Boneyard Ridge (11 page)

Once her initial agitation had settled down to a simmer, she’d taken a quick shower and changed into a fresh pair of jeans and another one of the sweaters he’d purchased in Barrowville, this time a jewel green, snug-fitting V-neck that hugged her curves like a Ferrari on a mountain switchback and brought out hints of misty green in her soft gray eyes.

Everything about her was softer today, as if she’d shrugged off a coat of armor when she’d tossed the bedraggled remains of her business suit into the trash can in the bedroom. Her hair, free of whatever products she used to achieve that perfect, unshakable updo she wore when she was working, hung in soft, still-damp waves around her face and shoulders. Without makeup, she was a different sort of beautiful than he was used to, all dewy pink skin and a hint of tiny freckles across the bridge of her straight nose. She’d shed nearly a decade in the process, looking not much older than some of the fresh-faced baby recruits he’d known in the Army.

“It was a little longer than that,” he answered her question, dragging his gaze from her with way too much reluctance. Clearly, he should have given some thought to the logistics of holing up in a cabin with a beautiful woman. Between combat, his injuries and his sister’s legal troubles, his sexual needs hadn’t exactly been a priority.

As soon as he could get through this mission, he would take time to think about what came next, including his sex life. But he couldn’t let himself be derailed by lust when so much was on the line.

Besides, so what if Susannah Marsh had a soft side? It didn’t make her any less trouble, and the last thing he needed was more trouble.

“How long has— What’s your agency? The Gates?”

He nodded.

“How long has The Gates been looking into the Blue Ridge Infantry?”

“For a while, though not in conjunction with the conference.” The conference connection information had dropped into their laps by way of a confidential informant Quinn worked with. Hunter didn’t know who the C.I. was, but Quinn thought his source was reliable, and Hunter supposed he would know. “They were part of a multistate crime organization that several of the local law enforcement agencies have been trying to roll up and put away for a couple of years now.”

“The last I heard, they’d accomplished that goal. Something about a bunch of files that was practically a road map of the entire organization?” She sent him a sidelong look, and the wariness he saw in those sharp eyes made him wonder if she was just humoring him with her cooperation, looking for a chance to make her break. “I’ve never read or heard anything different.”

“They’re like cockroaches. No matter how many you step on, there are always more.”

“Didn’t your boss inform the cops that there might be a problem with the conference?”

“He did. Nothing came of it. That’s how we became pretty sure that there’s someone in the Barrowville PD. who’s on the take. Or hell, maybe even a true believer.”

“What, exactly, would constitute a true believer in the BRI?” She sounded genuinely curious. “You said earlier they think of themselves as patriots.”

“They’d like to believe that. Mostly, though, their idea of patriotism is a loathing for authority, I guess.” At least, that was how he’d played it when he’d wormed his way into the local cell after Quinn had given him the name of someone The Gates suspected might be a BRI member. “All I had to do was make some noise about how the Pentagon had screwed me over after my injury, and now the government was railroading my sister, and it didn’t take long for someone to buy my load of garbage.”

“You must have sold it well.”

He shrugged. “Wasn’t that hard. There have been days when I half believed it myself. There’s a fine line between authority and despotism. Gets crossed a little too often for my taste, you know?”

She nodded. “I do, actually. And it’s not always the government.”

“Oh, I know. I’ve seen how Billy Dawson runs the local BRI cell. Tin-pot dictators have nothing on him.”

“Nobody at the Barrowville PD even checked on what you were saying about the conference?” A hint of her previous skepticism seeped into her question.

“Police forces in this neck of the woods have a serious corruption problem. But even if they didn’t, there’s the issue of how these local cops see The Gates.”

“As interlopers?”

“Something like that. See, Quinn has this thing about hiring people who maybe don’t have the best of track records.” He couldn’t keep the wry tone from his voice.

“Does that include you?”

“Maybe. I was a wild kid, and if you were to go by the way I’ve been behaving over the past year or so, you wouldn’t think I’d changed that much.” He’d gotten into his share of bar fights since returning home from overseas. He couldn’t even blame it on booze, since he’d been stone-cold sober every time. Drinking hadn’t done a thing to stem the pain and anger.

