Sleight Of Hand (6 page)

He kept his arm around her as he rolled to
one side and dug the knife out of his jeans pocket. "It's not much
to look at it." He held it out to her.

She took the knife and ran her finger over
the pebbly, black surface, then pulled open the blade and held it
up so the streetlight caught on the shiny metal. "I don't know much
about knives," she confessed and handed it back to him.

He snapped the blade shut. "It's nothing
special."

"Except your father gave it to do."

"Right."

"You must be close to him." She bit her lip,
hearing the yearning in her voice.

"He's dead." He shoved the knife into his
pocket. "Let's go. We sit here long enough, those guys might come
back looking for us." He dropped his arm from her waist and gave
her a little push to help her to her feet.

She looked up and down the empty street. A
man and a woman came out of the restaurant. When they saw her, they
waved, then walked off in the opposite direction. She looked from
Chance to the couple and back to Chance. The fog had grown so thick
close to the ground that they hadn't seen him sitting there.

"Chance?"

"Yeah."

"That car, they were trying to run us down,
weren't they?"

"Maybe they just wanted to scare us." He
moaned as he dragged himself to his feet.

She grabbed his arm to steady him. "Are you
okay?"

"I think I sprained my ankle." He
straightened to his full height and pushed his rumpled hair off his
forehead, but a persistent lock curled back down. One cheek dimpled
as he smiled crookedly at her. "Don't suppose you want to help an
injured man walk home?"

She dragged in a cautious breath. Her chest
hurt again, but she didn't think it was because of the fall. No,
she edged back a step, this pain was new and definitely not
welcome.

"I'll get the Blazer."

"No." He grabbed her arm and stumbled against
her as she turned away from him. "Ouch. That hurts."

She kept her hands at her sides and held
herself still, her heart beating hard in her chest. Despite the
raw, bitter wind, pinpoints of heat radiated over her skin wherever
Chance's body touched hers.

She inhaled a cold breath of air to chase the
heat out of her voice. "That's why you should wait here and let me
get the car."

"There isn't a chance in hell I'm going to
let you go off by yourself after what just happened. We're sticking
together for now on."

Heaven help her. She'd started out thinking
she could slip in and out of town without Chance knowing, and now
here she was, practically chained to his side.

Her hand fisted into the folds of his leather
jacket as the solid weight of his muscular thigh leaned into the
curve of her hip. Her body softened and molded itself to accept his
weight as though they had clung this way together a hundred times
before.

"Am I too much for you?"

She snapped her head up. "What?"

His eyes crinkled at the edges, and although
it was too dark to see, she was pretty sure there was a twinkle in
them.

"No, I, ah...I can handle it." She tried to
pull away just enough to give herself breathing space, but the
weight of his arm across her shoulders kept her snugged up against
him.

"Are you sure? 'Cause you know, babe, we
don't have to rush." His voice had dropped to a raspy drawl.

She searched for something smart and savvy to
whip back at him, but couldn't think above the hammering of her
heart.

Okay, she simmered, fighting for balance. As
much as she hated admitting defeat, obviously, her seduction scheme
wasn't going to work. All he had to do was look at her, or lean on
her, and she turned to mush. They'd have to work together, she
decided as they took their first cautious step forward--until they
found her father.

Chance winced as he put more weight on his
foot. Wasn't this sweet? He hated, absolutely detested, relying on
anyone. He always worked alone, except for the year with O'Sullivan
when he'd tried to get his life back on track. Look how great that
experiment had worked out.

Which proved he must be certifiable, because
he had the unsettled feeling--hell, he could feel it like a dead
weight in his gut--Sarah was going to lead him into deeper trouble
than her father already had. Yet, he couldn't let her go. Not until
he knew who those men had tried to run down, him or Sarah. He'd
brought her into this; now she was his responsibility.

Keeping her close to him was the only way to
protect her, but it was also the most dangerous. She slipped under
his defences. She got to him on so many levels, his brain couldn't
seem to function beyond a caveman mentality.

