Playing For Keeps (Montana Men) (28 page)

“No. I’m just too tired to worry about what you might do
next.”

“You need my help with your wounds?”

“No. I told you, I’m beat.”

Flayme eyed him. “I didn’t peg you for a man who gives up
easily.”

“I’m not giving up, just giving out.” He didn’t even
flinch when she brushed the damp hair back from his face. “God, you’re burning
up,” she said. “I should get you to a hospital.”

“No.” He proved he wasn’t quite out of it by clamping his
fingers around her wrist.

When she moaned, he let go. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I should
have realized you were sore. No matter what happens, don’t take me to a
hospital. They’ll ask too many questions. Go take your shower, then I’ll take
one. Then, you take care of me.”

*
* * *

Flayme
blinked, wondering at his innuendo.

“My
wounds,” he clarified. “You can take care of my injuries.”

“But…I’m
not a doctor. I’m not even a nurse. You need antibiotics. You need stitches,
for heaven’s sake!”

Duel nodded. “The first aid kit that clerk gave me has
medicine, a suture kit, and about anything else I might need.”

“You
expect me to stitch your wounds?”

“Yep.”

“Oh,
Lord.”

“Hey,
anyone who can wield a knife the way you do can damn sure sew up a wound.”

“Yuck!
Stabbing you was fast. Sewing you
up is going to take some time.”

A
faint grin twisted his lips. “Good.”

“You’re
an ass. Aren’t you?”

His
mouth quirked. “Nah.” At her accusing look, he nodded. “Okay. I suppose I can
be. My brother, Jace, would certainly side with you on the subject.”

“Suppose?”
Flayme smoothed her shirt. She figured that was as close to an admission of
guilt or apology she’d get from him. His gaze tracked her movement and settled
on her breasts. She hesitated, then dropped her arms to her sides. “So can I.”

“Don’t
I know it?”

“I
was perfect until you came along. You know how to try a lady’s temper.” She
turned to leave the room, dreading stitching his injuries, but if she didn’t,
he was likely going to die on her. She didn’t want to spend the rest of her
life in a federal pen.

“I
think you might be the key to this entire mess,” he said, “or at least a big
piece of the puzzle. Someone wants you dead. So, run away, if that’s what you
still wanna do. I won’t stop you. I just wanna sleep. So don’t stab me again or
slit my throat…or cuff me to this bed.”

She studied him for an intense moment. Certainly he was
handsome, when he wasn’t in such a banged-up shape. Even though she might not
want to be, she was attracted to him. “I’m not going to run away, or kill you.”

He
closed his eyes. “I’m grateful, believe me.”

“It’s true.” She watched him struggle to stay awake and
marveled at his stamina when he felt so bad. “I don’t have to. You aren’t going
to last much longer if we don’t get the bleeding stopped.”

He
nodded. “Go shower. I’ll wait right here.” He patted the bed.

Flayme
frowned. She had the sudden feeling he was much worse than he wanted her to
know. “I’ll help you,” she whispered, feeling guilty that he was in such a bad
way. “I swear it.”

“Right.”

“Look,
where am I going to go? The phones are out. You disabled your car. The motel
clerk is a horny moron. I haven’t any money. My purse is back in D.C. with my
wallet, credit cards and checkbook. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be right back,
and I’ll sew you up…even if it kills me.”

He
groaned and patted the bed again. “Like I said, I’ll wait right here.”

Chapter
Twenty-Two

Nothing will work unless you do.

~Maya Angelou

Western Australia

Damnboola Station

February 13, Friday

Raider
Remington, owner of Damnboola Station, the biggest cattle and sheep station in
Western Australia, took his time settling the phone on its cradle. His gaze
locked with Wild’s, and he felt his heart clench. Shit. Sometimes he detested
friggin’ red tape, government bureaucracy, rules and regulations. They choked a
man.

He
knew without a shred of doubt Wild realized what the call had been about. It
didn’t lessen the dread he felt at having to confirm it. He saw tears well in
the younger man’s eyes and very nearly lost it himself.

