"You're blind as a bat, you've got no business ... dammit!" He came up off the couch like a shot when Lenny's removal of the makeshift bandage proved to be too painful. "Just leave it alone," he said as Lenny unwrapped his bloodstained jacket and tie.

Lenny ignored the order and took a pair of scissors to his pant leg, cutting the fabric away with an easy touch. "No. It's going to be cleaned and bandaged properly, and then we're going to get you out of these filthy clothes and into a warm bed."

Nick shook his head as he lay back down. The lumpy couch felt as good as any soft bed he'd ever slept in. "They'll look for me here sooner or later, probably sooner, so I can't stay. I won't risk involving you."

"They won't think to look here for a while, I reckon," Lenny insisted.

"Can't risk it," Nick whispered.

The roar of water from the bathroom reminded him of Shea's presence in this house. She should be gone by now; another chance had come and still she didn't run. He wouldn't chase after her if she took off now, and neither would Lenny. Nick was crippled and Lenny was half-blind; Shea could walk out of this house and they wouldn't be able to stop her.

Nick closed his eyes and tried to relax as Lenny very carefully tended to his wounded leg. Nick couldn't think straight, and that wasn't good. In fact, it was d.a.m.n bad. All he could think of with any clarity was one fact: Shea Sinclair smelled great.

When he'd hovered close in the confines of the car, when she'd wrapped her arm around his waist and steadied him, there had been moments when her scent had almost overpowered him. He wanted to bury his nose against her neck and breathe deep, to sleep with that scent in his nostrils.

Nick wondered if he was running a fever; G.o.d knows he was delirious.

He should leave right now, while Shea was getting cleaned up and prepared for her grand adventure of a story. Unfortunately, she was right: he needed her. He wouldn't get far without Shea Sinclair's help.

As Lenny tended the leg, Nick drifted off. He didn't wake until he heard Shea's voice. That voice was already so familiar that it struck a chord somewhere deep inside, like the voice of an old, dear friend.

"How is it?" she whispered.

"Not too bad, considering," Lenny answered just as softly. They thought he was asleep, and didn't want to wake him, he supposed. If he had the strength he'd say something and prove them wrong ... but he didn't. "He's doggone lucky, if you ask me. The bullet grazed his calf. Made a deep furrow, but there doesn't seem to be any muscle damage to speak of. He lost a lot of blood, though, and he'll have to watch for infection."

"I know. I wish we had some antibiotics." Her voice was a little bit closer now; he could almost feel that voice, as if it vibrated deep inside him. How odd.

"I've got part of a prescription I didn't finish," Lenny said, a bright note in his voice. "Just a few days' worth, but it's better than nothing."

"Yes, it is," Shea said, sounding relieved. "He'll need a change of clothes, too."

"I rounded up some old clothes I outgrew years ago. They're on the chair by the fireplace," Lenny said, groaning as he stood. "I'll get those pills and a gla.s.s of water."

Nick half opened his eyes. Lenny entered the kitchen, and Shea stood over the recliner by the cold stone fireplace. She wore a pair of tight white pants that ended just below her knees, and a pale blue blouse that was cropped so that the hem hung just at her waist. The severe red suit had disguised her figure, but this outfit enhanced it, hugging every curve. Her dark hair had been pulled back into a thick ponytail.

She turned around, the pile of clothing in her hands, and Nick let his eyes drift closed again.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," she muttered as she kneeled on the floor beside him. "If I had a lick of sense I'd run like h.e.l.l and not look back."

Yes, you would.

"Dean will kill me," she said.

Boyfriend? Husband? Lover?

"Well, maybe Clint and Boone will protect me."

More boyfriends?

"Goodness knows they've saved me often enough." Shea sighed, and then Nick felt the warmth of her hands on his chest. She flicked one b.u.t.ton of his shirt and then another. The tips of her fingers grazed his skin as his shirt came open, and his eyes fluttered open.

"What are you doing?" he whispered harshly.

She wasn't at all startled that he was awake; she should be. "I'm getting you dressed so we can get out of here."

"I can dress myself."

