Stolen Secrets (8 page)

As soon as Angie screamed for Ryan, the masked intruder ran towards her in five leaping steps. The dull flash of a gun barrel spurred her to movement.

She threw herself sideways, feeling his hand brush her arm as she fell away. She rolled over and scrambled on her hands and knees down the short hall, screaming with all the volume she could manage.

"Ryan! Help!"

Ryan threw his door open, clicking on the bedroom light behind his pajama-clad figure just as the intruder hauled Angie to her feet. She caught the sharp odor of cigarette smoke as he yanked her backwards against his heavy coat, her breath knocked out, cutting short her scream.

The end of the gun pressed hard against her throat, bruising her skin. Ryan paused, his body tensed for action. Don't do anything rash, she prayed silently. She didn't want him injured, maybe killed, trying to save her.

"Stay back... and she don't get hurt." The stranger's voice rumbled in her ear.

"Let her go." Ryan spoke the command softly as he stepped toward them, his movements deceptively slow.

The choke-hold on Angie tightened, making her gasp for air. The intruder stood much taller than she. Taller than Ryan. She could feel the bulk of him against her. He growled, low in his throat. "No. Stay away. I was warned about you."

Ryan's eyes focused with a piercing hardness. "You were? Then be smart. Turn her loose. I'll let you leave, unharmed."

The man's voice became louder. "First the CDs."

Why is he afraid? He's the one with the gun
, Angie thought. She used both hands to pull down on the intruder’s arm as she began to wheeze. Her hands, made strong by years of training, had enough strength in them to move his arm. Once she could get a decent breath, her desperation eased slightly.

"Which ones?" Ryan demanded.

"You know. For the MXOIL corporation."

Ryan frowned as he answered. "You— or your gang— stole that the other night."

"Funny, funny. You ruined my hard drive. I want both CDs."

"They wouldn't be here,” Ryan said. “We keep those in a vault."

"Don’t give me that. They’re here. Open your safe." His voice had a different cadence than either Ted or his raspy friend, yet Angie had a feeling she had heard it before. But where? When?

With a grunt, the intruder dragged her backward into the office while Ryan followed, barefoot— not pressing too close— a silent pantomime taking place among the three.

The stranger smelled of smoke, alcohol, and sweat— the last probably from fear. Intent only on his own safety, he handled her roughly.

If she could only trip him somehow, or knock his hand down. She kicked hard, but that just sent pain shooting through her ankle. Enraged, she pulled hard on his gun hand, moving it away from her neck.

Following them into the office, Ryan turned on the overhead lights. "Angie... no! Stop that!" he warned, concern creasing his face. "His finger’s on the trigger! Don't fight him. I'll give him what he wants."

She dropped her hands as fear tempered her anger. She had been so mad, she hadn’t thought about the gun going off.

Ryan strode over to the large safe, spun the dial and opened it, revealing papers, file folders, and storage boxes filled with CDs. He flipped through them, checking the numbered labels, then opened one.

"Here they are.”

"Put one on the monitor. Then stand over by the door while I take a look."

Ryan inserted a CD in the computer and typed in some commands. It hummed and groaned for a few seconds, then displayed its information.

"There." He walked away and the other man peered at the monitor.

"Good. This is what I want. Where's your other set?"

"My backups? These are the backups. You already stole the originals."

"Huh?" The stranger grunted, appearing confused. "I’m supposed to get two sets."

"Two sets? Or two CDs? I don't have any more here. Do you want me to show— " Ryan stepped away from the door and instantly the gun barrel was jammed into Angie's throat. She gasped. He stopped.

"Back off. I'm not tangling with any black belt. I'll blast her, then you, if you try anything."

"You harm her and I'll— "

"Stay far off." As Ryan stepped backward into the hallway, Angie realized her presence was the only thing giving the thief the upper hand. A black belt. That explained how Ryan had handled Jack so easily.

The intruder pulled Angie to the open safe and scanned the numbers on the labels, having her move the boxes in front. When his search proved fruitless, he dropped the set he wanted into his coat pockets and addressed Ryan.

"Go into a bedroom and close the door."

