Dead Aim. Anne Woodard
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more than she was used to.
“Home, James,” she said lightly. She didn’t even wait for him to buckle his seat belt before she swung the car around, then set off, more sedately this time, on the road back to town.
Anger bubbled in Rick, and fear, though he wasn’t yet willing to admit to the fear. An innocent man didn’t run from following cars. Not the way this fellow had.
Whatever Tina had gotten herself into, it wasn’t just a wild fling with a good-looking guy.
Because he couldn’t bear to follow that thought, he focused on the landmarks that reared up in the headlights alongside the road, then disappeared in the dark behind. A crooked mailbox here, a gated driveway there. It would all look different in the daylight, but he would recognize them, anyway, and know just how far he would have to go to find that little rock cairn he’d built. First thing tomorrow, he promised himself grimly. He prayed that there was something up there that would lead him to Tina and not be just a dead end where that pickup’s driver had gone to ground, waiting in safety until he could come back down and disappear, taking with him their only good link to finding Tina.
Only once they were back on the paved road did he stop watching for markers and focus on the silent woman beside him.
She was relaxed now, loose, only one hand on the wheel, but she was still pushing the speed limit, alert and confident. He had the feeling that she saw everything and everyone they passed, catalogued it, filed it away for future reference. Just as he did when he was in the backcountry, hunting for any sign of bear and what they’d been up to. She was city, he was country, but under the skin, they were a lot alike.
He wasn’t sure he much liked the thought.
He wasn’t sure he trusted her, either. Maggie Mann was not just a friendly, helpful coffee shop manager. Underneath that helpful persona she wore with such grace, there was an edge to her, an alertness, that reminded him of a couple of top-flight cops he knew.
And just what did that mean for Tina? Was Tina involved in something…illegal?
The thought shook him even as he ruthlessly shoved it aside.
Impossible. He might not know his sister as well as he would like—their mother had seen to that—but he did know that Tina was a strictly law-abiding, straight-and-narrow type of person. An art history major, not a drug dealer or thief or whatever else Maggie Mann might suspect. He was sure of it.
Rick shifted so he could get a better look at the woman in the seat beside him. She didn’t move, didn’t take her eyes off the road in front of them, but he would swear she tensed.
She didn’t like him studying her.
Good. If she was after Tina, he wanted her off balance, uncertain.
In the light from the instrument panel her face seemed more finely drawn, more delicate, yet dangerous, too. Cop or not, he had to admit that she was a woman you noticed. Not pretty, but unforgettable. Not safe, but then, for him, danger had always had its own appeal.
In other circumstances, he would have asked her out, maybe angled to get her into bed. Too bad these weren’t other circumstances.
Tina was missing and for some reason, Maggie Mann wanted to know why almost as much as he did. But not because she gave a damn about Tina.
Rick shifted in his seat, sliding his left arm along the back of her seat.
“So,” he said, as casually as if he planned to chat about the weather. “What are you? A cop?”
That brought her head around with a snap. “What?”
“I figure you’re undercover, right? Have to be. College town. College kids. Drugs have to be a problem, right?”
“I’m not a cop.”
“DEA, then.”
She glanced at him, then back at the road. The collar of her jacket brushed against his hand where it rested on the seat back. The nylon shell was cool to the touch, but he’d swear he could feel the heat of her beneath it.
“You’re crazy.”
“I’ve been accused of that a time or two,” he admitted. “But I’ve never been accused of being stupid. That driving earlier? You were trained. Had to be.”
“I told you—”
“Yeah. You’re still angry that you didn’t get a dirt bike when you were a kid. Maybe. I can believe the bit about the dirt bike. But you followed that guy like a real pro. That kind of driving doesn’t happen just because someone fancies the idea of a little Motocross. You were trained to tail a car, trained for a high-speed chase.”
She shrugged. She tried to make it look like an expression of irritation, maybe anger, but she couldn’t quite pull it off. Underneath the irritation, she was wary as a cat.
“You’ve never heard of trying to help a friend?”
“I’ve heard of it.”
“Ever heard of being grateful?”
The cat had claws. Sharp ones.
“Look, I don’t give a damn if you’re a cop or not. But I do give a damn about my sister. You didn’t plunge into that chase just because you wanted to help. You wanted to know who that guy was and where he was headed as much as I did. Maybe more. I think I have a right to know why.”
The look she shot him was pointed enough to draw blood.
“You have no rights, and there’s nothing that says I have to put up with this. Or haul you back to town, for that matter.”
She had both hands clamped on the wheel now. He could see her curling and uncurling her fingers, probably fighting against the urge to let go of the wheel and wrap them around his throat.
Instead, she lifted her chin up and shoved her shoulders back. The thick curls at the back of her head brushed against the top of his hand, silken and cool. The inadvertent touch sent fire licking across the back of his hand.
An image flashed through his mind—of him grabbing those curls and pulling her head back. Of her throat curving, suddenly vulnerable, and her mouth opening.
Of him, kissing her.
The image was so immediate and vivid that he sucked in his breath, startled.
Sometimes there was a thin line between the adrenaline rush of anger and the equally hot, dangerous rush of sex. He’d seen it in the wild, but he’d never experienced it himself. Until now.
He didn’t much like it.
He pulled his arm off the back of her seat. The car was too small and she was way too close.
Tina. Think of Tina.
The thought brought him back to his senses as effectively as if he’d been dunked in an ice-crusted mountain lake.
Where in the name of all that was holy was she?
They were in town, now, almost to the edge of downtown. A digital clock on a bank flashed the hour. It was later than he’d thought.
He was tired, Rick realized suddenly. Bone tired. He hadn’t slept for two days, not since his mother had broken the news of Tina’s disappearance. Was that really only yesterday?
He slumped back, let his head tilt back, his eyes close. One deep breath. Two. He drew the air in deep, forcing his chest to expand to take it all in, then slowly breathed out.
It helped. Not much, but it did help.
He forced himself to sit up.
“I have to stop at the shop,” Maggie said abruptly, shattering the silence. “Make sure they’re okay closing up. I’ll take you to your truck as soon as I’ve checked in.”
“That’s all right. I’ll get a cab.”
“Fine.”