Dead Ringer (32 page)

Terrific.

She tried her legs and found they would hold her. Through the now-raging downpour, she clawed her way back up the slope, clutching at scrub and brush for purchase. With a final grunt, she flung her arms onto what felt like a flat plain and pulled herself up and over, collapsing on her stomach and breathing hard.

Lying in the pelting rain, she remembered Finn's pen-light and fished in her pocket to see if she still had it.
Lucky night.
She hauled herself to her feet and turned it on, but the narrow beam was almost useless against the thick curtain of rain.
Not so lucky after all.
She couldn't see a thing, had no idea where she was or what route would get her back to the ranch safely. Remembering the deep canyons Victor had shown her on the ranch tour, she stood still. Better to get drenched than take off in the wrong direction and walk off a real cliff.

She shivered, water soaking her hair and dripping down her back. But she welcomed it as a kind of retribution.
Come on, rain, wash my sins away.
She closed her eyes and held her face up to the blind, impenetrable sky, and the needles of rain hammered down on her.

For the sin of believing in possibility.

For the sin of hope.

For the sin of wanting to be better than I am.

Heal me. Cleanse me.

Thunder crashed on top of her. She snapped her head; back down and forced herself to remain motionless. At last, the lightning came. In the seconds it lit the sky, she tried to pinpoint her location. The only familiar landmark was the three-headed shape of Devil's Teeth. Her own teeth chattering, she began walking toward it.

* * *

"Angelina!" Finn's shout vanished into the hammering beat of rain. Half a mile from the ranch, he stood in the flood, feeling like Noah abandoned by his ark. Jesus Christ, it was like her to disappear in the middle of a deluge. She'd been a royal pain from the start.

But what a pain. He wiped his face with his forearm and was immediately soaked again. She'd taunted and teased and challenged his very soul, and the worst of it was, he'd liked it. A lot.

You re in over your head, pal. Way over.

Maybe he was. But right now he didn't care. All that mattered was finding her safe before Borian did. So far, he hadn't run into any patrols. He hadn't run into anything, and that kept the icy tentacle of fear coiled in his chest.

"Angelina!" The storm swallowed his bellow, but shouting helped keep his imagination at bay.

Lightning cracked across the sky and thunder roared in his ears. The tentacle tightened. Was Angelina out in the open, exposed to the wind and the rain? As a boy, he'd once seen someone killed by lightning. It wasn't something he wanted to see again.

He sank into a mud hole up to his calves, and cursed. He should have thought to steal a Jeep. At the rate he was going he'd take all damn night to find her, which gave the advantage to the more mobile Borian. And if he found her first...

Finn didn't want to think about that. About what he knew Angelina would do. He'd seen it in the stubborn set of her jaw and the determined slant of her shoulders.

The thought of her with Borian curdled Finn's stomach. It would hurt her. It would be like Ruby, Texas, all over again.

Would it?

An image of his wife rose in his mind. A dozen times she'd pleaded for a second chance, had sworn things would be different, blubbered all over him until sooty streaks of mascara ran down her face and stained his shut, but in the end she always went back to the men and the drugs.

Give it up. Angelina is not Suzy.

Damn right. And thank God for that

He stumbled and almost landed flat on his face. A glare of the flashlight showed a protruding rock. He continued on, but the near-accident brought home the danger, and the fear. What the hell had happened to her?

* * *

Ropes of hair clung to Angelina's face and neck. Her feet squished in the muddied earth and the downpour thrashed in her ears, blocking out all other sounds. Blinded by dark and rain, she crawled her fingers over endless rock surfaces. The mine entrance was here, dammit. Somewhere. She swallowed water, coughed, and inhaled the wrong way. Half choking, water raging at her face, she kept on, and suddenly her hand grazed scrub instead of rock, branches instead of boulders.

The entrance.

Heart drumming, she pushed her way through twigs and brush and finally stumbled past, sopping, bedraggled, and drowning in relief.

Shivering, she huddled in the cool, dry dark to catch her breath. Water dripped off her and plopped as it hit the rock floor. She retrieved the penlight from her pocket and switched it on. Free of the downpour, it gave off enough light to see the familiar inside of the mountain and the wooden supports left when the mine had been abandoned. Without Finn to distract her, she noticed what she hadn't before. That the place was falling down around her. Some of the supports looked sturdy enough, but others were bent and partially collapsed. She bit her lip, wondering how safe the mine was. Not too. A little nudge and it looked like it would all come tumbling down.

Let's pray the big bad wolf doesn't huff and puff tonight.

Shuddering with cold, she moved inward toward the campsite, where Finn's things were neatly stowed.

Thank you, Sharkman. Thank you, thank you.

Quickly she found the lantern and turned it on, creating huge shadows that played on the mine's jagged walls. Quaking uncontrollably, she rummaged through Finn's supplies until she located a couple of blankets, then shucked off her wet clothes and spread them over an outcropping off the wall, hoping they'd dry a bit. Using one blanket to towel off, she wrapped the other around her, figuring she'd stay until morning when she'd have enough light to find her way back to the ranch. She sank to the ground, pulled the sleeping bag on top of her, and leaned against a smooth spot on the mine wall waiting for the goose bumps to subside.

Slowly, she warmed up. The sleeping bag smelled like Finn and she tugged it tight around her, burying her face in his scent. God, she wished he were here. Wished they could have one night together before she had to return to the ranch. One night to see if she could fire his cool blue gaze and find out if the risk she'd be willing to take was worth the hurt it might produce. She closed her eyes, dreaming of him, and dozed off.