She smiled. "Yes, I'm sure you can." She'd washed the makeup off her face, revealing smooth skin with just a few pale freckles sprinkled across the nose. Even without lipstick, her lips were rosy, pink and full.

He should push her hand away and finish the job himself, but he didn't. He liked the occasional brush of her fingers against his skin, and she was so close he could smell her again. He liked it; he liked it too much.

"Can you sit?" She flattened her hand on his, back and helped him raise up, and then she slipped the damp white dress shirt off his shoulders.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked as she took a blue-and-green-plaid cotton shirt and helped him into it. Her hands were easy, gentle and sure. He had to remind himself that she wasn't his friend, she wasn't his ally, it didn't matter how good she smelled or how enticing the simple brush of her fingers felt on his skin. "It's the story, right?"

"Yes," she said without hesitation. "The story."

All of a sudden he knew he couldn't do this. Somehow he had to get rid of the weathergirl. With all the strength he could muster, Nick reached out and took Shea Sinclair's chin in his hand and made her look him in the eye. He didn't have the strength to force her to do anything, but he d.a.m.n well knew how to send her packing.

"I haven't had a woman in ten months," he whispered. "I haven't so much as touched a woman in ten months."

Her face went pale; her hazel-green eyes widened. But she didn't back away.

"You want a thrill, weathergirl?" he asked, his voice so soft it was little more than a breath of air. "You think this is fun? Some kind of adventure?" He leaned down, placing his face close to hers. d.a.m.n if he couldn't smell her, feel her breath and the warmth of her skin. Her lips were so close, right there before him and tempting as h.e.l.l. "I promise you this. You stick around, and as soon as I get my strength back I'll show you a thrill or two."

She didn't back away. "I know what you're doing, Taggert," she whispered. "And it's not going to work. You can't scare me."

"Yes, I can." He reached out with his free hand and touched the base of her throat, let the back of his fingers trail down to the valley of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She was warm and soft, as he'd known she would be. He watched the movement of his roughened hand on her pale skin, marveled at the way the sight teased his insides and made his head spin more than it had before.

He didn't want to scare the weathergirl anymore, he wanted to hold her. Hard and fast. He wanted to sleep with her in his arms, that's all. His mouth drifted closer to her. No, that was not all. He wanted everything; he wanted all of her.

Shea moved her head back and gently grabbed his wrists, moving his wandering hands to his knees. "You're not well, Mr. Taggert," she said as she stood. "So I'm going to forgive you for behaving in an inappropriate manner."

"Oh, thank you," he muttered dryly. h.e.l.l, he'd even failed in frightening her off. Apparently he wasn't a very imposing figure, at the moment.

Lenny came back into the room with a gla.s.s of water and a small plastic bottle of pills. "It's just four days' worth, I'm afraid."

"That's better than nothing," Shea said as she leaned forward and began to b.u.t.ton the plaid shirt she'd slipped onto Nick before he'd foolishly tried to scare her off.

He brushed her hand away. "Dammit, I can dress myself."

She backed off and allowed him to finish b.u.t.toning the shirt. It was more of an effort than he'd ever let on. When that ch.o.r.e was done, Lenny handed him a pill, which he dutifully took with a swig of water, and Shea tossed a pain of faded jeans onto the couch beside him.

"Do you have the makings for sandwiches?" She directed the question to Lenny, who slowly nodded his head.

"Help yourself. I've got plenty of bread, peanut b.u.t.ter and jelly, ham and cheese, and there's some leftover tuna salad in the refrigerator."

"I'll make us something to take in the truck while Taggert finishes getting dressed."

Nick let his head fall back against the couch. He felt less light-headed with the support, a little st.u.r.dier. The sensation of strength was an illusion, he knew. He was about to pa.s.s out.

It would be so easy to drift away, to close his eyes and fall asleep and give up. He wasn't a man to give up easily. He'd fought long and hard for everything he'd had. He'd worked his way up from nothing. Literally nothing. After all those years of hard work he was back to nothing again. He should fight, as he always did; he should defy the odds. But right now-right now he considered giving up, giving in. It would be the easy thing to do.

h.e.l.l, he hadn't taken the easy way very often in his life. Why should he start now?

