Jeannette’s lungs burned. In fact, her whole body was on fire. Feet. Calves. Thighs. And the rest of the way up, too. Every muscle and organ protested the frantic pace. It’d only been minutes since the foliage had swallowed them, but the terrain was rough. The forest floor was largely padded with fallen leaves, crushed branches and other vegetative debris, but it was also uneven and peppered with jutting roots and odd rocks. The simple, lace-up flats that Jeannette wore were perfect for comfort at work, but they weren’t designed to withstand the beating they were taking. She lost her footing several times. Once, she landed on her knees, and Warren had to pull her up. They kept going anyway. And it got worse before it got better.
The greenery thickened. Wild, prickly shrubs cut at Jeannette’s legs. Skinny, low-hanging branches batted against her arms. The sky, which had been brightening when they were out in the cleared area near the cabin, was blotted out by the canopy overhead. The visibility was so poor that at one moment, Warren’s quick yank to the side was the only thing that saved Jeannette from running her head straight into a sapling. After the near miss, they paused for just a few moments. They stood close together and very still, listening for the sound of pursuit. There was definitely some crackling and rustling somewhere off in the distance, but it was impossible to say whether it was human made, or simply the natural sounds of the woods. No voices could be heard, the motorbike was either silent or too far away to be discerned and the air was devoid of any more gunfire.
“Do you think they’ll catch up?” Jeannette whispered after another few seconds of relative quiet.
“I have no intention of letting them,” Warren replied. “I’ve been trying to push us in a straight direction—west-ish and north-ish—because I think they’ll assume we’ll be heading for the road, which I’m pretty sure is east of here.”
The small semblance of a plan made her feel the tiniest bit better, but it was tamped down by the fact that staying safe also meant getting farther away from civilization.
Clearly reading her expression, Warren touched her cheek. “Hey. I promise I’m not going to ask you to throw away your life as a barista-slash-student and become a forest-dwelling hermit with me.”
She couldn’t quite manage a smile. “I just want this to be over.”
“Me, too.” He pulled her closer, planted a soft kiss on her forehead, then threaded his fingers through hers once more. “I’ve got a bit of an idea. Come on.”
Happy to let Warren take the lead—and equally glad they were moving at a more reasonable pace—Jeannette stepped along beside him, listening as he briefly explained his simple idea. They would keep on their current path for at least another thirty minutes. Then they would make their way toward the Bow River. Warren was sure he’d be able to lead them to it. And from there, they’d find some real help. Jeannette did note that he didn’t specify what kind of assistance, but she suspected he was still mentally working on it. And at that moment, it seemed to matter less than everything else anyway. More than one thing in particular. A realization. The current situation was her fault. Because if she hadn’t pressured Warren to call the detective, they would still be driving. They would still be safe. Or at least safer. The guilt of it ate at her.
It was around that time that the rain started up. And unlike the daylight, which continued to be muted by the canopy overhead, the water managed to penetrate the branches. It slid through the pine needles, and it drummed down hard, soaking Jeannette, Warren and the ground in one fell swoop. By the time another five minutes had passed, the forest floor was a squelching mess. The mud squished unpleasantly inside Jeannette’s shoes. And at last she couldn’t quite take it anymore.
“Warren... I’m sorry,” she said.
“You’re sorry?” His frown was evident in his voice, even if she couldn’t see it through the stormy weather.
“It was my idea to call Harper.”
Warren stopped walking so abruptly that Jeannette almost fell. He used both hands to keep her upright, then spun her so that she was facing him. He pressed his palms to her shoulders and spoke in a firm voice.
“None of this is on you,” he told her.
“If we’d just kept driving...” She trailed off and shrugged as her throat tightened.
“Then they would’ve tracked the dead detective’s phone and caught us anyway.”
“But maybe we would’ve thought about that before they could actually do it. Maybe we would’ve gotten rid of the phone.”
“Or maybe a flock of wild birds would’ve shown up and taken the phone.”
“Warren. I’m serious.”
“So am I. We have no way of knowing what would’ve happened if we hadn’t made the call. It was the right choice, given what we knew.”
“You don’t have to say that just to make me feel better,” Jeannette said.
“I wouldn’t do that.” He gave his head a shake, sending droplets of water flying. “Actually, that’s a lie. I would do that. But in this case... I’m not. If we hadn’t called Harper, he’d still have the upper hand. We wouldn’t know he was involved. And even if none of that was true, Jeannie, you’re forgetting one thing. It was me who brought you into this mess. If I’d been thinking straight—at all—I would’ve kept myself as far away from you as possible. The fact that I’ve put you in danger is killing me.”
“Why did you do it?” The question came before she could stop it, and her face warmed despite the driving rain. “I mean why did you come to More Coffee, not why did you put me in danger.”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe part of it was an autopilot thing. I come to the café so often that when I got to the city, I just drove toward it.”
