how slight were the chances that
people unfamiliar with the area—supposing they somehow knew to look for the camp in the first place—could come close to finding it in the dark.

And yet here they were. Not only that, they’d been smart enough to park out here where the engine noise wouldn’t alert Rio. Damn, damn, damn. She restarted the Taurus and eased down the road to park it out of sight.

There she quickly disembarked, stripping off her jacket—with the pace she was about to undertake, she’d be thoroughly warm enough before this night was over—and transferring her weapons to the vest pockets and her jeans. She grabbed her Ruger, strapping on the military holster with its thigh strap. She wanted a pistol with real stopping power along, something with range; there was no need for stealth this time around.

Besides, she’d found that the opposition generally spent too much time focusing on the very visible pistol, and never thought to wonder what else she might have secured around her body.

Armed, she made for the interloper car, mulling the notion of slashing the tires. But as she pulled her glove off to feel engine heat still radiating through the hood, she quickly spotted the blinking alarm light inside the car. No telling how sensitive the alarm itself was…

Besides, she wasn’t sure she wanted to discourage this set of goonboys from leaving once she chased them out.

A screen on the dash caught her attention; she turned the Nightstorm scope on it and discovered the GPS guidance system that had allowed them to find this place against all expectation. “You guys go first class,” she murmured. She should have expected it. The stakes were high enough to attract the heavy hitters.

In truth, she supposed the only chance Carolyne had ever had was if she’d slipped away before anyone—anyone at all—had been alerted to her reasons. As it was, someone, it seemed, had talked—and even knowing the vague classification of Carolyne’s work would have been enough to start the hunt.

She left the car unmolested and used the night scope to find her recently forged path. The overcast conditions would work in her favor—and in Rio’s favor, if it came to that—making her experience with the area a potentially crucial factor. But for now it slowed progress when every passing moment weighed her down with urgency and tension.

She moved swiftly along the path to the platform tent, and from there to the rough loop through the camp, opting for the fast progress of the actual path but alert to the trip lines and to goonboy noise, keeping the night scope always at hand. There was no telling when they’d gotten here, and they’d probably waste some time checking out the office and mess hall.

In fact, the first thing she heard was Rio noise—which meant she barely heard anything at all. Nor would she have, if he hadn’t been adjusting one of his trip lines, triggering a brief whisper of branches. She scoped the path ahead and found him crouching there, engrossed in his work. Good. She could alert him to the goonboys, blow her cover and work with him to secure the area.

Supposing she could do all that without revealing their presence to anyone else who might be lurking around.

She opted to move in close—too close—and knock lightly on the trunk of a smooth beech.

Who knew he could move so fast?

In an instant he reached her, shoving her up against the tree trunk, his forearm jammed just above her breasts, already capturing one arm at her wrist—the one with the night scope. She reacted without thought, hooking his ankle with hers and ramming the heel of her free hand up at his chin to send him sprawling. He dragged her down with him, twisting like a giant cat so that suddenly she was beneath him, grunting as his full and considerable weight came down on her in an impact that forced a
whuff
of air from her lungs—the loudest noise either of them had made in this encounter.

Continued struggle could only mean continued noise. Kimmer did the only thing she could to stop things cold, fighting every instinct in her body to go limp. Totally limp—not just surrender, but “maybe you killed me” limp. It would give him time to realize that she’d made as much effort to stay undiscovered as him—that she, too, was hiding from the bad guys. It would give him the time to realize the size and shape of the body he ground into the dirt and into one particularly inconvenient rock. And if she was really lucky, the thought that he’d knocked her senseless—or worse—would inspire him to back off, to check her out.

No such thing as luck.

No, he waited. His breathing quickly quieted; as still as he was, he held enough tension in his body so he could move in any direction at any time. Wary. Capable. Assessing the moment.

Well, it wasn’t entirely unpleasant, even with the bulk of outdoor clothing between them and the stun gun digging into her hip. But as she waited, the situa
tion became less comfortable. Not because she felt helpless; she didn’t. This submission was tactic, not defeat.

