Maverick Page 19

  “Really?”

  “Truly,” he vowed, then nearly spoiled his sincerity with a grin. “There is one more thing I learned about you.” She relaxed under him and lifted her left hand to his cheek. “What’s that?” “You’re an angel. May I kiss you now?”

  She nodded. When he lifted his head long minutes later, she was breathless. “Don’t stop,” she pleaded.

  “Don’t talk,” he warned in return. “There’s been way too much talking already.” He slid down her body, capturing her nipple again. This time, when she rose against him and tried to lift her hand, she found her arm held down at the elbow by his hand.

  He lifted his head long enough to flash his killer grin before he returned to her breasts.

  Maggie moaned—a soft, short eruption of sound from deep in her throat and heard Jack groan in response. “Closer,” she begged, twisting under him. “We can do closer,” he murmured. Her hips surged as his fingers slid beneath the scrap of silk on her hips. He slid one finger inside her hot wet folds, found her with his thumb and she moaned as her body contracted.

  Jack laid his head against her breast, his own body rigid. Soft moans burst from her throat at regular intervals and he lifted his head to watch her eyes. She saw him through eyelids that refused to open more than half-mast. Without a word, he spoke to her again, telling her aching heart of love, her ravaged soul of respect and admiration and her newly freed body of greater things to come. “More,” she begged and saw his smile light his eyes.

  “I’ve always wanted more of you, Maggie. For too long.”

  “I have, too.” The soft admission made her eyes fly open. She hadn’t meant to tell him—not out loud.

  “Can’t take it back,” he whispered, kissing her hard and deep before he stood. She watched him shrug out of his shirt and couldn’t help a smile of satisfaction. So much male—and she really had wanted him—wanted this—for such a long time. He reached for his belt and she stifled a laugh.

  He arched one eyebrow. “Something funny?”

  “Just that I feel kind of naked—without my gun.”

  He chuckled and crossed to the table in four long strides. He was back just as quickly, handing her his gun, butt first.

  A flicker of fear raced over her features and she shook her head. “I didn’t mean it,” she whispered hastily. He tucked the gun out of sight so quickly she wondered if she’d imagined the pistol. Then he sat down, still clothed, to cradle her face in his hands. “I didn’t mean it either, darlin’. And I never told you, but I didn’t mind.”

  She laid one hand flat against his chest, drawing him closer with just the invitation in her eyes. “I never apologized, did I?” “Don’t start now, honey. You were awful cute, wavin’ that gun around.” “With the safety on,” she reminded drily.

  “I wasn’t going to mention that. I really didn’t mind you holdin’ us up at all—until you went after that key.”

  She shivered at the memory and pulled him close for a kiss. “Take off your clothes,” she whispered against his lips. “You first,” he murmured back. He cupped her head in one strong hand, pulling her up to sit. She raised her arms, gaze locked on his, safe in the message there. The over-large shirt drifted to the floor and the look in his eyes made her breathless. “Beautiful,” he breathed. “Absolutely beautiful.”

  He backed away from the bed about a foot and winked at her. “This time you’d damn well better look.”

  She grinned at the order. And obeyed it completely.

  When he returned to the bed and knelt beside her, she returned the wink. “Nothin’ I haven’t seen before, darlin’.”

  He chuckled and reached to finger a curl dancing on her forehead. “I knew you looked.” “I couldn’t help it,” she admitted softly. “Nathan didn’t happen to mention that I was supposed to rob the best looking guy on the planet.” “Don’t tell Uncle Sam, but that was the luckiest day of my life.” This time when he slid up her body, her skin came alive—everywhere all at once. His hands moved, sliding, grazing, lingering. . .

  She opened to him, felt his hard thighs over hers and her heart pounded. When he drew her stiff, throbbing nipple into his mouth, her entire body rose to meet his. This time, he was barely in time to stop the instinctive movement of her hand, but his hand clamped over her elbow just as she began to lift it.