Like
all of them, Wild was running on empty. The thing was the younger man had been
at the breaking point for a long time. Raider didn’t know what had happened to
his cousin while Wild spent time in prison, but he could damn sure guess. And
none of it was good.

It
angered him that the young woman who’d lied on the witness stand had forever
changed the man Wild would and should have become. There was a certain cruelty
around his mouth. When he looked at a person, there was nothing there, just a
vague emptiness that flared with impotent rage at times. The man was hard to
read, mainly because Wild seldom met a person’s gaze head-on.

Raider
thought when Wild managed to lift his head and meet
his
eyes—there was something there that utterly broke his heart.
Shame? Raider frowned. His cousin needed someone to talk to. He’d offered and
been rejected. He hoped to hell Wild found someone soon, else all that cold was
going to turn to steel.

Someone
to love. Someone to trust. That’s what Wild needed.

And
he prayed that someone came along soon and loved the man enough not to care
that he’d served time, because he had a bad feeling Wild wouldn’t last much
longer, that he’d give up on life.

Raider
stared into space for a moment, searching for the words to break the latest bad
news. God. He hated this shit! Dianna’s plane going down, Jace getting shot,
and
his
mother’s sudden
death—needless to say, it’d been a rough patch for the Remingtons on both sides
of the world.

He saw understanding in Wild’s quick glance. They’d been
expecting this call. Sooner or later, they had to face the real likelihood that
Dianna and her passenger, Taylor Spencer, were lost forever to them.

Wild
wearily dragged a thumb tip across his forehead. “The search has been
officially called off?” His voice cracked.

Raider
looked away from the slight quiver he saw in his cousin’s hands. He tig
htened
his lips. “Officially…yes. Unofficially, Silver and Colton will continue, at
least for a few more days. But I have to tell you
—
”

“I
know.” Wild cut off his words, a tremor in his voice. “Damn it, I
fucking
know!”

“I’m
sorry. They
—
”

Wild
shook his head. “Don’t. You’ve done all you could possibly do, Raider. I know
that, and so does everyone back home. It’s been days and there’s no sign of
them. We appreciate all you’ve done. Thank you.”

“We
aren’t tossing in the rag just yet. Silver wants to make some more passes over
the rainforest. She says she has a gut feeling…”

Wild
nodded. “God, I hope she’s right.”

“For
what it’s worth, she’s seldom wrong.”

“But
she has been wrong?”

“Once.”

Wild
tilted his head. “What happened?”

“She
got married and divorced all in the same day. Or rather married and an
annulment all in one day.”

“Jesus.
Why?”

“She
discovered her new husband had made a bet he could wed and bed her within three
months. He lost the bet.”

“It’s
too bad he didn’t care enough for her not to hurt her like that,” Wild
sympathized. “Did she love him?”

“Who
said she stopped?”

“Christ.
How long ago did this happen?”

“Not
long,” Raider replied. “Not nearly long enough. Three weeks?”

“I’m
sorry.”

“So
is Jonas McCord. He lost the best thing he ever had.”

“Silver
won’t forgive him?”

Raider
grinned.

“I
take it that’s a no?”

He
lifted a brow. “You know Silver. Trust me, Jonas will rue the day he broke her
heart. You know us Remingtons. Revenge is sweet.”

Wild
nodded. “Don’t I know it?”

* * * *

Ohio

Motor Lodge Motel

February 17, Tuesday

Twelve hours after the assassination…

Flayme tipped the Styrofoam cup and moaned with pure
delight as the delicious flavor of hazelnut coffee burst onto her taste buds
with pure energy. The only thing that would make it better was if the cowboy
opened his eyes and took a hefty swallow, too.

But, no, she didn’t think that was going to happen anytime
soon. She’d pushed a couple of Tylenol in his mouth and held a plastic glass
the motel provided, and trickled water down his throat. That had been almost
two hours ago and sixteen stitches later, at least sixteen for the knife
wounds. It had taken four more for the gash on his forehead.