For some reason, the explanation left Jeannette wanting—she needed to hear more. “What was the other part?”
For a second, she thought he might say again that he didn’t know. But then his hands fell away from her arms and came up to her face, and his palms warmed her skin.
“It’s selfish as hell...” he said. “And embarrassing to admit.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“I won’t,” she replied breathlessly.
His thumb stroked a heated path over her cheekbone. “I might’ve been freaking out a little when I realized what was going on at the site.” His mouth curved up on one side. “In the manliest way possible, of course.”
“Of course,” Jeannette said.
“Which brings me to the next bit. Probably the real reason my autopilot kicked in,” he told her. “My goal was to get away. And to get to the police. But my mind had been on you.”
The admission made her heart thrum a little harder, and Warren’s face was ruddier than usual as he cleared his throat. The stroke of his thumb slowed. His expression turned more serious. And Jeannette expected him to kiss her then. She wanted him to. The anticipation made her lips tingle, and she tipped her face up with the expectation of feeling his mouth on hers once more. But instead, his expression clouded. He let his fingers fall, and he tilted his head up to the rain, then stepped back.
“We need to try and find some shelter before this gets any worse,” he stated gruffly.
Jeannette bit back an urge to tell him that she had an idea about how to make it better—at least for a while—and let him lead her along once more.
As they sought a place to wait out the storm, Warren was so busy cursing himself that he nearly missed the fact that the rush of the Bow River could be heard over the rain. He was relieved that his sense of direction had led them the right way, but he couldn’t believe he was letting himself treat this nightmare of a situation like his own personal dating service. Jeannie’s misplaced guilt over Harper was proof enough that Warren needed to stop allowing his libido to overrule what he knew was the right thing to do. He wouldn’t deny that he was attracted to Jeannie. It would be an outright lie. In fact, he would describe what he felt as more than an attraction. It was a definite...like.
Lame much, Wright?
His mouth twisted wryly. It might be lame, but it was also true. He liked her. Every day, she made his morning along with his coffee.
Yeah, so you repay that how? By dragging her into this deadly situation? Not only that, but forcing twenty-five years of baggage down on her along with the rest?
He hated the idea. He also knew enough about Jeannie to be sure that the last thing she wanted was a man weighing her down. Even if his history had just been normal stuff—bad breakup, ex-wife or whatever else more fortyish guys carried with them—it would’ve been too much for her. She was on a mission. On a path. What kind of person would it make him if he distracted her from that?
With those concerns on his mind, Warren subtly pulled his hand from hers. The moment their fingers separated, though, Jeannie spoke up.
“Warren, wait.”
He paused and turned, expecting a demand to know why he’d let her go. He already had an excuse on his lips. He didn’t need it. Jeannie’s attention was elsewhere; she was pointing at something that jutted out of a nearby patch of bushes.
“Does that look like a boat to you?” she asked.
Warren peered through the rain. She was right. It most definitely appeared to be a fiberglass hull.
“It might be at least a little dry inside,” Jeannie added.
He nodded. “Anything has to be better than out here, right?”
It was also the best—and only—option that had presented itself so far.
Unconsciously, he reached for her hand again. It wasn’t until they’d already started moving toward the boat that he realized they were palm to palm again.
It’s becoming a habit.
Warren had to suppress a trickle of renewed concern. Habits were hard to break. That was literally what made them habits. What would it mean when this was over? Assuming they got out alive, of course. Would they just go back to being the woman who served coffee and the man who consumed it? Could they? He suspected it might be harder than he’d like to admit. He could barely imagine himself walking into the café to place his order with the same casualness as always. It seemed like a different lifetime. One where he hadn’t shared the best kiss of his life with his favorite barista.
They reached the boat then, and now Warren had a good excuse to free his hand once more. Only this time, he didn’t want to. He made himself let go anyway, and then did a quick visual inspection of the surrounding area. The boat itself—which was a good size and likely designed for days on the water—sat at a strange angle. The bow pointed up and the starboard side was raised in an unnatural position. The portside sat on a patch of flattened bushes, and a cracked branch covered the cabin entrance near the stern. For a second, Warren was puzzled. But as he took in the rest of the scene, an explanation for the oddity of the boat’s placement immediately popped to mind.
“Well,” he said, turning back to Jeannie. “At least we know what happened.”
“We do?” she asked.
“Yep. An obvious case of overblown machismo if I’ve seen one,” he said, glad he was able to speak lightly.
A small frown creased her forehead. “What do you mean?”
He gestured to the ground about a dozen feet away from the abandoned watercraft. A trailer with a broken axle sat in the space, almost submerged in the muddy mess. The front wheels were nowhere in sight, but there was a clear path of broken branches and torn-up ground leading away from the towing device. Spinning tire tread marks were also visible in one of the harder packed areas, too.
