Heroes In Uniform (299 page)

Maggie stood under the shower until it ran out of hot water. Then she piled all her furniture in front of the door again, slid into her nightgown, and read an entire book by the light of the lantern, her revolver stuck under her pillow.

This time, the romantic kiss at the end of the romance novel just left her angry and frustrated. Who were they kidding, anyway? She threw the book across the room and glared out at the moon.

Damn him, anyway
. Leave it to her to fall for a man she could never have. Not until Whitney was behind bars for the rest of his life. Which might not ever happen. And even if it did, the trial could drag on for months, or years. By that time, Cooper would be long gone. Probably married to someone else, with twins on the way.

No, there would be no happy ending to their story.

Shivering, she got up and turned off the light. Against her will, her eyes were drawn to the window. She’d hated leaving Cooper at the barbecue without a word. But she knew if she’d spoken to him, she’d have broken down and begged him to watch over her. Which would probably have made Dinny yank her into protective custody so fast her head would spin.

Ever since she’d heard the rattle of the Indian and saw the glow of a fire at his camp tonight, she'd fought the call of the telescope. She still wanted desperately to go to him. To explain why she’d run away.

She knew she couldn’t do that. But she could look at him.

It was no use fighting it. Her heart ached too badly. She wanted to see him. Just one look, that was all.

She gave in and went to the telescope. Cooper was lying on a blanket staring into the flames, tossing stray bits of bark and pinecone into the fire, watching the sparks.

Suddenly, he lifted his eyes to the tower and scowled. She gasped, and stumbled away from the telescope.

Don't be silly
. He couldn't possibly see her. She was too far up. And her lights were out.

She crept back to the scope. His glare continued to bore through her for a few seconds, then he rolled onto his back, crossing his arms under his head. Camouflaged by his black clothing and hair against the blanket, he was barely visible in the darkness, just a murky silhouette licked by firelight.

His face reflected red as he turned toward her once more. Pulling one of his hands free, he put it to his chest. And started unbuttoning his shirt. He untucked it from his jeans with a jerk, then sat up and slipped it off.

Holy cannoli
.

She licked her lips as her throat tightened with need.

“Don't do this to me, Wolf,” she whispered, not daring to close her eyes for fear the mirage would vanish in the night. “It's so not fair.”

He lingered on the blanket for a minute, then in a graceful movement, he stood and faced her. Planting his bare feet on the dark wool, he dropped both hands, and slowly, enticingly, unbuttoned his jeans. One. Button. At. A time.

He looked downward and smiled wickedly, then spread the fly wide apart.

Frustration and raw lust mingled in her body as his long, hard cock shifted out from the opening. His blatantly sexual gaze ripped through the telescope and sizzled into the very core of her body.

Mortified fascination kept her rooted to the spot.

First he slid off his jeans, then his boxer briefs, dropping each with a provocative flourish onto the blanket. Legs apart, his arousal standing straight and thick, he pulled the band from his braid and shook his hair loose.

Looking right into her eyes, he said carefully, so she could read his lips, “I'm coming for you.”

Then, he turned, walked to the lake, and waded in.

Oh.

My.

God
.

She ran to her bed and jumped in, burying herself in the quilt in a futile attempt to soften the onslaught of emotions and sensations that gripped her.

Her body ached from wanting him. Her heart ached from loving him. Her soul ached from knowing any moment Whitney could walk up this mountain and kill them both. Her head ached from trying to talk herself into believing someday they might actually have a chance at happiness.

She huddled in bed, quivering, until she fell into a fitful sleep.

Sometime later she awoke, suffocating under the weight of the blanket...and a dream about wolves devouring her.

The air inside the tower was heavy and hot, since she didn’t dare leave the door or windows open. She got up, went to the sink, and took a long drink of cool water.

Dark clouds were moving in, creeping around the mountains, crawling through the river valleys below, enveloping the forest in a thick grayness. She went to the window, staring down at Blue Wolf's camp.

