Hot On His Trail

“I rounded up some old clothes I outgrew years ago. They’re on the chair by the fireplace,” Lenny said, groaning as he stood. “I’ll get those pills and a glass of water.”

Nick half opened his eyes. Lenny entered the kitchen, and Shea stood over the recliner by the cold stone fireplace. She wore a pair of tight white pants that ended just below her knees, and a pale blue blouse that was cropped so that the hem hung just at her waist. The severe red suit had disguised her figure, but this outfit enhanced it, hugging every curve. Her dark hair had been pulled back into a thick ponytail.

She turned around, the pile of clothing in her hands, and Nick let his eyes drift closed again.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she muttered as she kneeled on the floor beside him. “If I had a lick of sense I’d run like hell and not look back.”

Yes, you would.

“Dean will kill me,” she said.

Boyfriend? Husband? Lover?

“Well, maybe Clint and Boone will protect me.”

More boyfriends?

“Goodness knows they’ve saved me often enough.” Shea sighed, and then Nick felt the warmth of her hands on his chest. She flicked one button of his shirt and then another. The tips of her fingers grazed his skin as his shirt came open, and his eyes fluttered open.

“What are you doing?” he whispered harshly.

She wasn’t at all startled that he was awake; she should be. “I’m getting you dressed so we can get out of here.”

“I can dress myself.”

She smiled. “Yes, I’m sure you can.” She’d washed the makeup off her face, revealing smooth skin with just a few pale freckles sprinkled across the nose. Even without lipstick, her lips were rosy, pink and full.

He should push her hand away and finish the job himself, but he didn’t. He liked the occasional brush of her fingers against his skin, and she was so close he could smell her again. He liked it; he liked it too much.

“Can you sit?” She flattened her hand on his back and helped him raise up, and then she slipped the damp white dress shirt off his shoulders.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked as she took a blue-and-green-plaid cotton shirt and helped him into it. Her hands were easy, gentle and sure. He had to remind himself that she wasn’t his friend, she wasn’t his ally, it didn’t matter how good she smelled or how enticing the simple brush of her fingers felt on his skin. “It’s the story, right?”

“Yes,” she said without hesitation. “The story.”

All of a sudden he knew he couldn’t do this. Somehow he had to get rid of the weathergirl. With all the strength he could muster, Nick reached out and took Shea Sinclair’s chin in his hand and made her look him in the eye. He didn’t have the strength to force her to do anything, but he damn well knew how to send her packing.

“I haven’t had a woman in ten months,” he whispered. “I haven’t so much as touched a woman in ten months.”

Her face went pale; her hazel-green eyes widened. But she didn’t back away.

“You want a thrill, weathergirl?” he asked, his voice so soft it was little more than a breath of air. “You think this is fun? Some kind of adventure?” He leaned down, placing his face close to hers. Damn if he couldn’t smell her, feel her breath and the warmth of her skin. Her lips were so close, right there before him and tempting as hell. “I promise you this. You stick around, and as soon as I get my strength back I’ll show you a thrill or two.”

She didn’t back away. “I know what you’re doing, Taggert,” she whispered. “And it’s not going to work. You can’t scare me.”

“Yes, I can.” He reached out with his free hand and touched the base of her throat, let the back of his fingers trail down to the valley of her breasts. She was warm and soft, as he’d known she would be. He watched the movement of his roughened hand on her pale skin, marveled at the way the sight teased his insides and made his head spin more than it had before.

He didn’t want to scare the weathergirl anymore, he wanted to hold her. Hard and fast. He wanted to sleep with her in his arms, that’s all. His mouth drifted closer to her. No, that was not all. He wanted everything; he wanted all of her.

Shea moved her head back and gently grabbed his wrists, moving his wandering hands to his knees. “You’re not well, Mr. Taggert,” she said as she stood. “So I’m going to forgive you for behaving in an inappropriate manner.”

“Oh, thank you,” he muttered dryly. Hell, he’d even failed in frightening her off. Apparently he wasn’t a very imposing figure, at the moment.

Lenny came back into the room with a glass of water and a small plastic bottle of pills. “It’s just four days’ worth, I’m afraid.”

“That’s better than nothing,” Shea said as she leaned forward and began to button the plaid shirt she’d slipped onto Nick before he’d foolishly tried to scare her off.

