Miss Emmaline And The Archangel Part 18

Gage shoved his chair back from the table and stood, stretching cautiously to ease the stiffness in his lower back. A muscle twinged, and he winced.

"Is your back hurting badly?"

He looked at Emma and shook his head. "Nope. Just a twinge. Well, if you don't want to go walking, I guess we'll have to find another way to distract you."

"Distract me?" She looked puzzled.

"Sure." He took a step toward her and gave her a lopsided smile. "You think I don't recognize the signs? What are you worrying about? Sleeping with me last night? Or about ... other things?"

Emma felt her breath catch as a strange hot-cold feeling drizzled through her. In an instant he had made her aware of him again, intensely aware of his size, his shape, his masculinity. In a way she hadn't experienced since the first few days, she noticed the breadth of his shoulders and the narrowness of his hips, the long, lean power of his denim-covered thighs. And suddenly her palms remembered exactly how he felt when she clutched him to her in the delicious throes of pa.s.sion.

He had taught her so much last night, she thought now as her mouth turned dry and her heart sped up, yet there was so much she still didn't know, that she still hadn't tried. She was inexperienced, not ignorant, and looking at him right now, she also discovered she was creative. There were so many ways she still wanted to touch him, so many ways she still wanted to discover him.

Was it only two days ago that she had wondered how people could look each other in the eye once they had become intimate? That didn't seem to be a problem at all. No, her problem was keeping her hands off him. She ached, actually ached, to feel his arms around her, to feel the smooth heat of his skin against hers, to feel the coa.r.s.e hair on his thighs against hers as he fit himself between her legs.

Gage saw the longing in her darkening eyes and felt it like a punch in the gut. Being Mr. Nice Guy to her over the holidays was a far cry from being her lover for an extended period. She'd already gotten under his skin. If he gave her half a chance, she would probably curl right up in his soul and then, when he moved on, become another one of those empty places he could never fill.

"Get your boots on, Emma," he ordered harshly. "We're going out. Now."

Emma wasn't used to taking orders of any kind, and for an instant her temper flared in white heat. But she wasn't blind, and she could see the tension in his posture and the lines around his mouth. "What's your shoe size?" she asked him.

The question was so unexpected and so far out of context that his head jerked backward in astonishment. "What?"

"What's your shoe size? I think your height and weight are close to my father's ... well, you're probably thinner. He got a little thick around the middle-"

"Emma, what-"

"The skis will probably be just a tad too long, but not by much. What's your shoe size?"

"Thirteen."

Emma smiled. "Good. Let's go cross-country skiing."

"When I was a kid," Emma said as they drove slowly out of town in Gage's black Suburban, "we had to wax our skis. We always carried a little backpack with all the waxes for different temperatures and types of snow, and as the day wore on and conditions changed, we'd have to stop and sc.r.a.pe and rewax. Waxless skis finally got to be good enough that a few years ago Dad and I bought some. What a pleasure it is to just be able to ski!" And what a pleasure it was to be sitting in the car with him without feeling the violent urge to escape that had always plagued her before. The sense of freedom was exhilarating.

The county snowplows had evidently been working long and hard, Gage thought as he steered them between pristine white drifts. Fresh powder covered the recent plowing, but the road was drivable. "I've never skied cross-country," he warned Emma.

"It's pretty much like walking. I don't go for speed, just pleasure, and where we're going, the ground is pretty level, so you won't have to worry about control. Do you ski downhill?"

"I have, a little."

"You'll probably notice a difference in control, then. These skis are a lot narrower."

At several places along the road turnouts had been plowed so that vehicles could pull over or turn around. Emma finally directed Gage into one.

When the Suburban's engine was turned off, the immense silence of winter Wyoming settled over them. Nothing could be heard but the whispery whine of the wind as it blew snowflakes around in dancing patterns. The sky remained gray, and blowing snow obscured the distance, but the scene held an incredible tranquility. Gage could almost feel it seep into him, easing his inner tensions.