  “Trust me?” he whispered against her ear, then raised up far enough to see her nod. “Don’t stop. Tell me if I’m hurting you.” It was a fresh assault, and he used hands, mouth and body. Maggie gave herself up to the whirlwind of sensations. Heat—everywhere—slick, sliding, stretching—filling. . . Breath fused in her throat, she rose to meet him, moaning with a new thrill when he withdrew and filled her again.

  She forced her eyes open, needing to see him again, and found him watching her. Such intense pleasure—drawn from her and delivered back. “My Maggie,” he whispered and she shattered into twenty thousand sparkling cascades of light. Too much sensation, and far too bright, except that he cradled her close, gathering all the pieces as they floated to earth—reshaping her. She wrapped both arms around him and held on tight.

  A lifetime later, he lifted his head from her shoulder and rolled with her to his back. He kissed her cheek and brushed the hair out of her eyes. She wondered where he got the energy to move. She had none. His grin was purely victorious.

  “Told you you’d scream,” he murmured.

  “I didn’t scream,” she protested.

  “Oh, yes, you did. I’m going to have to rethink taking you home. That house is definitely not soundproofed enough for you.”

  “Let’s just stay here.” It seemed by far the most logical solution. And the only one that didn’t tie her stomach up in those strange knots.

  “Here in the mountains?” She sighed. For a man who could hear silent whispers, he picked amazing times to be deaf. She yawned mightily, unable to keep her eyes open as she clarified. “Here in bed.” She felt a soft, warm blanket float down over her and snuggled closer to his shoulder. Funny that the mattress seemed so much more comfortable tonight. . .

  She woke him two hours later, unable to keep her hands from roaming his wonderful body. An hour after that, he woke her. Maggie found he had only to give her a look and she was ready. Like both times before, she found his eyes just before the end.

  Unlike before, now she found herself wide awake, watching his sleeping profile in the fading firelight. You love him . Maggie shut her eyes and tried not to listen.

  I can’t love him—can’t love anyone.

  Too late. It’s done.

  Then I’ll undo it. Nothing has changed.

  Liar.

  She was. A liar, a thief, and stupid enough to fall in love with an FBI agent. Who demanded she trust him. And she’d thought her life couldn’t get any more screwed up. He reached for her in his sleep. Maggie rolled quickly to her side, offering him her back to pull up against his rugged length. She wasn’t crying. But if she did, he wouldn’t see. Coming up to the cabin had been a mistake. A huge mistake in retrospect. The best evidence of that was everything she’d told him—all of it, when she’d only meant to tell enough so he’d see Melissa’s danger.

  Wrong again. The very best evidence is lying right next to you. As naked as you are. Also true. But it didn’t change her life. It didn’t change the danger to Melissa. At least she hadn’t brought all the evidence with her.

  Jack moved restlessly and Maggie forced herself to relax. If he woke up—she couldn’t face him now.

  She kept her breathing slow and steady, even when his cell phone rang. Jack uncoiled from around her and crossed the room. Maggie lay deathly still.

  “Yeah, Chuck.”

  Chuck. The same man he’d spoken to in the hotel room. The one who’d put the tracer on her car. She listened intently.

  “I know. After what Frank told me, I don’t have a choice. I’m going to bring her in. We’re too close to ending this thing.”

  Every muscle in her body clenched. Bring
her in? He wouldn’t. But she remembered his cold eyes behind the bar. He would.

  See what you get? He’ll laugh all the way to the FBI office—with your evidence. While she could cry all the way to jail.

  He came back to bed, and she trembled slightly when he fit her tight against him. Her heart, her traitorous, trusting heart, told her to turn to him—to ignore the words she’d heard. Maggie crushed the dangerous urge. Like it or not, she had to go. Tomorrow, because her injured arm wouldn’t allow her to climb up to the high-perched engine of his truck to dismantle it tonight. She couldn’t drive the bike with one hand either. But somehow. . .

  Definitely before he had a chance to turn over the evidence. Her evidence. Until Kevin and Paul Cormack were caught, convicted and sentenced she wouldn’t surrender that evidence to anyone.

  At least she wouldn’t be around to see that instant when he realized she’d tricked him. She got her chance just after they got into Grand Junction at eleven the next morning. Jack stopped for gas and she smiled shyly. A three-hour truck trip proved the perfect excuse. She picked up her backpack from the seat between them.