He had taken up his position in front of the fire, this time with the blanket draped loosely around his body.

Suddenly, she noticed two small lights in the forest a short distance from his camp, bobbing slowly along.

People holding flashlights. Coming toward the tower!

Panic razored through her. Whitney’s men?

All at once, the flashlight beams veered off in another direction. Moonlight reflected off a long metal object as they disappeared among the trees.

A rifle!

“My God!” she cried. “The poachers!”

She should radio it in.
Definitely
not chase them herself.

But by the time anyone got here, they'd be long gone.

Cooper
. He could help.

Without giving herself time to think, she ran to the bed and grabbed her gun from under the pillow. Her heart beat furiously as she slipped on a large, dark shawl and her cowboy boots, then snatched up her flashlight, cell phone, and an old-school compass from the counter.

She shoved aside the jumble of furniture, flew down the stairs, and ran into Cooper’s camp.

“Wolf?” she called, peering out at the lake. It was still and flat. He didn’t answer.

Damn it
.

She couldn’t wait for him. She had to go.

Running into the forest, she headed in the direction of the two flashlights.

Tonight, she would find out who those damn poachers were, once and for all. At least one good thing would come of this night.

Barely Dangerous: Chapter Seventy-Four

Blue Wolf gazed up at Tower Eight through slotted, heavy-lidded eyes. All he wore were buckskin pants, a bear claw necklace, and a feather tied in his hair. His smooth body glistened in the misty glow of the fog-enshrouded moon.

He lifted his face into the roiling fog and inhaled, to catch a whiff of the woman's scent. The woman in the tower.

The woman he would steal this night.

Bending down on one knee in front of the ring of still-hot river cobbles, he dragged two grease-moistened fingertips across one of the blackened stones. He brought the fingers to his cheeks and forehead, drawing them across each in a distinctive pattern. He thrust his dagger into the sheath at his hip.

Tonight he had become Wolf, spirit guardian of the hunt.

His gaze pierced the sultry haze for a moment, seeking out the tower. With rapid movements he fetched a pair of handcuffs from his kit and tucked one bracelet into the back of his waistband. He felt the back pocket of his buckskins, checking the small packets.

One way or another, she would listen to him.

Loping on moccasined feet across the darkness of the forest floor, he quickly found the tower stairs. Noiselessly, he climbed them, pausing only when he reached the door behind which the woman slept. He gently turned the knob. It was unlocked.

Stealthily, he entered and crept toward her bed.

It was empty.

For a moment, he just stared in total disbelief.

Are you fucking serious?

He glanced around. And didn’t see her.

Now
, what?

It had taken all his chutzpah to get this far. Even more than it had taken to perform that shameless striptease earlier—at which point he had still been under the fortifying influence of Timmons’ medicinal intervention. Now, he was stone cold sober.

He ran his hand under the quilt. It was still a little warm.

Was she hiding from him?

“Maggie?”

Damn it! This was not at
all
how he had envisioned this going down.

“Maggie, come out!” He scanned the cab for hiding places. “It's not what it looks like.”

Yeah, right. Explain it, then, mighty warrior
.

His gaze halted on an untidy bunch of furniture sitting right next to the door—everything movable in the cab, except the bed.

What the hell was going on?

He did a systematic search, and was almost relieved when he still didn't find her.

Almost
.

He went out on the catwalk to look down at the shower and outhouse. He didn’t see Maggie, but all at once, he saw lights blinking on and off, out in the forest.

Flashlights! Moving through the night, blinking when they went behind trees. There were three of them. Two together in the lead, and one following—coming from this direction.

He gripped the deck rail.
Maggie?

It had to be her.

Meeting Dinny the poacher
.

That must have been what the phone call was about at the barbecue. And why she hadn’t come back afterward. She’d felt too guilty.

Well, he had news for them. This poaching ring was about to go down in flames.

