Run Among Thorns (11 page)

The feel of her in his arms was like rain in the desert—life giving, a miracle—and he slid his lips across her cheek to nip on her earlobe, delighting at the little squeal she gave.

He wondered what sounds she would make as she came. He thanked God he was going to have the opportunity to find out, thanked him for the sequence of events that had put her here, under his care … in his custody.

Kier froze.

I
can’t do it
. The words in his head were almost a shout. He couldn’t do it; he couldn’t take her like this. Not when he was the bastard who was supposed to crack her open like a coconut, so others could drink her dry.

Which was crazy, because that was his job. That was why he was here.

Kier was horrified. His conscience had been packed away in tissue paper for so long, as a threat to him. A weakness that would make him careless, carelessness that would get him killed. Now his conscience was preventing him from taking advantage of her, taking advantage of the fact that when he kissed her, when he touched her, she went up like straw.

For the first time in many long, lonely years, he was caring about someone more than the job.

Shaken, he set her away from him, saw the dazed, bewildered look in her eyes, and fought the impulse to kiss her again. Properly this time, tenderly, like a lover. And, God help him, she looked like she wanted him to.

He struggled to remember why he was here. Why she was here with him, all the simple goals of this little masquerade. He tried to find a way to get back on track.

Jenny watched him, wishing she knew what he was thinking, why he looked like her enemy again. Her lips were throbbing from the assault of his. Instinctively she fought the urge to lick her lips.

His hands were still on her shoulders, and she felt the strength in his fingers like a threat.

“Is this how it works, Jenny?” He was still breathless, like she was, but that didn’t account for the mangled sound of the words he spoke.

“Is this how you hide who you are? Distract your enemies with sex?”

That sense of unreality that had surrounded her since the gunmen first arrived at her office was back. She stared at Kier, seeing a stranger. A stranger she had kissed. She struggled to focus on his words.

“It’s not going to work with me, Jenny.”

The prayer was back.
No, no, no
.

“How many men have you fooled like this, little Jenny?”

With a cry she pulled away, twisting violently to escape him.
No, no, no
.

Desperately, she put distance between them, wrapped her arms around her middle. Tried not to shake. “You don’t know me!” she spat. “How dare you, how
dare
you judge me!”

“What?” he said, derision thick in his words. “You’re stuck here in the middle of nowhere with a man who’s kidnapped you, abused you, all but assaulted you, and you want to
kiss
him?”

He laughed, and she clamped her hands over her ears.

Well, that was the problem, wasn’t it? She was supposed to hate him, supposed to fear him. Oh, she feared him, alright. Feared what he could do to her. What he could do to her heart more than anything.

But she didn’t hate him. God help her, she didn’t.

Chapter
        SIX

W
hat do you
want?”
Jenny forced the words through lips that felt numb. “You’re driving me out of my mind, you know you are, but you want me to be
rational?
You … you kiss me like you want to, but you don’t want me to want you, you—”

“Do you want me?”

Jenny gaped at McAllister where he stood, half-turned away from her, leaning back against the kitchen table with his arms folded across his chest. His gun had reappeared again, stuck in the back of his jeans’ waistband. He didn’t have to touch it to threaten her with it. He’d spoken quietly, almost without emphasis, and what little she could see of his face was stony, impassive.

She tried to concentrate on what she was trying to say, what he was asking, but everything hurt. Her face, her shoulder, her side where she’d struck the tree. Her shins were stinging, and she wasn’t even sure why they hurt at all. She screwed her eyes tight shut. What did he want to hear?

“What … what does that matter? It doesn’t matter what I want, does it, it only matters what you want. And you aren’t
telling
me what you want, so I can’t give it, can I?”

“I only want the truth, Jenny.”

“Oh, yeah, right. Because it’s your job, yes? That’s what they want from you, to get the truth from me.” She had to pause for breath, her throat aching with the promise of the humiliating tears to come. “Well, sunshine, I’ve got news for you. I
told you
the truth, I bared my soul to you not an hour ago, right there,” she flung an arm out to point through the arch into the bedroom, “right there in that bed. And your considered response was to shove your tongue down my throat!”

