Risk of a Lifetime Page 17

  She could see the look on her husband’s face. He wasn’t convinced. Wasn’t happy about the change. His hand hadn’t left the Glock in his shoulder holster since the guy was mentioned. She tensed right along with him.

  “Why?” JB asked.

  “Figured we need a diversion in case we are being followed.” Cain flashed his lights. “Me and him will do a deal out here in the middle of nowhere. And, of course, first I’ll want a sample. Should give you enough cover time to get a good ways into the woods.”

  “Does he know we’re in here?”

  “He knows someone’s here.”

  JB eased the gun from his holster, motioned her to the far side of the floor bed. She moved quick and silent. Her insides churned with nerves and nausea and nagging stomach cramps. She shouldn’t have eaten the burger. Scared didn’t even begin to describe what she felt, except that underneath it all was the knowledge that her husband would do what had to be done. And she’d do the same.

  Cain stopped the truck, backed up, and angled the truck bed toward what must be the woods, front end to the pavement. Someone coming down the road wouldn’t see them get out. The engine purred into a parked rumble, the slight illumination from the headlights clicked to blackness.

  “Keep your finger off the trigger. The man’s okay.” Cain said. “If I wanted to take you two out, you’d already be dead.”

  “You might have tried. Let’s get this done.” JB turned onto his knees, holstered the Glock, and then rested his hand on the door handle. “Cain?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks, man. I owe you one.”

  Cain nodded, opened the driver’s side door, and then jumped out.

  JB clicked the rear, passenger door open at the same time. Marcy crawled behind him as he slid from the truck, then he held out his hand to her. He crouched, Glock back in his hand, and pointed at the rear of the truck bed. She knew to wait until he motioned, but she hitched the backpack into place, then patted her pocketed gun one more time.

  “Hey, there.” Cain’s words came from behind them now. Evidently, someone else had pulled up. “I hear you’re the man with the good stuff around here.”

  “Where’d you hear that?” The other man’s voice held a heavy Texas twang.

  JB motioned her to get out of the truck, stand behind him. She did exactly as he said, as fast as she could, as quietly as she could. She wouldn’t let him down.

  “Some guy back at the bar said this road held pure gold.” Cain’s voice had taken on a friendly, down-home country drawl. “Figured I’d stop by. See what you got.”

  “What you looking for?” the other man asked.

  “Maybe a little…”

  JB jerked Marcy forward. Crouching, they ran into the woods. Further and further. Trees and more trees blocked their path. He tried to keep the limbs from flying back to hit her once he passed. Some didn’t, some did. A trickle of warm blood oozed down her cheek after one blindsided her like a whip. Bushes and thorns grabbed at her jeans. Large, low-lying rocks seized her footing. She tripped. Fell. Knocked her chin on the ground. JB grabbed her and lifted her straight to her feet.

  She looped her thumbs under the straps. He turned back to his trail-finding mode and surged ahead. She followed. One foot in front of the other. Her lungs burned. Leg muscles tensed. She needed water, needed rest. How long had it been since they left the warmth of the truck at the edge of the woods? Still she followed. Her right calf cramped, and she grimaced with a reactive groan.

  JB turned. The set of his jaw conveyed his anger at the unexpected sound, then his expression shifted to concern. He laid her on the ground, massaged her calves, grabbed a bottle of what looked like water from his backpack, and motioned her to drink. The taste screamed of electrolytes. She took half and gave him the rest. He massaged her legs until she motioned to stand.

  On her feet again, she looped her thumbs under the straps one more time.

  He leaned in, placed his cheek against hers. “Not much further, sugar.”

  Her mind shouted how much, but she didn’t ask.

  He forged ahead.

  She followed.

  …

  JB slowed his pace once Marcy’s leg cramped, amazed she’d been able to keep up for that long given having surgery a couple weeks ago. If they could have driven instead of hiked to the safe house, the trip would have been easier. But the more twists and turns, detours, and unexpecteds they could throw in the perp’s way, the more time they bought for the sheriff’s department to search for clues. The more clues, the better chance of tracking him down.

