He found her with the horses, as he’d expected. She looked up when he entered the shed. Taking the tiny penlight from his jacket, he shone it on the ground to let her know he was approaching.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
Her gaze met his. Within the depths of her eyes he saw all the emotions he felt in his own heart. Regret. The remnants of a desire that could never be fulfilled. A guilt neither of them should feel, but did.
He crossed to her and stopped a safe distance away, watching as she caressed the muzzle of the Appaloosa. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I was out of line. It was unprofessional and disrespectful. I shouldn’t have let it happen.”
“It’s not like you did it all by yourself.”
Bo couldn’t help it. He laughed. Even visibly upset and caught in a terribly awkward position, she could come up with a pretty good one-liner. Damn it, not only was he attracted to her, but he liked her. A lot if he wanted to be honest about it. This was one of those situations when it was a lot simpler not to be quite so honest.
“I’m sorry I ran out like that,” she said. “I know it was a stupid thing to do, especially with Karas’s goons on the loose.”
“I wasn’t exactly behaving intelligently.” Remembering the way she’d felt beneath him, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Come back inside.”
She hesitated. Bo motioned toward the house. “We need to get some rest. I wanted to talk to you about a contingency plan in case something happens tonight.”
Her gaze snapped to his. “You think they’ll be back?”
“Hard to tell with Karas. With this wind and the dark, I can’t imagine any pilot flying a chopper. But then Karas is one of the most unpredictable sons of bitches I’ve ever had to deal with.”
“Unless they don’t use a chopper and approach us some other way,” she offered.
“Whatever the scenario, we need to be prepared.”
After a moment, she nodded and they started toward the house. The kitchen seemed warm and cozy compared to the drafty shed row, where the cold north wind whipped around the rafters and rattled the loose boards. Bo walked to the table and opened one of the saddlebags on the table. “I could use some coffee. You want a cup?”
Rachael stood at the sink, looking out the window. “Anything hot.”
“I think I can handle that.”
He poured water from the collapsible container into a small camping saucepan. Handing Rachael two tin cups, he took the pan and individual packets of coffee to the living room.
He set the pan on top of the stove and turned up the flame. Within minutes the water was boiling. Bo poured into the cups and handed one to Rachael.
She took the cup and sipped tentatively. “Not bad.”
“I do okay in the coffee department. Just don’t ask me to make toast.”
She smiled, and Bo felt the tension inside him ease just a little bit. Warning himself not to get off track again, he went back to the kitchen and pulled a map from the saddlebag and carried it into the living room.
“I thought I’d show you the location of the caves I was telling you about earlier.” He sat down and spread the map on the floor between them.
“That’s our contingency plan?”
“It’s not brilliant, but the best I can come up with under the circumstances.” Taking the penlight from his pocket, he shined it on the map where a big red star appeared. “This is the house here. The Dripping Springs Ranch is outlined in yellow Hi-liter.”
She leaned closer. “Where are we?”
Setting down his coffee he pointed. “Here. The Dripping Spring Creek runs south from here, then curves slightly to the east. The caves are here, where the creek curves. The flood waters have eaten into the limestone, forming shallow caves that can’t be seen from the air.”
Bo risked a covert look at her. Her eyebrows knitted as she concentrated on the map. She was incredibly lovely in the yellow glow of the camping stove. He tried to keep his mind on the business at hand, but he couldn’t stop thinking of the way she’d moved beneath him when he’d touched her. The softness and warmth of her flesh…
“What’s the best way to get there from here?”
“Fastest way is to cut across the plain here.” He slid his finger an inch lower. “But it’s open country. The safest way is to follow the dry creek bed where there are trees for cover.” He gave her a sober look. “There’s something you need to know about those caves.”
Her gaze latched on to his. “What?”
“I have explosives buried inside them.”
She blinked, then a slow smile tugged at one side of her mouth. “That’s one hell of a contingency plan. Why didn’t you mention this sooner?”
“My mission is to keep you safe.” He tapped the cave location on the map with his finger. “Not get into a war with Karas.”
“You can take the man out of the agency, but you can’t take the agent out of the man.”
“Or maybe I just like to be careful.”
“Why do you have the explosives?”
He sighed. “I’m a civilian now. But in the years I was an agent, I made some enemies. If they come looking for me, I want to be ready.”
“Always have a plan B.”
“I don’t want any of my people at the ranch getting hurt because of me or my past.”
She nodded, then turned her attention back to the map. “Tell me about the explosives.”
“Give me your word you won’t do anything stupid.”
“Like what?”
“Like go after Karas yourself.”
She met his gaze levelly. “That would be suicidal.”
“And just your style.” He didn’t look away.
“So why are you telling me this if you feel you can’t trust me?”
“If something happens to me, I want you to do what you need to do to survive. But I want your word that you won’t do something crazy.”
After a moment, she sighed. “All right. I won’t go after Karas. Satisfied?”