He firmed his jaw against the pain in his
ankle and hobbled faster toward the lane that led to their cabin.
As they stepped off the main street into the private lane, Sarah's
labored breathing penetrated through his thoughts. He stopped and
rested both arms on her shoulders, making certain he stood between
her and the open street.

"Let's take a break."

Without a word, Sarah stood quietly patient.
He glanced down at her serious face, noting the furrow between her
eyes.

"What are you thinking about?"

"What?" She squinted up at him. "Oh, about
that car and the people in it. The headlights blinded me. I wish I
had seen what kind of car it was."

"It was a dark blue sedan. I didn't catch the
make, but I'd know it if I saw it again. There were two men sitting
in the front. I don't think there was anyone in the back, but they
could have been bending over."

The furrow between her eyes deepened. "How
could you have possibly seen all that?"

"When a car tries to run over me, I notice.
Come on. I'll feel better once we're not such an easy target." He
dropped his arms and limped toward the cabin. A second later, a
heartfelt sigh escaped him as Sarah slipped under his arm and put
hers around his waist. Man, she felt good beside him.

"They know who we are," she said.

"I'd say that's a safe bet."

"My father would never harm me." Her voice
trembled.

"Of course not. I told you he probably had a
partner. Looks like he has more than one." Under the guise of
leaning on her, he tucked her more firmly under his arm. If he'd
known he would be dealing with a gang of thieves, he'd never have
involved her in any of this.

"There's an outside chance your father is
being held against his will."

"You think so? We should tell the police.
They'd help us look for him."

He swore when he saw a gleam of hope in her
eyes. "I think we'll leave the police out of it for the time
being."

"Why? That's their job." She frowned at him,
a hint of distrust in her eyes. As quickly as he noted her
wariness, it vanished. Her eyes widened with fright. "You think the
police are in on this?"

He wanted to kiss her again. He wanted to
bundle her into his arms and kiss her until she stopped thinking,
stopped being afraid. "I think if I don't keep moving, I'm going to
have to crawl the last few yards to our cabin. Can't we leave this
until I'm at least sitting down?"

"Sorry."

She kept her gaze trained on the ground as if
afraid to take a wrong step. He clamped his mouth shut against the
apology that immediately formed in his mind. Let her think he was a
rude jerk. It was better that way.

By the time they turned on to the walkway to
their cabin, his teeth chattered from the frigid, damp air. His
leather jacket had protected his back from the wet slush when they
fell, but his jeans were soaked. At the front door, he thankfully
let go of Sarah and leaned against the log cabin. He closed his
eyes as she pulled out her key to unlock the door.

"Chance."

His eyes snapped open at the tremor in her
voice.

"The door, it's not locked."

He shouldered her to one side and moved in
front of the door, his hand on the doorknob. Automatically, he
switched over to that place--his brain or his gut, he'd never been
able to decide--and blocked out everything but his instincts.

Nothing came to him. No sense of alarm or
intrusion. No vibration of any person's presence. God help them if
Sarah's presence was short circuiting his ability to pick up on
other people's energy.

He looked at the path he'd shoveled. Only two
sets of footprints coming and going. The windows were locked. He'd
checked them when he first arrived and with the damp cold, hadn't
opened any.

Then, like a cold blast of arctic air, the
truth struck him. Battling back the urge to pound his fists on the
wooden door, he let out a resigned sigh and leaned his forehead
against the door.

"Is someone in there?" Sarah whispered as she
crowded closer to his back.

"No."

"How do you know?"

He felt her grab a fistful of his jacket and
tug. "Believe me, I know."

"What in heavens name does that mean, that
you have x-ray vision or something?" She tugged again, harder this
time. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to decide whether to beat my head or
my fists against the door." He twisted the doorknob and swung the
door open. "After you, Madame." He swept his arm as if to usher her
into the room.

She peeked into the cabin. "Are you sure it's
safe?"