  “Not a good idea, darlin’.” He glanced pointedly at her backpack.

  “I’ll leave this with you.” She pulled the thick leather pouch out of her backpack and settled it on the wide seat. The decoy worked.

  Jack smiled at her. “Did I tell you this morning how beautiful you are, darlin’?” His eyes heated and Maggie buried her head against his shoulder. “Jack—I”

  “Stop it, Maggie,” the little voice in her head ordered.

  I can’t—just five seconds. . . I can’t go without it—without this. . . Maggie burrowed closer to his warmth and security and Jack’s arms tightened around her.

  “I know, babe. The business in town won’t take long. I feel exactly the same way.” She kept her eyes carefully closed when he kissed her and climbed out to start the gas pumping.

  You have to keep Melissa and the evidence safe. You know that’s all that matters. He helped her down from the truck. She flew back into his arms and nearly didn’t let him go—all she really wanted was to beg him to turn the truck around.

  He’s going to arrest you. He’ll have the evidence—and you. “Not all the evidence,” she muttered silently. But this time, when she kissed him, she forced herself to keep the contact light. She pulled away and he kissed her again, smiling. She wanted to cry.

  “Grab us a couple of cans of pop?” She didn’t turn around. But she wanted to. She nodded instead, just once. What was one more lie—on top of all the others? She headed into the station’s store, risking a final glance through the windows. He was perched up on the front bumper, checking the oil. Maggie bit her lip, blinked away her tears and ran. She never glanced at the bathroom, just slipped straight out the back door.

  She figured she had ten minutes at the outside, but at least five. It took two to catch a ride on the street behind the station. Before Jack got anxious, she was three miles away, on the phone to an old contact. He specialized in new identities.

  Two hours later, Jenna Cole, who had very short, spiked blond hair and wore dark-rimmed glasses around her brown eyes, was on a flight to Denver. Maggie hated to fly, but speed and distance were everything today. Jenna tried to convince Maggie flying wasn’t so bad. Maggie convinced Jenna flying was really very bad. She alternated between biting her nails and clenching the armrest in a death-grip for the entire trip. Two thousand dollars rested securely in a new briefcase. She kept it close by her side. Immediately after disembarking at Denver International Airport, she called Shipwrecks. The time was just after three. Melissa was frantic.

  “Where are you? How could you—“ Abruptly, the phone changed hands. ”Damn it all, Maggie.”

  Jack. Jenna replaced the receiver with a careful hand. She pretended it didn’t shake, and didn’t let her thoughts dwell on the western slope of the Rockies. She caught a shuttle into Denver and had a waitressing job and a sleazy hotel room before the sun went down.

  She didn’t listen to the tears her heart cried. And she told herself it would get easier. Jack was with Melissa now and he knew how much danger she was in. He’d make sure she was safe. Maggie—Jenna, she corrected herself firmly, could take care of herself. She always had.

  Chapter 12

  Jenna went through five jobs in three days. Two of them asked her to return the next day with her social security card and driver’s license. She had both, but she couldn’t submit them, except for an emergency. To buy an identity with useable cards cost more than she could afford.

  The other three jobs she just couldn’t do. Her wrist wouldn’t support the weight necessary to balance large, heavy trays—even after she bought a rigid brace. She was beginning to wish she’d waited until Jack’s doctor friend had taken a look at it. Still swollen—her wrist was rock-hard and bruised. The swelling was on the move too, up her fingers in a way that bothered her.

  She stopped at a convenience store on the way back to the hotel from her last attempt at a job, picking up the free employment newspaper and a gallon of juice. She already had a large bottle of Advil in her briefcase. She stashed the newspaper inside and used the shoulder strap, but held the case close to her body with her elbow. Her eyes swept the sidewalk, ahead of her, across the street, down the side streets and alleys she crossed. All clear.

  She let herself into her hotel room and firmly locked the door behind her. She poured herself a glass of juice and swallowed more of the pain medicine before opening the paper. The places where she could make good money all wanted references. If there was a way to get them in touch with Derek—without divulging too much information. . .

