Gray, Ginna (18 page)

As she began to eat she glanced at him out of the corner of her
eye and saw that his face wore its usual stern expression and that his
attention had returned to the meal.

"It doesn't matter. Everything is delicious."

Neither spoke for several minutes, and as they ate Lauren recalled
something else that Sam had told her.

"I think it's time you explained what's going on, don't
you?" she said. "You said you would when you had the
opportunity."

Sam looked up from spreading jam on a biscuit, his gaze direct and
intense. To his credit, he didn't pretend to misunderstand. "You're
talking about the dirty agent in our office, right?"

"Yes. If you knew that someone in the Denver office was
working for Mr. Giovessi what on earth made you think you could protect me?"

"Like I told you before, besides myself, only five others
knew about you when we left Denver. All five agents have excellent service
records and they'd been handpicked by the SAC because he trusted them."

"The SAC?"

"The Senior Agent in Charge—in this case, of the Denver
Office." Sam took a bite of biscuit and washed it down with a swig of
coffee. "He figured if he kept you and your story contained to just the
six of us we could hustle you out of town before it leaked out. It didn't work."

"Because one of the other five was your dirty agent."

"You catch on quick." Sam took a bite of potatoes and
ham and watched her while he chewed. "At least one of those guys is
Carlo's man. Hell, maybe all of them are, for all I know. That whole powwow in
the SAC's office the morning of Frank's murder could have been set up to get
rid of me at the same time as you."

"Why would they do that?"

"Because I'd been assigned the job of identifying the dirty
agent, and I was getting close."

"Oh. I see."

"I think we can eliminate Dave as a suspect. He hadn't been
with the Bureau long enough to have been corrupted. Besides, he wouldn't have
planted a bomb on the airplane, then climbed aboard."

"There was a
bomb
on the plane?"

"Had to have been. Bob Halloran was a fanatic about safety
inspections and keeping his plane in tiptop shape. There was a bang that shook
the plane an instant before the engines started sputtering. Whatever device
they used was just enough to damage the engine and make us crash. They wanted
it to look like an accident. Whoever rigged the bomb also planted a homing
device on the plane so they could track us after we went down and verify the
kill."

Lauren shuddered. She put down her fork and slipped her hands
inside the sleeves of the robe to rub the goose bumps covering her forearms.
"Who knew which plane you'd be taking?"

"No one. Not even Dave."

"Are you saying someone followed us to the airport and
planted the bomb without you seeing them? That doesn't seem possible."

"It isn't. Bob was a close, personal friend of mine, but
after he retired from the Bureau I used his charter service sparingly because I
didn't want to establish a pattern. Someone who knew me and the way I operate
must've figured on a case this important I'd hire Bob to transport us. While I
was out gathering what we needed and making arrangements, he went to the
airstrip and planted the bomb."

"Dear Lord. What if he'd been wrong? Innocent people would
have been killed."

"Innocent people
were
killed," Sam reminded her.

Lauren looked at him with a stricken expression. She put down her
fork and slumped against the chair back, her appetite suddenly gone. "I
can't believe this is happening," she said forlornly.

"Believe it. And in case you haven't figured it out, we're on
our own now. Since I don't know who I can trust, no way can I risk contacting
anyone in the Bureau's Denver office."

"What are we going to do?"

"Don't worry. Things aren't as hopeless as they seem. There
is someone higher up the chain of command who I think we can count on for help.
Someone I trust."

"Someone in the FBI?"

"His name is Edward Stanhope. He was Assistant Deputy
Director in Washington D.C. Even though he's retired, he still wields a lot of
influence—within the Bureau and in the Federal Prosecutors Office. As soon as
we get to a telephone, I'll give him a call."

He took a sip of coffee, watching her over the rim of the mug.
Though rested, she still looked fragile. "In the meantime, eat up. You
probably shed ten pounds over the last couple of days, and you can't spare
them."

Lauren attempted a wan smile. "Are you calling me
skinny?" The comment had been a lame attempt to lighten the mood, but his
reaction was not at all what she had expected.

Sam gave her another one of those long looks, and she felt her
heart go bumpity-bump. In a blink the taut somberness changed to tension of a
different kind. Awareness crackled between them like heat lightning.

"I don't think you're skinny at all," he replied in a
raspy murmur. "I think you're damned near perfect. But you're small, and
you've got nothing in reserve and we still have a ways to go. So eat. Maybe we
can fatten you up before we have to start out again."

Lauren experienced a flutter at the unexpected compliment, but the
rest of his statement had been delivered in such a commanding tone that she
cautiously resumed eating.

"I'm assuming, given this cabin's amenities, that we're
fairly close to civilization," she said, as much to dispel the strange
intimacy that had sprung up between them as anything.

"Not quite. As the crow flies, I figure we still have about
three to five miles to go. Unfortunately, we have to walk over or around the
mountains, so for us it's probably more like seven or eight miles to
Purgatory."

Lauren nearly choked on her coffee. "To
where?"

"Purgatory. Well, actually, new management has changed the
name to Durango Mountain Resort," he corrected. "It's a ski resort
thirty-seven miles north of Durango. Except for a few scattered ranches, it pretty
much marks the beginning of human habitation to the south of here."

"You mean we have to hike five more miles?" she said
with dismay.

"Actually we're in luck. There are four snowmobiles in the
shed out back."

"But we can't just take them. That's stealing."

"The hell we can't. Not only are we going to take a couple,
I'm going to empty the gas tanks on the other two so our friends can't follow
us. Anyway, it's not stealing. I'm a federal law officer and this is an
emergency situation. I'm commandeering the vehicles. All the owner has to do is
file a claim and he'll be reimbursed."

