Just A Little Bit Dangerous

She did, but it wasn’t far enough, and he nudged the insides of her sneakers with his booted foot. Making a small sound of annoyance, she spread her feet wider. He would search her just enough to make sure she didn’t have a gun or knife. Anything smaller than that, he would just have to deal with when and if the situation arose.

Starting at the top of her head, he ran his hands over her hair. It was so thick and curly, he had to squeeze it between his fingers to make sure she didn’t have anything hidden within that wild mass of curls. As impersonally as possible, Jake swept his hands down the front of her, beneath her arms, careful to check her pockets and out-of-the-way places for weapons sewn into the lining of the jumpsuit. He checked her waistband, hips, the outsides of her thighs, down her legs, even her ankles.

He tried not to notice the way she was shaking as his hands moved swiftly over her. Up until now she’d been holding her own. But there was always something demoralizing about the search that undid people. By the time he was finished, he’d broken a sweat and his own hands weren’t quite steady. He could tell they were both relieved when he stepped back.

“Okay,” he said. “You can turn around.”

She faced him then, but Jake didn’t miss that, for the first time since he’d discovered her hiding in the tree, she didn’t meet his gaze.

He pulled the cuffs from his belt. “Give me your hands.”

Surprising him, she offered her wrists. “Let’s just get this over with. I’m cold and starving and I just want to get warm.”

Jake wasn’t buying the sudden cooperation. Not from this woman who’d risked her life to escape, then covered an amazing amount of terrain that would have exhausted most men.

He looked down at her hands. They were small and soft-looking. A woman’s hands, he thought, only these hands were scratched and bruised. Her fingertips were red from the cold. He reminded himself that she was the one who’d gotten herself into this mess, not him. Still, he’d never been able to let someone suffer if it was within his power to stop it.

Cursing silently, he shoved the cuffs into his belt. “Hold on a minute. I’ve got an extra duster you can wear to keep the wind off you.”

“T-thanks.” Her teeth were chattering. “It’s getting colder.”

Pulling the radio from his belt to call for a chopper, Jake started toward Brandywine to get the duster. “RMSAR Homer Two, this is Coyote One. Do you read me? Over.”

Jake wasn’t so sure about the chopper. The winds had kicked up considerably in the past half hour. Once sustained winds reached forty knots, the Bell 412 would be grounded.

“This is Coyote One. RMSAR Homer Two, do you read me?”

“RMSAR Homer Two here, Coyote. You getting snowed on yet?”

“I’m about to. Homer, I’ve got a Ten-Twenty-Six. Expedite. Over.”

“Roger that. Eagle went back to her nest. What’s your Twenty?”

On reaching the horse, Jake glanced over his shoulder to check on his prisoner, but she was gone.

Chapter 2

Abby covered the ground at a reckless speed. She stumbled over rocks and brush, zigzagging around gully washers deep enough for a person to fall into and never climb out of. She had to hand it to Cowboy Cop. He’d been decent to her—which was a lot more than she could say for some of the law enforcement types she’d encountered in the past year—but she didn’t have any regrets about taking off. No matter how decent he’d been to her, she knew what the end result would be. There was no way in hell she going to spend the rest of her life in prison for a crime she hadn’t committed.

She’d only put twenty yards between them when she heard a shout behind her. Some cop cliché about stopping or he was going to shoot her. Abby didn’t stop. The curse that followed wasn’t cliché, but the temper behind it made her run even harder. She may have been duped a few times in her life, but she’d garnered some instincts over the years. She was savvy enough about human nature to know the man with the gunmetal eyes and slow drawl wasn’t going to shoot an unarmed woman in the back.

She was willing to bet her life on that.

Fifty yards out and the terrain leveled off. She found her rhythm and picked up speed, just as she had at the track back at the prison where lifer Mary Beth Jenkins had timed her two-mile run six days a week for the past four months. Between weightlifting and running, Abby was in top physical form. Now, as her feet pounded the earth and she pushed her body to the limit, she prayed all that hard work was going to pay off.

She could hear the horse breaking through brush behind her. Cowboy Cop yelled again, but she couldn’t make out the words and she didn’t slow down. Burning lungs and sore muscles were nothing compared to the agony she faced if he caught her. Abby was running for her life. She’d decided the first time she’d heard her cell door close that she’d rather die than spend the rest of her life behind bars.

