Hard to Handle (10 page)

Ignoring most of what she said, Harley moved and spoke quickly, turning off the Jeep and stowing the guns in his waistband beneath his shirts. “We passed that station a little ways back. It's dark there, so they might not have noticed it. I wouldn't have if you hadn't pointed it out as Ned's.” He pocketed the keys and opened his door. “Stow that stuff in your pockets and get ready to roll.”

“You don't have a coat.”

“I know.”

When Harley got out of the Jeep, Stasia pulled her glove back on and followed. The Jeep had a generous cargo area. It was packed with luggage and various pieces of athletic equipment. He dug out two hooded sweatshirts, pulled one over his head and handed the other to her. “Hang on to that. You might want it later.”

After retrieving one small satchel, he moved the rest of the luggage aside and pulled a storage crate forward.

It amazed her to see him retrieve duct tape, a first-aid kit, flares, a multiheaded screwdriver, and a space blanket out of the crate.

“You travel prepared.”

“Always.” Loaded down, he locked the Jeep and then hauled her close to his side. He draped the blanket around them both. “We'll share body heat. Try to move quickly. I want to be inside the station before the goons get brave and make another pass at us.”

“Ned keeps it locked up.”

“Don't worry. It's not a problem.”

Of course not. Nothing was a problem for Harley Handleman, hero at large. While she was badly shaken, he took it all in stride. With her pockets filled and the sweatshirt hugged against her chest, she trudged along with him.

She didn't ask him how he expected to get inside; she simply trusted that he would.

W
HEN
the shadowy exterior of the garage came into view, Harley hugged Anastasia a little closer. “Almost there.”

She didn't reply. He knew the cold had taken its toll on her, but he didn't know what to do about it. The wind cut like a knife and if he didn't get them indoors soon, she might get too depleted to make it on her own.

For one brief moment, he considered carrying her, but one look at her staunch, determined expression, and he knew Anastasia wouldn't allow it. She doggedly put one foot in front of the other, keeping pace with him even though her legs were much shorter, and not nearly as thick with muscle.

He admired her, damn it.

Remembering how she'd gone on automatic pilot, reacting despite her fear to come to his rescue against a loaded gun, would have made Harley smile if his lips didn't feel stiff from the freezing temps. It didn't matter that her help was unnecessary, or that she'd botched the attempt by running the Jeep off the road.

She'd cared enough to try.

After they crossed the lot, Anastasia tried to make a beeline for the front door. “No.” Harley led her toward a small copse of trees that helped block the wind. He tucked the blanket around her. “Wait right here while I check it out.”

She groaned.

“I know, I'm sorry. But I want to make sure no one beat us here.”

“I should go with you. Just in case.”

“Just in case what? Trust me, I'll be more able to handle an ambush without worrying about you.” He withdrew one of the guns and pressed it into her gloved hand. “Know how to use this?”

She shook her head.

“Release the safety.” He showed her how. “Then just aim and shoot. Usually that's enough whether you hit anyone or not. Just make sure it's not me before you pull the trigger, okay?”

She groaned again and dropped her head against his chest. “I'm miserable, Harley.”

“I know. Me, too. It won't be much longer now, I promise.” He tipped up her face. “I know you're tired, honey, but stay alert for me, okay?”

When she nodded agreement, Harley kissed her forehead…then the bridge of her nose…and because he couldn't stop himself, her mouth.

The touch was brief, and given the numbness from the cold, almost imperceptible. But her eyes opened a little wider, reassuring him.

He forced himself to walk away.

He couldn't remember ever being so cold, but for now he couldn't let it matter.

Maneuvering through the dark, he went around to the back of the building. He couldn't see any footprints, but with very little light and the constantly falling snow, that wasn't surprising.

The door felt secure, as did two high windows and a lift garage door. Harley put his ear to a window and listened, but heard nothing. The windows were frosted over, so he couldn't see inside.

He went back around front and checked those doors, too. Far as he could tell, everything remained secure. Using the screwdriver he'd brought with him, he jimmied the lock and got the door open. The narrow beam of his flashlight bounced off a cracked vinyl seating area, a desk, two ancient vending machines, an interior door, and another lift garage door.

He held the gun in his hand and as quickly as possible did a quick surveillance inside.

Clear.

The furnace had died with the electricity, but the station would shelter them from the howling wind.

C
IRCLING
around to the side, Harley found Anastasia hunkered down on her haunches, her knees up to her chin, her arms around her legs. She stared straight ahead and she had the gun at the ready.

Softly, so he wouldn't startle her, he said, “Anastasia?”

She jumped to her feet—thank God she didn't shoot him. In fact, she handed the gun back to him with alacrity. “We can go in now?”

Poor thing. He pulled her close. “Yeah, we can go in.”

She moved ahead of him, rushing into the garage. Harley followed. He was tired and cold, and the thought of removing frozen layers tempted him. But first things first. He closed the door and as a precaution stacked some heavy tires against it.

Close behind him, Stasia asked, “What are you doing?”

“I'm blocking the entrances so if anyone tries to get in, we'll be forewarned.”

“How can I help?”

Surprised, Harley glanced at her. Her voice shivered as badly as her body; she'd been through too much. But she looked determined to lend a hand.

His admiration grew. Damn it, he couldn't remember the last time he'd admired a woman for her courage.

