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“You okay?”
“Yeah.” He raised his head, then sat up. The ledge they had come to rest on was safe enough for some of the tension to ease out of him.
She struggled into a sitting position and glared at him. “What did you think you were doing, tackling me that way? You could have been killed.”
“I had to save you.”
She wiped away a smear of blood and mud on her cheek. “No, you didn’t. You’d be better off without me. You could move faster on your own.”
“No, I wouldn’t be better off without you.” He shifted to kneel in front of her and grabbed both her arms. “I never was.”
He told himself he deserved the wary look she gave him. He had certainly given her plenty of reasons to not believe him, to be afraid of him, even. He smoothed his hands down her arms, then gently pulled her to him. “I need you, Leah,” he whispered. “I always have.”
Lawman on the Hunt
Cindi Myers
CINDI MYERS is the author of more than fifty novels. When she’s not crafting new romance plots, she enjoys skiing, gardening, cooking, crafting and daydreaming. A lover of small-town life, she lives with her husband and two spoiled dogs in the Colorado mountains.
Contents
Special Agent Travis Steadman studied the house through military-grade field glasses. Situated on a wooded escarpment above a rushing stream, the sprawling log home afforded its occupants a sweeping view of the snow-dusted Colorado mountains and the golden valley below. Sun glaring on the expanse of glass in the front of the house prevented Travis from seeing inside, but the intel reports told him all he needed to know. The two men and one woman who had rented the house two weeks ago looked like wealthy second-home owners enjoying a quiet mountain retreat, but the FBI suspected they were part of a dangerous terrorist cell.
“One car leaving. Looks like Braeswood and Roland.” The crisp words, from fellow agent Luke Renfro, sounded clear in Travis’s earpiece.
“I see them,” he replied as a black Cadillac Escalade nosed out of the steep driveway. Through the side windows he could make out Duane Braeswood’s sharp-nosed profile and Eddie Roland’s bullet-shaped shaved head. “They’re turning left, toward the highway to Durango.”
“Here comes the woman and her driver,” Luke said. “I wonder why she didn’t go with them.”
“Maybe she’s going shopping. Or to get her hair done.” Travis tried to keep any sign of tension out of his voice, even as he raised the glasses again to focus on the Toyota sedan that halted briefly at the bottom of the drive. He could just make out the silhouettes of the male driver and the woman beside him, but he didn’t need the glasses to fill in the details about her. Leah Carlisle was twenty-seven years old, with thick dark hair that curled when she didn’t straighten it, which she usually did. Her brown eyes, the color of good coffee with cream, were wide-spaced and slightly almond-shaped, and she could convey a score of different emotions with merely a look. She had a good figure, with a narrow waist and a firm butt, and small but round and firm breasts that were wonderfully sensitive. She enjoyed sex, and the two of them had been really good together...
He lowered the glasses and pushed the thoughts away. Leah’s car also turned left, toward town. Maybe she was going to meet up with her partners in crime in Durango. He ground his teeth together, fighting the old anger. To think she had left him to be with scum like Braeswood and Roland.
“Did you say something?” Luke asked. “Transmission’s a little fuzzy on my end.”
Travis feared he had growled or made some other sound to signal his frustration. He needed to get a better grip. Only Luke, his closest friend, knew
