Полная версия
Hard to Hold
His kiss was intoxicating …
For a moment, nothing else mattered except the wild, sweet longing that surged through Maddie’s veins.
“Madeleine,” Colton rasped, “I don’t think …”
“Shh.” She bent down to brush a searing kiss over his lips, and then lingered for several long, tantalizing seconds. She couldn’t help herself. The taste of him, the feel of him, was irresistible. Then, before he could guess her intent, she pushed his hand over his head and quickly snapped on the other handcuff.
“What the …?” He twisted his head and stared in bemusement at his shackled wrists.
He fixed her with a hard glare, his dark eyes beginning to focus with awareness of what she was doing. “Don’t do this, Madeleine.” His voice sounded rough, still groggy with sleep. “Uncuff me right this damned minute.”
Maddie bit her lip. Colton gave a roar and bucked his hips in an attempt to unseat her. With a cry of alarm, Maddie found herself pitched onto the floor.
“It’s no use, Colton,” she gasped, and opened her hand to reveal the set of keys. “I already have them.” Maddie pushed herself to her feet, intent only on grabbing her shoes and getting out of there.
“Madeleine,” he said, his eyes burning into hers, “you can’t run forever, and there’s no place for you to hide.
“I’ll get free, and God help you, I will find you …”
Hard to Hold
Karen Foley
KAREN FOLEY is an incurable romantic. When she’s not working for the Department of Defense, she’s writing sexy romances with strong heroes and happy endings. She lives in Massachusetts with her husband and two daughters, an overgrown puppy and two very spoiled cats. Karen enjoys hearing from her readers. You can find out more about her by visiting www.karenefoley.com.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Excerpt
1
UNDER NORMAL CIRCUMSTANCES, Colton Black wouldn’t have given the girl a second glance. Tomboys weren’t his type, and with her oversize T-shirt, baseball cap and backpack, there wasn’t much of her to see anyway. Only the long, honeyed swish of a ponytail poking through the back of the cap, and a sweetly curved ass beneath a pair of faded blue jeans gave any hint of femininity. But it was neither of these that had captured Colton’s attention.
Nope, it was definitely the gun.
Colton had barely glanced up from his breakfast when the big Greyhound bus pulled into the gravel parking lot of the diner located on a remote stretch of Interstate 80 in Lovelock, Nevada. Several travelers disembarked, either to refresh themselves before climbing back onto the bus, or to wait for a connecting one. There was a frazzled mother dragging a small, wailing boy in her wake, an elderly couple and the young woman in the baseball cap.
As they entered the diner, Colton had returned his attention to his newspaper and finished eating. Afterward, he wasn’t certain what had made him look up again. The girl had paused near the cash register, presumably to check out the array of gum and mints on display there, but the uncanny sixth sense that had saved his hide on numerous occasions was kicking into full gear, demanding his attention.
As he watched, the girl’s hand fluttered to the waistband of her jeans beneath the T-shirt. Colton’s eyes narrowed as she touched something hidden there. She hesitated, then dropped her arm back to her side, but not before he saw the dull, metallic glint of the weapon concealed beneath the shirt.
She turned toward the cashier, hesitated again, then seemed to change her mind. She moved slightly away, pretending to look at a rack of magazines. As Colton watched, she drew in a deep breath, as if bracing herself, before she turned resolutely back to the cashier. Colton was halfway to his feet when she made a jerky movement and spun abruptly on her heel. She ducked her head and strode past his booth to the rear of the diner, muttering something beneath her breath that sounded suspiciously like “Stupid, stupid, stupid!”
Colton reached into his wallet and tossed several bills onto the table. Cautiously, he made his way toward the back of the small restaurant, where the girl had disappeared. There was a tiny alcove with a public telephone, next to a door that led to the diner’s single unisex bathroom, currently occupied by the mother and her small son; Colton could hear the boy still crying plaintively from behind the closed door.
He leaned negligently against the wall as if waiting his turn for the restroom, but he needn’t have bothered with the pretense. The girl was completely oblivious to his presence. She stood with her back to him, caught up in rehearsing what sounded suspiciously like a scene from the movie Thelma and Louise.
