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KATE WRAPPED HER ARMS around her chest, too numb and cold to move. He was still examining her knife, inspecting it from all angles. She had an irrational fear that maybe he would find a drop of blood, even though it had been months since she’d used it for anything except children’s carving classes. And even then she always cleaned her tools. Certainly she’d scrubbed that knife hundreds of times since the mountain accident.
But if Jack truly believed she’d endangered Courtney, there was no doubt he’d go to any lengths to make her talk. His job took precedence. He was a professional warrior. Maybe he’d throw her off that ledge after all, especially when she had no answers to give.
Her arms tightened over her chest, clasping so tightly it hurt. She should have told him about her boot knife. There’d been several opportunities: yesterday, when he’d demonstrated his trust by returning her jackknife or last night, when he kissed her by the fire, or even this morning, when he’d worried about her hiking alone and unarmed. But then he would have asked questions she didn’t want to answer. Kessler’s snide comment about her ability with a knife had already left her bruised. And she’d been too enamored with Jack, hadn’t wanted to see that tender look in his eyes turn to revulsion.
Well, neither she nor Jack were enamored now. Part of her wanted to explain. He was wasting time and energy worrying about her as a threat, rather than Logan. But the words were too difficult, her heart too broken. Because once again she was stuck on the side of a mountain, frightened and powerless.
She heard Jack’s steps, but didn’t look up. Just clasped her arms a little tighter, wondering if he’d come to drag her back to the edge of the cliff. He was far stronger than her. She’d already experienced the way he’d pinned her with one powerful hand. Clearly he’d been trained in the most effective way to subdue a suspect. And though she told herself former SEALs didn’t just fling people willy-nilly over a cliff, her terror was too real.
Something touched her arms. She flinched. But Jack had only draped the blanket over her shoulders.
“You need to warm up,” he said, his arm moving again. “And eat.”
She stared at the pita wrap he’d dropped on her lap. Only an hour earlier it had looked delicious. Now, her throat and stomach were so tight it would be impossible to force down. On the positive side, he probably wouldn’t waste food if he intended to dangle her over the cliff, looking for information she didn’t have.
That rationale made her feel better, but her appetite seemed to have permanently disappeared, and she was unable to summon the desire or energy to pick up the wrap. Her arms were too heavy, her body drained, the way she felt after a particularly tortuous nightmare.
“I understand you’re pissed,” Jack said. “But you need food.” He opened the plastic around the pita wrap and jammed it between her numb fingers. “Eat.”
She pressed it to her mouth, too afraid to not follow his terse instructions. But the smell of ham and cheese was repugnant, and her stomach lurched in protest. He pressed a bottle of water to her mouth, the gentleness of his touch at odds with the roughness of his voice.
“I’m sorry, Kate,” he said.
His thumb brushed her cheek and she realized a tear had leaked from the corner of her eye. She jerked her head away, hating that he saw.
He lowered his hand and placed the water bottle by her hip. “I should never have suspected you and Monty,” he said. “You’ve both been utterly courageous.”
She wasn’t courageous at all, she thought, numbly gripping the sandwich. In fact, she felt gutted with fear. She wanted to slink back into the cave, squeeze through that narrow crack and just stay safe from everything and everyone. Including him.
*
JACK FOUGHT A SPIKE of panic. Kate looked so detached, uninterested in anything he was saying. He’d been apologizing for the last half hour, but she hadn’t moved, still hadn’t looked at him. It was as if she’d checked out. Other than a single tear, and flinching when he’d tried to touch her, she sat like a statue.
She hadn’t pulled on her woolen socks either, and her toes appeared shriveled in the biting wind. He placed a cautious hand on her foot. She cringed, so quickly and violently it left him feeling sick.
However, he kept his hand wrapped around her cold ankle. “I just want to warm them up. Then get on those socks.”
He edged closer, lifted his shirt, then raised her feet and jammed them against his bare stomach. Two ice-like slabs hit his skin and he sucked in a fortifying breath. Kessler had called her a survival expert but she certainly wasn’t taking good care of herself now. It must hurt too, having the blood rush through her feet like hundreds of prickling needles. Aside from that initial movement though, she remained still, just holding the pita wrap, her head angled toward the cave. It didn’t look as if she’d taken a single bite.
It was difficult to grovel when she wouldn’t talk to him, wouldn’t even look at him. It was as if he didn’t exist.
“I’ll eat that food,” he said, half-jokingly. “If you don’t want it.”
He didn’t know what to expect. Maybe for her to curse or yell or cry, or even to chuck the sandwich at his head. He only wanted to goad her into talking. But she didn’t move. Didn’t react. He’d been so busy apologizing, trying to justify his suspicions, that he hadn’t noticed her total lack of response.
It still rankled that she’d hidden a lethal weapon, and her explanation that she wanted to feel safe didn’t hold much weight. But she was acting weird, like a terrified captive who couldn’t speak English and fully expected to face a firing squad. Incommunicative, afraid, helpless.
On impulse, he rose, scooped up the knife and placed it on her lap. Then he sat down, tucked her feet back beneath his shirt and resumed rubbing. They no longer felt like blocks of ice, almost matching his own body temperature, but he didn’t want to stop. Not while he had the horrible feeling she might never let him touch her again.