He looked a bit like Frankenstein’s monster with the black
threads crisscrossing his flesh, but by gosh, she got the job done. What
worried her, besides the fact the cowboy was pretty much out of it with fever,
was what if the unknown gunman had somehow picked up their trail and was even
now close by.

She
eyed the gun on the bedside table. Fat lot of good it’d do her. She knew next
to nothing when it came to firing a weapon. Flayme sat there for a moment,
wondering what to do to help the agent get back on his feet. She had a bad
feeling they weren’t safe here. She grabbed the washcloth she’d been using to
cool his face, raced to the bathroom and wet it in cold water. Returning to his
side, she pressed the cool cloth against his forehead. Flayme jumped when he
moaned and pushed her hand and the cloth away.

“I’m
freezing,” he muttered. He stared at her with fever-glazed eyes. “We have to
escape.”

“Yes,”
she agreed. “I think we need to leave here, too.”

“Then
we’re in agreement?”

She
nodded.

“You
have to remove the bullet, Sam.”

Flayme
felt like crying. He had no idea what he was saying. Heck, he had no idea who
she was. This was bad.

“I
already did,” she said gently, hoping to soothe his restlessness.

He
clamped his fingers around her wrist and jerked her on top of him. “Did I tell
you I wanna fuck you?”

“Ooh,
shit,”
Flayme croaked. Panic flooded her insides. She felt his forehead. God, he was
burning up and delirious. Absolutely delirious. He didn’t
really
wanna
do
her. In
his delirium, he’d mistaken her for Sam, or some other woman. He didn’t know
what he was saying. No way did he really want to—
want to
—
well, just no way. He detested her.

She
felt like bawling.

Did
he really want to do Sam? That sucked!

She
tried to push herself off him, but he tightened his arms around her waist.
“Where do you think you’re going, beautiful?”

Flayme
licked her lips. “You think I’m…you think I’m…beautiful?” She reared back. “Who
am I?” she asked suspiciously.

He
frowned. “My redhead?”

“I’m
not your redhead,” she muttered. “And why am I arguing with you when you have
no clue what you’re saying?”

“I’m
dying to kiss you.”

She
narrowed her eyes.
“Who
am I?”

He
blinked, then laughed. “What kind of game are we playing, Sam?”

Flayme
wilted. “I’m not Sam.”

His
lips twisted with a slight quirk. “I know who you are, my beautiful, sexy,
Nicole.”

Flayme snapped her teeth together. That did it! It was bad
enough being mistaken for Sam, but she was sick and tired of being compared to
this Nicole character. “All right, cowboy, I think it’s time we cooled you
off.”

“Okay,”
he said agreeably. “What do you want me to do?”

“A
cold shower.”

“You’ll
shower with me?”

“Yeah,
you bet!” Flayme helped him sit up on the side of the bed and pulled off his
boots. “Can you stand?”

“Sure.”
He stood up, but swayed unsteadily. “I need a drink. Thirsty,” he moaned.

Grabbing
him by the shoulders, she steadied him. “Let’s get these jeans off you.”

“Okay.”

“Just
like a man, agreeable to the end, willing to drop your pants for any woman.”

“Only
for you, Nicole.” He wrapped his fingers in a strand of her long curls. “Such
fire. A man could get burned if he wasn’t real careful. My beautiful, Nicole.”

Flayme
cut her gaze up at him. “I am
not
Nicole, whoever the hell she is, and stop that dad-burned snickering. You sound
like a…like a…
oomph!”
Flayme shoved her
hair out of her eyes and glared. He’d pushed her onto the bed and flopped down
beside her, naked as a plucked bird. She snapped her eyes shut, but
boy, had she got a lovely, full frontal. “Uh
—
” He cut off her words by simply rolling on top of her.
“Shit,” she squeaked.

His
eyes glittered like polished emeralds, brilliant and shiny with fever. “Wanna
play a little five-card-stud?”

