Wolfe Wedding (5 page)

And that was how the following days played out, slowly unwinding in an atmosphere of domestic tranquillity and sensuous bliss.

On Saturday evening, happy and content with each other, Sandra and Cameron decided to make a celebration of their first week together.

Sandra donned the two-piece confection her parents had sent her from Paris for her birthday; Cameron dressed casually but elegantly in brusheddenim pants and a crisp white silk shirt. The effect of their sartorial efforts on one another was immediate appreciation.

Seated opposite one another at the dinner table, they devoured each other with their eyes, while devouring grilled salmon, crisp salad, and the pale gold wine Cameron had brought with him.

Later that night, all her appetites sated, Sandra lay curled against Cameron’s warmth, awake while he slept, musing on the sweet satisfaction of two individuals in seemingly perfect harmony.

Maybe, she thought muzzily, floating in the nether area between sleep and wakefulness, just maybe, there really could be such a thing as an equal, balanced, happy and mutually satisfying marriage between two independent, career-minded people.

She floated off to sleep in a contemplative bubble of contentment.

As all bubbles eventually do, Sandra’s burst. The deflating pinprick came early Sunday morning, in the form of a summons from Cameron’s beeper. The muted beep penetrated her unconsciousness; the noise Cameron made fumbling with the bedside phone drew her to the surface; the sound of his voice brought her to awareness.

“It’s Wolfe. What’s up?”

Well I am, for one, Sandra grumbled to herself, shifting into an upright position in the bed.

“When?”

When what? she asked herself, covering a yawn with the palm of her hand. And what was so allfired important that it warranted a call at this time of the morning?

“Damn it all to hell!”

She blinked. Whatever the call was about, from the tone of Cameron’s voice, it sounded serious.

“Okay, thanks, Steve.” He heaved a sigh. “Yeah, I’ll be careful.”

Careful? About what? Or whom? Her curiosity aroused, Sandra watched as he replaced the receiver and sat still for a moment, staring into space. His very stillness sent an apprehensive shiver down her spine.

“Cameron, is something wrong?”

He heaved another sigh before turning to her; the look of him intensified the shiver.

“What is it?” she asked, impulsively reaching a hand out to him.

“It
is a man,” he said, curling his hand around hers. “And it means the end of our time here together.”

Sandra’s spirits did a swan dive. Her hand tightened on his. “You must leave?”

“Yes.” His voice was flat, which said a lot about his spirits.

“Work-related?” Sandra knew better than to ask for anything other than the bare essentials.

“Yeah.”

She nodded in acceptance, expecting no further explanation, but he surprised her with his willingness to be more forthcoming.

“While you were waging your custody battle in court I was chasing a two-bit bank robber turned kidnapper and rapist.” The shadow of a wry smile flickered briefly on his lips. “I caught him, too.” He jerked his head to indicate the phone. “That call was from another agent, informing me that the
felon escaped from the lockup where he was awaiting trial.”

“And the Bureau wants you to suspend your vacation to track him down?”

“No.” Cameron shook his head. “That call wasn’t official. But the agent thought I should know about the situation, since the felon had sworn to track me down if he ever gained his freedom.”

“But…don’t understand.” Sandra frowned. “I mean, we’re secluded here. This man, this felon, can’t possibly know you’re here. Why would you leave and put yourself in harm’s way?”

“I have a duty, a responsibility to—”

“Your responsibility in this instance is to yourself,” she said, interrupting him. “What are you thinking of doing—making yourself a sitting duck, using yourself as live bait to lure the criminal?”

A smile flittered over his lips again. “Something like that,” he admitted.

“That’s nuts!”

“Perhaps, but—”

“Cameron! Will you listen to yourself? Surely you don’t believe you’re the only agent capable of capturing this. this outlaw?”

“No, of course not,” he immediately replied. “And I wasn’t thinking of playing the macho hero and going after him alone. But I should be part of the team.”

“Why?” she demanded, fearful for his safety, and incensed by his adamancy. “I could accept your attitude if the call had come from your superior, ordering or even requesting your help, but your deciding to use yourself as bait doesn’t make sense.”

This time he didn’t smile; he grinned.

“What’s so funny?” she asked suspiciously.

“You.” He gave her hand a quick squeeze. “You sound just like a prosecuting attorney grilling an unfriendly witness.”

She gave him a dry look. “I was trained to apply logic, and reason, and good old-fashioned common sense, you know.”

“And you apply it to advantage.”