“Someone obviously thought he and his truck could overpower the forest and get to the river without following the rules. Powerboats are strictly prohibited,” Warren said. “Ipso facto...clear-cut machismo.”
Jeannie’s eyes flicked around, assessing. “It could’ve been a woman, you know.”
“Sure could’ve,” he agreed.
“So then you can’t assume machismo.”
“Women can’t be machismo?”
“No,” she said. “By its very definition machismo is about male ego.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “That’s a very machismo definition of machismo.”
She made a face. “Hilarious.”
“It was you who said it, not me. And while we’re on the subject...” He moved toward the boat, climbed up onto the stern and lifted the branch that was blocking the way in. Then he tugged open the flap-like door and gestured for Jeannie to go in. “After you.”
“Hmm...” she said, stepping forward. “I’d really have thought you’d call this particular move chivalry.”
“I guess that depends on my motivations for getting you inside, doesn’t it?” As soon as the words were out, Warren realized how they sounded, and he dropped a mental curse, then quickly followed her into the cabin. “What I meant was—”
His explanation died abruptly as his feet hit the mat at the bottom of the short staircase and his attention landed on the interior of the boat. From the outside, it hadn’t been anything special. Sure, it was a high-ticket item no matter what, but the only reason Warren would’ve have looked twice if he’d spotted it cruising along the Bow River was the illegality of it. From the inside, though... It was a stunning.
Even in the dim light, smooth, polished hardwood dominated the space. From the walls to the table to the cabinets to the just-visible lip of the bedframe, the varying shades of finish drew the eye. Whoever had decorated had skipped the typical nautical theme. Instead, roses made subtle appearances. Crimson buds dotted thorny stems that had been shaped into a horseshoe and then hung above the sleeping quarters. Red petals cascaded down the filmy curtains behind the sink. Even the plush bench that framed the table was a pale pink and etched with blooming flowers.
“I told you so,” said Jeannie, after a moment of studying it all.
“You told me so?” Warren replied.
“That it could’ve been a woman who crashed this boat and abandoned it.”
“Men can’t like roses?”
“Do you like roses?” she countered, sending a dubious look from the bottom of his mud-covered boots to the top of his rain-soaked head.
He felt a smirk creep up, and he swiped a hand over his mouth to keep it from fully forming. It felt good to be joking around, even if he knew it was on a temporary basis.
“Yes,” he said. “As a matter of fact, I do like them.”
“Enough to decorate your entire house with them?”
“Oh, so this boat is a house now?”
Jeannie rolled her pretty brown eyes. “Fine. Your entire bedroom, then.”
“You find that hard to believe?” he replied.
“If I were to picture your bedroom—which I’m not saying I’m doing—I’d definitely guess that it’s probably got blue accents. And full of plaid.”
Warren chuckled. He couldn’t help it. His curtains were indeed navy in color, and his bedspread was plaid—and definitely also blue.
“This was a good idea,” he said, sweeping his hand through the cabin. “Flowers and all.”
“I can tell that you’re deliberately changing the subject,” Jeannie replied, “But I’m going to let it go because I’m freezing cold, my feet hurt and I’m dying to take off my shoes and sit down.”
“Go ahead,” Warren said, sliding his feet out of his own boots. “I’ll see if I can find an extra blanket or something to warm you up.”
For a couple of minutes, they worked in relative silence to get settled in. While the rain tapped on overhead, they both removed their dirty footwear and left the sopping items on the shelf beside the entryway. Jeannie rifled through the cupboards until she located a couple of bottles of water, a package of instant coffee and a stash of protein bars. Warren searched a tall cabinet and hit a small jackpot—he found a towel, a T-shirt and a microfleece comforter. Then they made an exchange. She handed over his half of the makeshift breakfast, making a rueful face at the sludgy mix of cold bottled water and bad coffee. He gave her the other items, insisting that she be the one to take the shirt because it was too small for Warren anyway. With that done, Jeannie excused herself for a moment and slipped behind the articulated bathroom door to towel off and change. Warren sipped the gross mixture while he waited. He was still cold and wet, but he did think everything was going as smoothly as possible under the circumstances. Or it was until the moment when Jeannie cleared her throat and called out his name in a slightly embarrassed voice.
“Uh... Warren?”
He set down his cold coffee, started to move toward the door, then caught a flash of bare skin and stopped midstride. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m stuck.”
“Stuck?”
“Could you just give me a hand?”
“Sure.” But his feet stayed where they were as he spied another glimpse of creamy flesh.
“Warren?” she said again.
