Catch a Shadow (26 page)

She gasped suddenly, and he knew she was ready. He lifted himself on his arms and moved over her.

“Are you sure?” he asked again.

“Yes,” she said simply.

He fought his impulse, his need, to plunge inside, to take her hard and fast. His body wasn't interested in niceties. It was burning, the ache as painful as his wounds had been.

Still he forced himself to go slowly. He entered deliberately, reminding himself to hold back, to allow her to come as he did. He felt some resistance. He stilled immediately.

“Jake?” More plea than question.

He needed no more invitation.

He probed deeper. With her first cry, her first compulsive motions, he moved faster, rhythmically, each time thrusting deeper and feeling her warm moisture embrace him and ask for more. She met him stroke for stroke, but it wasn't the easy mechanics of an experienced woman. Her raw passion was too spontaneous, her cries too surprised.

He climaxed and knew she did as well, almost at the same moment. Waves of satisfaction flowed through him, satisfaction and exultation. For the first time in years he felt alive.

Waves of sensations rushed through Kirke as warmth and power reached into her, plunging deeper and deeper as if seeking the very core of her. Then spasms … each growing in strength until they climaxed in one magnificent blazing explosion.

She clung to him, savoring the intimacy of sharing such rare pleasure. But there was also a certain desperation. Kirke felt it when his mouth closed once more on hers with a kind of bittersweet resignation.

He relaxed on top of her, although his elbows balanced the weight. She didn't know how long their wordless communication continued before he gently withdrew from her and pulled her body against his chest, holding her there for magical moments before he released her.

Her eyes met his, and Kirke marveled at the turmoil in them, the expressiveness of eyes that were usually expressionless. They were like storms, boiling with turbulence.

Her left hand caressed his neck, and her lips brushed his, saying things neither had been able to put into words. Her other hand touched his cheek, feeling the slight roughness of new beard, relishing the intimacy of tracing the tiny lines that arched out from his eyes.

She did not have long to relish. His lips touched her cheek, and flames broke out anew. His mouth captured hers in a kiss that refreshed all the glorious feelings she already felt. Her body arched against his, and she felt him grow hard again. His eyes asked the question.

“Oh yes,” she said.

He rolled away and left her for a moment. When he returned, he pulled her to him, and suddenly there was warmth and power again, reaching into her, plunging deeper and deeper as if seeking the very core of her soul, and then there were spasms again, spasms even more wondrous than the previous ones.

They clung to each other, savoring the aftershocks.

Then he lay back, and she took his hand. In the dim light that filtered through the curtains from a streetlight, she saw pain etched in his face. Kirke recognized his quiet hopelessness and, because now whatever hurt him hurt her, she shared it. She lingered in his embrace until he sat up.

“We have to move on,” he said regretfully.

“I know,” she replied. By now she expected an unfriendly face to pop up any moment. She realized they had probably stayed too long. But she wouldn't give up a second of it, no matter what the future held.

Kirke had thought she knew what sex was. She'd had no idea. She'd felt desire before, but nothing like the conflagration she felt now. Never before had she felt the primitive instincts that made her body respond in ways it never had before.

In fact, until now she'd always thought sex rather overrated except, perhaps, from the guy's point of view. Her ex-husband had been the “wham, bam, thank you, ma'am” type of lover. He hadn't cared if she felt anything, or at least his actions indicated that.

Not for the first time, she wondered why she'd married him. She had gone to bed with him before marriage, but it had been no worse, or better, than the one and only occasion she'd had sex before she met him. She'd thought it normal. And she'd liked him, even thought she'd loved him. They'd had so much in common, or so she thought. It just seemed to be the right thing to do.

How completely stupid that had been. There had been no one since then, not because she was a prude but simply because most of the men she met were either married or just didn't interest her in that way. She'd wondered whether there was something wrong with her.

But that thought vanished forever in the whirlwind of sensations that had raged through her.

Were still raging.

She took his hand, and he pulled her up. Their eyes met. He touched her face with such tenderness, she couldn't move. His eyes were masked again, but his fingers told her everything she wanted to know.

“I want you out of this,” he said. “After last night I realized how selfish I've been. I wanted to be with you.”

She was stunned by the admission. “I don't want out of it.”

“You've had just a small taste of what these people are capable of,” he said. Killing doesn't bother them. Neither, I suspect, does pain. They want to know what you know, and nothing is going to stop them.”

“The old letter in the hands of my lawyer ploy won't work?”

“He obviously has vast resources,” Jake said, ignoring her poor attempt at humor. “If he can't stop us, he merely has to move on. Neither of us know what name he uses or where he lives.”

“Then why
doesn't
he disappear?”

“He's dead to the CIA, to the U.S. government. He would prefer to stay that way.”

“You've already told me there is no out for me.”

“I still have a few friends who can hide you.”

“Why haven't they helped
you
?”

“They've done what they can.”

She doubted it. She doubted that he'd let them. Jake Kelly was a man who obviously despised asking for help. He was willing to do it for her. Not for himself.

“No. We're in this together now.”

“Things have changed. I'm a fugitive now,” he said. “There's a warrant for my arrest. Before long there will be a reward. Help me, and you can be charged with aiding a fugitive. I'm not going to let that happen.”

“We'll talk about it later,” she said. “Don't we have to leave here?”

He cast her a look of pure frustration. “I'm not taking you to Williamsburg, not if there's a chance Adams knows where we're heading. He might have already alerted the police. If so, you can be held on any number of charges.”

“He won't do that until he learns what I know. What you've told me. What we've put together. Or who I might have talked to. He probably wants to know what those numbers mean as much as we do. He may well think something else was in that envelope as well. It had been opened.”

“Which is why it's important that you leave me and disappear.”

