Just plain looking at him.
Here was a man she’d never thought to meet, a man who held his family loyalties over all. A man who wasn’t so caught up in his wants and needs that he’d do anything to anyone in order to fulfill them, but if anything, went too far in the other direction.
A man with the warmest brown eyes she’d ever seen, and they smiled when they looked at her.
Looking at him—at the quiescent strength, the masculine beauty of lines and angles—she suddenly perceived that she regarded more than just a man. She had, sitting right there beside her, potentials—potentials the likes of which she’d never even conceived for herself. That she’d never even imagined existed, not for her. Not for Kimmer Reed.
But she had no idea if she had the courage to leave her rules behind for him. Or to break the biggest one by not putting herself first.
“Hey,” Kimmer said gently, and Rio opened his eyes to regard her with bleary confusion. “We’re at the rest stop. The goonboys are here. Their car’s at the end of the lot. I want to check out the buildings—I thought you might take the men’s side.”
He rubbed a hand across his face, blinked at her and took in their surroundings for the first time. “Wow.”
“Is that ‘Wow, we made it’ or ‘Wow, I’m such a mess’?”
He made a face at her to show his complete lack of amusement at the latter and pulled the sleeping bag up to stuff it over his shoulder and into the back seat. “I’m good.”
She snorted. “As if. Bet your hand’s broken, what-taya think?”
“I think I owe that fellow a few lumps.” Rio regarded the hand in question; there was no longer any question that it could flex, grasp or serve as anything but a swollen encumbrance. “Probably. But the other one still works. What say we just don’t tell the bad guys, and I’ll fake it?” He glanced out the window at the lone car, his jaw suddenly flexing with emotion. “God, if they’ve hurt her—”
“She’s not going to be the same, Rio,” Kimmer said bluntly. “You don’t go through something like this and come out the other side just the same as you were. But it doesn’t mean she won’t end up stronger.”
He took a deep breath. “Right.”
Kimmer slipped out of the car, shrugged herself into the jacket and double-checked that she’d pocketed everything she’d intended. Then she went around to open the door for Rio. From this side she could see his sleep-mussed hair, the untied sneaker, the unzipped jacket. Quite matter-of-factly, she knelt to tie the sneaker, then held out a hand to pull him out of the car. With a disgruntled noise, he took it, unfolding slowly from the seat. “Use your little jaunt around the building and through the men’s side to walk it off,” she suggested, reaching for the jacket zipper.
“Damn,” he said. “I had a notion I might like to have your hands on my zipper, but that’s not the zipper I was thinking of.”
Heat rushed to Kimmer’s cheeks. Another first…flirting. She fumbled the zipper, recovered and took it up to the middle of his chest. Before she could think too much about it, she reached up to smooth his hair down. “Stickie-uppies,” she told his inquiring glance. “Don’t want you scaring anyone.”
“Good thinking,” he agreed, quite solemnly. “But you should stop touching me now. I need to be able to think, and it’s hard enough already.” He winced. “I mean—”
“Shut up,” she told him, but she smirked. “I’ll meet you back here in a few moments.” And she shooed him off toward the men’s side of the building, watching his first stiff steps loosen up to something less halting and finally into movement with a little more authority. Then she headed for the ladies’ room, where she took advantage of the facilities—end-of-day nasty, they were—checked the supply closet door, pushed each stall door open one by one, and garnered a look from a mother who pulled her daughter away from Kimmer’s no-nonsense
inspection. She hadn’t expected to find anything—no sign of Carolyne, no sign of anyone tampering with anything or lurking in wait—but she wasn’t taking chances. Nor did she take chances when she inspected the exterior, checking an unmarked door not only by trying the locked handle, but looking for any signs of recent passage. No mud, no recently disturbed gravel, no scuffs. She headed for the small visitors’ center between the two rest-room entrances and found it unmanned and full of maps she didn’t need. A moment later Rio joined her.
“No bathroom bogeymen,” he announced. “Got a plan?”
She pressed her lips together, a crooked expression. “Nothing other than the obvious.”
“Sneak and leap?” He raised a sardonic brow and the sight of it brought instant improvement to Kimmer’s mood—he’d sharpened up in the past few moments.