Sandra’s spirits surfaced from the depths into the sunshine. “You’ll stay?” She didn’t try to contain the breathless, hopeful note in her voice.

“Yes.” He nodded, then quickly cautioned her, “At least for a day or so, until I hear how the hunt is progressing. But if it turns out that they could use me.” He let his voice trail away.

“I understand.” Giving his hand a final squeeze, she slipped away from his hold and left the bed.

“Where are you going? It’s still early—why not catch a tittle more sleep?”

“I’m awake now,” she said, heading for the bathroom. “And I’m hungry.”

“Yeah, well, so am I.” He grinned suggestively. “That’s why I wanted to stay in bed.”

“Guess you’ll have to settle for pancakes.”

Laughing, Cameron leaped from the bed and tracked her into the bathroom.

I
t began raining early Sunday afternoon, a gentle spring rain—or at least that was what Sandra and Cameron believed it to be.

Sometime during the night, after they fell asleep, the temperature took a sudden piunge and the rain turned first to sleet, then to ice.

They awoke Monday morning to an unnatural stillness outside, and an eerie grayish-white light seeping into the cabin.

“Snow?” Cameron guessed, padding barefoot and naked to the window.

“Possible,” Sandra mumbled, burrowing deeper under the covers; she had experienced many Colorado spring blizzards.

“Not this time,” he returned sourly, peering sleepy-eyed through the frost-rimmed pane. “We’ve got ice—boy, have we got ice.”

“Ice?” Sandra repeated, tossing back the covers. Shivering, she came up behind him to stare over his shoulder. “Why, it’s beautiful!” she exclaimed, entranced by the glistening coat weighing down tree branches, shimmering on the surface of their surroundings. “It’s a winter wonderland out there.”

“Yeah.” Cameron sounded unconvinced. “The problem is, everything’s frozen, and we’re in the mountains.”

“Oh, it is spring, you know,” she said, dismissing his obvious concern. “It won’t last long.”

By midday, Sandra’s assurances appeared prophetic. Although the sky was heavy with dark clouds, the distinct sound of melting ice rattled through the drainpipe from the roof, and small puddles of mud-swirled water dotted the driveway.

Braving the wet and slippery terrain underfoot, they ventured forth for a short walk, laughing as they took turns singing bits and pieces of “Slip Slidin’ Away.”

After dinner, content to be alone and quiet together, they didn’t bother, or even think, to tune in
to the radio or TV for a weather forecast, deciding it would be more interesting, and a lot more fun, to get comfortable on the floor in front of the crackling fire and play a few hands of strip poker.

Except for his shoes and socks, Cameron was still fully clothed while Sandra had lost to the tune of everything but her panties and bra, when his beeper once again shrilled an intrusion.

Sandra frowned to make clear her dissatisfaction with the annoying device.

“Duty calls, and all that,” Cameron said, making an obvious effort to sound casual as he rose and sauntered into the kitchen to use the wall-mounted phone.

Suddenly cold, Sandra tugged the patchwork afghan from the couch and wrapped it around her chilled body.

Cameron stood facing her, and though she couldn’t hear what he was saying, she could see his expression, and it was not an encouraging sight.

She read his lips when he bit out a socially unacceptable expletive. Then he turned his back to her, intensifying the chill permeating her being.

Hugging the soft wool throw to her shivering body, Sandra waited in dread for him to finish the call and return to her, certain the news was not good.

She was right. Still, he startled her with his first statement.

“You’re going to have to leave here first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Leave?” Sandra blinked. “Tomorrow? Why?”

“Because as long as you’re with me, you are not safe.” Cameron stood over her, scowling, and raked his fingers through his burnished hair. “That call was from the agent I talked to earlier. He told me that my apartment was broken into and ransacked this afternoon.”

“And they believe it was that escaped criminal you told me about?”

“Yes. And they also believe he is tracking me.”

Clutching the afghan, Sandra struggled to her feet to stand before him. “But then, why leave here? As I think I pointed out before, we’re secluded here, and—” She paused when his hand sliced through the air, effectively cutting off her reasoned argument.

“And I’m afraid he knows exactly where we are,” Cameron inserted, his voice heavy with disgust.

“That’s ridiculous,” she argued. “He’s been in jail. How could he possibly know about Barbara’s hideaway, or even me, for that matter?”

“So far as this place belonging to Barbara and you personally are concerned, he couldn’t know,” he readily agreed. “But he does know that I’m here. He knows, because I inadvertently told him.”