  The pinkish glow of dawn on the horizon urged him forward. His one goal was to reach the cabin before daylight. Ten minutes ago, they’d approached the wrong cabin. They’d turned away in time when the sound of a dog’s bark from inside signaled their approach. He heard the owners tell the pet to lie down.

  Soft pine boughs swept aside as JB walked through the trees. He stopped. The cabin visible through the tree line called up memories he forgot even existed. The flagstone steps leading down a more than slight incline to the dock. A porch wrapped around three sides of the house. The black, cast-iron bell on one of the end posts of the railing. This was the right place.

  Motioning Marcy to stay behind him, he crept to the back side of the house, gun drawn. He gave a quick look through the lower pane of glass on the only window along the back wall. Nothing but closed, louvered shutters greeted him. On the south side, he found the same at the next two windows. Made sense. As he recalled, the two bedrooms were on the south side of the house.

  They reversed their steps to the north wall as his mind played the inside set up from fifteen years ago. Back corner…kitchen…one window…curtained. Through the crack of the two yellow panels, he managed a good view of the room plus part of the bedrooms across the way. A nightlight shown from the bathroom nestled between the two open doorways, just like Cain said he’d left the place. He also said the heat would be on. They could use some heat.

  JB felt more than saw Marcy shiver. She was cold, tired, and way past her limit for survival, but still she did everything he told her to do. Someday, he’d tell her how proud she made him the past few hours. Hell, the past few years.

  The front side was the tricky part. He had no intention of letting her out of his sight, but at the same time, he needed to get a look in the living room and unlock the door with the key Cain had given him. He needed to sweep the interior for possible lurkers, stomp on all the damn floors, and climb into the attic, too. Interior sweeps were routines he prided himself on for saving lives in unknown situations.

  Stomping on floors had been added tonight after the conversation with the sheriff.

  So much for routine. Surprise would have to do this time. He motioned her to follow on the count of three. Yelling, he jumped on the porch, quick-glanced through the window on his way to the front door, shoved the key in the lock, and turned.

  “Watch my back.” Glock tight in his grip and aimed, he charged inside.

  She already had her gun drawn and aimed in the opposite direction.

  He did a visual sweep of the living room-kitchen. Opened the entry closet. Coats, shotgun, ammo, tackle box, fishing poles, cooler. Next, he swept the front bedroom… bathroom…second bedroom…a bigger bath…closets…under sinks…pantry…utility room. Every room he went to, he stomped from the perimeter inward, even shoved the bed out of the way to find the floor beneath. Last, he hoisted himself up into the attic, along with the powerful flash light Cain had left on the table.

  Nothing. Good…good. He motioned Marcy inside, then slammed the door and set the lock. His gut told him the perp didn’t know where they were. To have gotten this far with no sign of the coward felt like a once-in-a-lifetime feat of luck. A feat that wouldn’t have been possible without a lot of good people risking their lives. He’d pay them back one day.

  After one more quick look out the windows, he holstered his Glock. “We made it, Marcy. The place may not look like much,
but it’s clean. We’re safe.”

  She stepped further into the living room. Her weary eyes took in the bare-bones surrounding of a man’s cabin. “Looks like a castle to me.”

  He grinned as she shed her hat, gloves, coat, and boots. She held up the gun he’d given her, shrugging her shoulders as she looked at her jeans pockets. No room there.

  “Keep it within reach whichever room you’re in.” JB pulled the refrigerator door open. “Hungry?”

  “Is it okay if I take a shower first?” The frailness of her tone spoke volumes. “I can wait if I have to, though. Maybe I should wait. That’s what I’ll do, I’ll wait.” Her eyes twitched from wall to wall, nervousness wobbled in her voice. “I’m so tired, I can’t think anymore. Just tell me what to do.”

  He grabbed her in his arms. Kissed her hard and deep until she kissed back with the same depth and passion. Until their mouths and hands followed the roadmap of the other’s body, hungry for touch, for hope. Until her body eased to a soft sag against his chest. She pushed away enough to kiss his chin then smiled.

