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She was threatening him? Unbelievable. The woman clearly had more nerve than sense. He tightened his hold even more. “Pay attention, lady. I’m in charge now. You do what I tell you. Understand?”
He waited a beat for her to answer.
When she didn’t, he increased the pressure until she couldn’t breathe at all, knowing from experience that the more he could dominate and demoralize her now, the less likely she’d be to give him trouble on their return trip to Colorado. “Understand?”
A whimper escaped her throat. “Yes,” she finally gasped. “Yes!”
“Good.” Satisfied, he loosened his hold, dumped her unceremoniously onto her side and climbed to his feet.
Knocking the snow from his pants, he considered her as she lay sprawled in the snow. With her shiny mop of hair, her eyes squeezed shut so that her inky lashes shadowed her smooth cheeks, her mouth trembling each time she took a greedy gulp of air, she looked small and defenseless, almost childlike.
Except that thanks to their recent tussle, the lush curve of her ass and the soft swell of her breasts were imprinted on his brain, leaving him in no doubt she was a thoroughly grown-up female.
And a treacherous one at that, he reminded himself, his shins throbbing annoyingly from where she’d kicked him.
“Get up,” he ordered.
She drew in one last shuddering breath, then opened her eyes. He watched her struggle to control her fear, and felt a grudging admiration as she willed herself to present a semblance of calm.
She pushed herself upright, watching him warily. “What do you want with me?” she demanded.
“I work for Steele Security. James Dunn’s parents hired us to find you.”
“Find me?” She widened her dark eyes in an excellent imitation of surprise. “But why would—”
“Forget it. I know who you are, Genevieve—so whatever you’re trying to sell, I’m not buying. Now, get up.”
She stayed where she was. Probing the back of her head, she winced and dropped her gaze. “I will. It’s just—I’m a little dizzy.”
He took a threatening step forward. “Now.”
She flinched and threw up her hands. “Okay, okay!” Brushing the hair out of her eyes, she gave a defeated sigh and reached up for assistance getting to her feet.
Normally he’d have taken a step back and left her to deal on her own. But not only were her lips trembling again, but her outstretched hand was suddenly shaking, too.
With a faint, exasperated sigh of his own, he reached down. Her delicate palm slid across his calloused, much larger one. Yet the instant he tightened his grip, damned if her other hand didn’t swing up and clamp around his wrist. With surprising strength for such a little bit of a thing, she threw her weight backward, yanking him forward at the same time she drew up her legs and lashed out.
She was quick, he’d give her that. Luckily, however, he was quicker. He threw himself sideways, and instead of her boot heels catching him in the groin as she’d obviously intended, they thudded heavily into his right thigh.
The blow caught him squarely in the femoris muscle and hurt like hell. Off balance, he stumbled, his leg twanging as if comprised of overstretched guitar strings.
It was all the advantage his adversary needed. Giving him one final kick, this time in the knee, she rolled away, sprang to her feet and bolted toward the trees.
“Son of a bitch.” He couldn’t remember the last time he’d lost his temper, having learned early on to regard intense emotion of any kind as the enemy.
Yet suddenly he was on the verge of being genuinely pissed.
He tore after her. Catching up with her handily, he snagged the neck of her parka in his fist, then set his feet and yanked, jerking her off her feet.
“Let go of me! I’m warning you—” Twisting, she struck out at him, and damned if one of her flailing hands didn’t connect with a glancing blow to his mouth.
If he’d been Gabe, he probably could’ve soothed her with a few reasonable words. If he’d been Dominic or Cooper, he most likely could’ve charmed her into submission. But he had neither a gift for reassurance nor a way with women and he was sick and tired of being used as a punching bag.
“That’s it!” Ducking his head, he caught her by the thighs and tossed her over his shoulder.
This can’t be happening, Genevieve thought, kicking and squirming as her captor strode effortlessly through the snow. It wasn’t right. This big, scary-looking stranger with his hard body and shuttered eyes couldn’t just appear in her life, overpower her and drag her back to Silver.
Somebody obviously forgot to tell him that, though, because that seems to be exactly what he’s doing. And you can pummel and threaten him all you want, but he’s still going to be able to overpower you.
It was clearly time to change tactics. She was no match for him physically, which meant if she was going to have a chance at escape, she was going to have to out-wit him—easier said than done when she was hanging upside down, the blood rushing to her head, her stomach jouncing painfully against his hard shoulder with every step.