He told himself he was being foolish and made himself close the small gap between them. Jeannie stood in an awkward position, wedged between the small toilet and the tiny shower stall. There was nothing sexy about it. Except, of course, for the fact that her shoulders were bare, her face was flushed pink and under the towel, her chest was rising and falling with exertion.
Warren forced himself to keep his eyes on her face, and he cleared his throat. “How are you stuck?”
Her blush deepened. “Do you really need an explanation?”
“Only so that I can unstick you.”
“Okay. Fine. But don’t get all judgmental. This is humiliating enough as it is,” she said. “My wet shirt got tangled up in my bra strap, and when I tried to get loose, I made it worse. I thought I could take off my bra to solve the problem, but it somehow got hooked on a little shelf behind me. Now I can’t shimmy it off, and I can’t reach to unhook myself, so...”
“All right,” Warren replied. “I’m coming in.”
Make it quick, he warned himself as he leaned in and tried to grasp the twisted fabric. His hand met with lumpy, terry cloth resistance. No matter how he moved, it wouldn’t budge. After a few futile moments, he gave up and pulled back, shaking his head.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Really.”
At his slightly grim tone, Jeannie’s eyes widened with worry. “What? Why?”
For what felt like the twentieth time in the last few minutes, Warren cleared his throat. “You’re going to have to lose the towel around the back. Open it or whatever.”
“Lose the—are you serious?”
“You’re stuck under it, and it’s blocking the way so that I can’t get to the shelf. In fact, I can’t even feel it.”
“Is there another way? Can I, like, shift, or...” She sighed. “Dammit. You would’ve told me if there was a different option, wouldn’t you?”
“Indeed.”
With a crimson face, Jeannie met his eyes. “Just...try not to look.”
“I’ll do my best,” he assured her.
When her hands released the back of the towel, though, it wasn’t what was in visual range that mattered. It was the touch. Warren leaned in again. He had to. And his face pressed to her bare arm. Stifling a groan, he slammed his hand to the space behind her. His fingers brushed over her hip, then wedged themselves between her rear end and the shelf. Her skin was silky, and so distracting that it took him six fumbled tries before he at last managed to get her free. When he straightened up again, though, he moved a bit too fast, and he found himself flush with the length of Jeannie’s towel-clad body. He stared at her for a moment, desire slamming through him. She stared back, that expectant look on her face again. He inched forward, a hairbreadth away from acting on his feelings.
Stop it, he ordered silently, then pushed himself away and quickly strode back into the main part of the cabin. His reprieve was temporary. Without getting dressed, Jeannie followed him out, her towel clutched tightly around her body.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“Nothing,” Warren replied gruffly. “We need to talk about what we’re going to do once the rain lets up.”
“Did you dislike kissing me before?” The question was blunt, and it caught him off guard.
“What? No. God, no. How could you think that?”
“Because you’re working so hard to keep from doing it again, and I don’t understand why.” Her eyes were full of a plea for an honest answer, and Warren knew he had to give her one.
“I don’t want to mess things up for you,” he said, running a hand roughly over his wet hair. “This is all bad enough without adding anything else to it.”
She frowned at him like it wasn’t the response she was expecting to hear. “I’m not going to argue that any of this is good, but...you don’t want to mess up what things for me?”
“Your life. You’ve got a plan. You’ve had it for as long as I’ve known you. Hell. I think you told me about it the first time you served me, and you’ve talked about it continually over the last few years, so I know how important it is to you. I wouldn’t want to be the thing that got in the way of your endgame.”
Her expression softened, and her fingers came out to brush over the stubble on his face. The contact was an electric charge. A heated charge that ran through Warren’s entire body. It took a serious amount of effort to keep it from overtaking him.
“Is it chivalry that’s making you say that, Warren?” she asked, her voice as gentle as her touch. “Or is it overblown machismo?”
He blinked. “What?”
“Do you really think that a kiss from you could derail my years of planning?”
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“So...then do it. We got shot at, Warren. Chased through the streets. Forced into the woods. Our lives have been on the line all night. My neighbor killed someone, and the cops are apparently the bad guys.”
“Reminding me of all that doesn’t make me feel any better.”
“My point is...if that isn’t going to stop me from following through on my plans, then what makes you think that another kiss will?”
“Jeannie...” Her name was far more ragged than it ought to have been.
“Unless it’s because you don’t want to.”
The words were spoken in a defiant voice—and she tipped her chin up in a challenging way, too—but under the tone and her look, Warren sensed a hint of worry. Did she really think there was a chance that he was trying to keep his distance because it was what he wanted? It was a crazy idea. One that he couldn’t believe she’d think was true. Except as she gazed up at him, he could see that the flicker of doubt in her eyes was real. Warren couldn’t take it. With a wordless growl, he reached out, dragged her into his arms and gave her a hell of a lot more than a kiss.