Emma, too, seemed to be caught up in the quiet. For long moments she simply sat beside him, looking out over the vast, open s.p.a.ces.

"I needed this," she said presently, her voice low. "That monster stole everything else from me. I don't even feel safe alone in my own home anymore, but he can't take this away from me. Short of murdering me, he can't steal this."

"Emma..." But what could he say? He could barely guess how much she had lost because of that a.s.sault and the terror tactics of the past week. Instinctively he started to reach out to offer comfort, but he caught himself before he touched her. If he touched her, he feared, he might never be able to let go.

She turned and gave him a wan smile. "Will you catch him?"

"I sure as h.e.l.l intend to."

Her smile faded, and she studied him intently for several seconds. "Thank you," she said. "Thank you for staying in that house with me, and for caring what happens." She looked away and drew a deep, shaky breath. "This was a great idea," she said with forced brightness. "Let's go skiing."

It was a lot easier than he had expected. The stride and poling went naturally together, and since Emma was in no hurry, he was soon whoos.h.i.+ng along beside her through the deep fresh snow.

"You can go a lot faster on a prepared track," she told him, sounding only a tiny bit breathless from the exertion, "but I think this is more fun."

"Going where no man has gone before, huh?"

She shot him a laughing glance. "Exactly. Is your back okay?"

"Sure. Actually, stretching out feels good." And the rise of endorphins in his blood, resulting from vigorous exercise, always eased the pain.

There were few obstacles out here-an occasional cottonwood, some brush, once in a while a boulder. For the most part they were simply able to fall into a steady rhythm and just keep going.

The exercise and fresh air were cleansing, Emma thought, as her arms and legs strained and grew pleasantly tired. The silence and the vast openness were healing, and she could almost feel the shadows withdrawing from the edges of her mind for the first time in over a week. For just this little while it was possible to believe that everything was normal and that nothing threatened her.

Eventually they reached Conard Creek, and Emma suggested it was a good time to turn back. Gage hesitated, looking beyond the creek to the rougher terrain behind it, the beginning of the foothills. Huge boulders, looking as if they had been dropped in a heap by a giant fist, rose up from the snow, a hill of nooks and crannies.

"That looks like a great place to explore," he remarked.

"It is. I used to love to come out here when I was a kid. We all did. I don't know how many hours we spent in the summers playing cowboys and Indians, or s.p.a.ce invaders. I think our parents were absolutely sick of us asking for rides to come out here, but one of them always gave in and brought us anyway."

"The property owner didn't mind?"

"No, that section is fenced off. There was never enough grazing to make it worth risking his cattle in the crevices between the rocks. This is all Fenster land," she added, motioning with her arm. "I don't think they keep many cattle since the old man died four years ago, but the grandson keeps it running somehow."

"Don Fenster, right?"

Emma glanced at Gage. "You know him?"

Gage shook his head. "Lance Severn's boy mentioned him when I went to get your tree. He said Fenster has a bunch of real creeps staying with him. Have you heard anything about it?"

She shook her head. "Not a peep. It wouldn't surprise me, though."

He looked at her. "Why not?"

"Don was always a creep himself. Even when I was little I hated to be in the same cla.s.sroom with him. He was always out here, though, and since it was his grandfather's land, we always let him play with us."

One corner of Gage's mouth lifted. "Where I grew up, that wouldn't have made a bit of difference."

"Well, it made a difference out here. Our parents were pretty strict about being good neighbors. We got up to as much pettiness and quarreling as any other kids, I suppose, but n.o.body ever got entirely ostracized. And certainly not when we wanted to play on his land." She s.h.i.+vered a little as she began to cool down from her exertion and was grateful when Gage suddenly wrapped an arm around her and s.h.i.+fted so that he was sheltering her from the wind with his body.