He brushed her hand away. “Dammit, I can dress myself.”

She backed off and allowed him to finish buttoning the shirt. It was more of an effort than he’d ever let on. When that chore was done, Lenny handed him a pill, which he dutifully took with a swig of water, and Shea tossed a pair of faded jeans onto the couch beside him.

“Do you have the makings for sandwiches?” She directed the question to Lenny, who slowly nodded his head.

“Help yourself. I’ve got plenty of bread, peanut butter and jelly, ham and cheese, and there’s some leftover tuna salad in the refrigerator.”

“I’ll make us something to take in the truck while Taggert finishes getting dressed.”

Nick let his head fall back against the couch. He felt less light-headed with the support, a little sturdier. The sensation of strength was an illusion, he knew. He was about to pass out.

It would be so easy to drift away, to close his eyes and fall asleep and give up. He wasn’t a man to give up easily. He’d fought long and hard for everything he’d had. He’d worked his way up from nothing. Literally nothing. After all those years of hard work he was back to nothing again. He should fight, as he always did; he should defy the odds. But right now—right now he considered giving up, giving in. It would be the easy thing to do.

Hell, he hadn’t taken the easy way very often in his life. Why should he start now?

“Now what?” he whispered, “Dammit, I don’t even know where I’m going yet.”

Shea walked confidently toward the kitchen, a lively spring in her step. Watching the sway of her hips and the bounce of that ponytail made him a bit dizzy. She’d been so afraid just a few hours ago, but she didn’t look like a hostage anymore. And there wasn’t even a hint of worry in her eyes. There should be, dammit, there should be.

But he was the one sitting here remembering what she felt like, what she smelled like. He’d been so close to a kiss, and he’d wanted it. For a moment he’d wanted it as much as he wanted freedom, the truth, his life back. So who was the hostage now?

“I don’t have a clue where to go from here,” he said again, his voice so low he figured no one would hear.

“That’s okay,” Shea said without so much as a glance back. “I know exactly where we’re going.”

Chapter 4

Every now and then, quite frequently, actually, Shea glanced at the sleeping man in the passenger seat of the rumbling old pickup truck. Shea didn’t know what year Lenny’s two-tone, pale blue and white Ford was, but it was definitely old. They just didn’t use chrome like this anymore. Taggert had not wanted her to drive, but he hadn’t put up too much of a fuss. He had to know that he was in no shape to drive.

Taggert didn’t completely trust her, but he didn’t have anyone else to turn to. And he needed help.

Sleeping, he looked much less menacing than he had when he’d threatened her with a gun and tried to send her packing in the rain. Lips soft, ice-chip eyes closed, features relatively relaxed, he was simply beautiful. Not a pretty beautiful, but a manly beautiful. The kind that made women’s hearts thud and their eyes go misty while they sighed in wonder. He had a real man’s face, with a long straight nose and a sharp jawline and a dusting of five o’clock shadow. And that beautiful face was resting atop a nearly perfect body.

She smiled crookedly. Leave it to her to finally find a man she was insanely attracted to now, at the most inopportune time and place in the most unsuitable of circumstances. She’d been so focused on her career lately that she brushed off most men who asked her for a date, and the few dates she’d suffered through hadn’t been much fun.

She’d let Grace talk her into a blind date with a homicide detective a few months back. Luther Malone. Good-looking guy, smart, and as anxious for the blind date as she’d been, which meant the evening had gotten off to a very bad start. She hadn’t found him to be much fun, and he’d gotten quickly annoyed with her nosy questions. He’d taken her home early and there hadn’t been a second date.

Shea took a quick glance at the gas gauge and whistled low and sharp. Almost empty. Like it or not, she would have to stop soon. Better here on a country road than on the interstate, she imagined, spotting the solitary sign straight ahead.

Placing an Atlanta Braves cap, one of Lenny’s contributions, on Taggert’s head, she left him sleeping while she pumped gas into the guzzler of a truck. She didn’t think she looked too strange, even though the outfit she’d scrounged from Lenny’s late wife’s closet came directly from the sixties. Capri pants were making a comeback, and the blouse was fairly simple, so she didn’t think her attire would raise any eyebrows. She’d steered clear of the tiedye T-shirts and the neon-green bell-bottom pants.