Bewitched (3 page)

“Don't just stand there, give me a hand here. He's heavy.”

Nope, not squeamish. Damn vicious female.

She could at least pretend
some
feminine qualities. He
really
didn't like bossy, overbearing women. Harry crossed his arms over his chest and studied her. “I'm sorry to disap
point you, miss, since you do seem rather set on your course, but I'm not up to killing a man.”

“Coward.” She heaved and pushed and dragged the body closer to the edge. “Besides, who says he'll die?”

“Now listen here—”

She jerked upright, her face flushed, one thick wisp of glossy black hair now hanging over her right eye. “No, you listen! You got me involved in this with your damn nosiness and misplaced heroism. This is all your fault. The very least you can do is…is…” Her voice dropped off and she covered her face with her hands. Her shoulders shook.

Harry had the horrible suspicion she might be crying.

Good God. He hadn't wanted her to be
that
female.

“D
ON'T YOU
touch me.” Charlie stared at the behemoth coming toward her, his expression now bemused. She drew a deep breath, absolutely refusing to give in to her tears, her disappointment. She felt humiliated and decided most of it was his fault. She lifted her chin in the air and said with disdain, “You've done plenty, already.”

He held up his hands—very large, capable hands. “I'm sorry. But we don't have time for this.” She started to speak, but then he put the gun in the back of his belt, and she wanted that gun, damn him. She didn't trust him, didn't trust anyone at this point, and needed to be able to protect herself. Whoever would have thought a simple Monday could get so dastardly confused?

After all her efforts to move Floyd—and she really did want to toss his body out—it took Harry only a second to heave him to the other end of the truck bed, well out of danger from falling out.

He pulled a knife from his own pocket, stripped off Floyd's jacket, and proceeded to cut it up. He used the cloth strips to tie and gag Floyd in record time.

“Now.” He stood and dusted off his hands.

He seemed to have things well in control and that annoyed her anew. At first, he'd seemed too pretentious to get involved in a scuffle. But once he'd gotten involved, he'd been beyond impressive. It wasn't what she'd expected of him at all.

She was used to being the one in control, the one people
came to for help. This man acted as though getting kidnapped and held at gunpoint was a regular part of his workweek. “Now what?”

The truck shifted again and Harry braced himself before giving her a wary, probing look. “You're not going to cry?”

“No.” Charlie almost laughed at his look of relief. She hadn't figured him to be the type to fall apart over female tears. She gave him a sideways look. “How about you?”

He paused, stared at her a moment, then raised his brows. “I'm holding up. Completely dry-eyed.”

“Good, because I can't stand blubbering men.”

He gave her a small smile—a very charming smile actually, and she was beyond shocked that she noticed. She ducked her chin to avoid looking at him.

“We're on an incline,” he noted thoughtfully. He picked up his coat from the corner, shook it out, then slipped it back on. “Let me get the door open and see where we're headed.”

Charlie bit her lip and mustered up a calm tone. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, she'd always heard. “Since you have the knife, I'll hold the gun.”

“No.”

She bristled at his blunt reply. “Why not?”

Harry carefully lifted the door a foot or so, then lay on his belly and peeked out. He kept looking at her over his shoulder, as if he expected her to push him out as she'd planned to do with Floyd. It wasn't a bad idea, except that it'd be impossible; he was twice as big as Floyd and very alert. Besides, she didn't particularly want to get that close to him.

His thick brown hair dripped with rain when he pulled his head back inside. “We're near the Wayneswood exit.”

Charlie gasped. “Wayneswood!” She hadn't realized they'd traveled quite so far. Her heart started an erratic pounding. “I have to get home.”

“Come here.” Harry lifted the door a bit more and sat, hanging his legs over the edge. He took the time to overlap
his long coat, protecting his trousers as much as possible from the pounding rain.

Once Charlie had settled beside him—accepting whatever his plan might be, because she had none of her own—Harry took her hand. She jerked and had to struggle not to pull away. She didn't want to look like a wilting ninny.

“As the truck travels uphill,” Harry explained, “it will have to slow down even more. We can jump out then. Luckily the rain will help conceal us, in the event Ralph glances out his mirror.”

“It's too dark for him to see us.”

