Mountain Retreat. Cassie Miles
he seemed...detached. This kiss wasn’t exactly right.
Silently, she cursed her eidetic memory that had recorded every nuance of their lovemaking in indelible detail. She missed the light scrape of his teeth against her lower lip, the quick stroke of his tongue and the fire.
Embarrassed, she pulled away. What had she been expecting? He certainly wasn’t going to give her the kind of kiss she wanted while standing in an office surrounded by intelligence agents. This was no basis for judgment.
* * *
IN THE BACKSEAT of an unmarked SUV, Sidney sat beside Nick on their way to drop her off at their house. An agent she’d never met before was driving, and Phillips sat beside him in the passenger seat.
“Special Agent Phillips,” she said, leaning forward to speak to him. “Thank you.”
“It didn’t feel right to keep you in the dark,” he said. “I’m surprised y’all got Hawthorne to make a concession.”
“She’s a hard nut to crack.”
“Just doing her job,” Phillips drawled.
Though wearing her seat belt, her shoulder rubbed against Nick’s and her naked thigh grazed the fabric of his trousers. She could feel him watching her.
“Interesting outfit,” he said, “I never thought you went in for gingham.”
“I have a new job at the Silver Star Saloon, night shift.”
“Why?”
“It’s kind of fun,” she said, avoiding the sad truth. “The place is a microbrewery with ninety-nine different brands of beer, and I like to take big orders and show off by remembering every last one of them.”
“You wanted to keep yourself busy,” he said. “My God, Sidney, I’m so damn sorry.”
There were so many things she wanted to know but was afraid to talk about. What had happened to him while he was held captive? Was he hurt? How was he rescued? Instead, she kept the topic light.
“I should warn you about the house.” Quickly, she glanced up at him and then looked away. His nearness was also having a sensual effect on her. Did she dare to try another kiss? “I haven’t done much with it, with the house.”
“But you had such big plans for decorating.”
“I wanted you to help me make up my mind. I haven’t even painted the disgusting turquoise in the kitchen.”
“What colors are you thinking about?”
Decisions that had seemed impossible yesterday became clear. “I like a soft beige with dark gold and brown granite countertops.”
“And in the bedroom?”
“Blue,” she said.
“Like the Colorado skies you grew up with.”
He knew her so well. At this time of the year, in early November, they usually took a ski vacation in Colorado, where her parents had a vacation cabin. “I don’t mind Austin, but I love my mountains.”
“Tell me about this bar where you’re working.”
“Should I recite the ninety-nine varieties of beer?”
“Please don’t.”
Their conversation was cozy and natural and deliberately avoided dangerous topics. She felt as if she was walking through a minefield. They talked until they pulled up to the curb outside the one-story, redbrick bungalow with shrubs under the windows and a live oak in the front yard. The grass was a little raggedy in winter.
“It’s even cuter than I remembered,” Nick said as he unfastened his seat belt.
“Whoa,” Phillips said. “My orders are for you to stay in the vehicle while I escort Sidney inside.”
“You’re going to have to hog-tie me to keep me from going into my own house.” Nick clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll just be a minute.”
Hand in hand, they walked up the sidewalk together. Being separated from him again would be hard, but she was willing to put up with a few days now that she knew he was safe. “You’ll call me, won’t you?”
“Every day.”
“I wish you could stay here.”
“Me, too.”
She noticed that the porch lamp was dark. She thought she’d turned it on before she’d left for work. The bulb must have burned out. But there were two bulbs in the fixture. What were the odds of both burning out at the same time? “I must have forgotten to turn on the porch lamp.”
As she reached toward the lock with her key, the front door yanked inward. A barrage of gunfire erupted.
Before the bullets flew, Nick had suspected trouble. His beautiful, brilliant Sidney never forgot anything, especially not the locking-up procedures when she left the house. She knew to leave a light burning.
His right arm flung around her slender waist. He scooped her off her feet and pulled her against him as he flattened his back against the brick wall beside the front door. Bullets tore through the opened door and cut into the night.
Still holding Sidney, he stepped off the concrete stoop and ducked into the space between the shrubbery and the red brick wall. “Stay down,” he said as he drew a Glock 9 from his ankle holster. He fired two shots toward the open door to let the intruders know he was armed.
It had taken a lot of negotiation to convince Hawthorne to allow him to carry a firearm, and his talk had been worth every minute. The gun felt good in his hand. When it came to survival, Nick trusted himself more than anyone else.
Special Agent Phillips and the other Fed who had been the driver were out of the vehicle and moving toward them.
“You good?” Phillips called out.
Nick gave him a silent okay signal and then motioned him toward the live oak at the far left side of the front yard. He assumed the two agents would know enough to avoid the sight line from the front window. After he turned Sidney over to their protection, he’d go back to the house and catch the sons of bitches who set up this ambush. Shielding her with his body, he crept under the window ledge toward the corner of the house.
“Where are we going?” she whispered.
“I’m taking you to Phillips. He’ll get you to safety.”
She balked. “I’m not going anywhere without you.”
He hadn’t expected resistance. “It’s better if you’re out of the way.”
“Not if I’m armed. I can help.”
His attitude shifted from mild surprise to downright shock. Six months ago, Sidney hadn’t known how to handle a weapon.
A fresh blast of gunfire exploded behind them. Shards of glass from the shattered front window rained over them. He looked down at the delicate, pale oval of her face. Her jaw was set. Her clear blue eyes showed no fear.
“You don’t know how to shoot,” he said.
“I learned,” she said, cool as ice. “It’s not a difficult skill, and I have excellent hand-eye coordination.”
“Why?”
“I thought I might have to go to Tiquanna and rescue you. Learning to handle weaponry seemed prudent.”
The idea of Sidney charging into the palace of a Third World dictator gave him pause, but he didn’t dismiss the notion. She was a remarkable woman. “For now, let’s do it my way.”
“I’m tired of people telling me what to do,” she said, “and that