Seated at a Formica-topped table in the kitchenette of a nondescript motel suite in a small mountain town, Jordan stared into the plain white mug and wished she had something stronger than instant coffee to drink. When Chester and the twins took off in the FBI helicopter, leaving her behind in the shadow of gathering snow clouds, she’d kept grinning as she waved goodbye. Inside, she was sobbing hysterically. She wanted to scream. Don’t go. Stay with me. But her children needed to be in a safe house, surrounded by high-level protection.
And she needed to stay.
The danger belonged to her alone. Her choice. She claimed it. After the FBI drove her to the motel, one of the agents offered to stay with her until Blake arrived, but she didn’t need a babysitter. It was a point of pride—Jordan could take care of herself.
She pushed away from the small table, paced to the second-floor window and peeked out at the chilly scene outside from behind the edge of the closed curtains. Before he left, the agent had warned her about being too visible, and she agreed, mostly because she’d promised Blake that she’d be careful. As soon as she entered the room, she checked out the security. There were two exits. The door on this side of the room opened onto a concrete walkway. On the other side, she could step into a carpeted interior hallway. She’d added portable door locks to the standard-issue systems already in place. Not that her attempt to turn a motel suite into a fortress would be effective. The thugs who were after her could crash through a window or shoot off a lock.
If they wanted to get to her, they could. But why? Capturing her wouldn’t make any difference in the FBI review of the evidence she’d already turned over. The best proof—hopefully the final proof—had to come from Rockwell’s accounting records.
After all her digging, she had to ask herself if the investigation was worth the effort. A dream team of attorneys could help Hugh dodge those white-collar crimes and get off with a slap on the wrist. But the murder charge was a different matter, which was why she would see this investigation through to the end.
It was also why her ex-husband would do everything he could to get her out of his way.
The approaching danger cast a spotlight on the great dilemma of her life. Who am I? Oh damn, where to start? When she was younger, her dedication to her career took center stage. She chose her tiny, sparsely furnished apartment in New York because it was close to the newspapers and magazines that bought her articles. Decisions on her travel plans were dictated by headlines and breaking news. Her friends and associates came mostly from among the journalists, editors and investigators who she met on the job.
Even her relationship with Blake happened because she was working on an article. Her lover—former lover—represented the second phase in her life. She tapped her fingernail against the window. Where was he? Outside, she heard the slam of a car door and angled her neck so she could see who emerged from the unfamiliar Chevy sedan that slipped into a slot at the outer edge of the parking lot.
Watching and waiting, she felt like she was engaged in a weird version of Russian roulette. The man who got out of the car could be Gruber or one of his security guards. It might be an employee from the Magic Lamp. If she was lucky, she’d find herself looking down at Blake. It was him!
She recognized his knit watch cap with the US Navy logo, his wide shoulders, his towering height and his long strides as he mounted the staircase to the second floor. Blake carried a pizza box, which thrilled her almost as much as seeing him.
She unfastened the locks. One second after his bare knuckle rapped on her door, she whipped it open and pulled him inside. She kicked the door shut with a loud slam.
“About time,” she said as she yanked the pizza box from his hands, dropped it on the desk near the door and tried to plaster herself against him. Something was in her way. “Ow, what’s that?”
“My six-pack.” He unzipped his parka, took out his six-pack and set it on the desk. “Got to have beer for pizza.”
She gave him a long, hard kiss that literally took her breath away. Gasping, she stayed in his embrace, snuggled in the crook of his neck. A sense of belonging and longing enveloped her. This was exactly how things should be. She tilted her head back to peer into his eyes. “You changed my life, Blake. I’ve been thinking, and it’s true. Before I met you, I was laser-focused on my journalism.”
He tucked a curl behind her ear. “Before we talk, we need to lock the door.”
“And then eat the pizza. What’s on it?”
“Everything but anchovies.”
Happiness bubbled through her like fizzy champagne. In this moment, she felt no fear from the menacing threat, no sadness at being separated from her boys and no anger at the injustice of crime. Only joy. The rest of the world faded away, and she lost herself in the pleasure of being held by a strong, good-looking man. Unable to hold herself back, she kissed him again.
As she watched him fasten the door locks, his every move seemed excellent and perfect. Whether driving a car or shooting a Glock, he’d always been skillful—the sort of man who could take care of whatever needed to be done. Her giddy observations went way over the top, but she couldn’t stop herself. Sweep me off my feet, Blake. When he looked back at her and smiled, she desperately wanted to caress his jaw and kiss those endearing dimples.
