calling for several inches before morning. As long as it didn’t get any worse than that, he supposed they would be all right here.
A brutal north wind hit him like a bucket of ice water when he opened the door. Knowing he would be stiff, he cautiously slid from the truck. Without warning, his leg buckled. Grimacing, he dropped to his knees.
“Jake!”
Leigh rounded the front of the vehicle and knelt beside him. “My God! What happened?”
“I’m fine, damn it.” Embarrassment roughened his voice.
“Oh, I can see you’re fine.”
“My leg stiffened up on me, that’s all.” But for an uncomfortable moment he wasn’t sure if he could make it to his feet. And he began to wonder if the bullet wound was worse than he’d assumed. Whenever he put weight on the leg, the pain clamped down on him like a fanged beast.
“Let me help you.”
He was about to snap at her, but when he looked into her eyes and saw her concern, the words died in his throat. For the first time he noticed that her hands were on his shoulders. He knew it was stupid, considering the circumstances, but he liked having her touch him. It reminded him of the way it had felt when she’d touched him six years ago. It was the kind of touching a man never forgot.
“I can do it.” Shrugging off her hands, he used the door to pull himself to his feet.
“Are there any supplies inside? Running water? Blankets?”
He motioned toward the rear of the Hummer. “There’s a first-aid kit in the back. A blanket, too. Bring them in. I’m going to clear the house.”
Jake limped to the porch at the rear of the house and crossed to the door. He wasn’t surprised to find the door locked. Looking around, he spied a hand shovel and used it to break the pane of glass next to the knob. Reaching inside, he twisted the bolt lock and opened the door.
He noticed that the kitchen wasn’t much warmer than outside, aside from being protected from the wind. The counters were 1970s yellow Formica and covered with a thick later of dust. The white porcelain sink was chipped. The linoleum was badly scuffed and curling in the corners. He crossed to the sink, twisted the faucet, and water burst from the tap. At least they had water.
He limped to the living room. The tall windows were grimy and draped with gauzy curtains, letting in little light. But it didn’t take much light to see that the place had long since fallen to disrepair. Still, Jake was grateful to have a roof over his head.
The high ceilings were water stained. In some places the plaster had chipped away and fallen to the floor. A fireplace constructed of crumbling brick dominated the room. An antique potbellied stove sat in the corner. The only piece of furniture was a table that looked as if it had been used for a workbench.
Not the Ritz-Carlton, but it was going to have to do.
Moving to the front door, Jake opened it and looked out at the porch. Relief swept through him when he spotted the firewood stacked haphazardly. If they burned wood conservatively, it might get them through the night.
Not wanting to think of spending the night with Leigh in a cold farmhouse, he limped to the woodpile and gathered as much as he could carry into his arms. He locked the door behind him and went over to the hearth. A surge of light-headedness hit him when he saw Leigh standing in the kitchen doorway. He wasn’t sure if it was from the bullet wound or the effect she always had on him, but it was enough to make him break into a sweat.
“I’ll make a fire,” he said.
Quickly she set the first-aid kit and blanket on the table and came to him. “Let me help you.”
He didn’t want her help. He didn’t like the way he was reacting to her. But the pain was wearing down his bravado. He let her take some of the firewood from his arms.
“Are you sure we weren’t followed?” she asked.
“I’m sure.”
“How long will we stay?”
“Long enough to get my wound cleaned up and grab a couple of hours of sleep.”
“Then what?”
He put a match to the newspaper he’d set under the wood and watched it burst into flames. “Hopefully Rasmussen will be in custody by then.”
“And if he isn’t?”
He looked at her and felt another surge of light-headedness. “We cross that path when we come to it.”
Jake rose and carried some wood to the potbellied stove. When both the fireplace and stove were blazing, he walked to the kitchen where Leigh had set out the first-aid kit.
“Nice kit,” she said.
“Courtesy of the MIDNIGHT Agency,” he said.
She opened the lid and picked up a wrapped syringe. “Looks like they thought of everything.”
“Yeah, I think Cutter used to be a Boy Scout.”
Her smile was short-lived. “I’m sorry you left the agency on bad terms. I know how much your career means to you.”
Jake said nothing.
“Was it because of me?”
“It was because of a difference of opinion between Sean Cutter and me. It’s not the first time.”
“Will you be able to go back?”
Jake sighed, the gravity of what he had done this morning weighing him down. “I don’t think he’ll ask me to come back.”
Not wanting to deal with that at the moment, he looked down to where the blood was still seeping through his coat. “Are you up to handling this bullet wound?”
“I was ready hours ago.” But he didn’t miss the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. She motioned toward the table. “Why don’t you take off your coat and have a seat?”
Jake worked the coat off his shoulders. He tugged his shirt from the waistband and was dismayed to see so much blood. The bullet had gone though his coat, through his blue jeans and grazed his right hip, close to the muscular part of the buttock. Terrific. He pondered the dilemma, but there was no way around it. He was going to have to remove his pants.
“I hate to do this to you, Leigh, but I’m going to have to lose the pants.”
She looked more horrified by the idea of seeing his bare butt than she did at the prospect of treating a potentially serious bullet wound. But she quickly regained her composure. “It won’t be the first time I’ve seen you without them.”
Her cheeks were flushed. Jake could feel that same heat creeping up his own cheeks. And other parts of his body he didn’t want to think about.
Without looking at her, he unsnapped his jeans, tugged them down and stepped out of them. He wore plain white boxer briefs. He glanced at the blood-soaked material. “Going to need a new wardrobe