“Perhaps. But a flash of movement might draw his attention and we can't take the chance. So lie low as soon as you can. Just flatten out on the road and we'll hope the truck keeps going. I don't relish the idea of getting into a shoot-out.”

“Coward. Give me the gun.”

He grinned and shook his head at her. “Valiant try, but I don't provoke that easily, so you can hold the insults.”

He completely ignored the rude sound she made.

“Besides, I have experience in handling guns.”

His large hand felt so warm, and his muscled thigh pressed hard against her own. She shivered. Hand-holding with an appealing man was definitely not on the agenda for today. For the most part, it hadn't been on the agenda for her entire life. Raising her free hand, she flicked her earring with the flattened bullet attached. “So do I.”

“You mean that trinket is real? And here I thought it was part of your costume.”

She ground her teeth. He was humoring her, and she wouldn't put up with it. “It's real.”

“Hmm.” She was very aware of his thumb rubbing along her knuckles, and his close scrutiny. “Whatever could you possibly be involved in that would require a gun?”

To ease her own tension, and defuse his attentions, she said, “I own a bar. Usually it's as dull as dishwater, but one night
things got too rowdy and there was gunfire. This particular bullet missed my head by an inch. I decided it was lucky. You?”

He watched her too closely and far too long before he answered. With an elegant shrug he said, “I'm a private investigator.” And that was that.

With no more confidences forthcoming, Charlie turned her attention back to the weather. “We're going to be drenched.” Already her jeans were wet at the bottom. Her legs didn't extend nearly as far as his, but the rain blew furiously in all directions.

“True enough. However, it's not all that cold yet and the rain helps to mask the noise we make in the truck. I'm grateful to Mother Nature for her assistance.”

Charlie made a face at him, though he didn't see it. So calm, so sure of what he planned to do. She wanted to know what was going on, who he was and what he'd been up to, why Floyd and Ralph had taken money from the store owner and what a private investigator had to do with it. Her curiosity was pricked, even though she had no room for other mysteries, other ventures. And now definitely wasn't the time. First she had to get back to Corsville. All her plans, shot through.

“You'd truly have let them shoot me?”

She lifted her face to see Harry studying her. He was so sure of himself, so arrogant.
So damn good-looking.
“Of course,” she lied, disconcerted with his stare and just annoyed enough to goad him. She evidently used enough sincerity because his fierce frown reappeared.

Despite his obvious polish, he looked almost demonic with that evil glare. His incredible light brown eyes seemed scorching hot and far too probing, as if he could see inside her. She shivered, then shook off the fanciful thoughts. He was just a man like all the others, bigger, definitely stronger and more eloquent, but still fairly basic and ruled by simple motivations. She could, and would, control him.

His gaze lowered to her chest. “I can't imagine why. You don't appear to have anything all that spectacular to conceal.”

He was going for the jugular, but Charlie, having worked in a bar for the past seven years, wasn't even tempted by the familiar baiting. At least her disguise had worked well. She was wearing enough layers to keep her warm and conceal any feminine curves at the same time.

Harry squeezed her hand to regain her attention and his expression was still too intent. “It's not that I haven't been shot before, you understand, but—”

“You should be more careful with your gun.”

His eyes darkened, grew hotter. “Not with
my
gun, you little—”

“Listen. Isn't he shifting now? And if I'm not mistaken, the truck is slowing.”

Harry gave her a long look of promised retribution. “Yes.” He pulled his long legs up against the bed of the truck, bracing himself. “Time for us to go.”

Charlie gulped. She looked down at the passing roadway beneath her and winced. True enough the truck had slowed, but the road still flew by them.

“One…”

“Ah, maybe—”

“Two…”

“Wait a second!”

“…three.”

“Harry!”

“Go.” And with that, he gave her a shove while using his muscular bulk to propel them out. They landed together, their hands still linked, and somehow Harry managed to get beneath her so that he cushioned much of her fall, not that his hard body felt much more giving than the roadway. They tumbled before coming to a dead stop, her on top, their legs tangled together. But just as quickly he rolled to the left, putting her
beneath him—and into a very large icy puddle. She sucked in her breath with the shock of it.