Of course, the fights hadn’t done much to make him feel better, either. He’d supposed, at the time, that pure luck had brought Alexander Quinn into Smoky Joe’s Saloon a few months ago in time to stop a brewing fight and hand his business card to Hunter with an offer of a job interview.

Now that he’d worked with Quinn for a while, he realized that the man had probably gone to the bar with the express purpose of recruiting him for The Gates. Quinn didn’t do anything without a plan.

He just wished he knew what Quinn’s plan was at the moment, because sitting around and waiting wasn’t his style. But he’d seen too many missions go belly-up when someone down the chain of command decided to change things on the fly without having all the information.

“What are you thinking?” Susannah asked.

Glancing up, he saw her studying him with eyes too sharp for his liking. The woman was turning out to be nothing like what he’d thought she’d be. He’d figured her for smart, but he hadn’t banked on her being so observant and insightful that he’d feel like a bug she’d pinned under a microscope for further study.

“What makes you think I’m thinking anything?”

She reached up suddenly, her fingertips brushing his forehead. “This little line. It appears when you’re trying to figure things out.”

He tried to relax his face as she dropped her fingers away, but the feel of her cool touch lingered on his brow. “And you know this because we’re such old, close friends.”

“I know this because I pay attention.” She reached out again, this time touching the muscle directly behind his collarbone. “Your trapezius muscle tenses up when you’re worried.”

“Doesn’t everyone’s?” He knew a frontal attack when he saw one. Every instinct told him she was trying to unnerve him with her touch. Maybe that was her way of regaining some sense of control over her life.

Problem was, it was working. Even the slightest flutter of her fingertips against his skin had sent heat rushing south to his groin. If she ever put her mind to seducing him...

She dropped her hand away from his shoulder, and it took an effort not to groan in response. Her gaze sharpened as it met his. “I know a lot about that hotel, Hunter. I know how things work, where things are, who does what. I can help you if you’ll just let me in on what you’re planning.”

He wasn’t much for trusting other people under the best of circumstances, and his current situation certainly didn’t qualify for best of anything. But she had proved to be a lot tougher—and tougher-minded—than he’d expected. And it wasn’t like Quinn was going out of his way to get in touch.

He needed an ally. Inaction wasn’t in his nature, either, and if he didn’t figure out something to do soon, something that might actually make the situation better rather than worse, he was going to go crazy.

“Okay,” he said, releasing the word in a resigned sigh. “I’ll tell you what I’m thinking. But I don’t know if you’re going to like it.”

* * *

H
E WAS RIGHT
. She didn’t like it. Not one bit. “I’m not going to hole up here in this cabin while you sneak back into the hotel.”

“You asked to hear my plan. That’s it.” His chin jutting stubbornly toward her, he folded his arms across his chest, stretching his shirt across his broad shoulders and powerful chest, a visual reminder that, for all her bluster, she would be no match against this man in a fair fight.

Of course, she’d never had any compunction about fighting dirty if necessary.

“Are you going to lock me in here against my will? Because that would add a lovely little felony to your record.”

He sighed again, a long, gusty one that showed her just what he thought of her refusal to play by his rules. “You’re free to go. And be grabbed by people who want you dead before you ever get close to the edge of these woods.”

She wasn’t so sure about that. Now that she had shoes, appropriate clothing and access to supplies, she might be better at sneaking out of these woods than he thought. Sure, this wasn’t Boneyard Ridge, but her little hometown wasn’t that much farther up the Appalachian chain, only a few miles down the highway that connected several small mountain towns in the Smokies.

Close enough to give her a fighting chance at finding her way around. She knew what the terrain was like. She knew how to find her direction using the position of the sun at this time of year in this part of Tennessee.

“If I leave here without you, you really are going to make a run for it, aren’t you?”

She didn’t answer, but she could tell he saw through her silence. That furrow came back to his brow, and his trapezius muscle looked as hard as a rock.