Of course, Fate had different ideas. One minute she was running like an Olympian, the next she was perched on the edge of a gulch, fighting to keep herself from falling into a stream where the water ran white and swift ten feet below.

Cutting to the left, Abby resumed her sprint. She knew better than to waste precious seconds looking over her shoulder, but the urge was too strong to resist. The sight of Cowboy Cop astride that big, spotted horse and gaining on her at an astounding rate made her heart jump high in her throat. Good Lord, he was going to catch her!

Spurred by panic, she ran at a dangerous speed, hurtling over fallen trees, ducking the occasional branch. Her breaths came hard and fast, the thin, cold air setting her lungs on fire.

The cop was so close she could hear the squeak of leather, the horse’s hooves pounding the hard-packed earth. Sensing he was about to leap—knowing how a gazelle must feel when a lion’s claws closed around its throat—she pushed harder.

An instant later he came down on top of her like a ton of bricks. Strong arms closed around her shoulders, his sheer weight dragging her down. She stumbled. Her legs tangled. Then the ground rushed up and smacked the air from her lungs.

Abby landed hard on her stomach. She tried to crawl away, but his hand snaked out and clamped over her ankle. Yelping, she lashed out with her foot. Her heel connected with something solid. His curse burned through the air.

“Stop fighting me and calm down,” he growled.

Only then did Abby see her chance. Somehow she’d managed to land a kick just below his right eye. While she hadn’t intended to hurt him, his instant of pain gave her the opportunity she needed to save her life. Leaning close to him, she jerked the radio from his belt and heaved it as hard as she could toward the stream.

Above her, Cowboy Cop went perfectly still.

Abby held her breath.

An instant later the sound of a splash rose over the din of rushing water. And for the first time in a year the thrill of victory gushed through her veins.

But her sense of victory was short-lived. The next thing she knew she was rolled onto her stomach, her hands jerked behind her back and a pair of handcuffs snapped firmly around her wrists. Evidently, Cowboy Cop didn’t appreciate her tossing his radio.

Abby lay still for a moment, catching her breath, gathering her senses, trying to decide on her next course of action.

“Son of a gun.” Rising, he stalked to the steep bank.

She watched as he chucked his boots, yanked off his full-length duster and hurled it onto the grass behind him. Not bothering to roll up his Wrangler jeans, he skidded down the bank and entered the icy water and began the hopeless task of searching for the radio. She could tell by his posture he was angry. She had to hand it to him, the man had exercised restraint so far. Guilt nudged her that she’d put that bruise under his eye. Truly, she wasn’t a violent person. She downright detested violence under most circumstances. But this afternoon definitely qualified as one of Grams’s “desperate” times.

She watched him wade into water that nearly reached his hips. Just the thought of venturing into that icy water made her shiver. “Lady, you are a menace not only to me but to yourself,” he snarled.

“I’m sorry,” she offered.

He shot her a withering look and continued his search.

His eyes were the color of flint, all rigid control and that cool distance cops seemed to specialize in. The man might know how to fill out a pair of jeans, he might even have pretty eyes, but Abby knew better than to let herself be charmed by a cop. She hated the way they looked at her. With suspicion and disdain and that nasty little hint of superiority that set her teeth on edge. Despite his finer attributes, he was a cop where it counted. And she’d be wise to remember that in the coming hours.

“Well, Einstein, it looks like you and I are going to have to ride back tonight without the benefit of the chopper.” He waded through knee-deep water and stepped up onto the muddy bank.

She shouldn’t have noticed the way that wet denim hugged his lean hips and muscular thighs, not to mention another part of his male anatomy she did not want to think about. She shouldn’t be noticing a lot of things about this man, including the fact that he was undoubtedly the most handsome cop she’d ever laid eyes on.

He’d lost his hat at some point, revealing dark hair that was cropped short. His features were angular and lean with cheekbones befitting a Comanche chief. His hollowed cheeks and straight nose lent him a hardened appearance. But his mouth was oddly soft—and sensual enough to tempt a saint.

Abby winced when he reached up and fingered the bruise under his right eye.

“I’m sorry about the bruise,” she said quietly.

“The bruise?” A humorless laugh broke from his throat as he reached for his boots and stepped into them. “You just chucked our only means of communication and you’re worried about a freaking bruise?”

“You should put something cold—”