He gave a low, rough laugh. "All right, love. You don't have
to wait any longer. I'll give you what you want." Swiftly he stripped her,
even of the shirt that bound her arms, and took off his own clothes, then
settled his weight onto her. Rachel accepted him with a sigh of painful relief,
her arms wrapping around him as he spread her legs and entered her. She reached
her peak quickly, convulsing in his arms, and slowly he built her to pleasure
again. He couldn't get enough of her that night, returning to her over and
over, as if time slowed when they were locked together in love.
It was shortly before dawn when
she woke up for the last time, lying on her side with her back to him, snuggled
into the warm curve of his chest and thighs, just as they had slept
every night since he'd regained consciousness.
This was the last time he would hold her like this, and she lay
very still, not wanting to wake him.
But he was already awake. His hand moved slowly over her breasts,
then down to her thighs. He raised her leg, draping it over his thigh, and slid
into her from behind. His hand flattened against her stomach to brace her as he
began moving in and out of her. "One last time," he murmured into her
hair. Dear God, it was the last time, and he didn't think he could stand it. If
he had ever been happy in his life it had been during these too short days with
Rachel. This would be the last time her soft body would sheathe his hardness,
the last time her breasts would fill his hands, the last time he would ever see
the misty look of passion in her lake-gray eyes. She trembled beneath his
hands, biting her lips to keep from crying out as the pleasure built within
her. When the time came he clasped her to him, holding himself deep within her
while she turned her face into the pillow to stifle the sounds she made, then
he thrust deep and hard and shuddered with his own release.
The room was growing light now, the sky glowing with the pink
pearl of approaching sunrise. He sat up in the bed and looked down at her, her
body damp and glowing like the sky. Perhaps this last time had been a mistake,
because he hadn't taken his usual precautions, but he couldn't regret it. He
couldn't have tolerated any separation of their bodies.
Rachel lay exhausted on the pillows, watching him with her heart
in her eyes. Her body still throbbed from his lovemaking, and her pulse was
only gradually slowing. "You may never come back," she whispered.
"But I'll wait here for you, anyway."
Only the slight jerking of a muscle beside his mouth revealed his
reaction. He shook his head. "No, don't waste
your life.
Find someone else, get married and have a houseful of kids."
Somehow she managed a smile. "Don't be a fool," she told
him with aching tenderness. "As if there could be anyone else after
you."
They were ready to leave, and Rachel was so stiff inside that she
thought she would shatter if anyone touched her. She knew there would be no
goodbye kisses, no final words to burn into her memory. He would simply leave,
and it would be finished. He wasn't even taking the pistol with him, which
would give him an excuse to contact her again to return it. The pistol was
registered to her; he didn't want anything that could be traced back to her in
case things didn't go as planned.
Sullivan had hidden his rental car somewhere down the road; Jane
was going to drive them to it, then return to their farm. Rachel would be left
alone in a house that echoed with emptiness, and she was already trying to
think of ways to fill the time. She would work in the garden, mow the lawn,
wash the car, maybe even go swimming. Later she would go out to eat, see a
movie, anything to postpone coming back. Perhaps by then she would be so tired
she would be able to sleep, though she didn't hold out much hope for that.
Still, she'd get by, because she had no choice.
"I'll let you know," Jane whispered, hugging Rachel.
Rachel's eyes burned. "Thank you."
Grant opened the door and walked out onto the porch, which brought
Joe to his feet, and snarls filled the air. Calmly Grant surveyed the dog.
"Well, hell," he said mildly.
Jane snorted. "Are you afraid of that dog? He's as sweet as
can be."
Kell followed them onto the porch. "Joe, sit," he
commanded.
There was the peculiar, high-pitched CRACK! of a rifle being fired
and the wood exploded on the post not two inches from Kell's head. Kell turned
and dove for the open door just as Rachel leaped for him, and he knocked her
sprawling. Almost simultaneously Grant literally threw Jane through the door as
another shot exploded, then he covered her with his body.
"Are you all right?" Kell asked through clenched teeth,
anxiously looking Rachel over even as he lashed out with one foot and kicked
the door shut.
She'd banged her head on the floor, but it wasn't anything
serious. Her face white, she clutched at him. "Yes, I'm f-f-fine,"
she stammered.
He rolled to his feet, crouching to stay below the windows.
"You and Jane lie down in the hall," he ordered tersely, getting the
pistol from the bedroom where he'd left it.
Grant had helped Jane to a sitting position, brushing her hair out
of her face and giving her a swift kiss before he pushed her toward Rachel.
"Go on, move," he snapped, drawing his own pistol from his belt.
There was another shot, and the window closest to Grant shattered,
raining shards of glass all over him. He cursed luridly.
Rachel stared at them, trying to gather her thoughts. They were
armed only with pistols, while whoever was shooting at them had a rifle,
stacking the deck against Kell and Grant. A rifle had the advantage of accuracy
over a greater distance, allowing their assailant to shoot from outside the
range of the pistols.
Her .22 rifle didn't have much power, but it did have a greater range
and accuracy than the pistols, and she crawled into the bedroom to get it, as
well as what
ammunition she had.
Thank God Kell had told her to buy those shells!
"Here," she said, crawling back into the living room and
sliding the rifle toward Kell. He glanced around, his fist closing over the
weapon. Grant was moving through the house, checking to make certain no one was
coming up on them from behind.
"Thanks," Kell said briefly. "Get back in the hall,
honey."
Jane was crouched there, staring at her husband with an odd fury
in her chocolate eyes. "They shot at you," she growled.
"Yep," he confirmed.
She was fuming like a volcano
about to blow, muttering to herself as she dragged the nylon overnighter she'd
brought to her, unzipping it and throwing clothing and makeup to one side.