In his gentle baritone, he asked, “How are the kids?”
“I wish you hadn’t asked.”
“Why not?”
She didn’t want to return to reality, didn’t want her fantasies to disappear. Not yet. She wanted to cling to the dream of being with him, covered in fairy dust and rainbows. What’s wrong with me? How could she forget about Alex and Cooper? The twins were the most important people in her life, and she’d allowed them to drop off her radar. I’m a fool. This must stop. She swiveled away from him, paced a few steps and sank onto the edge of the bed.
“I’m not supposed to call them.” Her voice fell flat, devoid of tone or rhythm. “The FBI didn’t think I was being traced or monitored, but they didn’t want to take chances.”
“What’s wrong?” He sat beside her. His large hand rested at the base of her neck and he lightly massaged. “You look like somebody popped your bubble.”
“Like I said, I was thinking about my life. First, I was a journalist. Then I met you and had a taste of romance that left me wanting more.”
“I did that?” His chest swelled. Proud of himself.
“We did that,” she corrected. “It takes two. I don’t know if it was a matter of timing or hormones or fate, but my world changed from harsh black-and-white to gentle pastels.”
This kiss was different. He took his time, and the pressure of his lips against hers reminded her of the past and, at the same time, gave a glimpse of what might happen in the future. The veils of fear and anger swirled in a capricious wind as her mood lightened. Still, she pushed away from him.
“Again,” he said, “tell me what’s wrong.”
“My life changed again when our romance ended. I became a mom. My life had a new purpose. Those first couple of years when the twins were babies, I was overworked, exhausted, confused and terrified that I was doing everything wrong. I had never been happier.”
He continued to stroke her back. “And who are you now, Jordan?”
“Trying to balance my journalistic instincts with being a full-time mother. And now, there’s you. I’m juggling all these balls in the air, and I can’t let any of them hit the floor.” She turned her head and looked at him. “Am I being overdramatic?”
“A little bit.” He held his thumb and index finger about an inch apart to indicate the small amount of drama. As she watched, he stretched the space wider and wider. “Maybe you’re a diva reporter, like Brenda Starr or Lois Lane, but I like your grit.”
“You advised me to walk away from the investigation and go to the safe house.”
“I might have spoken too soon.”
“You? Make a mistake?”
“It happens.” He shrugged. “Seems to me that you can be all three. You can’t stop being a mom. Why ignore your talent and training? You’re good at digging for news stories like a rabid ferret. And that leaves romance. I think you can make time for me.”
“I like that you made a list.” She inhaled deeply, drawing in good vibes. “My obsessive habits are rubbing off on you.”
“I’m beginning to understand how life works in Jordan’s world. And I’m happy to volunteer for romance duty.” He stood, took her hand and pulled her to her feet. “But first, we eat pizza.”
“And drink beer.”
While they chowed down, he told her about Taggart’s progress on the investigation. The FBI supervisory special agent had reprimanded the police officials in Flagstaff and demanded the cold case be reopened. “He ran through a whole series of crime scene details that needed to be sent to him and ordered the medical examiner to find a DNA match for Bianca’s twin babies.”
She washed down a savory bite of pizza with cold beer. “It’s nice to have that kind of authority on an investigation. What’s going to happen with Khaled?”
“His fate depends on Rocky. The squirrel is still denying any part in criminal activity, especially money laundering, but he’s on the verge of taking a deal in exchange for testifying against his former employers.”
She nibbled at the crust, her favorite part of the pizza. With the details of her investigation falling into place, she had second thoughts about not joining the twins at the safe house. “I have an emergency number for Taggart.”
“So do I.” Blake took a long swig of his beer. “There’s something else I want to talk about. You and me and the romance we started seven years ago. You aren’t the only one who thinks about those days. When I saw you hiking in the forest outside my cabin with the wind tangling in your hair and bringing out the roses in your cheeks, I went back in time. I was a healthy young man with my whole life ahead of me.”
“You still are.”
“I want to be the guy I was back then,” he said, “in my prime. You deserve the best.”
She wasn’t sure she understood. “Have you looked in a mirror lately? You’re not exactly a washed-up old hulk.”
Instead of speaking, he stood, took off his belt holster and placed his Glock on the bedside table within easy reach. He unfastened the buttons on his flannel shirt.
She cleared her throat. “What are you doing?”
He slipped off his shirt. Only the thin layer of a short-sleeved camouflage T-shirt covered his chest. “Ready?”