"Now what?" he whispered, "Dammit, I don't even know where I'm going yet."

Shea walked confidently toward the kitchen, a lively spring in her step. Watching the sway of her hips and the bounce of that ponytail made him a bit dizzy. She'd been so afraid just a few hours ago, but she didn't look like a hostage anymore. And there wasn't even a hint of worry in her eyes. There should be, dammit, there should be.

But he was the one sitting here remembering what she felt like, what she smelled like. He'd been so close to a kiss, and he'd wanted it. For a moment he'd wanted it as much as he wanted freedom, the truth, his life back. So who was the hostage now?

"I don't have a clue where to go from here," he said again, his voice so low he figured no one would hear.

"That's okay," Shea said without so much as a glance back. "I know exactly where we're going."

Chapter 4.

E very now and then, quite frequently, actually, Shea glanced at the sleeping man in the pa.s.senger seat of the rumbling old pickup truck. Shea didn't know what year Lenny's two-tone, pale blue and white Ford was, but it was definitely old. They just didn't use chrome like this anymore. Taggert had not wanted her to drive, but he hadn't put up too much of a fuss. He had to know that he was in no shape to drive.

Taggert didn't completely trust her, but he didn't have anyone else to turn to. And he needed help.

Sleeping, he looked much less menacing than he had when he'd threatened her with a gun and tried to send her packing in the rain. Lips soft, ice-chip eyes closed, features relatively relaxed, he was simply beautiful. Not a pretty beautiful, but a manly beautiful. The kind that made women's hearts thud and their eyes go misty while they sighed in wonder. He had a real man's face, with a long straight nose and a sharp jawline and a dusting of five o'clock shadow. And that beautiful face was resting atop a nearly perfect body.

She smiled crookedly. Leave it to her to finally find a man she was insanely attracted to now, at the most inopportune time and place in the most unsuitable of circ.u.mstances. She'd been so focused on her career lately that she brushed off most men who asked her for a date, and the few dates she'd suffered through hadn't been much fun.

She'd let Grace talk her into a blind date with a homicide detective a few months back. Luther Malone. Good-looking guy, smart, and as anxious for the blind date as she'd been, which meant the evening had gotten off to a very bad start. She hadn't found him to be much fun, and he'd gotten quickly annoyed with her nosy questions. He'd taken her home early and there hadn't been a second date.

Shea took a quick glance at the gas gauge and whistled low and sharp. Almost empty. Like it or not, she would have to stop soon. Better here on a country road than on the interstate, she imagined, spotting the solitary sign straight ahead.

Placing an Atlanta Braves cap, one of Lenny's contributions, on Taggert's head, she left him sleeping while she pumped gas into the guzzler of a truck. She didn't think she looked too strange, even though the outfit she'd scrounged from Lenny's late wife's closet came directly from the sixties. Capri pants were making a comeback, and the blouse was fairly simple, so she didn't think her attire would raise any eyebrows. She'd steered clear of the tie-dye T-shirts and the neon-green bell-bottom pants.

When the tank was full she went inside to pay, heading for the back of the store to grab a couple of soft drinks and two banana Moon Pies. Taggert hadn't eaten nearly enough of his sandwich, and he'd need his strength. Maybe a sugar boost would do it. She could use a sugar boost herself, truth be told.

She was at the counter counting out bills when the state trooper walked in. Her heart nearly stopped.

"Hi, Billy," the clerk said with a wide smile. This was apparently a regular stop for Billy, the tall, thin trooper.

"Toby," the officer said with a professional nod. "How's it going?"

"Slow," Toby said as Shea very carefully counted out her change. "You know how it is."

Her first instinct was to turn and run like h.e.l.l, but she didn't. She took her drinks and Moon Pies and declined a bag, and glanced through the window to see that Taggert still slept. Thank goodness she'd thought to put the ball cap on his head!

"Where you headed, little lady? That your truck outside?"

Shea's heart stopped. The trooper was talking to her! She took a deep breath and turned to face him, hoping the change of clothes and the fact that her hair was pulled severely back and her face scrubbed clean of makeup made enough of a difference in her appearance that he wouldn't immediately recognize her.