She thought hard for a moment, then blew out a breath, forced herself to quit struggling and went limp.
Nothing happened for what felt like an eternity. Finally, however, she felt the faintest hesitation in her adversary’s long, effortless stride. “You all right, Bowen?” he asked.
“No.” Sounding weak and pathetic didn’t require any effort. “If you don’t put me down, I’m going to lose my breakfast.”
Darned if he didn’t shrug, lifting and lowering her with a hitch of his shoulder as if she weighed nothing. “Tough.”
“But—”
“No.” He paused for a beat. “And if you get sick on me, you’re gonna regret it.”
His low voice held just enough menace that she believed him totally. Even so, he couldn’t really expect her to control something like that—could he?
Deciding she’d prefer not to find out, she swallowed. Hard. “What—what’s your name?”
He was silent so long she didn’t think he was going to answer. Finally, he said, “Taggart.”
“Is that your first name or your last?”
“Just Taggart’s all you need to know.”
Nobody was ever going to accuse him of being a chatterbox. She gulped as he hefted her a little higher. “Okay, Just—” She started to call him Just Taggart, then thought better of it. Antagonizing him more than she already had couldn’t be wise. “Listen, please? I’m not rich, but whatever you’re getting paid, I’ll double it if you’ll let me go.”
“No.”
“Then how about if you just put off taking me back for say…a week?” Surely she could find a way to escape in that space of time. “We can stay here. You’ll still be doing your job, but I’ll pay you, too, and I’ve got lots of supplies and—”
“No.”
“Then what about a day? Just one day. Surely twenty-four hours can’t matter—”
“Not gonna happen, Genevieve.” Without warning, he dumped her on her feet next to the truck. Towering over her, he gave her a quick once over, his ice-green eyes impossible to read. Then he caught her by the shoulder and spun her around. “Now shut up, keep your hands where I can see them and spread your legs.” Planting a palm between her shoulder blades, he gave her a nudge.
She had barely enough time to throw up her hands and brace herself against the fender before his big, hard hands were on her. They skimmed impersonally down her arms and skated over her back, breasts and sides, then slipped downward to explore her legs and thighs.
Humiliation painted her cheeks with fire as he patted her hips, then gave a huff of satisfaction as he encountered the car keys she’d zipped into her coat pocket. Before she could voice a protest, he took possession of them, then resumed his exploration. By the time he finished, she was shaking all over from the indignity of his touch.
“Okay,” he murmured, reaching around her to open the truck door. “Get in.”
“But my things—”
“Are in back where you left them.”
“But I can’t just leave!” She twisted around to face him. “What about the cabin? The fire’s going and I’ve got groceries sitting out and—”
“I’ll arrange for somebody to come and close things up.”
“Okay, but—but we really shouldn’t take the truck. The heater’s shot and the brakes aren’t reliable and the lights don’t always work and it’ll be dark soon—”
“No sweat. My rig is parked on the next track south.”
“But—”
“Enough.” The look he sent her was frigid enough to flash-freeze boiling water. “You can babble until hell freezes over, but I still plan to be back in Colorado—with you in custody—this time tomorrow. Got it?”
She thought about Seth, about his threat to confess rather than allow her to forfeit her own freedom and felt a spurt of desperation. Surely there had to be some way to reach this man, some way to change his mind. “I know you have a job to do, but you have to understand. I can’t go back. Not yet.”
“Oh, yeah. You can. You are.”
“Please! Just listen. My brother’s innocent. But if you take me back, he’ll feel obligated to try and protect me and—”
“Get in the truck, Bowen.” He took a step closer, the toe of one big boot bumping her smaller one.
It took every ounce of her courage, but she stood her ground. “Damn it, Taggart, if you’ll just listen—”
“No.” With a speed that was surprising for a man his size, he caught her under the arms and boosted her onto the seat. Then he gripped her right arm with one hand, reached under his coat with the other and the next thing she knew, he was slapping a handcuff around her wrist.
“Don’t!” She tried to twist away but it was too late as he snapped the other bracelet around the door handle. “Surely that’s not—”
“I don’t like surprises when I’m driving.”
Frightened, furious, she watched helplessly as he slammed the door and headed around to the driver’s side of the truck.
Think, she ordered herself as he slid the seat back as far as it would go to accommodate his mile-long legs and climbed inside.
Taking a firm grip on her emotions, Genevieve turned to face him. “I don’t have much money, most of it went to pay for Seth’s attorney, but you can have my house. I’ll sign it over. My business, too. I’ll—I’ll give you anything you want. Just name it.”