He looked at her then, slanting his head to glance at her out of the corner of his eye. She watched him look her over from her head to her toes and then back to her face. She dug her nails into her palms as his eyes met hers. But then he went back to rapt contemplation of the wall opposite.

“I don’t know what to do for you, Kier,” she whispered, and watched his throat move as he swallowed. “I just…” She let out a breath and tried and failed to swallow the sob that came with it. “Just let me go. Please.”

He shifted and grimaced, and she wondered if he was as bruised as she.

“We’ve been over that, Jenny. You don’t get to go yet.”

“But I
told you
the truth!”

“Don’t take me for a fool, Jenny. That would be a mistake. You don’t get to go free just yet.”

“Then I’ll escape again, and this time you won’t catch me.”

“Over my dead body, Jenny.”

The words hung between them for long moments, effectively putting a stop to the twisted little conversation they’d been having.

So be it
, she thought.

He looked into her eyes again, and his own flickered, as if her thoughts were written there, but he only straightened and went out the front door, making a show of locking it carefully after him.

Jenny pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, and pushed her fingers through hair that was in dire need of a wash.

What she wouldn’t give for a bath.

It was still night. Outside the moon was setting, but the sky had shown no sign of dawn when she’d last seen it. She was so tired.

When McAllister came back in, she was asleep; slumped at the kitchen table, her hand wedged under her cheek. That unaccustomed tenderness welled in him again, at strange odds with the physical desire for her.

Do you want me?
God knew why he’d asked her that. For a moment it had seemed as if his whole world hung on her answer. But then the conversation had slipped away. She wanted out. He couldn’t blame her. But although there was little he was sure of right now, he was sure he wasn’t about to let her go.

His instincts had hinted she’d been telling the truth. But his professional experience told him she could still be playing him like a puppet on a string. He’d be a fool to believe her and lay himself open. He was still alive, intact, at the top of his profession, making full use of all his skills and abilities because he was good at his job. Very good. He’d be less than that if he went with his gut and believed her.

And if he wasn’t good at his job, what was he good for, exactly?

He watched her for a while, seeing the way her back rose and fell evenly and slowly. She was deep asleep. Her hair had spilled over her face in a mess of curls. He remembered how she swept it off her neck onto the pillow at night. She must be uncomfortable like that, with those dark swirls tickling her face and tucked under chin, around her white neck. Kier itched to reach out and smooth her hair, sweep it up off her throat, to touch …

Cursing under his breath, he left her there and went through to the bedroom, stripped down to his underwear, and went to bed, eventually dropping off into a fitful rest.

Kier was awake, suddenly, knowing that something was wrong. There was no sound that he could hear, even the breeze had dropped. Keeping his breathing slow and even, he opened his eyes a fraction. There was light seeping in from the other room. The sight it illuminated almost stopped him breathing at all.

He hadn’t been himself last night, so he hadn’t taken as much care as he usually would. His own weakness had shaken him, confused him. He’d had the impression that Jenny had exerted some sort of power over him, and he didn’t like it at all. So he’d been careless.

Which would account for the fact that Jenny had his gun, and stood at the foot of the bed levelling it at him.

His first thought was that she wouldn’t do it. Then he cursed himself for a fool. If she was who he thought she was, of course she would damn well kill him. It’s what he would do if he were her. And if she was who he thought she was, he was dead. With a detached portion of his mind, he could even admire her acting of the last few days. Bleakly he remembered his own words about weakness.

Weakness made you careless, carelessness made you dead
.

He’d lost his nerve, and now he was going to pay for it.

He could see her head move slightly as she looked him up and down. She didn’t know he was awake, he realised, and wondered if that gave him some advantage he could use.

Then, suddenly, the world twisted and fell away from him, and when it came back, it was different.

He watched, spellbound, as Jenny slowly lowered the gun, and let it drop. There was a dull thud as it hit the floor. Her shoulders drooped, and she swayed and stumbled for a moment, then turned and headed for the other room. As she turned away from him, he caught the gleam of tears on her face.

