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“RUCK.” NASH EXTENDED a hand, crooking his fingers.
“What do you mean?” Danika asked.
“Your rucksack. Backpack. Give it to me.”
She raised three fingers in a Scout’s salute. “I won’t go anywhere. Promise.”
“As if anything you’ve told me is the truth. Hand it over.” He kept a smile on his face in case anyone in the restaurant was watching, but the game was tied with under a minute to go and the Broncos had the ball. Everyone’s attention was on the screens.
Danika reached onto the seat beside her and heaved her pack onto the table.
“Order dessert if you’d like.” He slipped one arm through her pack strap and marched toward the sign pointing to the restrooms. On the way, he snagged their server.
“Bring the lady your double chocolate brownie dessert,” he said, in case Danika wasn’t going to take him up on his offer.
She flashed a knowing smile. “Good choice, sir.”
Let her think what she would. After relieving himself, Nash punched T-Bone’s number into his cell.
“You found the place?” T-Bone said.
“Yeah. You know anyone named Danika Payton? Twenty-eight, address in Santa Fe. Might not be current. Five-two, a hundred and five.”
“Never heard of her.” A pause. “Wait. Santa Fe?” T-Bone said.
“Yep.” Did T-Bone know who she was? Danika hadn’t claimed to be at the cabin with the permission of the owner, had clearly admitted she was squatting, but any clue was a start.
“Hang tight,” T-Bone said. Sounds of computer keys came over the phone. “I see a Danika Payton who worked for the Albuquerque Gazette. Don’t see anything with her byline recently. Is it important? Should I pass it on to Emiko in Intel?”
“God, no. You don’t bug Emiko with personal questions. Dig up a picture and send it to me. I’m in town having dinner, should be here a little while longer.”
“Will do. Why is Danika Payton important?”
“She was in your cabin when I got there.”
A pause. “Well, I do leave the back door unlocked. Kind of a courtesy thing out there, in case people are stranded or need to get in. A couple of locals keep an eye out, and it’s easier than handing out a bunch of keys.”
“Yet you gave me a key,” Nash said.
“Yeah, well, figured you might bring stuff you wanted locked up, and you’ll be there awhile.”
Back to business. “This woman claims her car broke down, but I’m not believing anything she says other than her name, and only because I made her show me her license.”
“Seems right up your alley. Woman in distress. Up to you if you want to kick her out. I’ll dig deeper.”
The door to the men’s room rattled. Nash thanked T-Bone and disconnected. He pocketed the phone, unlocked the door, dodged the man coming in, and strode toward their table. He paused when he saw Danika savoring her dessert, eyes half closed as she lifted a bite of chocolate brownie, drenched in fudge sauce and topped with whipped cream, to her mouth. Her lips wrapped around the spoon, and for the first time since his accident, he felt stirrings down south. Oh, he knew everything worked. The morning woodies attested to that, but they were simply hard-ons. Nothing had been a turn-on. Until now.
Why now? Why Danika? Because it had been so long? Because any man’s libido would imagine what those lips could do somewhere else? Because she intrigued him, the way she was all business one minute, a kid the next.
Or because it was obvious that behind her sassy mouth, she was scared?
Shoving his feelings aside, he slid into the booth, setting her pack on the table. She glanced up, a touch of whipped cream at the corner of her mouth, which did nothing to settle his rising libido. He watched as her tongue darted out, capturing the errant cream and taking it prisoner into her mouth.
He shifted in his seat but enjoyed the too-long absent sensations. Working for Blackthorne, going from one op to another, from one place to another, meant long periods of celibacy. He wasn’t a one-night-stand kind of guy.
Danika dragged the pack to the seat beside her, took another bite of cake, her eyes never leaving his. Bedroom eyes. Enticing eyes. Seductive eyes.
If that was her attempt to solve her current problem, it wasn’t going to work. He might be aroused, but he wasn’t a slave to his dick.
If seduction had been her ploy, she didn’t follow through. With a hint of a smile, she wiped her mouth and inched the plate toward him. “Want some? The server brought two forks.”
“No, thanks. Enjoy.”
“Is this the condemned prisoner’s last meal?”
Until Nash heard from T-Bone about who Danika Payton was, she and he weren’t parting company. “There’s a grocery store next door. I have plenty of cereal and milk, but if you’d like something more substantial, you can make tomorrow’s breakfast your last meal. Assuming your car troubles are within my area of expertise, you can be on your way before lunch.”
“You’re letting me go?”
He could lie as well as she could. “Contrary to your belief, you’re not my prisoner. Merely a person of interest.”
A lot of interest.
The server returned with the coffee pot. Nash accepted a refill and asked for the check.
“You’ve got it.” The server whisked away.