For a moment it was as if he hadn’t heard her. Then he abruptly twisted on the seat and leaned over so that only inches separated them. His cool compelling gaze slid from her hair to her eyes to her mouth, then flicked back up. “Anything?” His eyes gleamed dangerously.
He was so close she could see each individual inky whisker shadowing his cheeks, as well as a faint, razor-thin scar that cut through one corner of his hard, unsmiling mouth.
Her stomach dropped and what was left of the moisture in her mouth dried up. She told herself not to be a fool, to say, “Yes, of course, whatever it takes,” but when she parted her lips, the words wouldn’t come out. “I—I—”
His head dipped even closer. Swallowing hard, she squeezed her eyes shut, her heart slamming into her throat as his hair—cool and unexpectedly soft—tickled against her cheek.
Then he abruptly straightened and she felt the pressure as he dragged her seat belt across her waist. Her eyes flew open as he jammed the end into the clasp with a distinctive click.
He sent her a mirthless smile as their gazes meshed. “Yeah. I didn’t think so. Which is just as well, since the only thing I want from you—” he fastened his own seat belt and slapped the truck into Reverse “—is your word that you won’t give me any more trouble.”
Embarrassed, insulted, affronted, disgusted—Genevieve couldn’t decide what she felt most. “Go to hell.”
He gave a faint sigh. “Too late. Already been there, done that,” he murmured. Depressing the clutch, he backed the vehicle out of its slot. He shifted, straightened the wheel and began to guide the truck down the narrow, tree-lined track that led to the road.
The deer came out of nowhere. One second there was nothing in front of them but an unobscured ribbon of white. In the next, a rangy young stag bounded squarely into their path, its dun-colored hide seeming to fill the entire windshield.
“Watch out!” Genevieve cried as Taggart wrenched the wheel to the left. He hit the brakes and the old Ford bucked wildly, fishtailed across the snowy ground and slammed driver’s side first into an enormous evergreen tree.
Taggart’s head hit the door frame with a sickening crunch.
Genevieve watched with a mixture of awe and horror as he slumped, his big body suddenly as limp as a rag doll’s. Dear God, what if he’s dead?
Fast on the heels of that thought came another. Dear God. What if he’s not?
Three
Taggart surfaced slowly.
As he did, several things seemed noteworthy. One was that his head felt as if a stake were being driven through it.
The other was that somebody—a woman, judging from her soft voice and even softer hands—was touching him. “Come on now,” she murmured, her husky voice tickling along his spine while her fingers sifted featherlight through the hair at his temple. “It’s time to quit fooling around. Wake up now. I know you can do it.”
She knew he could do it. Her faith gave him pause. The first and last female to unswervingly believe in him had been his mother. Yet he knew damn well that the woman murmuring to him wasn’t Mary Moriarity Steele.
She smelled entirely different, for one thing, like sunshine and soap instead of lavender and baby powder. Plus her hands were smaller and her voice was lower. Besides, his mother had been gone…
How long? Drawing a blank, he struggled to punch through the fog hazing his brain. For a frustrating moment his mind remained shrouded and sluggish. Then the knowledge abruptly bubbled up.
Twenty years. She’d died twenty years ago last month, the anniversary of her passing falling on the day after his thirty-third birthday.
What’s more, with another burst of returning memory he knew that it was Genevieve Bowen who was showing him such gentle concern. He recognized her voice at the same instant the recollection of tossing her over his shoulder and heading for her truck came rushing back at him. Yet after that…Nothing.
He didn’t have a single, solitary doubt who was to blame.
Marshaling his strength, he opened his eyes. He felt a perverse flicker of satisfaction as his quarry—hell, no, his prisoner—sucked in a startled breath and jerked back, snatching her hand away from his face.
“Genevieve.” Even to his own ears, his voice sounded raspy.
“You’re back.”
“Yeah.” He blinked, tried to make sense of the timbered ceiling above his head and failed. With a prickle of uneasiness, he realized he was lying on a bed in a room he’d never seen before.
“How do you feel?”
He told himself to focus. Okay, so his brain seemed to be a few cards short of a full deck and he had a son of a bitch of a headache—so what? He’d survived worse. He concentrated on what he did remember and tossed out an educated guess. “The truck. There was an accident.”
“Yes.” She nodded. “There was a deer. In the road. You swerved to avoid it and hit a tree.”