"No. You got what you came for. Turn her loose."

"Give me more distance. I will then."

"Ten feet. No more."

"Twenty."

Ryan's gaze shifted from the intruder's to Angie's. She was shocked by the intense frustration raging in his eyes. "Twelve. You turn her loose, soon, or you'll find out exactly why you were warned. You can have the CDs. But I'm not letting you take Angie, gun or no gun."

His words stamped the air with heavy blows. Angie had never heard him so forceful. Was it out of concern for her as a human being, or did his feelings go deeper... as hers did for him?

Slowly they worked their way down the hall, Ryan following, closing in as they half-fell down the circular stairs. Outside, the man struggled for balance as he walked backward on the ice-covered boards, dragging Angie with him. On the edge of the dock he hesitated, as if considering his next move.

As he shifted his grip, Angie had a forewarning of what he planned to do, but found herself unable to prevent it. Hurled sideways, she whirled into space, her scream cut short as she plunged into the freezing black water.

The cold took her breath away. Her heart stopped for a second in shock. Deep... deeper... her momentum carried her down into the dark depths, icy water filling her ears, her nostrils. She felt the brush of underwater plants, trying to wrap around her legs.

Upwards. She had to get up, out, back to air. She kicked free of the plants and churned her way to the surface.

Angie came up under the dock. There was air there, a small space to put her face and catch her breath. She fought down panic as she took a few seconds to orient herself. The light from the dock gleamed into the water making it lighter in that area. She worked her way to the edge, dove under and came up alongside.

A pipe hung over her head. Plastic. Ice covered. Her hands slid off. A second try succeeded only in creating more ice. The air felt colder than the water and she drew her hand back in.

She must find a ladder. If Ryan was fighting with the intruder, he wouldn't be able to help.

"Angie! Here!" Ryan lay on the dock, his arms extend towards her. Ducking under the pipe, she swam over to where he could reach her, his grip strong enough to hurt as he pulled her upwards. He wasn't about to let her slip back in.

"Did he get away?" she gasped as they regained their feet. His pajamas were covered with snow, but he didn't seem to notice that or her question.

"Inside. Quick."

Dripping water blurred her eyes and she wiped her face. The freezing night air chilled her more than the lake. It rapidly drained what strength she had left, but she was still furious about being used against Ryan. "If he hadn't tossed me in, you could've— "

"He might've shot you. He wasn't particular how he created a diversion. You shouldn't have fought him."

"Well, thanks." Angie started to limp towards the houseboat on bare feet so numb she no longer noticed them. The blue shirt plastered itself tightly against her, soaked and heavy.

"Independent woman," she heard him mutter. Still muttering under his breath, Ryan caught her up and bore her rapidly across the ramp and through the open door.

Banging it shut with his heel, he continued up to the bathroom. Both were shaking by the time they reached the shower and Ryan turned the water on. The stream hit her as he lowered her to her feet.

"Ow, that's hot."

"Barely warm," he corrected.

Gradually he raised the temperature until it reached normal, supporting her with one arm while she regained strength. Recovery came fairly quick as the period of immersion had been short. The sharp tingling left her skin, to be replaced by comfortable warmth.

"I'm better now." She grasped the soap holder, but found to her delight that he continued to hold her, his arm a strong and secure protection. "Where did he go?"

He leaned closer to adjust the water again; stayed close. "He had a speed boat next to the dock." His tone sounded soft, tender, as if speaking words of love— his eyes shining as if he had won a prize. Angie's heartbeat quickened in response as she tried to read the meaning in his gaze. Was he happy because the intruder had gone, or that she had come out unhurt?

"Shouldn't you lock the front door?" she asked, turning her face up to his, inches away.

He considered her question reluctantly. "Later."

"What if he comes back?" she worried aloud.

"No problem. He wouldn't have you as a shield." He moved his arm, stepping away, and she had to fight the desire to pull him back. With a liberal hand, he poured shampoo over her hair. "You smell like Lake Union."

Laughing, she held one hand over her eyes as he massaged the shampoo in. She tipped her face upwards, eyes closed, sighing as his strong, gentle fingers slowly worked the suds through her hair. "That's nice."

