The Renegade Steals A Lady. Vickie Taylor
crossed the room in one long stride, cupped the back of her neck and pushed her head between her knees.
“Breathe slow,” he said, squatting down next to her. “Deep.”
Damn. He didn’t think she was concussed, but he didn’t like this dizziness.
After a few moments, she raised her head slowly. Some of her color had returned, but not much. “Oberas? The other prisoner? Was he the one who shot at me?”
“Get in the tub,” he said in place of confirmation or denial.
“Why?”
“How should I know why someone would want to shoot you?” he said, more harshly than he’d meant to.
She looked at him strangely. “I meant why do you want me to get in the tub?”
He sighed, propping his hands on the tank behind her and looking her straight in the eye. “The warm water will keep you from stiffening up after that fall, and some of those cuts and scrapes are deep. You need to clean them out.” He handed her the bag of ice. “You can prop your foot up on the side and put this on your ankle.”
“Every cop in the state is after you, and you’re worried about my ankle? What do you really want from me?”
“For now, all I want is for you to get in that bath.”
Liar. He knew what he wanted. Just once he wanted her to look at him like he was something other than a drug-stealing scumbag. He wanted her to look at him like she had looked at him the last time he’d been in her apartment, the night they’d made love.
Dragging his hand through his hair, he lurched to his feet. He couldn’t think straight when he was that close to her.
She stood, balancing on her good foot by holding on to the towel bar, and motioning for him to turn around with her other hand. He complied. He could leave her that much dignity, at least.
One by one he heard the pieces of her uniform swish to the floor.
“I won’t help you again,” she said.
He resisted the urge to look over his shoulder, but he couldn’t stop himself from cutting his eyes to the mirror beside him. The steam put a soft haze over the image, but didn’t completely obliterate the pale curve of her shoulder, the tantalizing taper of her waist or the swell of her hip.
Despite the humidity in the room, Marco’s throat dried up. “I’m not asking you to help me.”
She glanced back at him, angling her naked body toward the mirror. He locked his eyes onto hers in the last clear spot on the glass. Only her eyes. Admirable restraint, he told himself. Not to mention self-preservation.
“I’m just asking you to take a bath.”
Marco closed the door behind him and leaned his head against the wood, waiting. When he heard water sloshing, he retreated to the kitchen. He needed to get away from the bathroom. Away from the thought of Paige’s lithe body sliding into a warm, wet bath, and the memory of his body sliding into a warm, wet Paige.
Every time she’d opened her mouth in there he’d turned a hundred and eighty degrees, from cursing her to wanting to kiss her, and back again.
Not that what he wanted mattered. He was all too aware she didn’t want him. Never would.
Hardening his heart to the loss of something he’d never really had, he mentally listed the things he would need from the apartment. In the hall closet, he found Paige’s extra ammo, along with another prize—a man-size sweatshirt and jeans.
An unwelcome pang of jealousy shot through his gut until he unfolded the sweatshirt and saw the Port Kingston PD logo. From the multicolored spatters on both the shirt and jeans, he’d guess Paige’s brother, Matt, had helped her do some painting.
After a quick change, Marco collected food in a cardboard box, along with towels and soap, blankets, a flashlight and matches. On his way out to stash the goods in the trunk of her car, he spotted a book on the couch. Sue Grafton’s novel O is for Outlaw.
Prophetic, he thought. And kind of sad.
He tossed the novel in the box with the other goodies. Maybe it would entertain her over the next few days.
Realizing what he’d just decided, he stared at the book as if it had bit him. Until that point, he hadn’t let himself think about where he would go from here. What he would do. He’d just concentrated on getting himself and Paige out of the woods alive.
Now his course seemed clear.
Six months ago he’d cut a deal that had landed him in prison. Tonight his partners had reneged on the agreement.
So much for honor among thieves.
He was sorry Paige had to be involved in this, but whether she knew it or not, she was a player in the game. A pawn to be sacrificed for the higher goal.
Him.
Marco couldn’t afford to give them that advantage. There was only one way to keep them from using Paige against him.
And that was to keep her with him.
Pawns could be played both ways. Used for offense as well as defense. She’d already helped him escape once. She might prove useful yet again.
Paige wasn’t going to be happy about being his hostage, he realized. In fact, she was likely to make the next few days pure hell.
He would have to watch himself every minute around her. She was a cop and a woman, and he’d managed to offend her on both levels. She knew how to fight dirty, and he was too easily distracted in her presence. Six months was way too long for him to be without a woman.
Without this woman.
If either one of them was going to survive this, he was going to have to stop thinking about how perfect her breasts were and how long her legs were and how good it would feel to get between them again. Instead, he needed to concentrate on avoiding those who were after him, cops and otherwise, while making sure Paige didn’t put a bullet where it would do the most damage the first chance she got.
He could do that.
Sure.
Still trying to convince himself, he stopped by the kitchen for more staples and loaded the supply box into the trunk of her car. As he walked back inside, he stopped to listen. All was quiet in the bathroom.
Too quiet.
Cursing his own stupidity, he took the hallway in a dead run.
Paige heard Marco coming. She swung her legs over the faux-wrought-iron railing of her balcony, ready to shimmy down to the ground floor, but another wave of dizziness assailed her. The concrete below rippled like moving water. Her vision closed to a narrow tunnel.
A pair of strong arms snagged her waist.
“Are you trying to break your neck?”
“I’m trying to save it!” She squirmed in Marco’s grasp, her fists landing ineffectual blows on his hips, his shoulders.
“Then get in here.”
“Let me go!”
“If I do that, you’re going to splatter your pretty little brains all over that parking lot down there.”
All the writhing and motion made Paige’s stomach turn. Her limbs softened to rubber. She moaned.
Marco scooped her up and lifted her over the railing. She felt the warmth and strength of his hands even through the cotton T-shirt and bike shorts she’d put on while he’d been in the kitchen. Hating the weakness that left her incapable of fighting, she sank against the strong, broad wall of his chest.
He plopped her down in the bathroom again, this time in front of the toilet instead of on it. He lifted the lid.
“I am not going to be