boots. “I’d love to take off my boots.”
“Sit,” he ordered.
Still holding the baby, she sank onto a rocking chair. The heat from the fireplace was making a difference in the room temperature. She couldn’t allow herself to get too comfortable or she’d surely fall asleep. This had been the longest day of her life; she’d attended at two birthings, been kidnapped and escaped through a blizzard.
Cole knelt before her and unfastened the laces on her boots. He eased the boot off her right foot, cradled her heel in his hand and massaged through her wool sock. His touch felt so good that she groaned with pleasure.
“Your feet are almost dry,” Cole said. “Where do I get boots like this?”
“Any outdoor clothing and equipment store.” Anyone who lived in the mountains knew how to shop for snow gear. “You’re not from around here.”
“L.A.,” he said.
This was the first bit of personal information he’d volunteered. She’d entrusted this man with her life even though she knew next to nothing about him. “What’s your last name?”
“McClure.” He pulled off the other boot. “And I’m not who you think I am.”
Chapter Five
Rachel gazed down at the top of Cole’s head as he removed her other boot. Much of his behavior didn’t fit with what she expected from an armed robber. He was too smart to be a thug but dumb enough to get involved with killers. Who is he? In the back of her mind, she’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop. Literally, this was the moment.
He’d said that he wasn’t who she thought he was. What did that mean? Did he have super powers? Was he actually a millionaire? She refused to be seduced by excuses or explanations. Rachel knew his type. He was a tough guy—dangerous, strong and silent … and sexy.
“You know what, Cole? I don’t want to hear your life story.”
He sat back on his heels. “Trust me. You want to know.”
“Trust you?” Not wanting to upset Goldie, she kept her voice level. Inside, she was far from calm. “You don’t deserve my trust.”
“That’s not what you said when I was saving your butt.”
“I didn’t ask for your help.”
“Come on, Rachel. I could have left you in the middle of a shoot-out. I’m not a bad guy.”
“If you hadn’t hidden in the back of my van and kidnapped me—” she paused for emphasis”—kidnapped me at gunpoint, I wouldn’t have been in a shoot-out.”
“There were circumstances.”
“Don’t care.” Right now, she was supposed to be on vacation, relaxing in her cozy condo with a fragrant cup of chamomile tea and a good book. “I want this nightmare to be over. And when it is, I never want to see you again.”
“Fair enough.” He stood and stretched. “Take care of Goldie. I’m going to make sure we’re secure.”
“Go right ahead.”
COLE OPENED THE CABIN DOOR and stepped onto the porch. The brief moment of warmth when he’d been inside the cabin made the cold feel even worse than before. The blizzard still raged, throwing handfuls of snow into his face. The icy temperatures instantly froze his bare hands. In his left, he held his gun. In his right, the cell phone. His intention was to call for help. Shivering, he turned on the phone. His power was almost gone. He had no signal at this remote cabin. Holding the phone like a beacon, he turned in every direction, trying to make a connection. Nada. Damn it. He hoped the GPS signal was still transmitting his location to his FBI handlers.
The wind-blown snow had already begun to erase their tracks. Drifts piled up, nearly two feet deep on one side of the log cabin walls. In this storm, visual surveillance was nearly impossible. He couldn’t see past the trees into the forest. All he could do was try to get his bearings.
In front of the house was a turn-around driveway. Less than thirty feet away, he saw the blocky shape of a small outbuilding. A garage? There might be something in there that would aid in their escape.
The wide front door of the garage was blocked by the drifting snow, but there was a side entrance. He shoved it open and entered. The interior was unlit, but there was some illumination from a window at the rear. The open space in the middle seemed to indicate that this building was used as a garage when the people who owned the cabin were here. Under the window, he found a workbench with tools for home repair. Stacked along the walls was a variety of sporting equipment: cross-country skis, poles and snowshoes.
He’d never tried cross-country skiing before, but Rachel probably knew how to use this stuff. She was a hardy mountain woman. Prepared for the snow. Intrepid. What was her problem, anyway?
He’d been about to tell her that he was a fed and she had no more reason to fear, but she’d shut him down. Her big, beautiful blue eyes glared at him with unmistakable anger. She’d said that she didn’t give a damn about him.
He didn’t believe her. Though she had every reason to be ticked off, she didn’t hate him. There was something growing between them. A spark. He saw it in her body language, heard it in her voice, felt it in a dim flicker inside his frozen body. Maybe after they were safe and she knew he was a good guy, he’d pursue that attraction. Or maybe not. He had a hard time imagining Rachel in sunny California, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to move to these frigid, airless mountains.
Leaving the garage, he tromped along the driveway to a narrow road that hadn’t been cleared of snow. No tire tracks. Nothing had been on this road since the beginning of the storm.
He looked back toward the house. Though the curtains were drawn, he could still see the light from inside. If anyone came looking for them, they wouldn’t be hard to find.
CRADLING THE BABY on her shoulder, Rachel padded around in the kitchen in her wool socks. She heard the front door open and saw Cole stumble inside. He locked the door and placed his gun on the coffee table. And his cell phone.
“Why didn’t you tell me you had a phone?” she asked.
“It’s almost dead. And I can’t get a signal.”
Warily, she approached the table. “Who were you trying to call?”
“Somebody to get us the hell out of here.”
“Like who?” She wasn’t sure that she wanted to be rescued by any of his friends. Out of the frying pan into the fire.
“I’m not trying to trick you.” He tossed the phone to her. “Go ahead. See if you can get the damn thing to work.”
She juggled the phone and waved it all around while he went through the door to the bedroom. He hadn’t been lying about the lack of signal, but that didn’t set her mind at ease.
Returning to the kitchen, she focused on preparing the formula—a task she’d performed hundreds of times before. Not only was she the third oldest of eight children, but her responsibilities at the clinic also included