“The garage doors are bolted from the inside, so they're secure. You could put something—a can or anything that'll clatter—up by the windows and the door around back.”

“Okay.”

“Here.” He handed her the flashlight. “Take this with you. I'll check the front desk for another one.”

The beam of light hit him in the face, making him wince before she lowered it. “How can you see to search the desk if I have the flashlight?”

“My eyes will adjust. I have good night vision.”

Her long sigh echoed in the quiet garage. “I'm convinced you have good everything. It's almost disgusting, how good you are at everything.” With that remark, she turned to do as he asked, and Harley tracked her progress by the movement of the light.

It didn't take him long to locate a heavy-duty security light on a shelf behind the desk. He also found matches, but no candles.

Because he preferred to be prepared rather than taken off guard, he went on the assumption that the men
would
be back, and if they returned, he needed a plan.

He didn't want to alarm Stasia, so while she was off barring the entrances, he searched out a good place for them to rest, away from the windows and anyone who might peek in.

Ned had a small employee break room with a coffeepot set up on a rectangular table, and another round table with four plastic chairs around it. Against one wall was an aged leather recliner. It was a little on the grimy side, but it'd hold them both.

That is, if Anastasia could be convinced to bed down with him.

The room offered the convenience of a john and no windows for prying eyes.

It'd be safe enough.

On the round table, Harley set out the supplies he'd brought along and all the change he had. In his tote, he had the basic necessities: toothbrush, razor, soap, clean socks and boxers. The vending machines would supply snack-type food.

Peeling off his hooded sweatshirt, he laid it over a plastic chair to dry. He stowed the toiletries in the bathroom, readjusted both guns in his waistband, and went to check on Stasia. He found her still bundled head to toes in her outerwear, stacking empty oil cans on the windowsills. The flashlight that she held in her teeth trembled.

“Good job.”

She glanced at him, then took the flashlight out of her mouth. “Thanks. I put a chair against the door, but also sat some cans there.”

Physically, she looked on the ragged edge. Other than a bright red nose and cheeks, her skin was pale, her lips chapped. Exhaustion darkened the skin beneath her usually bright eyes.

But emotionally, she had the same strength he'd noted in her before.

He held out a hand. “Come here.”

Using the flashlight, she checked her security measures one last time, then joined him. “It's warmer in here, but I'm not ready to lose your coat. Sorry.”

He didn't yet tell her that more than the coat was going to have to come off before she'd get warm. Wet layers wouldn't warm her; shared body heat would.

“I found a place for us to settle in for the night. There's a coffee machine, so if the electricity comes back on, we'll be in business.”

“It won't.” Because he held a flashlight, she turned hers off and dropped it in the pocket of his coat. “It's usually out for a day or longer.”

With an arm around her, Harley led her toward the break room. “At least the vending machines are loaded with candy and chips, and they're so old, they don't run on electricity.”

“The cola machine does.”

He glanced down at her. “If you want a Coke, I can get it for you.”

“The same way you got the door open?”

She didn't sound accusing so much as curious. “I learned some useful talents when I was younger.”

“I can imagine.”

He grinned. “I was never a thief, but I had rowdy friends who enjoyed teaching me things. My mom used to have fits about it.”

“I can imagine that, too.”

“There's a bathroom you can use. The water is cold, but as long as we leave it trickling through the night, the pipes shouldn't freeze.”

“Through the night?”

“I don't think we're going anywhere anytime soon, do you?”

“I suppose not.” She looked around the break room with dismay. “Ned will have to thank us for saving his pipes.”

“I don't think he'll mind that we're here.”

“No.”

“Stasia.” Harley turned her to face him. He plucked the hat away and ruffled her hair. “You need to take all these wet clothes off.”

She bit her lip, ducked her face, and nodded. “I know.”

“You do?”

“The clothes are soaked and freezing, which means I'll continue to freeze.” She turned to survey the room. “I don't suppose you found clean clothes anywhere? Or a few blankets?”

“At a garage? No. But I have clean socks and that hooded sweatshirt. With the solar blanket, you'll warm up.” He tipped up her face. “I'm going to help you undress, okay?”

“No, I don't think it is. I'm sorry, but I feel…seduced or something.”

Harley frowned at her. “I'm not going to—”

“Yeah, I know. You wouldn't take advantage of a half-frozen woman traumatized by the attack of armed thugs.”

“I hadn't realized you were traumatized.”

“A little, but it doesn't matter.”

He frowned in incomprehension.

“It's you, Harley. The way you look at me and how you sound when you talk to me. I know you just want to make me comfortable, but when I look at you, I almost feel…naked.”

He tried not to laugh. Holding out his hands to his sides, he said, “Sorry, Stasia. I didn't realize. I wasn't deliberately—”

“Being seductive. I know. It's just the way you present yourself. It's…who you are.”

“Anastasia.” He dropped his arms. “Do you think you could let me finish a sentence on my own? For the sake of accuracy, maybe?”

She waved for him to go on.

“I was going to say that I'm not deliberately showing you how I feel. Because yeah, I'm not immune to being alone with a sexy woman while I get to play the big capable guy. But I thought I had it under wraps.”

That got her attention. “You get excited over the caveman role?”

His smile went crooked. “You have no idea. If you cried a little, I'd probably have a boner already.” He touched her cheek. “All guys like to play protector. It's a basic instinct thing.”