No, simply because it had been so long since she’d been this close to a man.
It shouldn’t matter. You’re on the job
. And she damn sure couldn’t remember being this close to a man and just…being. Trade-off sex didn’t generally allow for quiet moments or relaxed contact. When had she ever had the time to notice the way a well-muscled thigh felt against hers? Or that the weight of a man, rather than being smothering, could in some way feel reassuring in its size and strength, and the way the shape and form and curve and angle fit together?

Get up
, she thought at him. Get up so I don’t have to think about this while I’m waiting for you to decide I’m not a threat. Get up so I can have my distance back.

No such thing as luck…

A hint of noise, a glimmer of hand-held metal. Instant fear for Carolyne. Instant reaction.

And now here he was, stretched out on top of this slim, unresisting—possibly unconscious—intruder, listening for all he was worth, waiting for some sign there might be others. Even through her vest and his, there was enough curve to discern the sex of his intruder. The breasts, for instance. Dead giveaway.

Dammit, how had she gotten here? Who was she? And what the hell had she stuck in the pocket of her long vest, which now jabbed him in a tender spot he preferred to have handled more delicately?

He heard nothing. He shifted his weight to his elbows ever so slightly, still trapping the woman, but allowing her a little more room to breathe. At least she was
breathing. Not dead…that meant she could answer questions. Eventually.

“Psst.” The voice came so close to his ear that he nearly felt the brush of her lips. Rio, alert for such murmurs at a distance, startled at the sound of her up-close-and-personal voice. “Psst,” she repeated, knowing she’d gotten his attention.
“We’re on the same side.”

What the hell? Anger surged through him as he tried to absorb her words. Whoever she was, she’d interrupted his work. She’d caused a commotion. She’d jeopardized the situation and she’d jeopardized Caro—and he’d had his fill of other people stepping in to wreak consequences that they didn’t have to bear.

Although his old overseas station mate had lost more than the almost certain promotion—the sight of which had wrecked his judgment. He’d lost his place in the field.

Nothing next to losing your life.

Rio took a deep breath. Different situation. And still he heard nothing, so perhaps his position hadn’t been compromised after all. There might not even be anyone else out there. He just assumed there was because it was the only way to operate.

“Hello-oo,” she said, wiggling slightly beneath him.

That did it. That edgy quality of her voice, even when she barely voiced her words at all. Her size, her agile nature, her instant, aggressive response to being pinned against the tree.
Eyes so deeply blue they looked black until the light hit them, big and striking and often startling with their hardness, curls softened by the shortest of fringed cuts, body vibrant with life and assurance
. He suddenly knew he hadn’t knocked this woman out at all;
she’d cannily gone limp simply to stop the fight. “Dammit,” he muttered. “Bonnie Miller.”

“More or less,” she agreed, so close to his ear that he was struck by the absurdity of the intimacy—and then by another wave of anger. He closed his hands around her upper arms, tightening down in a way he knew would be mildly painful. Meant to be. “You’re no coincidence.”

“I’m not.” She sounded breathless; he fought the impulse to ease more of his weight from her. “And as pleasant as this little interlude is, we need to talk. We’re not alone. I hope you didn’t break my night scope. We’re going to need it.”

He tensed but didn’t move; it wasn’t worth the risk of discovery. Her night scope. The things were damn expensive, even the first-generation versions. Not something your average individual sprung for. Not something a woman in a battered old station wagon could afford.

“Ow?” she said, drawing his attention to the strength of his grip. He forced himself to relax, but he didn’t let go.

“Explain,” he said. “The fewer words, the better.” She had about thirty seconds before he tied her to a tree and returned to Carolyne at best speed—just in case she was right and the camp was no longer secure.

“Kimmer Reed,” she said. “I work with the Hunter Agency. Scott Boyle called us the night before you left Carolyne’s house. Told us you were with her. We pulled your phone records, found the call to the B&B. I’ve been watching your tail, and your tail is blown. Took down two hired guns at the B&B earlier this evening, found a car at the camp entrance not long ago—engine was still warm. Your cousin has drawn some serious attention.”