His enormous body covered her completely, unmoving, heavy and hard. For the moment she was unable to think with any clarity. It felt as though her teeth had been jarred loose and with his great hulking weight on her, she couldn't draw a deep breath. Rain struck her face, icy cold and stinging against her flesh.

After a moment he lifted his head and looked behind them. Rain ran in rivulets from his hair to her chest. “The truck lights are going around the bend. I do believe Ralph is totally unaware that he's lost his guests.”

When she didn't respond, he looked down at her. Charlie stared at his shadowed features in the darkness, struck again by his perfect handsomeness. He seemed such a contradiction. A fancy-pants, but with a lumberjack's body. A gallant hero, but still a bit earthy. She couldn't help but be awed by him, and she hated it.

His head lowered until he blocked the worst of the rain from her face, until she could feel the warmth of his breath on her lips. Her chest constricted the tiniest bit more.

It was absurd! She'd long ago learned the truth about men and their deceptions. But now, at the most unlikely of times, her mind had gone wandering along wayward paths.

Still, she could feel him from breasts to knees, and he was firm and muscled and
big.
The wet ground and the danger seemed to fade for just a moment.

“Are you all right?”

His voice was low and deep and she wondered at it, even as she felt her belly curl in response to his tone. “I can't breathe.”

His gaze dropped to her mouth and lingered for long moments. He closed his eyes and turned his head away. “My apologies.” Gingerly, he removed himself, groaning every so often. He offered her a hand and together they sat there
in the middle of the road. “I lingered in the hopes of feeling something worthy of my life, but you seem to be all pointy bones.”

“What are you whining about?” As she stood, forcing her wobbly legs to support her, she squished. The puddle had seeped beneath her leather jacket to the layers of padding beneath. She was soggy as an old dishrag and probably holding about a gallon of water.

“Your breasts, sweetheart, those magnificent assets that are worth my life.”

Oh for pity's sake.
“Are you still harking on about that?” She looked around and saw nothing but darkness and endless stretching highway. The rain continued to fall, but luckily there was no traffic. None at all. “Where are we?”

“Yes, I'm still harking. It is my life, after all, though it obviously means little enough to you. And I'd say we're in the middle of the damn road, somewhere between Corsville and oblivion, getting more sodden by the second.”

She started walking, leaving him behind. With every step, her boots, two sizes two large and now slick with the rain from the inside out, rubbed against her heels. It wasn't a pleasant feeling and she knew before long she'd have horrible blisters. But what else could she do? Stand around and wait for Ralph to return? Miss the grand performance she'd waited a lifetime to witness?

Probably, her thinking continued, she'd already missed it. That prospect angered her so much, she ignored Harry when he called to her.

“Hold up.” His large hand closed on her arm and pulled her to a halt. “We can't just traipse down the middle of the road. In case it's escaped your notice, Floyd and Ralph are not nice men. They could double back looking for us. We need to get out of sight.”

True enough, she thought, and nodded. “Yeah, and I suppose that means the woods.” She glanced down at his dress
shoes. “And with this downpour, it'll be a swamp.” Her smile wasn't entirely nice. She started in that direction, and Harry followed. Both sides of the highway were lined with thick trees and little else.

“I can see by your snide expression you expect me to have a certain aversion to mud?”

She kept walking. “I hope not, 'cause big and heavy as you are, you'll sink up to your knees.”

Harry turned up his collar and swiped the rain from his face, then shaded his eyes. “With all those trees acting as an umbrella, the ground might not be as saturated as you think.”

“You hope.”

He ignored her. “And likely the woods abut a farm or some sort of residential dwelling. We could get access to a phone.”

She turned to face him. “All right, have you convinced yourself?”

His look of condescension had her grinning again. “I was attempting to reassure you, but I see the effort was wasted. Allow me to lead.”

“Sure thing, Harry.” At least his big body would block some of the rain. She stumbled along behind him in her heavy, soaked clothes, more miserable than she'd ever been in her life—not that she'd let him know it.

Harry took her arm. “You surprise me. I didn't expect you to be so agreeable.”

She hunched both shoulders against the rain and trod onward, pulled along by his hand on her arm. “I'm easy.”

His chuckle could be heard even over the rainstorm. “No grand confessions here, if you please. Not when I can't do anything about them.”