His
words, though slurred, left little doubt what he meant, especially when he
thrust his hips.

“Uh…tempting…but,
no.”

“No?”
He frowned as though trying to figure out a complicated puzzle. “A little
one-in-one, then?”

Flayme
couldn’t help it, she giggled. “You are so going to hate yourself when you’re
feeling better.”

“You
feel good now.” He wiggled his hips again. Then with a soft sigh, he collapsed
on top of her.

She
rolled him off her and scooted off the bed. “So much for the shower.” Gingerly,
she pulled the covers over his hips up to his waist. “Too bad you passed out,
cowboy, the ride might have been something spectacular, if you’d been able to
hold up your end of things. Pun intended.”

“Next
time,” he mumbled. “I’ll get you next time, Nicole.”

“I’m not
Nicole,” she whispered. “Sure wish I was, cowboy.”

*
* * *

McLean, Virginia

 
February 17, Tuesday

Eleven hours and thirty minutes after the
assassination…

Sam
hung up the phone and turned to face her fellow workers. Gathered in the
meeting room six doors down from her office, she discovered all eyes were on
her. It wasn’t the first time and she didn’t figure it’d be the last. The next
few hours were going to be hell. Her team expected answers. She didn’t have
them.

Travis
leaned against the doorframe, his face unreadable. She knew he was pissed at
her, but right now, personal issues had to
be set aside. She had an agent out
there somewhere and a secretary, plus Jayla, her best friend, and all three
were in danger. She couldn’t think about what Travis wanted from her
—
not at the moment.

She
caught Angie Hillcrest’s solemn gaze and nodded. “Thank you for stepping in to
fill Flayme’s shoes so quickly. I need someone who is familiar with her job.”

Angie
smiled. “My pleasure, Mrs. Rivers.”

Neil
Turner shifted from foot to foot, nervous. “Have you any idea what happened
here last night?”

Sam frowned. “Only the most basic report, a man, or
possibly two killed five guards and broke the security code, then one entered
the building and shot up the place. He shot at Flayme. My friend, Jayla Ross
escaped, but the other man was waiting outside for her.”

“Where
are they now?” Angie asked, lifting a silver brow.
“Ooh,
I do hope both of them are safe.”

Sam
shook her head. “I have no clue where Jayla is. I know she’s injured. The blood
outside matched hers from old medical records. I’m not certain how badly she’s
hurt, or if it means she was shot, but from the amount of blood, the wound
isn’t slight. A BOLO has been issued for her and her car, but ladies,
gentleman, she has hours of a head start.”

At their thoughtful expressions, Sam hurried to explain.
“Just remember she hasn’t committed a crime. She’s hurt and frightened, and not
thinking straight. So let’s make sure when we catch up with her, that she isn’t
hurt or frightened any more than she already is. I’ve notified her stepfather,
Senator Hamilton Ross of the circumstances. He is, of course, very upset and
worried about his stepdaughter.”

“What
about Flayme?” Neil asked. “I’d like to know she’s safe, for personal reasons.”

“Personal
reasons?” Sam’s voice raised in surprise.

Neil
looked smug, a weasel-like smile on his thick lips. “Yes. Certainly we’ve been
discreet, but now isn’t the time for discretion. Flayme and I have been seeing
each other for quite some time. I’d like to know where she is and that she’s
safe.”

Sam
tightened her lips. The lying bastard! Flayme wouldn’t give him the time of
day. She reined in her temper. “That’s a question we’d all like to know, Neil,
including Mac, remember him? He called earlier. And, oh, yes, the Secret
Service, they’re really interested in her location, as well as Jayla’s, since
she’s the only witness to the first lady’s assassination.” She paused long
enough to take a sip of coffee, then continued, “I just hung up on the head
honcho over at their office. Since we were the last ones to cover Molly’s
security, they’re shifting the blame on us for her death. The president isn’t
exactly head over heels in love with this latest job detail, so please, spare
me your vivid imagination of you and Flayme getting it on. You only wish you
could get in her pants.”