  “I think I’ll take a shower now.” Heading toward the front bedroom, she picked up her backpack from the sofa.

  “We’ll use the back bedroom. It’s bigger. Easier to defend.” JB also figured it might be easier to escape from if need be. “Looks like a brand new bathroom’s been put in.”

  She walked to his requested room, then popped her head back out the door. “What were you stomping around the house for?”

  “When?” He knew damn well when.

  “While I covered you from the doorway.” She tugged off one of her sweaters. “Sounded like you were marching in the half-time band.”

  “Beats me. I didn’t even notice.” He grinned. “Why don’t you go take a shower while I cook us up some breakfast?”

  She cocked her head, narrowing her eyes. Guess she didn’t believe everything he said. “Ummmmm…is that right?”

  “Okay. The sheriff said he thought the guy had hidden under our house last night. Satisfied?”

  She nodded, then as the implication sank in, she clenched her hands against her jeans. “That means he heard you and me… Got his fix from listening to us. Oh, that’s sick. Really, really sick.”

  He avoided her look. “Go take your shower. Warm up while I fix us something to eat.”

  Mumbling, she walked into the bedroom. “That creep needs some serious medication.”

  He laughed. Listened for the click of the bathroom door, then the sound of running water in the shower. Again he checked the entire floor, plus the walls this time, doubtful the man would use the same technique twice, but it didn’t hurt to be sure. Taking the broom with him, he climbed into the attic again, walked the rafters, and pounded the roof for any sign of tampering. Nothing.

  When JB climbed back down, the sound of running water still filled the air. Without much thought, he sat bread and bacon and eggs on the counter and started a pot of coffee. The smell of the fresh brew eased his mind. Still, the ten .38s troubled his thoughts.

  Who’d used a .38 in his last few jobs? Had there been ten people taken down on a case? Or arrested? Crazies always focused on perceived wrongs. And this guy was crazy for sure. Psycho…to have crawled under their house. Listened. Let them get away. The jerk felt invincible.

  Not for long.

  He dropped the bacon into a skillet. Sizzling grease splattered his arms as he pushed the slices around with a fork. He stared at the spots, absorbed the pain, and kept thinking.

  Maybe he’d arrested this guy’s relative. If Marcy was right that she was secondary, that he was the one the man wanted to torture with fear for her life, then this had to revolve around a woman being hurt during a case. What women had been in his last few jobs? A mother or sister? Wife? Girlfriend? Arrested? Death was a strong retaliation for an arrest, even prison. One thing he knew for sure, he’d never killed a woman on any of his cases. Never even shot one.

  In fact, the only time there’d been a woman killed had been two jobs ago. The meth bust. The one where part of the lab blew sky-high. The one that cost one woman’s life in the explosion and another shot as she fired on the incoming agents and police. One cop and two agents took hard hits that day. One died, one disabled, and one scarred for life. But JB had nothing to do with the shooting or the explosion.

  He’d been logistics that day. The liaison between the teams. The man who gave the order to go in once everyone had settled into place. Landon was supposed to have been in charge, but he’d failed to show up until later. Overslept or something. Of course even with that on his record, Landon had managed to keep his position with the FBI. No. This couldn’t be tied to that job. JB hadn’t even pulled his gun the entire day.

  The bedroom door clicked open, drawing his attention away from the eggs he’d dumped in the pan with the bacon a few second ago. Standing center in the doorframe, the vision of Marcy shot straight to his core. His gaze traveled from her fresh, clean face, along with her smile, to her still-wet hair combed straight to her shoulders, to those long legs. Legs silky and smooth and sexy…visible from beneath an oversized, almost-white shirt. He longed to run his hands from her toes to her thighs to her—

  His insides jerked and twisted like a knife. A man’s shirt. Why did she have on a man’s shirt? Cain’s? Maybe she found it in the bedroom. If not, that meant she brought it with her. And, in that case, who did the shirt belong to? He felt his hand grip the handle of the spatula. His jealous, male ego jumped into gear. Stupid, stupid reaction.