"What made the Fenster kid so creepy?" Gage asked. "Was it just the way he looked, or was he one of those who wanted to boss everybody?"

"Oh, he wanted to boss, and he was always spying on everybody. You could always count on Don to squeal to the teacher. But I didn't think he was creepy until we were about twelve. I found him tormenting a dog. Torturing, actually." She s.h.i.+vered again, this time with distaste. "He wouldn't quit it, so I beat him to a pulp. Literally. Twelve-year-old girls are generally larger than boys of the same age, and I was never a shrimp." She shrugged. "He never spoke to me again."

He squeezed her suddenly, hugging her tightly. "I'll bet you were something else, Red. An avenging angel." And he felt as if something icy had just trickled down his back. Don Fenster? He tucked the name away for further investigation.

Since they were both still on their skis, the hug swiftly became uncomfortable, and Gage released her. "Let's cross over," he suggested.

"Uh-uh," Emma said, gripping his hand. "It hasn't been cold enough for long enough this winter. Even if the ice is solid a little ways out, it'll be rotten by the bank. Believe me, you don't want to get your feet wet this far from home."

He smiled lopsidedly down at her. "I told you I was a city kid."

She smiled back, feeling her heart quicken. Surely he was the s.e.xiest man on earth. Every time she looked at him, her body responded in a flash. "Someday maybe you can warn me about city dangers."

"Maybe." He cast one longing glance over the rough terrain, aware that it was definitely the kid in him who wanted to go over there and explore. How long had it been since he'd felt that way?

Turning, they began to ski back toward the road at a leisurely pace.

"So you did all your work for the DEA in the cities?" Emma asked.

"The vast majority of it. The trail of drugs from Southeast Asia or South America has a lot of links in it, and we go after all of them. It's not enough to knock out a single producer or a single transporter or a single deal. We work from all ends of the problem."

"And you always infiltrated some big drug organization?"

"Not always. I did that twice. Most of the time it didn't get anywhere near so involved."

"Why not? I mean, I would think these dealers try to keep things secret so they don't get caught."

"They do, but it's a Catch-22, Emma. They need buyers, and as long as they need buyers, they'll keep slipping up. It's not too tough to find an informant and get him to introduce you as a big buyer. They'll be a little cautious, naturally, but it doesn't last long, because they trust the informant. And once they see the flash roll, it's usually all over."

"What's a flash roll?"

"A big wad of money. Generally, when you want to make a big buy, the dealer insists on seeing the color of your money before he'll even agree to sell the stuff. So you arrange a meeting, flash your roll-sometimes as much as fifty grand-and then he tells you when he'll be able to produce the drugs. That's a big danger point right there. More than one agent has been killed for his flash roll."

"But making the buy must be dangerous, too."

"Not really, unless the dealer insists you use the drugs before you leave."

Emma stopped skiing, and Gage followed suit immediately, stepping carefully backward until they were once again abreast. "What's wrong?"

She looked up at him with huge green eyes. "How do you handle that? If you refuse, they're bound to get suspicious, aren't they?"

"Oh, we've got excuses all ready to use. I'm a great actor when it comes to smoking a marijuana cigarette. When it's something injectable, I just refuse to use the dealer's shooting gallery."

"His what?"

"Shooting gallery. His needles and things. It's easy to claim you've gotten sick from using somebody else's dirty needle. Depending on the situation, there're probably a dozen different excuses. And if your excuse doesn't work, you just drag your heels, because you know your backup is right outside, and if you don't come out by a certain time, they're going to come in after you."

Emma shook her head, studying him with frank amazement. "I don't know where you find the nerve. And you miss it, don't you?"

Gage looked away, focusing his attention on some point made invisible by the steadily falling snow. "Maybe a little," he said after a moment. "Working undercover is a drug addiction, an addiction to adrenaline. I refuse to be addicted to anything."

Turning again, he looked at her just in time to see her s.h.i.+ver. "Come on, Em. You're getting chilled. Let's keep moving."