She looked at him closely before speaking, to see if he made the connection. Apparently he didn't. "My husband and I are headed to Florida to see my mama," she said, putting on her best, deepest Southern accent. She sounded a lot like her cousin Susan, she decided as the words left her mouth. "Hate to get that old truck on the interstate, since it won't do more than forty-five, and besides-" she gave the trooper a bright smile "-I like the drive better this way."

He nodded. "I know what you mean. You be careful, though. When I came on duty I heard a murderer from Huntsville escaped this afternoon." Billy shook his head, a quite large head on a long, narrow neck, she noticed.

"Really?"

"I hear it was all over the news, but since I'm on night shift I slept right through it." He gave her a crooked smile. "Didn't you see nothing about it?"

"Nope. I guess I was busy packing for the trip when the news was on."

The trooper looked through the window to the truck, where Taggert stirred. Just a little.

"I'd better get moving. In a couple of hours it'll be my turn to sleep and Pookie will have to do the driving." Pookie? What was she thinking! "He'll expect to find us a ways down the road when that happens."

Shea shuffled the drinks and Moon Pies to make sure they were secure in her hands, said good-night to the clerk and the trooper, and escaped into the muggy night air with a sigh of relief. He hadn't recognized her! Would he later, when he saw her picture on television or in the newspaper? Maybe. Maybe not.

She climbed into the truck and placed her purchases on the seat between her and Taggert. He opened his eyes, just slightly, and reached up to remove the ball cap.

And the trooper left the store with a cup of coffee in his hand.

Taggert leaned forward, moving slowly toward her, his lips parted to speak. The trooper was just about to pa.s.s in front of the truck, and his head rotated in their direction. After her heart leaped into her throat, Shea drew a deep breath and followed her instincts.

She took Taggert's face in her hands and pulled his mouth to hers, kissing him to hide his face from the trooper. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Billy smile as he pa.s.sed. She watched the trooper turn his attention to his patrol car, his smile still in place, and all the while her lips were glued to Taggert's.

Feeling the danger was past when Billy stepped into his car, she started to pull away, but Taggert grabbed the back of her head with tender fingers and held her in place. His mouth moved over hers, soft and tender, as his tongue tasted her lower lip. Heavens, he was warm, softly arousing, close and intimate. There was no searing demand in the kiss, in fact it was quite sweet, but as it continued, she instinctively kissed him back, and something deep within her stirred. Something that didn't need stirring, thank you very much.

Taggert's hand slipped down and settled at the back of her neck, and a low growl escaped from deep in his throat as he continued to kiss her quite thoroughly. He didn't touch her anywhere else, but Shea felt that kiss all through her body. Her nipples hardened, her knees shook, she felt her heart rate increase.

The trooper pulled away, and Shea turned her head to remove her lips from Taggert's. He didn't fight, but instead let his head fall heavily onto her shoulder. "Did I tell you how good you smell?" he whispered. "Fresh and clean and feminine. I didn't know I would miss the way a woman smells," he said in a low, groggy voice.

"Go back to sleep, Taggert," Shea said, placing her hands on his shoulders and forcing him gently into his corner of the truck. "With any luck, you won't even remember this."

"Nick," he said as he settled back with his eyes drifting closed. "Any woman who kisses like you do should call me Nick."

"Nick," she said softly, placing the baseball cap on his head. He immediately removed it and tossed it to the floor, where it laded on a small stack of T-shirts Lenny had contributed to the cause.

She sighed heavily and started the rumbling engine, pulling away from the pumps and onto the two-lane road. Heavens. If that trooper ever did recognize her and realize who the man in the truck was, she would be in deep. Way too deep.

About a mile down the road, she took the cell phone from her purse and switched it on. Mark was on speed dial. This would be her last chance to use the phone. Once they got where they were going it wouldn't be safe. The cellular company could trace them to this area, but right now they were on the move. From here they could go anywhere. Georgia, Florida. South Alabama.

"Mark," she said, when her cameraman answered the phone. "It's me."

"Shea?" he shouted. "Oh my, are you all right? Did he hurt you? Where are you? I'll come-"

"Mark, I just have a minute," she interrupted. "Listen carefully."