For what? She played along. “Yes.”
He peeled off his T-shirt. His bare chest, lightly sprinkled with dark hair, displayed firm pecs and abs. And she saw his scars. Some were deep and puckered, ridges that tore across the muscles. Others faintly marked his skin and might, in time, fade to almost nothing. Hearing that he’d been badly injured had worried her but seeing the evidence made the explosion more real. She could almost feel his suffering. His buddy, Harvey from Henderson, had told her that the doctors didn’t think he’d ever walk again. But Blake had recovered.
“I’m so proud of you,” she said.
“Why?”
“Survival requires more strength and more courage than charging into battle.”
She rose from her chair and came toward him. Her fingers traced the thickest scar that traversed his upper chest, where something had probably stabbed between his ribs and pierced his lung. Heat radiated from him. His flesh trembled under her touch, and his breathing became ragged. This response to her nearness delighted her and reflected her own pleasure. She saw his scars as medals of honor, evidence of his heroism and service.
When she pushed him down on the bed and started to climb on top of him, he caught hold of her arm. “Not like this,” he said. “Take off your blouse.”
Like him, the first item she removed was her physical protection in the form of the titanium baton fastened to her belt. The other layers—sweatshirt, blouse, T-shirt and bra—that kept her warm didn’t make for a sexy striptease and took a while to remove. Finally, naked from the waist up, she straddled him, arched her back and flung her arms wide.
“I’ve changed, too,” she said. “Giving birth and nursing twins can take a toll on a woman’s body.”
“You look good. Real good.”
His gravel-voiced compliment teased her like a rough caress. When she slowly leaned down and joined with him, pressing her breasts against his chest, she felt fulfillment. The warmth from his large body was strong enough to keep an entire house cozy. The scars added an extra dimension. “I missed you.”
He moved his hand along her spine, tapping her vertebrae like a xylophone. “I dreamed about you all the time, thought about you. Especially in the shower.”
They had taken many fantastic showers together. “Why didn’t you call?”
“You were busy, having another man’s babies. And getting married to him.”
“The wedding didn’t happen until after the twins were born.” She’d put off that final commitment for as long as possible. After the babies arrived, she wanted them to be part of their father’s life. Worst mistake she’d ever made. “I’m lying in bed with you, Blake. The last thing I want to think about or talk about is my ex-husband.”
This time, when their lips met, she tasted the pleasant tang of beer and pizza. His tongue penetrated her mouth and swirled, setting off a whirlwind of sensation. Her skin tingled. Her ears rang with the sound of his breathing.
He rolled her onto her back, and she put up zero resistance. But when he reached for the switch to turn off the lamp, she stopped him.
“I want to see what’s going on,” she said.
“It’s too bright.”
He was correct. The direct light wasn’t conducive to the mood. “I’ll fix it.”
She darkened the room, except for the desk lamp. Then she tuned the radio to a smoky jazz station because a wailing saxophone and hot drumbeat were the best accompaniment for hot, hot sex. When she returned to the bed, she saw he’d made changes of his own. Obviously naked, he stretched out between the sheets.
In a few hasty seconds, she matched him by kicking off her sneakers and wriggling out of her jeans. As she snuggled beside him, his long legs tangled with hers. His muscular grasp overwhelmed her, and her brief struggle for control faded in utter capitulation. The best way to win this battle was by surrendering to his clever hands fondling her breasts. His fingers stroked the delicate flesh between her thighs. His lips kissed, and his teeth nipped.
He teased and teased. No man had ever aroused her the way Blake did. When he entered her, she was so very ready. Though she knew she’d felt this way before, seven years ago when they’d had sex for the first time, her climax felt brand-new.
With tremors racing through her body, she closed her eyes and accepted the incredible sensations that washed over her in wave after wave, predictable as the tide and equally miraculous. In the back of her mind, a tiny voice whispered. Who am I?
“I’m yours.” Though unfeminist to think so, it was true. Blake owned a part of her that no one else would ever know.
“Did you say something?” he asked.
“Don’t want to repeat it.” She watched as he left the bed and went to the window. For a moment, she admired his back, scarred though it was along his spine. It was weird to stare at his bottom, but she couldn’t look away. “What are you doing over there?”
He whipped the drapes open to reveal a thick, heavy snowfall against the black of night.
This storm brought more than high wind and heavy moisture. A blizzard. This would be a final test of their survival on Ice Mountain. Winter had arrived.