As Colton watched, she rolled her shoulders, assumed a cocky stance and then started again from the top in a low, husky voice. “All right, ladies and gentlemen, let’s see who’ll win the prize for keepin’ their cool. Simon says everybody lie down on the floor. If nobody loses their head, then nobody loses their head.” In the next instant, she gave an audible groan and her shoulders sagged. “I can’t do this.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” Colton drawled, startling her. “Because as of oh-five-hundred this morning, I’m on vacation, and I’d sure as hell hate to see it ruined on account of some dumb-ass kid looking to make a quick buck on the wrong side of the law.”
At the sound of his voice, the girl whirled around with a sharp cry of surprise. Now she fumbled beneath her shirt and yanked the weapon free with jerky movements. Her hands were unsteady, but she was close enough that if she decided to pull the trigger, she wouldn’t miss. Colton went still and raised his hands to show her he meant no harm, but he didn’t retreat.
“Stop right there.” Her voice was low and strained. “Take another step and I’ll be forced to shoot.”
Colton kept his eyes on her face, deliberately not looking at the weapon, but he’d already taken note of her stance. She had both hands clutched around the gun, aimed at his midsection, and it looked to him as if the safety lever was in the locked position. In the time it would take her to release the lever, he could easily take the gun from her. There’d be no contest.
He glanced at the patrons in the diner. The elderly couple who had come in on the Greyhound were seated at a booth as the waitress, a tired-looking woman in her fifties, scratched their order on a small pad of paper. The only other patron was an old man seated at the counter, his grizzled head bobbing lightly over his coffee cup.
Colton sighed. It was time to end this. If he did it right, nobody in the diner would be any wiser as to what was transpiring just behind them. The girl wouldn’t even realize she’d been overpowered until it was too late. He’d just remove the gun from her hands, spin her around, push her up against the wall and contact the local authorities. And maybe, just maybe, he could still make it to his cabin before nightfall.
Then the girl tipped her head back, and muted light from the dust-covered windows spilled across her features. Colton found himself staring into hazel eyes the color of aged whiskey, fringed by lashes that were incongruously dark by comparison.
Not a girl. A woman.
He guessed her to be in her mid-to late twenties. Her oval face had a delicate bone structure, with high cheekbones and a slim, straight nose. The cleft in her chin suggested a strength or stubbornness that was completely belied by the soft fullness of her lips. But it was her eyes that had him raising his hands in a mute gesture of surrender.
The woman was terrified.
And desperate.
Colton had seen that look just twice before. Once, when he’d cornered a small fox that had found its way into his cabin. He’d thought the animal was going to either attack him outright or die of heart failure while he tried to figure out how to get it outside. In the end, he’d stepped aside, opened the screen door and watched as it bolted for freedom.
The second time...well, he just wished his choices then had been as easy as they’d been with the fox. Reluctantly, he recalled the incident at the San Diego federal courthouse six years earlier. A boy of about sixteen entered the courthouse, but as he had passed through the metal detectors, he’d had tripped the security alarm. Colton had been standing guard outside one of the courtrooms, assigned to protect the man on trial behind the closed doors. There had been no doubt that the defendant was complete scum, accused of aggravated kidnapping, rape and murder, but he was under federal protection. Colton was a Deputy U.S. Marshal; his job was to ensure the accused had his day in court.
As the alarm had sounded and the guards had moved forward to detain the boy, he’d broken free and bolted down the corridor, his youthful features twisted in anguish and a kind of fierce determination. Colton thought he’d always remember the sound of the kid’s sneakers squeaking against the polished marble floors of the cavernous lobby. He had stepped forward to block him, his weapon drawn. The youth had slid to a stop, arms flung out for balance. When he saw the two guards advancing on him, he’d reached into his denim jacket and pulled out a gun.
The utter despair on his face as he’d weighed his options had caused Colton to hesitate for one fateful second. He’d cried out in denial even as he lunged forward to stay the boy’s hand.