"I'm not putting up with this," she said furiously.
"Damn it, they shot at him!" She produced a pistol and shoved it into
Rachel's hand, then dug back into the bag. She dragged a small case out of it,
about the size of a violin case, and threw it at Grant. "Here! I don't
know how to put the thing together!"
He opened the case and glared at Jane even as he began snapping
the rifle together with swift, practiced movements. "Where the hell did
you get this?"
"Never mind!" she barked, tossing a clip of ammunition
to him. He fielded it one-handed and snapped it into place. Kell glanced over
his shoulder. "Got any C-4 or grenades in there?"
"No," Jane said regretfully. "I didn't have time to
get everything I wanted."
Rachel crawled to the side window, cautiously lifting her head to
peek out. Kell swore. "Get down," he snapped. "Stay out of this.
Get back in the hall, where it's safer."
She was pale, but calm. "There are only two of you, and four
sides to the house. You need us."
Jane grabbed Grant's discarded pistol. "She's right. You need
us."
Kell's face was set like granite. This was exactly what he'd
wanted most to avoid, one of his worst fears coming true. Rachel's life was
being threatened because of him. Damn! Why hadn't he left last night, as he
should have? He'd let sexual desire override his common sense, and now she was
in danger.
"Sabin!" The voice came from the pine thicket.
He didn't answer, but his eyes narrowed as he surveyed the
thicket, trying to find the speaker. He wasn't going to answer and reveal his
position; let them find out the hard way.
"Come on, Sabin, don't make it any harder than it has to
be!" the voice continued. "If you surrender, I give you my word none
of the others will be harmed!"
"Who is that joker?" Grant grunted.
"Charles Dubois, alias Charles Lloyd, alias Kurt Schmidt,
alias several other names," Kell murmured.
The names meant nothing to Rachel, but Sullivan's brows lifted.
"So he finally decided to come after you himself." He looked around.
"We're not in a good position. He's got men all around the house. There
aren't that many of them, but we're hemmed in. I checked the phone – it's
dead."
Kell didn't have to be told that their situation wasn't good. If
Dubois used the rockets on the house, as he had on the boat, they were all as
good as dead. But then again, he was trying to take Kell alive. Alive, he was
worth a lot of money to a lot of people who would pay anything to get their
hands on him.
He tried to think, but the cold
fact was that there was no
way out of the house.
Even if they waited until nightfall and tried to sneak out, there
was little available cover to use except for the bushes, which were right
against the house. Away from the house, it was open for a good distance in all
directions. That meant it would be difficult for anyone to catch them unawares,
but it also meant the same thing in reverse. Even if he walked out and
surrendered, it wouldn't save the others. There was no way Dubois would let any
witnesses live. He knew it, and Sullivan knew it; he could only hope Rachel and
Jane didn't realize quite how hopeless the situation really was.
A glance at Rachel dispelled that idea. She knew, all right. That
had been the problem from the first; she was too aware, with no veil of
ignorance to shield her. He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her head on
his shoulder, assure her that it would be all right, but with those clear,
level gray eyes on him, he couldn't lie to her, even to give her momentary
comfort. He never wanted any lies between them.
There was a shot from the bedroom, and all the color washed out of
Grant's face, but before he could move Jane called him. "Grant! Is the
kneecap where I'm supposed to shoot these people?"
If anything, he went even whiter, swearing long and low.
"Well, it doesn't matter," she added philosophically.
"I missed, anyway. But I hit his gun, if that counts."
"Sabin!" the man yelled again. "You are testing my
patience! This cannot go on much longer. It would be such a pity if the woman
was harmed."
"Woman," instead of "women." Then Kell
realized that Rachel hadn't gone out on the porch; they had seen Jane and
thought she was Rachel. They were both slim and had dark hair, though Jane was
taller and her hair was a little longer, but at a distance no one would have
noticed.
It didn't give him much of an advantage, but it might help that
Dubois would be underestimating the number of armed people.
"Sabin!"
"I'm thinking!" Kell yelled, keeping his head away from
the window.
"Time is a luxury you can't afford, my friend. You know you
can't win. Why not make it easy on yourself? The woman will go free, I promise
you!"
Dubois's promises weren't worth the air it took to make them, and
Kell knew it. Time. Somehow he had to buy a little time. He didn't know what he
was going to do, but every extra second gave chance an opportunity to step in.
Timing was always critical, and if he could stall Dubois it might throw the man
off in some way.
"What about my other friend?" he yelled.
"Of course," Dubois lied smoothly. "I have no
quarrel with him."
Grant's lips twisted back in a feral grin. "Sure. There's no
way he didn't recognize me."
What a coup it would be for Dubois to capture both Sabin and the
Tiger, the big tawny warrior with the wild, golden eyes who had ranged the
jungle with Sabin and later been his prime agent. Each was legendary in his own
right; together they had been incredible, so attuned that they acted as one
man.
Sullivan had
had a run-in with some of Dubois's men a few years back; no, Dubois wouldn't
have forgotten that, considering how Sullivan had made a fool of him.
A movement in the trees suddenly caught Kell's attention, and his
black eyes narrowed. "See if you can get him to say something else,"
he told Grant, sliding the barrel of the .22 just a fraction of an inch outside
the broken window and keeping his eyes fixed on the spot in the trees.
"Come on, Dubois," Grant yelled. "Don't play games.
I know you recognized me."
Kell's finger tightened slightly on the trigger as silence
reigned; was Dubois really surprised to find out they knew who he was? It was
true that he had always operated from the background rather than risk his own
safety, but Kell had been after him for years now, ever since Dubois had begun
selling his services as a terrorist.