“Lurk and de-jerk,” she said, and enjoyed his grin. “That’s basically it. We’ve got another hour before anyone from Hunter gets here; Scott shouldn’t arrive until after the fireworks are over. I think we should scope out the situation—” she patted the pocket that held her night scope “—and if we’ve got a good opportunity, we should damn well go for it.”
Rio sobered. “No doubt about it. They’re not going to just sit and wait all that time. They’re going to work her. They’ve probably told her I’m dead.”
“They probably think you are,” Kimmer said dryly. She pulled a thin knit balaclava from her pocket and put it on her head without drawing it down. “I thought we’d try to avoid the greasepaint…might draw attention.”
“Too bad it’s not Halloween,” Rio muttered. “I don’t have one—but I’ve got a scarf and a hat in the car. I think.”
The family from the van came streaming into the small space, and two small children immediately set up a clamor for vending-machine goodies while the mother—the same who had avoided Kimmer in the rest room—gave them both a suspicious look.
“Drat!” Kimmer muttered, leaning in close to Rio. “Our nefarious plan to redraw all the maps is thwarted!”
“That’s okay,” he said, heading for the door. “Knowing you, you won’t give up so easily.”
Well, he certainly had that much figured out.
At the car they found his scarf and hat, both navy. She reached up to accomplish the two-handed job of tying the scarf as the snow thickened around them, and then she reached into her deep coat pocket and brought out the Ruger. “Here,” she said, and pushed it into his uninjured hand, the right.
He gave her a wry little look. “I’m left-handed, just like Caro.”
“We’ll be in close quarters,” she said, pulling her .38 from the SmartCarry pouch and jamming it into the coat pocket—not her normal choice, but this winter jacket fell far below her waist, making an easy draw into an awkward hunt beneath the coat skirt. “They won’t know you’re left-handed. Anyway, don’t tell me you never practiced with your off hand.”
Silence, as she finished arranging her coat and pulled out the night scope. And then reluctance. “I don’t want Caro’s life to depend on it.”
“Carolyne’s life depends on a lot of things.” Kim
mer’s voice grew sharp. “You, me, Hunter, the phase of the moon, whether Mercury’s in retrograde—”
The family trooped out of the visitors’ center, the children having achieved their goal and carrying snacks in their mittened hands while the parents gave Kimmer and Rio an extended wary gaze.
But Kimmer wasn’t into games anymore. She ignored the parents and headed off across the cold parking lot. The fine dusting of snow whirled above the pavement in eddies of mild wind, parting before her footfalls like the Red Sea.
If there was anyone in the car, they’d see her coming; they’d see Rio at her shoulder. But there was no cover here, no alternative. Trying to hide would only make them stand out; right now they were two travelers stretching their legs.
Besides, the windows were clear and clean—no fog of occupancy. And a quick, discreet glance with her scope showed her no one within the vehicle. She handed the scope to Rio without comment, just as glad to hear the van grinding into motion behind them, engine gearing up for the highway entrance ramp.
In silent accord, they crouched behind the car when they reached it—chancy in some respects, since it tagged them as up to something, but Kimmer suspected the goonboys had gone to the woods, not particularly caring if Carolyne was dressed for it. “See if you can spot anything out there,” she murmured to Rio, and did a quick duckwalk to check the license plate.
Goonboys, all right.
She returned to Rio, gave him a short nod. He put the scope in her gloved hand and said, “There’s some
thing. Too many trees between here and there to get a good look.”
She followed his gaze into the dark woods, raised the scope and found them. Hints of movement in a field of green-on-green objects, trees obstructing any significant view. “Infrared would be nice just at this moment.” She lowered the scope, looked at him. “They must be hiding from Mr. and Mrs. Traveler, but I don’t know why they’d leave the car before Scott—” She cut herself short. As one, they glanced at the remaining car in the lot. Kimmer left cover only long enough to get a glimpse of the car’s license plate, and quickly ducked into place beside Rio again. “Dammit,” she breathed, “it’s a New York plate. How the hell—?”
“Doesn’t matter.” Rio’s voice came out as grimly as Kimmer felt. “He’s here, and we don’t have time to wait for your Hunter team.”
Kimmer stood, holding out a hand. He didn’t hesitate to take it, leaning on her in order to rise. “Let’s not make assumptions—we’re not far from the state line. That car could belong to anyone.” Not likely, since there hadn’t been anyone else in the rest area buildings. “We’ll approach, scope it out and, if necessary, retreat. Got it?”