He turned away abruptly. “Would you stop looking at my shoulders?”

She couldn’t stop a soft huff of laughter. “Why are you fighting this so hard? You one of those guys who thinks a woman can’t do anything without a man showing her the way?”

He turned so swiftly he almost lost his balance, and she saw a grimace of pain flit across his features as the leg he favored twisted. Putting his weight on the other leg, he swung the injured one straight and resettled his weight on both limbs. “You don’t know me. Don’t presume to know what I think about anything.”

“I can only go by your behavior.”

“And I can only go by yours.”

Her smile faded. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

He reached out and caught her hand, his gaze narrowing a little as he took in the clipped fingernails. “What would you do if you weren’t here? You’d go get a manicure.” He dropped her hand, but the tingle of his touch seemed to linger. “You had to run barefoot through the woods because you wear four-inch heels to work instead of comfortable shoes.”

“Heels can be comfortable,” she protested, annoyed that he was practically echoing the internal argument she had with herself nearly every day. She could well imagine exactly what kind of woman he thought she was because it was the facade she’d fought hard to present to the world, the armor she wore against discovery.

“Then why do you hide comfortable shoes in your desk?”

“You went through my desk?” Her mind swept quickly through her desk drawers, wondering what else he might have discovered. She tended to keep her personal life out of the office, but there was her chocolate stash—

“It was part of my job,” he said, surprising her by looking a little embarrassed.

“Then I’m sure you know appearances can be deceiving.”

“Why do you dye your hair brown? And wear brown contacts?”

“Ever heard any dumb-blonde jokes?”

His eyes narrowed. “Nobody would mistake you for a dumb anything.”

“Thanks. I think.”

He took a couple of slow, deliberate steps toward her. “I know when someone’s hiding something. And you, darlin’, are hiding a whole lot of something. Which makes me very nervous.”

“I’m not the one who took a job at the hotel under false pretenses.” Which was a lie, of course, but he didn’t know it was.

He couldn’t know, could he?

“Are you connected to the BRI?” His voice was warm velvet, but she could sense the steel beneath.

She almost wilted with relief. He didn’t know. He wasn’t even close. “Are you crazy? I thought you said the BRI was trying to kill me.”

“They are. But why?”

“To put Marcus Lemonde in charge of the conference. Isn’t that what you told me?”

“I did,” he admitted, his eyes slightly narrowed. “But you know, you have a few tells of your own.” He pushed her hair back from her forehead, touching one rough fingertip to the skin beneath her left eye. “Your eye twitches right here when you feel threatened. I noticed it last night in the cave. Twitching away.” His fingertip lingered for a moment, then traced a slow, shiver-inducing trail over the curve of her cheek and down to the side of her neck. “What are you afraid of now? You’re safe here, aren’t you?”

“Am I?” She hated the weakness of her voice, the sudden hammering of her pulse beneath his touch.

“As safe as you want to be.” His gaze dipped to her mouth, and fire arced its way through her belly. The heat of his body, so close to hers, was as powerful as a magnet, tugging her toward him before she realized what she was doing.

His gaze flicked up to meet hers, his eyes dark and deep. He wanted her. She could almost feel the desire coming off him in waves, enveloping her in a maelstrom of heat.

Slowly, as if giving her time to react, he slid his hand around the back of her neck and tugged her even closer, his breath warm against her lips. “How safe do you want to be?”

Safer than this,
she thought, taking a step that she meant to propel herself backward. But somehow, she ended up even closer to him, close enough that her hips brushed against his, eliciting a quick gasp of breath between his parted lips.

A faint vibration ran through her where their bodies met. She didn’t realize until Hunter growled a soft profanity and took a step away that what she was feeling was his phone buzzing quietly in the pocket of his jeans. “This is Quinn. I have to take this.”

She took advantage of the timely pause to expand the distance between them, crossing to one of the cabin windows and gazing out at the sun-dappled side yard. The small clearing where the cabin sat was barely large enough to contain the cabin. What lawn existed was a narrow, browning patch of halfhearted grass swallowed within a few yards by the encroaching woods.