She thought about that. And discarded it. “We're safer together. At least I'm safer.”

His cell phone rang. He flipped it open, checked the phone number, then answered it.

He listened for a moment, then passed it to her. “Sam.”

She took it. “Sam, are you okay?”

“That's my question,” he said. “I'm in Denver. You okay?”

She decided not to tell him about last night. “I'm good.” And she was. Her body still glowed.

“You'll keep me posted?”

“I will. How's your brother?”

“Surprisingly pleased to see me.”

“I told you.”

“I'll listen to you more often.”

“No, you won't.”

He chuckled. “I'll see you in a few days.”

“You'll stay until we tell you it's safe?”

“As long as it's not more than a week. Then I have to be back.”

“I hope before then.”

“Me, too,” he said. “You'll let me know if you need anything?”

“I will. Enjoy Denver.”

She hung up before he could ask additional questions. She didn't like lying to him. She didn't like lying to anyone, but particularly to Sam.

“I need a quick shower, and I'll be ready to go,” she told Jake.

“I'll make some coffee.”

The tiny pot in the room made terrible coffee, but she would take anything she could get.

Before she went, though, she reached on tiptoes and kissed him, then hurried into the bathroom before he could react.

While Kirke was in the bathroom, Jake dressed, then used the new cell phone to call an old friend from his Afghanistan days. Cole Ramsey had been back there again when Jake had been court-martialed. When he'd returned to the States two years later, he learned about Jake and had come to see him. He hadn't believed a word of the charges. He wanted to help. So had his father.

“Ramsey,” his friend answered after two rings.

“Cole, it's—”

“Hi there, John. You gonna make that poker game this weekend?”

“I'm going to try,” Jake responded, a sinking feeling in his stomach. Marshals were there, or listening.

“Bulldog will be there,” Cole added.

“Good.”

“See you then.”

Jake closed the phone. Either the feds had been with Cole, or his line was tapped. So much for this phone. He would throw it in the nearest bin and get yet a new one. Maybe the feds wouldn't check out the number after hearing the conversation, but more than likely they would. They would know the call came from Richmond, but the trail would end there if he didn't use the phone again.

The colonel, Cole's father, was probably also tagged by now as well. He'd told Jake's supervising officer that Jake had gone fishing. No way to prove he knew otherwise, but Jake couldn't expect any more help from him.

But now he needed Cole, and Cole had offered a way for a contact.

If only he could keep Kirke safe long enough for him to meet with Cole.

As if on cue, she came out of the bathroom. Her hair was wet and curled around her face, her cheeks pink from the steam, and the towel did little to hide her curves. He grew hard again and wanted nothing more than to grab that towel from her.

He resisted. Instead, he picked up his duffel. “I'll wait outside,” he said.

She nodded, her eyes wide and searching. She was irresistible. And that was dangerous. To both of them.

It took every ounce of his willpower to turn and walk out.

CHAPTER 23

They lingered in Richmond, where Jake obtained a gun for her.

She'd debated herself about the gun. Although she'd learned to shoot as a reporter, years as a paramedic has shown her only too clearly what a bullet could do to the human body.

But then she remembered the fear hours earlier when that guy tried to chloroform her and drag her away. If he had succeeded, she'd be dead.

Jake accomplished the mission in an astonishingly short time. He'd left her at a large discount store with several hundred dollars to get, among other things, a cheap wedding ring, dark glasses, and a hat. He returned within an hour and nodded his head as she stepped into the rental car. It was scary to her how easily one could obtain an illegal weapon.

It meant, however, they had to be very, very careful drivers. She was with a guy who'd violated probation, who had a fraudulent license, and they had two illegal weapons in their possession. She took a long, deep breath as she closed the car door. She had crossed a line, and there was no going back.

He apparently noticed. “You can still leave,” he said. “You can catch a flight to anyplace in the country. You can join your friend Sam.”

“No,” she replied sharply. No way was she going to leave. His quest had become hers. She could leave him then. His life was far different from hers. He would go back to being a warrior, and she would return to saving lives. She realized the irony between their two vocations.

“You'll hamper me,” he said bluntly. “I'll be worried about you.”

“I'm good at talking to people,” she said. “You're not.”

He raised an eyebrow. “No?”

“No.”

He didn't say anything else but started the car.

He turned off at a rural exit and drove until he saw a dirt road. No sign of a residence. No mailbox. No fences. “Hunting area,” he said as he stopped. “Season's over right now.”

He picked up the paper bag and got out of the car. She did the same. Jake handed the bag to her and watched carefully as she took the gun out. She immediately checked to see whether it was loaded, then she checked the safety.

She glanced up and saw his approval. He handed her a box of ammunition, and she loaded it, then took the safety off.

“Want me to shoot something?” she said.

He nodded.

She aimed at a tree forty feet away. Fired. Missed. She tried again. This time bark flew off.

“That's just fine if the bad guy is a tree and doesn't move,” he said. “But could you fire it at a real person?”

“I think so,” she said. “If someone was threatening you or me. If it was him or me. But I suppose no one knows unless it happens.”

“No,” he agreed. “I've seen trained soldiers unable to fire when it came down to another person. But someone who holds a gun and can't fire is dangerous to those around him. Or her.”

“I understand,” she said. “As a paramedic, I understand more than most what a bullet can do to people. But I'm also used to dealing with crises all the same, and I have a very high appreciation for self-preservation.”

His lips twitched, but then said simply, “Okay, let's go.”

She carefully carried the gun to the car and slipped it inside her purse, his question haunting her.

Could she really use it?

She had no idea.

Williamsburg had to hold the answer. Otherwise, everything he'd done in the past week, everything Kirke and other innocents had gone through, would have been for nothing. That knowledge ate at his gut.