Bo looked down at the map. Removing a pen from his jacket pocket, he made a small circle at a bend of the Dripping Spring Creek. “The caves are here. The explosives are buried in the middle cave, which is the largest. They’re inside a watertight ammunition box beneath about a foot of sandy soil.”
“What kind of explosives?”
“C-4. Dynamite. Nitro. Small arms. Ammo. Grenades.”
She tossed him a startled look. “I guess you wanted to be prepared.”
“Viktor Karas has a long memory.”
“And he isn’t exactly the forgiving type.”
“To put it mildly.”
Glancing uneasily over her shoulder at the dark ened window, she huddled deeper in the blanket, then turned her gaze on Bo. “So what do we do now?”
“We wait. If the agency can’t get a chopper to us, they may send local law enforcement.”
“And in the meantime?”
He shrugged. “I suggest we bed down for the night. Get some rest.”
“Hard to do when Viktor Karas wants both our heads on a platter.”
He contemplated her, trying hard to see her as a capable and highly trained agent instead of a woman with pretty eyes and soft curves. But he failed miserably. “I’ll keep first watch.” He sighed. “If anything happens—”
“I know what to do.”
When he only continued to stare at her, she added, “I’ve got pretty strong survival instincts.”
“I know.” But he sorely hoped she wouldn’t have to rely on those instincts to survive the night.
RACHAEL LAY on the horse blanket and watched the yellow flame of the camping stove dance and hiss. Fifteen minutes ago, when Bo had suggested they get some rest, it had sounded like a good idea; the day had been stressful and physically grueling. But even though she was tired all the way to her bones, she couldn’t turn off her mind.
She wanted to think she was keyed up because of the threat Viktor Karas posed. But she knew
there was something much more subtle—and every bit as dangerous—hard at work deep inside her.
Every time she closed her eyes, her mind took her back to the intimacies she and Bo had shared earlier. Her response to him troubled her. Rachael was no stranger to desire; she’d been married for two years to a man she was very much in love with. After his death, that part of her had shut down. In the two years since his death, she’d felt nothing. She hadn’t wanted to feel anything. And she hadn’t missed it.
Then along came Bo Ruskin with his slow drawl and soft touch, and all the needs she’d refused to feel for two long years came rushing back with a vengeance. Damn him for making her feel again. For making her want. Both were complications she didn’t want to deal with. Not now. Not ever.
But there were other factors at play that added to her resolve to stay away from Bo. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, fear was a big part of it. The fear of getting too close again. The fear that she would somehow be betraying Michael. The fear that she would lose control of emotions she swore she’d never relinquish again.
Losing Michael had been the most difficult ordeal she’d ever been through in her life. She’d loved him with all her heart and soul. For two years she’d believed the part of her that was capable of love had died the night he was killed.
Love?
The thought startled her, made her break a sweat even though the house was chilly. It was absurd to think she was falling in love with Bo. All they’d shared was a kiss and a touch, neither of which equated love. Still, Rachael could no longer deny she felt something powerful and real for the former MIDNIGHT agent. She preferred to think it was the reawakening of her hormones after a long hiatus. Simple and basic human need. She could deal with that. What she couldn’t deal with was the reality that there was a whole lot more to her feelings for Bo than she was admitting.
“Can’t sleep?”
She looked up to see him standing in the kitchen doorway, holding one of the saddles by its horn.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said.
“You didn’t.” Propping herself up on her elbows, she watched him cross to the heater and set the saddle on the floor. “I thought this might make you more comfortable,” he said referring to the saddle.
“I’m fine,” she said.
“Suit yourself.” He shifted the saddle, then sat down and propped his head against the soft leather seat so that he was partially reclined. He’d removed his hat at some point. It was too dark for her to make out the details of his face, but she could tell he was watching her.
“You got something on your mind?” Giving up on the idea of sleep, Rachael sat up.
“It’s about the night Michael died.”
For two years she’d tried—and failed—not to dwell on that terrible night. But she’d always wanted to know more about her husband’s final moments. If he’d been frightened. If it had happened quickly. If he’d thought of her…
“Okay.” But at some point her heart had begun to pound. She got a bad feeling in her gut. A feeling that told her he was about to tell her something she didn’t know. Something she hadn’t anticipated.
For a moment the only sound came from the whistle of the wind outside. Somewhere in the distance a great horned owl screeched.
“Mike and I had been trying to nail Viktor Karas for two years,” he began. “When we finally decided how to do it, we spent another six months choreographing the sting. We knew what to do. We knew Karas would bite. We took a bunch of confiscated weapons from federal evidence and set up shop in a warehouse. They were exactly the kind of weapons Karas had been looking for to resell to whomever was planning a war. Rocket launchers. Grenades. Military-type explosives, including C-4. But it was the plutonium he really wanted.”
Shock vibrated through her. She hadn’t known about the plutonium. None of the reports she’d read had mentioned it. Cutter hadn’t mentioned it. Neither had Michael….
“I didn’t know,” she said, amazed by the revelation.