His hand went to the bone-handled dagger at his side, his only weapon. He'd have to risk going after them without his Glock or the shotgun. There wasn't enough time to go back to camp.

No way he would risk losing them.

Swift as his namesake, he ran down the stairs and into the woods. He’d give Maggie a wide berth and close in on Dinny and the other guy. Keeping himself hidden in the increasingly dense fog, it should be easy to move in and listen to the conversation when Maggie joined them. If they were planning another kill tonight, hopefully he’d be able to arrest them before they could succeed. Between the knife, his handcuffs, and the element of surprise, he should be able to handle two men. If Maggie got away...well, he knew where she lived.

He followed them for half an hour. He’d passed Maggie long ago, and had seen no sign of her since. Had she gotten lost in the fog? It would serve her right to spend a night in the wilds—better by far than a jail cell.

He crouched on a hillside, straining his ears to pick up the footfalls of the poachers. He closed his eyes and turned his face into the breeze, tasting the humid air with a half-open mouth. He cleared his mind, and became one with the fog and the darkness, allowing the subtle sounds and the dank, piney smells of the forest to glide through his subconscious.

A barely discernible noise slowly lifted itself above the other sounds. From far away, he heard a faint huffing sound, like abrupt bursts of a bellows, accompanied by low grunts and short snapping noises.

A bear!

He was instantly alert and on his feet.

Damn
. They must be hunting tonight. Which meant they had guns.
Awesome
.

Swallowing his unease, he ran as quickly as he could toward the animal. Two minutes later,
bang
, a rifle report cracked through the night.

He froze, trying to pinpoint its location.

Bang
. Another shot.

He could hear the bear crashing through the underbrush toward him. The poachers were coming at him, too, from farther away. It was risky, but if he could slip between them, he could scare off the bear, then divert the poachers by playing wounded bird.

He just prayed he wouldn’t get caught in the crossfire.

He ducked behind some boulders downwind of the bear's path. Moments later, a gigantic black bear lumbered out from a thick finger of fog. It was moving fast, but seemed unperturbed by the commotion behind it. When it reached the boulders where he was hiding, it slowed to a stop, and turned its twitching muzzle toward him.

Oh, shit
.

On most days, bears were fairly amenable creatures. Not dangerous unless cornered—or if you smelled like honey and blackberries. But this bear was fucking huge. And seemed way too interested in him.

He emptied his head of all thought, and tried to become invisible.

The bear reared up on its hind legs and bellowed. And suddenly, into the blank void of Coop’s mind burst a presence so powerful he jumped to his feet in shock.

He stared in wonder at the giant beast before him. He should be terrified. But instead, a tremendous feeling of calm and benevolence enveloped him.

“Nimosom
,” he whispered, cognizant of the approaching hunters, “Ignore me and continue your journey. We will play a trick on those who dishonor you.”

The bear landed on all fours and shook its enormous head. It grunted a few times, and lumbered off in a different direction, disappearing once again into a fog bank.

Good fucking night
.

Coop had heard about hunters being smoked by their prey, but before tonight he had never in his wildest imagination believed it was true. Hell, he
still
didn’t believe it was true. Except it had just happened to him.

Trying to calm his shaking hands, he gathered up an armful of rocks and took off in the opposite direction, angling away from the poachers. Every few yards he tossed a rock as far as he could to his left, creating a trail of noise for them to follow.

When he was sure he had caught their attention, he launched the remaining rocks, and ran, searching for a likely tree to climb. He found one with a low-hanging limb, hoisted himself up, and shinnied into a branch thick with needles. There, he waited silently.

He heard muffled voices arguing. The thick blanket of fog muffled the voices so much, he could not tell if they were young or old, or men or women. He decided to move in closer.

Carefully, he lowered himself down to the ground and stealthily moved toward them. Suddenly, a twig snapped right behind him. He spun around as he drew his knife, dropping into a defensive position, prepared for battle.