  Who was he to say she couldn’t see other men? He’d been the one to stay gone for three years. Him and the other side of his damn ego. But, the idea that she’s been with another man, while knowing they were still married, stung. Stung to his core. His heart felt on fire, pounding faster than a ten-mile run would create. Until he signed those divorce papers, he hadn’t even looked at another woman. And, she’d…she…

  Exasperated because he couldn’t stop the pain he felt. Jealous he’d let her give herself to someone else. Angry his ego had kept him from coming back sooner. He flung the spatula into the pan, and it bounced from the heat to the stove to the counter.

  He had no right, he shouldn’t, but he had to know. “Who’s shirt have you got on?”

  Chapter Twenty

  Marcy caught the spatula as it slid from the counter headed to the floor, then watched as JB stormed out the front door to the porch. He raked his fingers through his hair before glancing back through the screen at her. She opened her mouth to speak, but he held up his hand not to.

  “Never mind. Not my business.” Shaking his head, he stomped down the steps.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To the lake to cool off.”

  Cool off? They didn’t need cool. If anything, they needed a fire in the fireplace. “What if the man chasing us shows up?”

  “Shoot him.”

  The sizzle of the pan pulled her back. She turned the burner off and slid a lid in place. She’d never seen JB like this. What did he mean, whose shirt was she wearing?

  After pouring herself a cup of coffee, she walked to the front door and focused on him as he stood at the far end of the dock. Shoulders straight, legs braced apart, hands on his waist, kind of like he was getting ready for a battle.

  He yanked his black insulated shirt up over his head after dropping his Kevlar vest to the dock, then tucked his shoulder holster and Glock in the bait box on the dock. His fingers worked the laces on his boots, shucked them and his socks. Next, he shed his pants and thermals. She smiled at the view of his backside. She loved to watch JB’s muscles and body. Her hands tightened around the warm mug.

  Whose shirt did he think she was wearing?

  His dive into the maybe-forty-degree water surprised her. Was he crazy? She dropped her cup and grabbed a wool throw cover before barging out the screen door. He was swimming across the small cove. Yes, he was crazy. Definitely crazy.

  “JB, stop. Get out of the water. Get. Out. Of.
The water.” She ran down the hill toward the dock, dragging the throw. Her feet tangled in the wool, and she fell forward. Rolling like a mummy being wrapped, she caught herself on a sapling and came to an abrupt stop. At least the material protected her legs from scrapes. Her feet were a different story. Who in their right mind would run outside without shoes on? And where was she headed? Water and her were not going to mix. Not today. Not ever again.

  Stuck with her back to the dock, she fought to untangle her legs from the cover and hold onto the tree at the same time. A dripping splash of water, then footsteps on the dock assured her he’d made it out of the lake. “Help me.”

  “Hold on,” he said.

  She gripped the sapling with both hands as her weight worked with gravity on her downhill slide. “What’s taking so long?”

  “Getting dressed.”

  “I don’t care if you’re dressed or not. I need some help up here.”

  Sounds of movement from the dock area at least meant he was on the way. His jean-clad legs appeared as he planted his boot-clad feet next to her. Dropping the black thermal bottoms from his hands, he crouched to her level. “How did you get in this predicament?”

  “I was coming to save you.” Her fingers were fast slipping from the tree.

  “Save me? Really? From what?”

  “From the lake. From the fish. From whatever the heck reason you jumped in.” Marcy looked up, then grabbed onto the sapling with both hands again. She wasn’t about to chance sliding into the water. “Now are you going to help me or not?”

  He pulled her to her feet in one smooth motion. “I don’t need saving. I just decided to take a swim.”

  “Why?” She fidgeted from foot to foot. The ground was cold, plus pebbles ground into the soles of her feet.

  A huge suck-it-in, blow-it-out sigh escaped his mouth. “Where are your shoes?”

  “In the house.” She shivered, scrunching the woolen throw around her.

  “Sounds like a personal problem.” He bent enough to lift her, tummy first, onto his right shoulder. He gripped his arm around her legs so she wouldn’t slide over. Then bent enough to pick up his thermals before climbing up the slight incline to the cabin.