Full Speed (13 page)

Jamie opened her eyes and discovered she'd slept almost three hours. She bolted upright, blinked several times, tried to clear her head. She got up and walked into the adjoining bathroom. She almost didn't recognize the woman in the mirror. Fatigue had painted dark shadows beneath her eyes, and she looked pale.

"If I live through this I'm going to have to start taking better care of myself," she muttered.

She turned on the cold water and splashed it on her face, but when she reached for a towel, she found none. Her face dripping, she opened the drawer beside the sink. It contained unopened bottles of shampoos, lotions, soaps, and toothbrushes. For overnight guests, she thought. Odd that a man like Nick Santoni would think of something like that. No, it probably was the work of a housekeeper.

Jamie opened the cabinet door and reached for a towel. Beneath the stack she saw a slender white telephone. She pulled it out, not at all surprised to find it there.

Nick had known she would find it. He knew she would try to contact Max. Whether he knew she would have suspected as much she could only guess. The only thing Jamie knew for certain was that she had to protect Max at any cost.

Any cost.

The phone jack was easy to find. Jamie plugged in the telephone and dialed Max's cell number. He answered on the first ring.

"It's me," she said.

"Jesus Christ, Jamie, where are you?"

Had Jamie not been listening for the soft click on her end, she would not have heard it. Nor did she miss the relief in Max's voice. "I can't give you that information, Max. I only have a second to talk."

"Jamie, listen to me. Michael Juliano is Nick Santoni."

"I know."

"Is he there?"

"Not at the moment. Max, I've decided to go away with Nick. He wants to make a fresh start."

Silence. Finally, he spoke. "I see."

"I knew you would."

"Are you sure about this, Jamie? Do you know what you're getting into?"

"Nick wants to make a fresh start."

"So what the hell do you want from me?" Max's voice was terse.

"I'm asking you to back off. Give Nick and me this chance."

"You want me to just forget everything, walk away, and let you screw up your life? The man almost killed us. Dammit, Jamie, I thought you were smarter than this."

"I'm not screwing up my life, and even if I were, it's none of your business."

"What about us?"

"There is no us, Max. How many times have I told you? Back off." Jamie hung up the telephone and returned it to Nick's hiding place. She was pretty certain Max was with the program; he was good at reading between the lines.

Someone knocked at the door. She stood and crossed the room. She found one of Santoni's men holding a tray of food and a small pot of coffee.

"Mr. Santoni thought you might want a snack."

Jamie stepped back, and he carried the tray inside and placed it on a round table beside the chair. "Thank you," she said. "Is the fog lifting?"

He did little more than look her way. "Mr. Santoni will be in shortly," was all he said before he closed the door behind him.

Jamie ignored the small wedge of Brie and fruit and delicate finger sandwiches, instead reaching for the silver coffee server. The china was delicate

Max began at the nape of her neck, nuzzling the little indentation at the top of her spine, then running his tongue downward, touching each vertebra as he went. Jamie shivered and buried her face against the feather pillow. Max's big hands skimmed her hips, slightly rough against her smooth skin. He trailed his fingers down one thigh, behind one knee, down her calf.

Finally, he coaxed her onto her back. And studied her.

Her face was lovely, her cheeks heightened a dusty rose that hinted at her own arousal. Her blonde hair was rich and glowing, the color of ripened wheat, wisps framing her face, loose tendrils brushing against gently sloping shoulders. Her skin seemed to glow.

She was perfect in every way. Each curve, each swell, looked as though a master artist had sculpted it.

Jamie's eyes fluttered open as Max scooted upward on the bed and covered her mouth with his. It was the kind of kiss that women only dreamed of, the kind they could sink their hearts into. Max parted her lips with his tongue and tasted her. Jamie felt a ripple of pleasure as his hand cupped one breast.

Jamie opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. Morning. She felt the coarse sheet beneath her; the smell of pine trees and a bloodhound that was in dire need of a bath had replaced the scent of lavender. "Aw, shit," she muttered.

At the foot of the bed, Fleas rolled over and looked at her. He had obviously sneaked up on the bed during the night.

"OK," she said, "so I was dreaming about sex again. With Max," she added. "It happens all the time." She sat up, and her hair tumbled into her face. Her sleep shirt was wrinkled, and she needed to find her toothbrush. Why couldn't she be as gorgeous as she was in her dreams?

"Welcome to the real world, Jamie Swift," she muttered.

* * * * *

Dave did not look happy when Max and Jamie entered his hospital room. He was wearing a dark frown and a surgical mask.

"What's wrong?" Max asked.

"What's wrong?" Dave echoed, his voice muffled from the mask. He pulled it down. "I'm in a hospital surrounded by illness and disease and you ask me what's wrong? Not only that, I'm risking my life being here. Do you have any idea the number of people who are killed each year in hospitals simply because a doctor or nurse makes an error? I'd have a better chance on an open battlefield."

"How long are they keeping you?" Jamie asked.

"Another day at least. They're giving me antibiotics to fight off an infection, but they don't think I should be treated for rabies because, well, because