He vaulted from the bed, was across the room in one leap, grabbing her shoulders and spinning her round against the wall. She shrieked, eyes flashing wide in shock. His mind was screaming,
What the hell was that? What the hell just happened?
Had he been wrong about her from the start? The prospect twisted his gut, left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He reached out to snap on the light, and looked down at her.

All of her barriers were down. Her eyes, drowning in tears, were fixed, unwavering, on his face. They were begging him, pleading with him to see the truth. And he did. She’d
told
him the truth. She was as innocent as she claimed. An ordinary woman, trapped in an extraordinary situation, forced into actions the rest of the world would struggle to understand.

No. That wasn’t right. There was nothing ordinary about her.

He knew something about the strength of character it took to do the dirty job no one else would do.

My God, what have I done?
was his first coherent thought. He was shocked, sick to his stomach as his mind replayed everything she had experienced with him, registered what it must have done to her. He now knew she wasn’t what he had been convinced she was. And he suddenly didn’t like himself very much. Not much at all.

He saw a flash of pain in her eyes and realised he had tightened his hold on her till his fingers were digging into her flesh. White-faced, furious, and reeling, he dropped his hands and stepped back.

“Everything you ever told me is true, isn’t it?” he asked, in a dead voice.

“Yes,” she said, simply.

He folded his arms, curbed the impulse to touch her, tried to rein in the shocking wave of emotion his discovery had produced. He struggled to concentrate on the job in hand.

He had taken her apart, piece by piece, and now the vultures were circling to pick over the bones. He had to make his report, call them off, settle this.

“I—” his voice was unrecognisable, even to himself. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I have to report back. They won’t authorise me to release you unless I do that first.”

It was the unfocused look in her eyes that warned him, even before she started to sway. He caught her round the waist, holding her to his length to support her, guided her to the kitchen table, and sat her down. Kier crouched down beside her, still with his arm across her back. She was limp in the chair, but he couldn’t tell if she had fainted or was just dizzy.

He lifted a hand and swept the shield of dark curls off her face, letting his thumb linger across her jaw.

Her eyes were closed, her lips parted, her face pale. She lifted her head away from his caressing hand, but she didn’t open her eyes. She looked broken, exhausted. Kier let his head drop forward until it was resting on her thigh, his own eyes screwed tight shut. He fought the self-loathing that was rising in him.

Jenny made a little sound, and his gut clenched as he remembered other sounds she’d made in passion, and as he realised he was never going to be in a position to hear them again.

She was sitting up straight now, breathing deep, placing her hands on the table edge in front of her, getting her support from it and not him. Kier rose and backed away, fetching his clothes from the bedroom and dressing quickly. He retrieved his gun from the floor.

He tried to concentrate on what he had to do. Call Dawson, arrange an e-meeting. Make his report. Get back here. Set her free. Wave good-bye …

“You believe me.”

Her voice was flat and thin, and he could barely hear her. He moved across to the gas stove and lit it, putting the kettle on the burner and getting instant coffee out of the cupboard. They could both use some.

He cleared his throat. “It seems your version of events is accurate.” Was it just him, or did he sound like a jerk?

“Really,” he could hear the wry sarcasm in her voice. He heard her shift in her chair, but he didn’t turn round.

“So what now?”

“I have to go and make a report. I won’t be long, and then I’ll be back here to let you out, so to speak.”

“That’s it?”

It should be
. “Yes.” They weren’t going to be happy, though. This was not what they had bargained for, and it gained them nothing. He wasn’t paid to delve into the wasps’ nest, only to report there were no wasps.

“And you expect me to just wait here for you? Oh, come on.”

The kettle boiled, and he made coffee. He took his black, but topped it up with cold water so he could drink it fast. It tasted vile. Kier set Jenny’s down on the table in front of her, but he didn’t sit down. He realised he didn’t actually know how Jenny liked her coffee, since he’d never asked her.

“You will have to wait for me. I’m locking you in.” With hindsight, he probably should have waited until she wasn’t drinking. He walked round and slapped her on the back until she stopped choking.