Danika nibbled at the rest of her dessert, no less enticingly, while he sipped his coffee. She declined his offer of choosing breakfast items, and they crossed the parking lot to his car. The temperature had dipped into the teens, and he rubbed his hands together before taking the wheel.
The ride back was as silent as the ride in. Nash slowed before the turnoff to the cabin. “Where’s your car?”
Danika tapped her chin.
Was she going to tell him she’d made up the whole car breakdown? If not by car, how else would she have gotten to this not-far-from-Bumfuck neck of the woods?
Possibilities zipped around his mind. She could have been abducted, escaped from her captor. She could have been hitchhiking. She could live near enough to know about the cabin, or someone else who knew about it—that it was hardly used. Because her license gave a Santa Fe address didn’t mean that’s where she lived now.
“I’m not sure I can find it in the dark,” she said. “It was off the side of a side road. I’ll be happy to show you the way in the morning and you can try your mechanical magic.”
“Fine.” Nash turned up the drive and parked near the front porch. His leg had stiffened again, and he hobbled to the porch, supporting himself on the wobbly rail, which tipped precariously. He caught himself before landing on his ass. First item on his fix-it list.
Where was the nearest hardware store? Lumberyard? T-Bone had said to make a list of materials, but Nash wanted to do more to pay his partner back for all his support, both in the field and while Nash was going through post-injury depression.
Had he gone through it, as in put it behind him, or was he still wallowing?
Not wallowing. Floundering. Moments of self-doubt. Which was why he was here.
He stepped into the room, appreciating the warmth.
“It’s probably none of my business,” Danika said as she shrugged out of her coat. “I couldn’t help but notice you’re in pain. Do you need help?”
“No, and you’re right. It’s none of your business. Give me your car keys.” He held out a palm.
“What?” She bunched her eyebrows. “You don’t know where the car is.”
“I don’t need to. I need to know you’re going to be here in the morning.”
A pause, then she flashed her flirty smile “No handcuffs?”
He smiled in return, not quite so flirty. “Didn’t pack them.”
She dug a set of keys out of her pack, tossed them to him and sashayed toward the bedroom.
*****
DANIKA PAUSED AT THE door to the bedroom and looked over her shoulder. “Sleep tight.”
She considered Nash the way she would a reluctant interview subject. Her instincts said he wasn’t dangerous. If he’d wanted to kill her, he’d had plenty of opportunities to do it. He’d moved his gun out of reach simply because she’d asked him to. He’d asked her questions, insisted on answers, and seemed to know when she was lying, but he’d never demanded anything.
Okay, maybe never was the wrong word. He’d insisted on her showing him her driver’s license, taking her pack to the men’s room, and now her car keys. Those were reasonable enough, given the circumstances. He hadn’t ditched her in the restaurant, or by the side of the road.
He’d ordered that decadent dessert for her—she’d have to hike at least three miles tomorrow. Was it a peace offering? Or another way to make sure she’d wait for him? He couldn’t know chocolate was her weakness, or that she hadn’t had a single piece in two weeks. Could he?
Didn’t matter. He hadn’t kicked her out of the bedroom, although if this was his place, she should be the generous one and make the offer.
Had he ever said this was his place? No. He’d neither confirmed nor denied it. If the cabin didn’t belong to him, he couldn’t make the rules, although he most likely had the owner’s permission to be here.
She grabbed her toiletries and brushed her teeth. Considered a shower, but she wasn’t that comfortable with a stranger in the next room. The way into the bathroom was via the bedroom.
Danika grabbed the sweats from her pack. She changed, then found Nash in the living room. “If you want to use the bathroom, it’s free.” She couldn’t help adding, “Not that I’d charge you to use your own bathroom.”
“Very funny. Thank you.”
Why did she feel the need to make jokes? To see him smile? When he smiled, even with the shaggy hair and beard, he was—compelling—in an attractive kind of way.
He opened his suitcase and took out a leather kit, then headed for the bathroom. Would he snoop through her things? Let him. All she had was her laptop, phone, and the clothes she’d grabbed before running. Her laptop was off and password protected, her files deleted. Her envelope with the threatening letters was sealed. When he didn’t close the bedroom door, she crossed Snoop off her list of Nash traits.
While he was busy, she tugged the cushions off the couch and pulled the bed out. Didn’t look comfortable. She sat on the thin mattress and gave it a bounce. The frame creaked, and when she pressed down, she felt the metal against her hand. Someone as big as Nash would have a sore back in the morning.
Bedding? The bed in the bedroom had been made up when she’d arrived, although she’d slept on top of the sheets, using the spread as a blanket. She glanced around the room. She’d done her share of snooping when she’d arrived, but hadn’t seen a linen closet.
She studied the room more carefully. The coffee table wasn’t a table, it was a trunk. She opened it. Sheets, blankets—all the requisite linens. She grabbed them and made up the bed, the least she could do for someone who wasn’t good at hiding his pain.