She woke with a start, her heart banging against her ribs. Someone was there. The crazy thought that her mother's ghost had followed her flew through Angelina's head. Irrationally, she sniffed the air for her perfume, but all she smelled was earth, rock and rain.

The sound came again. Footsteps. If Victor or his men found her here, they'd find the equipment and know what she was up to.

Heart flying, she doused the lantern, plunging the mine back into darkness, then scrunche3 against the wall to make herself as small as possible.

CHAPTER
19

Angelina."

Ears tuned to the smallest sound, she picked up the familiar tone of the whisper. She gasped. "Finn?"

"Where are you?"

"Back here with your stuff."

She relit the lantern and stood. Then, like a miracle conjured from her dreams, he was there. Gilded by lantern light, bedraggled, drenched from head to toe, but looking better than she'd ever seen him. The ever-present suit was gone again, replaced by his cowboy clothes. Rain-slick jeans and a denim shirt molded to his body, outlining its hard, lean shape. Long legs, strong thighs, capable hands, muscled arms. She swallowed and hugged the blanket close, suddenly aware that she was naked underneath.

He stepped toward her, then stopped as if he'd seen her heart jump beneath her skin. Or was experiencing the same.

"Are you all right?" he said.

She nodded. "Haven't fallen in a ditch in a while though."

"No broken bones?"

"Nope."

He let out a breath. "Good."

An awkward silence stretched between them. He looked like he was going to say more, then didn't. Instead, he ran a hand through his hair and wrung out the water.

"You can use this." She toed the blanket she'd dried off with earlier, and he picked it up, using a corner to mop up his head. His hand slowed for a moment and she followed his gaze to the outcropping where her clothes lay. Her panties gleamed lacy white in the dim light. They weren't the sizzling scrap of cloth she would have chosen for herself, but he went still anyway. Then the moment ended and he continued toweling his hair as though he hadn't noticed.

But he had. And that notice radiate'd liquid heat to all her nerve endings.

When he was done with his hair, he shrugged out of his shirt, pulling it over his head without bothering to unbutton it. "I have dry clothes here somewhere." He bent over the backpack, shoulder muscles rippling.

The wisp of heat that had begun deep inside began swirling through her like thick smoke.

"Here." He turned, extending her a shirt to wear, but all she saw was the plane of his chest, the wide shoulders and slick of skin between them. She licked suddenly dry lips and raised her eyes to his face.

His blue gaze locked on hers. Slowly, his hand dropped away. The clean shirt tumbled to the mine floor. He came toward her, his eyes eating her alive, and then she was in his arms, clinging to his tight embrace.

"Christ," he whispered into her hair, "I was afraid you'd fallen off a cliff."

"How did you know where to find me?"

"Because I know you. You're smart. I'd head here, I figured you'd do the same."

The praise elicited a warm flush that blossomed over the heat he'd already generated inside her.

He tightened his hold. "Mmm. Smart and so damn beautiful I can hardly breathe around you." He pulled away to search her face. Desire lit his eyes. Desire and knowledge. In the space of a breath she knew he wanted her. Knew, too, that he wouldn't back out. Not this time. But still, a doubt lingered deep in the blue centers. "No games, Angel."

No games. A quick stab of panic darted through her. Was she crazy? God, she was. A huge part of her wanted to give up control and plummet recklessly, not caring where she landed as long as it was in his arms. Her mind formed the words, but her tongue couldn't get them out. "I don't know. I... I'll try."

He ran a finger over her lips and watched her shiver in reaction. "For real," he whispered. "Say it."

She swallowed, her heart beating fast enough to fly. "For..." Oh, God. "For... for real."

He smiled as if to say, that wasn't so bad. Then slowly, agonizingly slow, he lowered his mouth to hers.

She shuddered with the contact, warmth prickling over her body as his lips heated hers. His tongue invaded, liquid and hot, and her knees buckled.

He scooped down and lifted her into his arms, still kissing her. She groaned. "Don't stop."

"Not for a minute."

He lowered her to the floor and laid her against the rock wall. Unfurling the crumpled sleeping bag, he pulled her onto the makeshift bed, sliding her on top of him so the blanket she wore wrapped around them both, her breasts one with his chest, skin to skin. He framed her face with his hands and kissed her again, warmly, deeply.

And then he looked at her, his gaze as warm and deep as his kiss had been. "You're in control, Angel. This is all up to you. Whatever you want, I want."

Tears stung her eyes, blurring his face, and he used his thumb to wipe them away. "No crying. Tough guys never cry and you're the toughest guy I know." He kissed her eyes at the corners, where they were wet. "And the softest."

She blinked back the tears and kissed his mouth, his jaw, and the line of his neck. "You're pretty soft yourself ... for a cop."

He growled low in his throat and pressed her into the hard bulge at the top of his thighs.

She groaned. "Maybe not so soft." She whispered kisses down his chest. Her tongue made a slick journey toward the top of his jeans, which she unbuttoned and pulled off. He was hard and ready, and she grasped him between her hands, feeling him from base to tip. He arched at her touch, inhaling a sharp breath. But he didn't pull her down or force her onto her back. She felt the tension in his body as he restrained himself, waiting for her. True to his word, he let her set the pace, lead the dance.