“You told him!” Sandra cried, suddenly understanding that his obvious disgust was self-directed. “But how? You certainly couldn’t have talked to him.could you?”

Cameron was shaking his head in denial before she had finished speaking. “No, I haven’t talked to him. But what I did do was just as stupid.” He heaved a sigh. “I left the written directions to the cabin lying in plain sight on my kitchen table.”

“And your apartment was broken into and ransacked,” she said flatly.

“Exactly.”

“It’s not going to require a lot of tracking ability on his part to find you, then, is it?”

He gave a quick, sharp nod. “Which is why I have got to get you out of here.”

“But-”

He again cut her off. “At once.” Pivoting, he started for the bedroom. “So I think you had better get busy packing.”

“No.” Sandra’s soft but firm refusal brought him to an abrupt halt.

“No?” Cameron slowly turned to stare at her, his expression one of sheer disbelief.

“No.” Sandra met his narrowed stare with cool composure, determined that she would not be panicked by the possibility of a criminal arriving on the scene. Nor would she tolerate being ordered about, not even by Special Agent Cameron Wolfe.

“What do you mean,
no?”
he asked, in a tone of controlled calm.

“I mean, no, I’m not leaving,” she answered, in an equally calm tone. “I’m not afraid.” That wasn’t quite true. Still, while she felt a mite apprehensive about the situation, she felt an even deeper sense of anger and resentment at being summarily ordered to get packing.

Her calm demolished his calm.

“Dammit, woman, will you think?” He paced back to within a foot of her. “You’re too bright to pull a childish rebellion act.”

“Thank you…I think,” Sandra said, maintaining her cool, while containing an impulse to slap him silly for the insult implied within the compliment. “Nevertheless, I won’t change my mind.” She arched her eyebrows. “Didn’t you relay the same directions to this place to the agent you spoke to?”

“Certainly, but—”

“There you are, then,” she said, coolly interrupting him. “Wouldn’t you say that, even as we speak, there are any number of law enforcement officers, federal, state and local, converging on this place?”

“Probably, but-”

She interrupted him again. “I’d say definitely. So…not to worry. You may leave if you like, of course, to join your fellow officers in the chase, but
I.am.not.budging,” she said, her firm tone emphasizing each word. “And don’t call me ‘woman.’“

Apparently rendered speechless, Cameron glared at her from glittering blue eyes, giving her the impression that at any moment smoke might well steam from his ears and nostrils.

Girding herself to withstand an onslaught of ranting and raving, Sandra clenched her muscles and drew her composure, along with the afghan, around her chilled and quaking body.

But Cameron didn’t rant or rave. He heaved a deep sigh and gave her a knowing, cynical smile.

“I see. You’re not pulling a childish act of rebellion at all, are you?” he observed, coolly and rather tiredly. “You’re doing your in-your-face-and-bedamned ultrafeminist shtick. Right?”

Sheer rage swept through Sandra, a rage born of his blatant stupidity. How could he? she railed, literally shaking from the emotions roaring in protest inside her. After the days and nights they had shared, how could he dare to accuse her of now making an equal-rights stand? Didn’t he know her primary concern was for him? His safety? And, if he didn’t know, why didn’t he know? Or why hadn’t he at least asked?

So much for symbiosis and domestic harmony.

Sandra felt wounded, the pain running astonishingly deep. Freezing inside, she drew the mantle of hot fury around her.

“You’re a fool, Wolfe,” she said, concealing her pain with disdain. “And I can’t be bothered sparring with fools.”

Her budding hopes for their future killed by the frost of his cynicism, she gave him a dismissive once-over, then circled around him.

“Sandra?” There was a new, altogether unfamiliar and surprising note of uncertainty in his voice. “Where are you going?”

“To bed,” she snapped, heading for the bedroom. “So if you’re leaving, you’d better get your stuff together and out of the bedroom.”

“I’m not going without you,” he called after her, the note of uncertainty giving way to one of anger.

“Your choice.” Sandra marched into the bedroom, tossed aside the afghan, pulled on her robe, then went to the linen closet to collect a quilt. Then, snatching his pillow from the bed, she marched back to the living room and threw the bedding at him.

“You’re kidding.” Cameron’s eyes flashed blue fire at her; she deflected it with a cold smile.

“Laugh yourself to sleep.” Swinging around, she strode from the room.

“Sandra!” He was right behind her—but a step and a half too late.