Trying to get on his nice side because you feel sorry for him, or because you’re afraid someone sent him after you?
If someone had sent him after her, why hadn’t he done whatever they’d asked him to do? Or wasn’t he sure he had the right person? Either way, she didn’t think she’d be sleeping soundly tonight. She’d have to keep chipping away at him, find out his true agenda.
He came out of the bedroom, paused. “You didn’t need to do that.”
“Most people would say thank you. If this is your place, you should have the bedroom. Or are you still afraid I’m going to run away? To where? You have my car keys. There’s no phone service. If it makes you feel better, you can sleep with my pack under your pillow.” She reached for the hem of her sweatshirt. “Do you want my sweats, too? No way I’d leave here naked. Not in this weather.”
At his hesitation, she crawled under the covers. “So, sweats are okay, then. Good night. See you in the morning.”
He stood there another moment, then extended the handle of his suitcase and tipped it upward. “Thank you.”
With a smirk, she turned onto her side—away from him—and closed her eyes. Of course, he’d know she was faking, because she hadn’t turned the lights off, but she felt satisfied she’d driven her point home.
The bedroom door closed. Okay, he still had her pack, and if he tried to poke around her computer, there wasn’t much he’d find. Everything of any significance was in the cloud, and there was no internet access here. She’d mailed her flash drives to the Post Office Box in Santa Fe, the address she gave people who were reluctant to put things out in cyberspace.
She got up, turned out the lights, and lay in bed contemplating Nash Hanley. Good guy? Bad guy? If she were interviewing him, what questions would she ask? She’d start by making a list, although lacking paper and pen, this one would be mental.
She visualized the interview. Nash would be nervous, reluctant to answer. She’d start with a few simple questions to put him at ease, then expand, shifting her questions as his answers revealed information.
Which she should have done while they were having dinner. Why had she acted like such an idiot? She considered the topics she should have introduced, the questions she should have asked.
What do you do for a living? Why are you here? What’s your connection to the cabin? How long are you staying here? Why do you have a gun?
Scratch that one. Out here, everyone carried. Except her.
Her thoughts strayed into personal territory. How old are you? When’s your birthday? Where did you grow up? Where did you go to school? What did you study? Any siblings? Pets? What’s your favorite movie? Favorite food? Why do you limp?
Scratch that last one, too. As he’d pointed out, it was none of her business.
Didn’t mean she couldn’t be curious.
Heck, she had at least four of her nine lives left.
*****
DANIKA AWOKE TO SUNLIGHT and the smell of coffee. Nash was in the kitchen, pouring cereal into a bowl. Why hadn’t she seen him? Why hadn’t she heard him?
If she didn’t know better, she’d think she’d been drugged. True, Nash hadn’t eaten any of last night’s dessert, but the server had brought it while he was gone, and ... he couldn’t have drugged it. Only if he’d done some clever sleight of hand before the server delivered it to the table. The logistics in a crowded restaurant made it unlikely, plus it would have meant he’d been carrying knockout drugs.
She rubbed sleep from her eyes. No, she decided. Her subconscious trusted Nash and had let her get the sleep she’d needed. Most of her recent nights had been of the one eye open variety when it came to sleep.
“Morning,” he called from the kitchen. “Coffee if you want it.”
“Thanks.” First things first. Danika flung the covers off and went straight for the bathroom. When she finished, she checked her pack, which was on the chair where she’d left it. Everything where it belonged. He hadn’t opened the sealed envelope holding the threatening letters that had continued to arrive before she left. He either hadn’t checked, or was very good at keeping things exactly as he’d found them. She looked one more time and decided it was a toss-up.
She exchanged her sweats for jeans and her last clean shirt. Would Nash object if she asked to do laundry?
She strolled into the kitchen. Dressed in jeans and a light green t-shirt, Nash sat at the dining table eating his cereal, a steaming coffee mug alongside. Her mouth watered at the aroma. She’d been enduring instant coffee the last three days. She chose a clean mug from the cabinet—the one she’d been using had been put away, she noted—and filled it, inhaling as she poured.
Wondering why she hadn’t taken him up on his offer to buy the fixings for a more substantial breakfast, she found a bowl and joined Nash at the table. Cereal wasn’t much different from her granola bars, the mainstay of her diet since she’d been on the run. She served herself from the box on the table, added milk, and settled in to eat.
“When you’re finished, we can check out your car,” Nash said around a mouthful of cereal.
She wondered what she’d say when he found out there was nothing wrong with it, other than old age, but she could play the innocent female.
Oh, I don’t know anything about cars. It was making funny noises, and it just stopped. Thank you so much for making sure it’s driveable, and I’ll be on my way.