“Karas was planning something big,” Bo continued. “We had the weapons. He had the money. Everything was going as planned. Karas showed right on schedule. We had backup in place. But before the deal could go down and our guys could move in, he made us as federal agents. We didn’t know how it had happened at the time—”
“Karas tortured an agent stationed in Moscow,” she offered. “I read it in the report. After six hours, he talked. I don’t begrudge any agent talking under those circumstances.”
Bo looked away, his jaw clamped tight. Rachael watched him, wondering if he was going to throw something else at her she hadn’t known. Until this moment she’d taken the agency’s reports as gospel.
“There was no agent in Moscow,” he said.
“But why would the reports and Cutter tell me there was?”
“Because there was more going on than you were ever privy to.”
“Like what?”
“Like the fact that Mike was killed by one of our own.”
“Bo, I know it was friendly fire.” That was one of the reasons she’d always blamed his death on Karas. If the kingpin hadn’t been running weapons, none of what happened that night would have taken place. As a result she’d spent the last two years trying to bring the son of a bitch to justice. She owed Michael that much.
The beep of a cell phone made both of them jump. For a moment she was so focused on Bo, on what she was about to say, that she didn’t realize it was hers.
His gaze locked with hers. “Who is it?”
She fumbled to unclip the phone from her belt and flipped it open. Her heart surged when she read the display. “It’s Cutter.”
He nodded, and she hit Talk. “This is Alpha two-four-six,” she said, using her code.
“Hello, Rachael.”
The hairs at her nape stood on end at the sound of Viktor Karas’s voice. It was so unexpected that for an instant she was speechless. Then her training kicked in. She mouthed, “Karas,” and motioned for Bo to slide over and listen.
“Keep it short,” he whispered. “He’s trying to get a triangulation started on the cell tower.”
But Karas was already speaking. “How do you like being the mouse instead of the cat?”
“Tell me where you are and I’ll answer that in person,” she said evenly.
“Ah, Ms. Armitage, you never cease to entertain.”
“Enjoy it while you can because you are about to take a very big fall.”
His cultured laugh flowed through the line like rich red wine. “You Americans. So brash. So bold. You put way too much emphasis on those John Wayne heroics.” His voice lowered, turned ominous. “Speaking of John Wayne, I hope you’re getting on well with Bo Ruskin. Are you enjoying your stay at Dripping Springs Ranch?”
The words—the fact that he’d just verified knowledge of their location—jangled her nerves, but her voice didn’t betray her. “If you know where I am, why don’t you come get me?”
“In due time.”
“I would apologize for the loss of your men, but then you don’t mind collateral damage, even in your own camp, do you?”
“Merely the cost of doing business.”
Vaguely, she was aware of Bo speaking to her in a low tone, but she couldn’t make out his words over the hard pounding of her heart. “Where’s Cutter?”
Karas ignored the question. “Last time we spoke, I promised you the truth about your dearly departed husband, remember?”
She’d sworn she wasn’t going to let Karas yank her chain. The one thing she could not do was let this get personal. But the mention of Michael made her hand tighten on the phone. “You don’t know anything about him.”
“Or maybe you’re afraid to hear the truth.”
“I’m not afraid of anything, including you because I’m going to take you down.”
Beside her, Bo tapped his watch. “Time’s up,” he said. “Disconnect.”
“You better have a deep hole to crawl into, Karas, becau
se we’re coming for you,” she said.
“I look forward to it, Ms. Armitage. Rest assured, it won’t be long.”
Wresting the phone from her hand, Bo hit the End button.
Rachael spun on him. “What are you doing?”
“Keeping you from getting careless.”
Bo was right; she knew better than to engage Viktor Karas in a lengthy phone conversation. But her need to bring him down overrode good judgment.
“Don’t let him get to you like that,” Bo snapped. “That’s what he wants. Why do you think he called?”
Frustrated, feeling like a greenhorn fool, she spun away and paced the length of the living room. “I hate this,” she said. “Sitting here. Trapped. Doing nothing while that son of a bitch plays with us.”
“His day is coming.”
“His day should have been here a long time ago.”
“Calm down.”
“Don’t tell me to calm down.” Impotence boiled inside her, like a wound that had been left to fester for two long and unbearable years. “Calm isn’t going to get the job done.”
“It’s going to keep us alive.”
She barely heard the words; she certainly didn’t hear the wisdom they held. “Cutter had no right to pull me off the operation. I’d put two years of hard work into it.”
“Cutter did the right thing and you know it.”
“I was close. Too close to pull.”
“You were close to getting yourself killed. Cutter recognized that and stopped it.”
Anger joined the chorus of emotions singing through her. “I’m tired of playing it safe.” She crossed the room again, stopping at the old hearth and slapping her hand against the ancient brick. “Damn it.”
She jolted when strong hands landed on her shoulders. She hadn’t heard him cross to her. She certainly hadn’t expected him to touch her.
“You’re shaking,” he said.
“I’m tired of sitting around and waiting for that bastard to strike again.”
“We don’t have a choice but to wait this out.”
“Yes, we do.” Shaking off his hands, she turned to him. “We could go on the offensive.”