  Jenna sighed. There wasn’t. Already two o’clock in the afternoon. When the medicine kicked in, she’d start up the block, watching for help-wanted signs. Twenty minutes later, she stalked down the sidewalk. Reminders of Jack were everywhere—from the police car slowing down beside her, to the dark, wavy hair of the man walking across the street. She hadn’t been this jumpy since her first days on the road.

  Same way you found the job at Shipwrecks.

  The reminder didn’t help. Derek was heaven-sent. She didn’t have a right to expect him—or Shipwrecks—again. She eyed a grimy help-wanted sign in an even filthier window of a bar. They could use her to clean, if nothing else. She didn’t want to go inside. Everything about the place felt wrong. She wanted to go home—to her little cabin—and soak in her tub. She wanted to be Maggie Chambers—or at least Megan Chase—but not Jenna Cole.

  “You’re out of options.” Jack’s voice.

  Jenna grimaced. He was right.

  She straightened her shoulders, and pushed open the door. She closed it behind her and gave herself a minute for her eyes to adjust to the gloom. Her nose immediately protested her decision to come inside—the stench was more than stale alcohol and cigarettes alone. Her nose wrinkled with involuntary revulsion. The bar was as dirty inside as the outside had promised. No surprises.

  Smaller than Shipwrecks—mismatched chairs were scattered haphazardly around nine drunken tables. No attempt had been made to return the room to some sort of order after last night’s revelry.

  Jenna blew out a quick, quiet breath and clenched her jaw.

  You can do this. The room was deserted, except for an older man asleep at a table in a corner. The boy sitting behind the bar didn’t look old enough to drink himself—for all his black leather tough-guy attire. Her tennis shoes stuck to the floor and made a sucking sound as she crossed the room.

  Maybe that’s why no one moved the chairs—maybe they are all stuck to the floor. Not funny.

  The boy behind the bar didn’t look up until she was directly in front of him. “I’m looking for work.”

  Cool hazel-green eyes raked over her. “In here?” His voice reflected a genuine surprise. Apparently Jenna wasn’t far enough from Maggie in appearance—at least not far enough to mask the fact that Maggie wouldn’t have been caught dead in a place like this.
But Maggie was as good as dead.

  Jenna frowned. The boy echoed what Derek had said, just about a year ago. But the boy behind the bar wasn’t Derek. And this sure as hell wasn’t Shipwrecks. “Yes. I’ve got experience as a bar-maid and I’m a hard worker.”

  “Does your experience go beyond fixing a beer for your old man?”

  Now she did smile. “Yes, sir, it does. And I’m reliable and used to working long hours.” “Where do you live?”

  She named the hotel. “Temporarily. I’ll find something else once I’ve got a job.” “I just wanted to know if you’ve got a phone.”

  “No, but the manager said he’d take messages for me.”

  “When can you start?”

  “Right now.”

  “Then take the sign down. It don’t look like it now, but at five we get busy for the night.” Jenna nodded and retrieved the sign from the window.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Jenna. Jenna Cole.”

  “What’s wrong with your arm, Jenna?”

  “A sprain. I won’t let it slow me down.”

  “We’ll give it a coupla night’s trial. I’m Bob Nawrocki. People call me Doctor Bob. I can fix you up—after work—if you want. I’ve got stuff that’ll guarantee you can’t feel your arm at all.”

  Her smile was a little harder, her eyes a little narrower as she shook her head. “Thanks, but no. Is there any type of uniform?” “You’re wearin’ it.” He flung a filthy black apron across the bar. “And this.” He watched her tie the scrap of fabric on awkwardly and shook his head. “Sure you can do this? That arm looks awful sore.”

  She met his eyes levelly. “I’m sure.” She was also sure she didn’t want to go through this again—walking through the door was always the hardest. Getting used to the clientele in a place like this would undoubtably run a close second. At least at Shipwrecks the men were all hard-working, honest-for-the-most-part laborers. They came to the bar after work for the companionship as much as for the drinks. They got rowdy, and drunk, but at the end of the night, they got up, went home and back to work the next morning.