She felt cherished by him, loved— a feeling of perfect harmony. Had the dangers of the past hour magnified his feelings, also, so that like and respect had turned to love... and desire?

Or was he just washing her hair because it stunk? She mulled it over all through the rinse, her heart skyrocketing when he finalized his actions with just a touch of a kiss near the bruise on her neck.

"That's going to be purple tomorrow." His voice sounded low, husky, wonderful to hear.

Her lids flicked open in surprise, finding his perceptive brown eyes a hand's-breadth away. His face was as wet as hers, his smile sensuous. She could’ve drowned in the look he gave her.

"I can hardly feel it," she exclaimed, unsettled by the strength of emotion churning within. She raised her hand, then dropped it as she fought against the desire to pull him close. "He was pretty rough."

Ryan’s gaze changed, hardening as he spoke. "You had me worried... I thought you were going to fight him."

"I would’ve, if he hadn't had that gun."

"Few things are worth your life, Angie. Remember that. Especially money. Or in this case, a set of CDs easily replaced. Remember, I told you they’re encrypted. I'll set out a bandage for you." He stepped out, grabbing a towel, and she could hear him moving around in the bathroom.

“But I thought he got both the system and the installation CD this time.”

“He did. But they were ones I’d made to leave at Scott’s office. They were filled with booby traps and no information.”

“He didn’t get the real ones?”

“No.”

“You’re good, you know that?”

He didn’t answer. "I'll bring you another shirt," he said, and went out.

The blue shirt she had on refused to be unbuttoned. It took both hands to get free. Finally she peeled it and the khaki shorts off and let them fall to the shower floor. Stripping off her ankle bandage, she wadded it up; she could put on a fresh wrap in the morning.

A few more minutes spent with soap and water and Angie felt like herself again. A large fluffy towel finished the warming process. His wet pajamas lay in a soggy puddle in the middle of the floor— he must’ve stripped when he stepped out— and she tossed them into the shower to drain with her things.

The abrasion on her neck felt sore and she touched it gingerly. She had been lucky the gun hadn’t gone off.

She had swallowed a mouthful of dirty lake water and had drunk more under the shower. It wasn't at all how she had planned to get a drink, but at least she was no longer thirsty.

The red and black check lumberjack shirt Ryan handed in through the doorway was older than the blue. It lacked the top two buttons, which was probably why he hadn't given it to her earlier. Nevertheless it felt soft and comfy. If anything, it looked more provocative than the blue.

The khaki shorts were too wet to wear, but somehow she didn't seem to mind. She was too happy.

Angie was wringing out their clothes when Ryan knocked on the door. "Come in," she called.

"Everything okay?" He had on tee shirt, jeans and an old pair of moccasins. His gaze swept over her, flared, was swiftly banked down and averted.

"Yes. I'll let you hang these up."

"They need the washer." Not looking at her, he took them and went downstairs. She stopped by the office door, her mind replaying events, and looked up when he returned.

"He seemed to know a lot... about you and the CDs."

Ryan frowned, considering her implication. "We’ve two dead men, who you say tried to get those CDs at the office. Now we’ve one live man trying for the same thing. If he shot our second thief, then he’s also a murderer."

"Except he sounded like someone else had sent him— someone who knew all about you and what they wanted.”

“So I noticed.”

“Are those CDs all that important?"

"They are to MXOIL."

“Are you going to call the police?”

“Yes. They need to know he might be a killer. He kept his gloves on. I doubt there are any prints around, but they may want to check for evidence. We’ll see.”

"Shall we try for bed again?" she suggested.

"Sounds okay to me," he said, but her innocent suggestion brought back the smile on his lips.

"Then good night." She wouldn't be able to pull back if he kissed her now. Her lips were already anticipating his.

He must have felt it too, for he stopped short and a flame lit in his eyes, a hint of passion in them that wasn't there before. He stroked her hair tentatively, bringing one finger under her ear and across the lines of her chin, stopping at her lips. A trail of fire followed the delicate touch and her lips parted unconsciously.