But he’d been too late.
The youth had put the gun to his own head, and the sound of a single shot reverberated through the lofty halls. His body had hit the floor before the last echoes faded. Later, Colton learned the boy had intended to kill the defendant he was protecting; the same man who had allegedly kidnapped, raped and then murdered the boy’s young girlfriend.
Now Colton could see the same fleeting expressions of despair and steely resolve on this young woman’s face as she stood facing him. She compressed her lips and steadied the gun, aimed now at his heart.
“Easy there,” he heard himself say. “Why don’t you put away the gun? I’m sure there’s another way. You don’t really want to do this.”
Her eyes clung to his for a brief moment before shifting to the parking lot beyond the diner windows.
“Is one of those vehicles yours?”
Colton followed her gaze, sensing the direction of her thoughts. “Yes, ma’am.”
Goddamn it to hell. His boss would have his head and maybe even his badge, but suddenly Colton didn’t have a choice. Whatever trouble she was in, instinct told him that arresting her wasn’t the solution, and could even be the one thing that drove her completely over the edge. He’d be damned if he’d have her on his conscience.
She gestured toward the door with her gun, and it was then that Colton realized he’d been duped. As she waved the weapon, his eyes were drawn to a scratch on the end of the barrel, revealing the bright orange plastic beneath. Only toy guns were equipped with brightly colored tips, as a way to prevent them from being mistaken for the real McCoy. Clearly, the tip of this one had been painted to match the barrel. As toy guns went, it was a damned realistic replica of the real thing.
“Good,” the woman was saying. “I need you to drive me somewhere.” She tipped her chin up, her eyes narrowing. “And don’t try anything foolish, or I might have to use this. I—I’m a good shot, too.”
Colton kept his face neutral. “I’m sure you are, ma’am.”
He was frankly surprised at how far she was willing to play out this little drama. He’d seen a lot of bizarre and even twisted things in his eleven years as a Deputy U.S. Marshal, but he’d never encountered a situation quite like this one. He knew what he should do, but somehow the idea of exerting his authority over this woman, and destroying whatever small hope she had of getting out of this predicament, held little appeal for him. For now, at least, he’d play it out with her and go along as her “hostage.” At least he could ensure she didn’t try a similar stunt on some other unsuspecting person. Hell, she could find herself at the wrong end of a shotgun, especially in these rural areas where most business owners kept a loaded weapon behind the counter as a matter of course.
Eventually, he’d have to let her know the game was up. But for the moment, he was intrigued enough to find out what her motives were, what kind of trouble she was in and just how far she might be willing to go. He’d been hoping to make it to his cabin by dinner, but decided his vacation could wait another hour or so.
Concealing the weapon beneath her shirt, the woman stepped behind him, indicating he should precede her out of the diner. “Just walk a little in front of me, okay? Don’t turn around. If you do, I’ll have no choice but to use the gun. Are we clear?”
Colton’s lips twitched, but he nodded solemnly. “Yes, ma’am.”
They’d just reached the diner’s entrance when the door to the bathrooms opened, and Colton could hear the frazzled mother and her young son, who was still wailing.
“Whatever you left on the bus will still be there when we get back on,” the mom was saying, trying to console the boy.
Colton found himself suddenly propelled through the door as his “captor” crowded against him, pushing the gun into the middle of his back. “Hurry.” Her voice was low and urgent.
Colton obliged, moving through the door and into the suffocating heat of the sun-baked parking lot. But as the door swung shut behind him, he could just make out the child’s reply.
“But, Mommy, I left my gun on the seat! What if someone takes it?”
Then the door closed and it was just the two of them. Colton barely contained his snort of disbelief. He wondered how she’d react if he reached out and yanked the useless weapon from under her shirt.
The woman was looking sharply at him. Colton knew she was trying to determine if he’d heard the boy, and if he had, whether or not he’d made the connection between the child’s toy and her weapon.