That bought her another precious thirty seconds. “You left me in the dark? You knew my background and you still—” He heard his own voice rising and cut himself off.

Beneath him, she gave a shrug. Winter clothing couldn’t hide that, either. “I don’t play well with others.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have taken the assignment!” Somehow he channeled his temper into a quiet tone—and when she stiffened slightly beneath him, he knew she’d heard it.

“I never wanted it,” she snapped back at him, also a remarkable accomplishment in a conversation full of subvocalizations. “I don’t want to be here. I hate this place, I hate what it—”

She, too, stopped short. A moment later, her voice strained, she said, “They’re here. Do you want help or not?”

Rio closed his eyes, listening to the area around them, thinking as fast as he could, trying to absorb this development. Scott had called for help—a high-powered agency, to judge by the woman beneath him. Maybe he’d have to reevaluate his opinion of Scott.

Later. For now…

He found it wasn’t so hard to think of her not as Bonnie Miller but as Kimmer Reed. He found it wasn’t hard to think of her not as a capable woman in hiding, but as a capable woman on assignment. The only lingering question was…

“If you turn out to be after Carolyne, I’ll take you down myself.”

She gave a little laugh, jostling him. “You’ve already taken me down, or hadn’t you noticed? Anyway, if I was
after your cousin, I could have easily nabbed her at the Hillside Gas & Foo.”

His jaw tightened as he considered it. “Maybe. Maybe you thought you’d have a better chance later, when you weren’t fighting competition. Just don’t make the mistake of believing you’ve suckered me into total trust.”

“Trust is earned,” Kimmer said, that edge back in her voice.

Trust is earned…
sometimes
. He could have sworn that’s what she’d said, even if she left out the final word.

He abruptly released her arms and rolled aside. No point in getting up just yet. The path was narrow, the woods pitch-dark. Unless someone literally stumbled over them, they were well hidden. “You’re armed?”

“Adequately.” This time her voice held dark humor, though he couldn’t decipher exactly why. She asked, “You?”

“I don’t have a carry permit.” Something else he’d left behind. He hadn’t exactly been planning to dive right back into special-ops situations.

“I have a Ruger,” she said. “And I have the .38 you saw. It’s only carrying wadcutters. You’re welcome to either.”

He gave a short shake of his head, even knowing she couldn’t see it. “You keep the Ruger. And I have a feeling I’ll need to do more damage than wadcutters can deal out. I’ve got a knife, I’ve got my hands. They’ll do. We don’t need bullets flying around near Caro.”

“Is it a genuine Rambo knife?” Kimmer asked, shifting in the darkness; he thought she got to her hands and knees, and in a moment she made a satisfied noise. Found the scope, probably.

He found himself smiling, utterly grim. “Not quite. Size isn’t everything, or hadn’t you heard?” He’d take his seven-inch Ka-bar knife over the larger movie toy any time he got the chance, especially for close quarters.

“I had, in fact.” Her western Pennsylvania accent, so convincing, had all but disappeared. “Can I interest you in a stun gun?”

He said dryly, “I’ll make do.”

“Then let’s get your cousin and get the hell out of here. I’ve got a safehouse waiting and a car parked down the road. Yours must be here somewhere.”

“Down the road,” Rio agreed, cautiously rising to his feet. “Let’s start by getting to Carolyne. Have you seen any sign of the bad guys? More hired guns, I presume.”

“Ah, the
bad guys
,” she said, joining him and ending up at the height that suddenly seemed familiar after only moments of close contact, chest level.
She’d looked up and the light had hit her eyes, showing him that blue
…. She paused there only a moment, and then started toward the nurse’s station. “Good. We don’t have to get all tangled up with ‘hostiles’ and ‘suspects’ and such. But no, aside from the car, I haven’t seen a thing. We’ve had some grace time. They don’t know the layout of this place or which buildings to check. And they don’t know about your trip lines.”