"Oh yeah." He decided the only way to
convince her was to go first. He limped into the living room and
slumped down on the couch.

The throbbing in his ankle had spread up into
his leg, and his clammy wet jeans clung to him. He eased his boots
off and sighed as he leaned back, certain he'd never felt more
miserable in his life.

Sarah stood on the threshold, a perplexed
look on her face. "You haven't even checked the other rooms. How do
you know someone isn't hiding in one of the bedrooms?"

"Because there's no one here. Unless you left
the window in your bedroom open. Did you?"

"No."

"Okay then. Look, I forgot to lock the door.
Now, will you come in and close the damned thing?" A shiver rolled
up his spine as a cold breeze blew in through the open door.

He thought it might make him feel better if
he threw something, but the only thing close enough to grab was the
empty beer bottle he'd left on the coffee table earlier. The sight
of it made him gnash his teeth together.

"That's it." He shot to his feet. Pain
crimped his leg, and he swore out loud. "I need a beer. Now."

Sarah shrugged and closed the door.
"Okay."

He watched her hang up her coat, then sit on
the chair by the dining table and start to undo the laces on her
boots. Was she trying to make him feel guilty?

As if sensing his darkening mood, she looked
up. "What?"

"I'm waiting for you to say something about
my drinking."

A look of confusion crossed her face. "Why
would I care if you had a beer?"

"You're the one who made a big deal of it
earlier."

"Oh. No, I meant...it's just I was afraid you
were getting drunk," she explained. "I hardly know you and...I'm
sorry. I didn't mean to imply you shouldn't drink at all."

Damn straight. He'd drink if and when he
pleased. The trouble was, his thirst for a cold one had dried up.
Go figure.

"I'm going to take a shower and change into
some dry clothes." He hobbled toward the bathroom.

"Do you need some help?"

The image of Sarah's slender, delicate hands
undoing the snap on his jeans and lowering his zipper flared in his
mind. He grabbed a stool by the kitchen counter to steady
himself.

Yeah, he needed help, from a psychiatrist.
His brain waves all seemed to be going in one direction tonight,
and they weren't cerebral thoughts.

"No thanks," he croaked. "I can manage."

His imagination had scuttled ahead of him
down the hallway and into the shower where an imaginary Sarah
waited for him, her willowy, soap-slicked body reveling in a hot
steam of water.

His breath came thin and high, and he
couldn't seem to get enough oxygen as he limped a couple of steps
toward the hallway. He ripped his leather jacket off and chucked it
on the counter behind him. A heavy, clunking sound tore through his
lust-fogged brain.

Sarah's camera.
Someone has tried to
run them over a few minutes ago and all he could think about was
having sex. He had to send Sarah away as soon as possible, because
his ability to disengage, to see clearly, was shot whenever she was
around. Hell, he couldn't even remember to lock the freaking
door.

"Is that my camera?" she asked from just
behind him.

"Yeah, sorry." He swung around to face her.
With the counter between them, he reached into his jacket pocket,
pulled the camera out and slid it across to her.

Tears hovered in her eyes, but he didn't feel
the usual urge to bolt. She hadn't broken down and cried on him
yet, and he was pretty sure he could trust her not to this
time.

"Is it the camera or that your dad gave it
you that has you so upset?" He sat on the stool beside him.

She flashed him an embarrassed smile as she
put the camera down and slipped on to a stool on the other side of
the counter. "A bit of both, I suppose."

Curious to understand how Sarah fit into her
father's life, he was silent for a minute trying to decide what
question to ask. "You're close to your father?"

"Sort of." She squirmed on her stool. "We
didn't--don't--spend much time together. He's pretty busy."

"He sure talked about you a lot. I know he's
proud of you," he said, feeling an inexplicable need to reassure
her.

"Like you said, he's full of malarkey
sometimes."

She's lonely.
How could a beautiful
woman like Sarah be lonely? All she had to do was crook her little
finger and any man in sight would come running. Unless, she never
crooked her finger.