He kept his face carefully impassive and continued across the dusty parking lot. She hesitated for a moment and Colton glanced back at her. He knew in that moment that she had, indeed, taken the child’s toy from where he had left it on the bus. The combination of guilt and consternation on her face had Colton wondering if she might not march back into the diner and return it to the child. Just when he was certain she was going to do exactly that, she composed her features into a mask of steely resolve, and the moment passed.
“Which of these is yours?” She nodded toward the parked vehicles.
“The pickup there.” Colton indicated a black truck that dominated the lot. A canvas tarp was stretched across the bed, protecting and concealing the provisions and gear he was bringing with him to the cabin for a two-week fishing vacation.
“Okay, you drive.” The woman stood aside as he unlocked the vehicle. “Wait!”
Colton stopped just as he was preparing to climb behind the wheel, and turned to look at her expectantly. Her brow was furrowed.
“This isn’t right,” she muttered.
“Nope,” Colton agreed, “it ain’t. Whatever your problem is, it can’t be worth the pile of trouble you’re getting yourself into by taking me hostage.”
The woman waved her hand dismissively. “No, no. I mean this isn’t right.” She pointed to the open door. “You’re supposed to get in on the passenger side and slide over to the driver’s seat. Then I slide in after you. That way I can make sure you don’t try anything.”
“Ah,” Colton said. He stepped back and closed the driver’s door. “I see you’ve been watching plenty of crime-time television.” He walked around to the passenger side of the truck, aware of her following close behind him. Opening that door, he slid in. The interior was stifling hot, so he started the engine and flipped the air-conditioning to high as the woman climbed onto the bench seat beside him. He suppressed a smile as she pulled the toy gun from her waistband and tried awkwardly to keep it trained on him while negotiating the high seat.
“Okay,” she said, closing the door and turning to look at him. “Let’s get out of here.”
She wrestled her backpack off and let it fall to the floor. Without taking her eyes from him, she pressed herself against the door, keeping as far away from him as she could in the confines of the cab. She kept the gun low but leveled at him nonetheless.
Colton quirked an eyebrow. “Care to tell me where we’re going? You might want to make it quick, since I expect we’ll have company before too long.”
* * *
MADDIE HOWE TORE her gaze from the big man sitting next to her and looked beyond the parking lot to where Interstate 80 stretched away into the distance, until it was finally swallowed up by the mountains beyond. Heat shimmered in waves over that narrow ribbon of tarmac, and the plains on either side were scorched brown from the unrelenting heat of the July sun.
“Just head west toward Reno until I tell you different,” she replied, shifting her gaze back to him. To her dismay, the man made no move to put the truck into gear, although one hand rested on the stick shift. He was watching her, and she thought his dark eyes held compassion.
“You sure you want to do this?” His voice was low, compelling.
Maddie swallowed nervously What if he simply refused to drive? He couldn’t do that to her, she thought in near desperation. She had already come this far; had irrevocably altered her life, maybe even ruined it. For her, there was no turning back. She was committed to the course she had chosen, even if it meant ditching him and finding another driver. For her, there were no other options.
“I’m sure,” she finally said, her mouth dry. Her hands tightened around the gun and she lifted it fractionally higher. “Please, just drive.”
His expression told her clearly he was disappointed, but he shifted the big truck into gear and then they were pulling out onto the interstate and heading west toward the foothills of the Sierra Nevadas. Maddie spared one swift glance back at the diner, expecting what, she didn’t know. It wasn’t as if anyone in the place was even aware that she’d just committed a crime. The whole thing had been too easy. There was no discernible activity in the parking lot, and the rest area grew smaller and smaller as they sped away. Finally, she allowed herself to relax back into the seat.
The man beside her was silent. Maddie didn’t know whether to be thankful for that or not. She watched him covertly from beneath her baseball cap. He was a big man, tall and lean with broad shoulders. He’d startled her half to death when he’d confronted her in the diner. Her first impression had been of height and width and dark eyes that had focused on her with an intensity that missed nothing.