Back at the truck, Emma wasn't able to get her skis off. Somehow, despite the exertion that had kept her feeling warm, she had managed to become slightly hypothermic, and her coordination had suffered.

"Let me, honey," Gage said, squatting before her to release the bindings. Then, just as soon as she stepped out of them, he rose and steadied her with an arm around her waist. "You need to warm up. Just get in the truck. I'll take care of this stuff."

Honey. The word drizzled through her like honey itself, warm and sweet, touching places that had long felt cold. If only he meant it, really meant it. But it had probably slipped past his guard out of some old habit. And besides, she knew she would never really be anyone's honey.

He opened the door and helped her up onto the pa.s.senger seat. "I'll come around and start the engine. We'll get you warmed up."

It wasn't until a few minutes later that she began to s.h.i.+ver in earnest, the sudden, uncontrollable bursts that came from deep inside despite her efforts to relax. Gage loaded the skis and poles into the back, whistling as he did so. s.h.i.+vering or not, Emma smiled with pleasure. Never in her wildest imaginings had she pictured Gage whistling. She liked the sound, liked the way it made her feel inside to know that for now, at least, he was feeling cheerful.

When he joined her up front, he brought a wool blanket and insisted on wrapping it around her. His movements were surprisingly gentle, making her feel suddenly on the edge of tears again. It wasn't until a person went without it that she knew just how much she missed having someone care. Bravely, she blinked back the moisture.

"This is crazy," she told Gage, to cover her roller coastering emotions. "I never get hypothermic from a little exercise in the snow."

"You're worn out after this week, babe," he said with gruff gentleness as he caught her chin in his hand. With infinite care, he brushed a kiss on her chilled lips. "You've been having nightmares, you've been worried and scared, and then last night I only let you get a couple hours of sleep ... maybe. You're exhausted, Em. Maybe you ought to think about taking a nap."

He drove slowly back to town. Gage was evidently in no bigger hurry to get back to that house than she was, Emma thought. Nor was there any need to hurry. The Suburban's heater was soon blasting enough hot air that her s.h.i.+vering stopped and the blanket became stifling. When she cast it aside, Gage flashed her a crooked smile and turned down the heat.

"Better?" he asked.

"Much. Thanks."

When they arrived back at the house the Haroldsen twins were just finis.h.i.+ng up with their small s...o...b..ower and a shovel.

"We'll have to come back tomorrow and do it again, Miss Emma," Todd Haroldsen told her, "but we figured you'd want your car uncovered so there's some hope of getting to church in the morning."

"Thanks, guys. I really appreciate it. Can I interest you in some cookies?"

It was never difficult to interest two fifteen-year-old boys in food, especially junk food. Emma was almost laughing out loud a few minutes later when the twins disappeared with their booty.

"That was a major part of the Conard County high school football team, right?" Gage asked dryly.

Emma chuckled. "And a good share of the basketball team, as well."

While Emma went to change, Gage slipped into the study and closed the door. His first call was to Nate Tate at home. "Did you get anywhere with the FAA?"

"Sorry, old son, but the man's in Kansas City to see his first grandchild. Not much cage rattling I could do."

"I guess not." He swiveled the deep leather chair and looked out the window at the failing day. Unless he was mistaken, a thin golden beam of sunlight was slanting across the yard, looking every bit as beautiful and welcome as a rainbow after a storm. "It looks like the storm is breaking up."

"Yep," Nate answered. "I'm looking out my shop window right now. It's clearing over the mountains. It'll be a clear, cold night. And that reminds me. Micah called from Denver. He and Faith won't make it back today because their flight was delayed. Said he'll be back in the county sometime tomorrow."

"Good," Gage said, and meant it. He could use a little of Micah's preternatural instincts right now. "Jeff c.u.mberland's about fit to be tied, and I promised to bring Micah out to look at those helicopter tracks-"