This time he did hesitate. Kimmer turned on him, keeping her voice low but no less intense for it. “I mean it. We’re not used to working together. If we have to take a step back in order to make sure we’re on the same page, we’ll do it. Or I’ll leave you right here in the dark and take care of this myself.”
He muttered a curse; she thought it both uncomplimentary and somewhat admiring, and ignored
it. With no cover available, she simply headed for the edge of the parking lot and into the woods, giving thanks for the spitting snow as their feet came down on the season’s first layer of damp fall leaves—no crunching. She guided them with slow care, coming around in a big arc to approach the clandestine little gathering from what she hoped would be an unexpected and carelessly watched direction. By then they’d seen flashlights, all turned away from the parking lot, and could hear the rise and fall of contentious conversation.
It took forever to maneuver into place, burdened by an overawareness of each huff of breath, the tiny rustle of each slender bush and sapling as Kimmer caught the branches in their path, painstakingly held them aside and passed them off to Rio. She worried about what they’d find, she worried about Rio’s condition, she worried about the consequences of the next few moments…and dammit, she wasn’t used to worrying at all. How could Owen have thought losing that buffer to her emotions was a
good
thing?
Finally, she eased in behind a tree, choosing a nice, smooth beech—something they could get close to without interfering roots or crunchy layers of bark. Rio moved in behind her, snugging up against her to take advantage of the cover while getting much the same view. He seemed to take such close physical teamwork for granted.
She’d never allowed it before. To be truthful, no one had even tried. And now she found it hard to concentrate.
But she didn’t nudge him back. She took a breath and centered herself, and examined the situation before them.
Almost instantly, it made no sense. Twenty feet
away, Slick and City Shoes fussed at Carolyne and Scott—but the goonboys had allowed Scott to stay a short distance away, making no overt attempts to control him. Their body language remained intent and implacable, and it was all focused on Carolyne. Carolyne, beside herself with fatigue and fear and worry, her face sporting a bruise that showed starkly against the white of her face as a flashlight hit her directly in the eyes.
Behind Kimmer, Rio tensed at his cousin’s distress; Kimmer quite deliberately stepped back on his foot, slowly enough so as not to startle him. He squeezed her upper arm in acknowledgment, but the tension didn’t drain away. It hovered, ready to explode into whatever action his battered body would withstand.
And meanwhile Kimmer had eyes only for Scott—for his strange confidence, his lack of fear in spite of the cuffs and the goonboy guns. Was he really so naive as to think he had a handle on this situation? That he could control it in any way? She doubted he would be as stoic as Rio had been, and she doubted Carolyne would withstand the sound of his pleading.
She took another long look at him, the only person in this little tableau whom she hadn’t previously encountered—and the man who’d sent her off on this adventure. He wore a city coat, a long gray tweed that came to midcalf. Expensive; Kimmer might even have said new. He’d gone hatless, his long, dark hair slicked back in what she thought of as an East Coast tough-guy image. He and Carolyne stood about the same height, but he cut a trim figure; within that coat he could be wiry strong, or he could be just plain soft and slender.
Either way, his confidence still made no sense. Everything in Kimmer screamed to back off, to reassess.
Even as she watched, Slick demanded, “Where’s your PDA? All you’ve got to do is scribble down a few notes, a few lines of code, and you’re done. Your boyfriend is done. Safe. Refuse, and you’re going to have the chance to watch someone else die.”
City Shoes said mildly, “The cousin died after we left. This will be her first.” He looked to Carolyne. “And, of course, if watching Mr. Boyle doesn’t convince you, we’ll find someone else. I understand you have a elderly grandmother, a sweet little old Japanese lady. She probably won’t withstand much handling, though, so you’d have to make up your mind pretty quick if you wanted to save her.”
Carolyne squinted into the flashlight, raising a shivering hand to shadow her eyes; the other hand came along with it. They’d cuffed her. A glance confirmed they’d cuffed Scott, as well, but he held his hands before him in a relaxed way.
And Kimmer knew—
knew
—she should be able to make sense of this at a glance. But she couldn’t.
Owen, what were you thinking?
Carolyne’s tremulous voice, thinned so much it was nearly inaudible, dared to answer the question. “I don’t have it. No one told me to bring it. You just grabbed—”