“Sensible,” he said evenly. “Dump your stuff in the third bedroom and take your shower. I’ll see what we have for grub.”
“I think I’ll take the front bedroom . . .” she began, but before she could finish he leapt down the last few stairs, picked her up, and threw her over his shoulder.
“You’ll do what I fucking tell you,” he muttered, absorbing the feel of her, the smell of her skin, the sweet softness of her. The damned hardness of him. He dumped her in the third bedroom while she was still sputtering in protest, and nodded toward the door at the back of the room. “There’s the shower. I’ll have dinner for you by the time you’re done.”
She glared at him. Good. Getting mad at him was much better, much healthier than that stricken, shamed look on her face.
And he had to get the hell away from her before he pulled her back into his arms and moved her over to the double bed. He kept his hands at his side, determined not to touch her again.
“I’ll do . . .” she started in a rebellious tone of voice.
“You’ll do exactly what I tell you to do,” he snapped. “I’m trying to save your fucking life, not make it miserable.”
“Lucky for you you’re doing both,” she said sweetly.
He slammed the door as he left.
That dog was too damned smart, the man thought from the safety of his hiding place. Granted, the fucking canine had missed him, as had the invincible James Bishop, but they’d come too close, and he didn’t think either of them were entirely convinced. The farmhouse was basically an island—the river had changed course years ago and ringed the land, and the only place shallow enough to cross was so rough that you’d need four-wheel drive and even then you’d be lucky to make it across. Of course he hadn’t driven.
Bishop knew the Committee had come up with something to cover tracks, strong enough to fool even a bloodhound, but then, he didn’t realize it was the Committee who was after him. That he was being stalked by someone who had access to all the secret weapons and tools most covert organizations didn’t even realize existed. He’d believe the dog, believe his own eyes, but he would still be alert.
The man heard the muffled sound of distant thunder. He’d been listening to it for hours, paying it no mind, though it sounded like it might be getting closer. Probably just heat lightning. If it did rain, it would make the path off the island impossible. He’d be trapped there with the three of them: the dog, Bishop, and the girl. In that case he might have no choice but to kill all three.
He’d start with the girl, maybe get away before the rain hit, before Bishop even realized she was gone. He could tell they weren’t fucking—the anger between them was palpable. Typical—Bishop hadn’t stayed with a woman for more than a few days, if that. In fact, Bishop tended to be less interested in pussy than most of the men he knew. The man shrugged. It didn’t matter to him one way or another. Bishop was a good agent, a brilliant shot, and too valuable to be killed unless it was necessary.
Same with the dog. He’d never killed one before, and he wasn’t sure if he could do it. But if either of them came between him and his quarry, he wouldn’t think twice.
He would wait as long as he could, until the girl had gone to sleep, until Bishop had relaxed his guard. Bishop wouldn’t sleep—the man had worked with him often enough to know that Bishop was relentless. The best he could hope for was a span of less focused attention. Hell, Bishop was only human—he might even fall asleep.
But the man doubted it. He was going to have to be very quiet when he went in to get her. Piece of cake.
Evangeline sat down on the old iron bed, and realized it had a memory foam mattress, her favorite kind. She pulled back the threadbare chenille cover and found heavy cotton sheets, and she sighed in pleasure. She looked up and saw a bathroom through the open door that was so big it had probably been one of the bedrooms. She pushed herself off the bed and went to investigate. It was huge, white tiled, with the biggest shower she’d ever seen, and a soaking tub large enough to hold two. She shut that thought out immediately.
The only problem, as far as she could tell, was the other door, the one that led to the hall. Which meant, presumably, that she was sharing this oasis with James. There were locks on the doors, and she was willing to bet there were other equally luxurious bathrooms around the place. He could damn well use one of those. She turned the lock and pulled the key out, pleased to see it wasn’t a skeleton key but something more specific, something he couldn’t override.
Who was she kidding—James could pick any kind of lock. Not that he’d bother. He didn’t want to have anything more to do with her. Who could blame him?
She did her best to use up every ounce of hot water in the place as she scrubbed herself, over and over again, trying to clean something that had disappeared long ago. The shower in the Winnebago had been sybaritic, but size had its limitations.
Her skin was raw and red by the time she finally gave up and turned off the water, and she wanted to smack herself. She took a look at herself in the mirror, the haunted expression, the circles around her eyes. “You’re being self-indulgent,” she said in a quiet voice, just for her own ears, to break the deafening silence of the high-ceilinged, tiled room. “Get over it. So you spent a year trying to fuck him out of your system. It’s in the past, it’s done, and you’re being a baby. Let go.”
The woman in the mirror wasn’t listening, so Evangeline stuck her tongue out at her. Reliving ancient nightmares wasn’t worth the time, not when her life was at stake. Much as she hated to admit it, James was right. She was going to do exactly what he told her to do; she wasn’t going to fight back and annoy him or ask him any questions. The best way to get through the next twenty-four hours in one piece was to keep quiet and follow orders. It would be easier on her soul as well. She wasn’t going to think about James, about the past, even about the empty future. The only way to get through today was to live through it, and she intended to do just that.
She hadn’t brought much when they’d abandoned Annabelle and her clothing choices weren’t encouraging. There was a cotton sundress, a pair of cutoffs that were too short, a sweatshirt, a cropped top, and two oversized T-shirts, one that said “Nerds need love too” that she’d taken from Pete because it was so damned comfortable, and another with the word “No.” on it. No, period.
She made do with the sundress, not liking the choice, the way it flowed around her legs and hugged her breasts, but it was better than cutoffs, and James wasn’t even going to notice. Besides, the dress was comfortable. She didn’t have to wear a bra with it, and it was soft and easy. As for the “No.” T-shirt, she could just imagine Bishop’s contemptuous reaction. She washed her face with cold water, then paused for a moment as thunder rumbled overhead. It was an ominous sound, creeping into her bones. She usually liked storms, liked the drama and the downpour, but not tonight. Not alone on this deserted island in the middle of Texas, with only James for company.
And Merlin, she reminded herself, glancing at the dog as he lay curled up beside her bed. Merlin would look out for her.
Speaking of which, she’d better check James’s wound. Her own had healed over nicely, faster than she would have expected, but James had insisted on using some weird ointment on her and it had done wonders.
She pushed open her door, half expecting to find James out there, leaning against the wall like a neo-James Dean, but the hallway was empty. She could smell chili, and at the end of the hall she could see the glow of electronics. She paused for a moment, taking a deep breath. She could do this. She could be docile and pleasant for twenty-four hours or however long it took him to dump her.
“What are you lurking for?” His cranky voice came to her, and she jumped. He must have ears like a bat or some sixth sense to know she was out at the far end of the hallway.
“I’m waiting for Merlin,” she lied, as Merlin paced ahead of her, looking back impatiently as if to say, What’s keeping you?
She walked down the hallway at a brisk pace, trying to ignore the way the dress danced against her bare legs, and entered what must have been the kitchen in a businesslike manner. Sure enough, there was a row of computers, way too many for her piece of mind, and James was sitting in fron