She looked at him doubtfully. "Are you sure that's
legal?"

Sam shrugged. "Close enough."

Damn, she's beautiful, he thought. Not a bit of makeup or
artifice, her face scrubbed clean and shining and all bundled up to her chin in
that too-big robe. Her damp hair was beginning to dry into wispy tendrils
around her face, she looked so utterly fragile and vulnerable she took his
breath away.

That exquisite delicacy, combined with an impressive inner
strength and will was a potent combination, one he found damned near
irresistible.

She was nervous, he realized. Skittish as a wild kitten. And not
about the spot she was in or the men on their trail. No, she was nervous about
being alone with him, something she hadn't been the whole time they'd been
holed up in the old mining cabin together.

He could see it in her eyes, in the slight tremor in her hands and
the wary glances she kept darting his way.

Good, he thought with satisfaction. At least he wasn't the only
one experiencing this sizzling awareness. He felt as though a current of
low-voltage electricity was humming through his entire nervous system.

Lauren ate the last bite of potatoes on her plate and washed it
down with coffee. When done, she immediately stood. "Since you cooked,
I'll do the dishes," she announced a shade too brightly.

Amused by her agitation, Sam watched her scurry to the kitchen
with her plate and mug. She was trying to put distance between them, he
realized. He also knew that it was probably a good idea, the wisest thing for
both of them, but perversely, he was in no mood to allow her to retreat. If
anything, her resistance only fired his male instinct to pursue.

"We'll do them together." Scraping back his chair, Sam
calmly rose and gathered his own dishes.

"Oh, but that's not fair. You did the cooking."

"No big deal. Don't worry about it."

"But I thought while I did this you could...uh..." She
waved her hand vaguely toward the rear of the cabin. "Do whatever it was
you were going to do to the snowmobiles."

"That can wait. There's no hurry." He put his dishes
down on the counter, then turned and deliberately looked into her eyes and
smiled slowly. "We're going to be here for a while."

"But—"

He placed two fingers across her lips. He felt them tremble
beneath his touch. Desire streaked through him and settled in his loins, hot
and heavy. Sam gritted his teeth to stop himself from snatching her into his
arms. "No arguments, Lauren," he commanded.

Her eyes widened at his gravelly tone, but she nodded and turned
away and began filling the sink with soapy water, focusing on the chore with a
lot more concentration than it deserved.

Sam finished clearing the table then picked up a dish towel and
moved to stand beside her at the counter.

She cast him another wary glance. "You don't have to dry
them. They can drain."

"Give it up, Lauren. I'm doing this." He gave her a stem
look, took the plate she had just washed, swished it through the rinse water
and proceeded to dry it.

Damn, she smells wonderful, he thought, reaching around her to put
the plate in the cabinet. Bath powder, soap and shampoo with a hint of flowers.
And sweet, clean woman.

Sam dried another plate and eyed the top of her head. Her auburn
hair was almost dry now and shining with fiery highlights. It draped around her
shoulders like silk.

He itched to touch it, to bury his face in it, feel it slither
across his skin.

For several minutes they worked in silence. They were almost
finished when a glass she was giving to him started to slip out of her hand.

"Oh!"

"Easy."

Sam's hand clamped over hers, stopping the downward slide.

"Oh, that was clo—"

The words died on her tongue when her eyes met his. In their green
depths he saw surprise and wariness. And something more.

Sam raised his free hand and ran his fingertips along her jaw. She
quivered at the gentle touch but made no effort to pull away. "You're so
damned beautiful," he murmured. His forefinger trailed across her cheek,
touched the corner of her mouth, and the quiver became an uncontrollable
shudder. Sam's gut clenched.

"So beautiful," he repeated in a barely audible whisper.
With slow, deliberate movements he took the glass from her hand and placed it
and the dish towel on the counter. Then he framed her face with his hands and
stared down at her, devouring her with his eyes.

The lemony smell of dish soap teased his nostrils, and he felt
dampness seep through the cuffs of his flannel shirt when Lauren grasped his
wrists with her wet hands. He waited, but she made no effort to pull his hands
away or step back from the gentle embrace.

She gazed back at him helplessly, her lips slightly parted. Her
breath came out in shallow puffs. A host of conflicting emotions swam in her
eyes—longing, uncertainty, need, a touch of fear, but most of all, the same
burning desire that was tearing him apart.

His gaze dropped to her soft, unadorned mouth, and her lower lip
trembled. It was more than he could take.

"Lauren." He breathed her name like a caress. His
eyelids drifted shut as he lowered his head and settled his mouth on hers.

A small, agonized sound hummed from Lauren's throat—part despair,
part surrender. Resistance was futile. From the first touch of his hand on hers
she had been lost, her body weak with longing and need.

Why? She wailed silently, even as she melted into the kiss. Why
did he have this effect on her? She should feel outrage, not this sizzling
desire. He was hard and distant and he'd been rude and insulting to her from
the moment they met. For two years she had rebuffed every man who had shown an
interest in her. Handsome, wealthy, intelligent, charming, sophisticated—it
hadn't mattered. She simply hadn't been interested. So why did this tough,
taciturn man make her yearn?

The only thing that had kept Lauren from crumpling to the floor as
she'd stared into those mesmerizing black eyes had been her grip on his wrists.
Now, with his mouth on hers, her knees turned to liquid, and she moaned as she
felt them buckle.

Sam wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tightly against him.
Coiling her arms around his neck, Lauren held on, giving herself up to the
kiss.