She turned the door lock an instant before he grasped the knob.

“Now you
are
being childish,” he said, raising his voice to penetrate the barrier.

She didn’t deign to answer.

“I won’t beg,” he threatened.

“I never thought you would.”

“Are you going to open the door?”

“No.” Sandra bit down on her lower lip, but she held her ground.

“Good night, Sandra.”

Good night? Or goodbye? Tears rushed to her eyes, and she didn’t trust her voice enough to respond. The tears spilled over onto her cheeks when she heard him sigh and move away.

Standing stock-still, Sandra glanced at the bed, then quickly glanced away. The standard-size double bed looked so big, so empty, so lonely. After the thrilling nights spent in that bed with Cameron, could she bear to even think of crawling into that bed alone?

All she had to do was unlock that door and call to him, for him, an inner voice whispered.

No. She shook her head. After the closeness, the intimacy, they had shared, he had misread her motives completely, accusing her of militancy, selfinterest, when in fact her concern was all for him.

Suddenly impatient, with Cameron, with herself, she brushed the tears from her cheeks with a
swipe of her hand. If he was too dense to discern that she felt she couldn’t leave him to face the danger alone, that was his problem, not hers.

Shrugging out of her robe, her panties and bra, Sandra pulled on her nightgown and slipped into bed. She had slept alone before.for a good many years. Like it or not, she could sleep alone again.

She didn’t like it. She didn’t do much sleeping, anyway. Awake and miserable, she lay, stiff and tense, listening to the pinging sound of sleet striking against the windowpanes.

But, although she couldn’t know it, Sandra wasn’t the only one awake and miserable.

Cameron hadn’t even bothered to lie down. He felt too restless, too agitated, too damn mad to lie still and quiet; the emotions roiling inside him wouldn’t be contained, had to be released by some form of action.

The first of those actions was reflexive, second nature to him after his years with the Bureau. Shoving his bare feet into his running shoes, he left the house and made his way cautiously to his vehicle. Quickly retrieving his holstered gun, he spared a moment to rake the area with a narrow-eyed sweep before returning to the house, wet and shivering from the cold, sleet-spattered rain.

Spring.

Right.

Scattering cold droplets with an impatient shake of his head, he kicked off his shoes, then padded to the couch to slip the weapon beneath the end cushion. Still shivering, he moved to the fireplace and placed another piece of wood on the dwindling flames.

The fire blazed to renewed life, radiating heat and warmth. But the warmth didn’t penetrate the surface of his skin, didn’t touch the cold and empty spot deep inside him; only crawling into bed beside Sandra could have warmed him to the core of his being.

The realization of how very important she had become to him, to his physical and mental comfort, startled him, made him uneasy and even more restless.

Dammit, he cursed in silent frustration, venting his restlessness by prowling the room. What was with the woman? Oh, yeah, she had ordered him not to call her “woman,” he savagely reminded himself, making a sharp turn into the kitchen.

But, hell, she was a woman—wasn’t she? Oh, yeah, he answered himself. He knew firsthand, up close and personal, that Sandra was all woman.

All feminist woman, he recalled, making a sour face and a rude noise.

The very last thing he needed was to get hung up on a woman who wouldn’t hesitate to whip out a little copy of her own personal Declaration of Independence
every time she decided he was pulling a male-superiority act.

What kind of a masochistic idiot was he, anyway? he railed at himself, deliberately stoking his anger, to smother the disappointment and hurt he was feeling. How many times did he have to get emotionally raped by a woman before he got smart enough to keep his emotions inviolate?

And what in hell did he want in here, anyway? Cameron skimmed the nearly dark room with narrowed eyes, seeking diversion from his own thoughts.

Coffee. That was it—he needed some coffee.

He moved to the countertop—only to stand there, blankly staring at the automatic coffeemaker. What did he think he was doing? he chided himself. Coffee would only wire him, and he was strung too damn tight now.

Spinning around, he headed for the fridge; what he really needed was a beer, maybe several beers.

Cameron never finished the first can he opened; he was too busy pacing off a path in the rug to take the time to swig from the can.

Was Sandra asleep?

He groaned aloud. Damn. Why had he thought about her sleeping? Thinking about her, in bed, sleeping or awake, caused a yawning hollowness inside him, a yearning, sharp and deep, to be there, burrowed beneath the covers, beside her, inside her.

“Sandra.”

Cameron froze, startled by the whispery longing in his own voice. Hell, he had it bad. whatever
it
was.