Then he had spoken, and his voice was like a lifeline in a world that was suddenly tilting out of control. This was the kind of guy who could talk a suicide jumper down off a ledge, she decided. His voice had a quality to it that both calmed and inspired trust. It was low, and sort of rough around the edges, with a bare hint of a drawl that made you want him to keep on talking. Because when he did, you felt like he really cared. Only that was crazy, Maddie thought, because he didn’t even know her. Never mind that she had kidnapped him at gunpoint.
She watched him now as he drove, his hands relaxed on the wheel. Maddie noticed he didn’t wear a wedding band. She hadn’t had a chance to really look at him in the diner, but now she let her eyes travel over him, lingering on his profile.
He was dark, his skin burnished to a warm copper. His black hair was cropped short in a style that was almost military. He had slashing black brows and a hawklike nose above lips that were wide and generous. Despite his chiseled cheekbones and clean, square jaw, there was an aura of toughness about him that she recognized. She was willing to bet the ladies lined up for a chance to be with him. She guessed he was at least partially Native American. Altogether, he was overwhelmingly male. He wore a black T-shirt paired with blue jeans, and it seemed his entire body was layered with muscles. Even his thighs beneath the worn denim appeared muscular.
As if sensing her scrutiny, he slanted a sideways glance at her, one black eyebrow arched in question. Maddie felt her face grow warm. What would she do if he tried to overpower her? There would be no contest. She’d be dough in his hands. She groaned inwardly. What had she been thinking to involve this man in her madness? Truth be told, she hadn’t been thinking. She hadn’t actually had a single coherent thought since she had received the threatening note early the previous morning, followed by the phone call. A call that had chilled her and then galvanized her into panic mode.
Her younger brother, Jamie, was in trouble. Serious trouble. He’d lost a staggering amount of money at the poker tables in Reno. Money that hadn’t been his to lose. Money that the lenders now wanted back. More money than she had, despite the fact she’d emptied both her savings and checking accounts, sold her car for far less than its worth and cashed in the precious few bonds she owned.
There hadn’t been nearly enough time to remortgage her little condo or apply for a bank loan. The men who were holding her brother said they would hurt him if they didn’t have the money within the next seventy-two hours. And they warned her that if she involved the police, they would just kill him outright and be done with it.
Maddie believed them.
Why wouldn’t she? After all, she’d seen what had happened to her father. She knew firsthand about the seamy, dark side of gambling, and what really went on in the back rooms of the casinos. But her brother was only twenty years old, just finishing up his last year of college. He’d been too young to remember what had happened to their dad, though Maddie did all too vividly.
She wouldn’t let that happen to Jamie, although there was a part of her that wanted to kill him herself for having gotten into this mess. How many times had she preached to him about the dangers of gambling? She’d made him promise that he would never, under any circumstances, go to the casinos, and certainly not with money that wasn’t his. But she understood the lure of turning a quick buck; of beating the house and winning huge sums of cash. Now Jamie’s luck had run out, and unless she acted quickly, his life was in danger.
Frantic, she had stashed what cash she had into her backpack and boarded the first bus for Reno. She’d left a voice mail at the town office where she worked as a senior accountant, telling her boss that she had a family emergency and needed to take several days off. She had a telephone number to call once she reached Reno.
She had spent the first hundred fifty miles of the westbound bus ride tolerating the shoot-’em-up antics of the little boy in the seat in front of her. But after nearly three hours of watching him pretend to shoot her with his toy gun, her nerves had been stretched taut.
When they pulled into the rest area in Lovelock, she had spied the toy weapon lying on the seat and had quickly snatched it up, shoving it under her T-shirt and into the waistband of her jeans. She’d promised herself she would “find” the toy for the child once they reached Reno. And in the meantime have some peace and quiet.
But as she had watched the cashier at the diner laughingly ring out a customer, and glimpsed the money in the drawer, something had caught at her. Something dark and desperate, and she’d become agonizingly aware of the toy gun pressing into her stomach. Whether or not she would actually have worked up the nerve to rob the diner was something, thankfully, she would never know. What she had done was bad enough. She could scarcely believe she’d had the nerve to take this man hostage; could scarcely believe he’d been duped by the fake gun.
