THAT MYSTERIOUS TEXAS BRAND MAN Page 14

  "I don't want to be at the ranch. I want to be with you." She stopped rubbing his shoulders and clambered over the seat, turning around and sitting beside him. "What happened to you back there, Marcus?"

  He shook his head. "Nothing."

  "Nothing my foot. You acted like you'd been there before. Like it was killing you to be there again. Do you know those people?"

  He shook his head. "You knew, didn't you?"

  She stared into his eyes, willing him to talk. "I don't know anything, Marcus. But I'd like to."

  "Then why did you take me out there?"

  She tilted her head. "Do you know them?"

  "I don't know, dammit!" He clamped his teeth together in an agonized grimace. "I don't know," he said more softly. "I might have, once…"

  "In this childhood you can't remember?"

  He nodded, didn't meet her eyes.

  She cupped his face in one hand, fingers reaching into his hair. "Don't you want to remember, Marcus?"

  "The only thing I want to remember is the name of the man who murdered my family," he told her. "The name my mother screamed before he gunned her down in cold blood."

  "But not the good times that came before all that?"

  "No."

  "Why, Marcus?"

  He lifted his head, met her eyes. "Because I lost all that. Remembering only causes pain, Casey. Makes me miss what I had. Makes me want…"

  "Want what? To feel that way again? To love again, Marcus? To be loved by someone else?"

  "That can never happen."

  "Don't be too sure about that."

  "Don't—"

  "Sh…" She leaned close, eyes closed, and gently pressed her lips to his.

  So sweet. Softness, every time he looked at her, thought of her, touched her. Comfort. Warmth. She tasted good. He didn't want to, but he kissed her back. A gentle kiss, soothing and healing. His arms around her, hers hugging him close. His mouth moving slowly over hers, while her lips parted and allowed him to feed. His hands in her silken cloud of hair and her breasts pressed to him. She was all softness, every bit of her. Yielding, receptive—like a harbor to a lonely sailor long lost at sea. Like a pool of crystalline water to a man who's just crossed the desert. Like home, waiting to welcome him.

  And just when the kiss deepened and heated and started to flare up into something more, something beyond tenderness and healing and softness, she gently pulled away.

  Eyes sparkling, she stared into his. A sad little smile curving her lips even as her lashes grew damp, she whispered, "You're like a hurricane, you know that? You show up, and everything inside me gets whipped into a state of chaos."

  He held her gaze, playing idly with a strand of her hair. "I'm not trying to, Casey. I never meant—"

  "I know. But that doesn't mean the howl of the wind isn't scaring the hell out of me."

  "I'd never hurt you."

  "Not deliberately. I know that. Still, I don't imagine hurricanes intend to hurt anything. But when they blow away, they leave nothing but rubble behind."

  His gaze lowered, dwelling now on her lips, her mouth. The animal in him wanted to kiss her again. Kiss her deep and hard and long. She wanted him, he knew she did. He could have her right now. If he pulled her against him, if he seduced her, she'd surrender.

  She emitted some force, and it pulled at him. He swayed closer.

  And stopped himself. Because despite the primitive drives she instigated in him, there was still something of the hero left. The hero he'd always wanted to be, yet never quite measured up to—Caine, the man who'd saved his life and then changed its course utterly. A man of honor.

  "A wise woman doesn't stand in the path of the storm, Casey. It would be smarter to stay clear of it. Take cover."

  She sighed, and he knew she was afraid. "Sometimes," she whispered, "I just can't go inside. I'm so fascinated by the lightning."

  "Lightning destroys the thing it's attracted to," he warned her.

  Her lips trembled. "Then you do want me."

  "I thought it was fairly obvious."

  "A girl likes to be told." Her blush was pretty. Deep pink coloring her cheeks like a slow burn. She was so damned pleased she could barely keep herself from smiling. A gleam of feminine satisfaction lit her eyes.

  "Sweet Casey," he told her, and he caught her face between his palms, making her look him in the eyes. "Understand that what you're imagining can never be."

  Lowering her lids to half-mast, she hid her eyes from him. "I don't know what you—"

  "Yes you do. You're dreaming of promises, Casey. There's forever in your eyes. But what do you see in mine? Hmm? Look, Casey, get rid of all the fairy tales clouding your vision and look at me."

  She lifted her gaze, met his eyes head-on.

  "I'm looking."

  "Then you must see. While you're dreaming of picket fences and rose-covered cottages, I'm dreaming of sex. Hot, sweaty, intensely pleasurable, but utterly meaningless, sex. A night, maybe two, rolling around in each other's arms, followed by a kiss goodbye. No backward glances, no regrets. The one-night stand you said you'd never have. That's what's in my eyes, Casey, and if you can't see it there, you're only kidding yourself."

  Every word made her flinch, every sentence brought the shimmering tears closer to the surface. He was pummeling her bloody and his weapons were mere words. The bruises they caused made it pretty obvious she already cared more than she should. He was doing her a favor. But when a teardrop spilled from her eyes onto her cheek, he felt like an assassin.

  She said nothing.

  What was there to say?

  He pulled the car onto the road and pointed it back toward the hotel. And he drove in utter silence for the better part of an hour, while Casey leaned back against the seat with her eyes closed and her cheeks wet. Hands folded tightly in her lap, trembling a little. No sobbing. No hysterics. She had class, Casey Jones did.

  But then she spoke, in a voice gone utterly calm and as soft as a whisper. "Those aren't the things I see in your eyes, Marcus."

  He closed his eyes briefly, felt a stab of fear spear his heart, tried to ignore it.

  "What I see is a boy, deep down inside there, trapped or being held hostage. A boy who is hurting so much he can't bear it. A boy who lost everything he ever loved, and who wants to scream out loud in anguish—but you won't let him. Instead you hide him underneath this facade of a man who doesn't need anyone. You keep him in solitary confinement with your secret identity and your life as Silver City's hero. And you convince yourself he's not even there. But he is, Marcus. I see him. He's the part of you that can love me. And I can reach him and pull him out of that dark hole where you keep him. I can … I will."

  Her words fell like hot coals on an old wound. Each one burning away another layer of the veneer he wore and getting closer to the flesh underneath. Each one bringing fresh, cleansing, stinging air and light and heat to that old wound. And it hurt, God, it hurt so much.

  "You're going to get hurt if you let yourself think that way, Casey. I warned you … don't care about me.

  "Too late," she whispered.

  * * *

  Chapter 12

  « ^ »

  He'd never been scared silent before. He was now. He didn't speak, couldn't speak again until he pulled into the hotel parking lot and reached past Casey to open her door. "Get out. Go straight to the suite and stay there with Graham until you hear from me."

  She didn't move. "And where will you be?"

  "Your place."

  "Why?" She was staring at him. Marcus managed to remain looking straight ahead. He didn't want to look into those knowing eyes. Not now. But he could feel them on him, hunting, searching for something that she'd never find. "You have a plan, don't you?"

  "If you want to call it a plan," he said. "Your sister's assailant will probably try again tonight. When he does, I'll be there waiting."

  "And then what?"

  "And then I make him tell me what's going on and turn him over to the po
lice. It'll be over."

  "And you'll be gone."

  He lowered his head, because her words sent a searing pain through his chest that had no business being there. "That's right."

  She reached out, gripped the door and pulled it closed. "I'm going with you."

  He only shook his head.

  "He's not an idiot, Marcus. He'll be watching. He'll know you came back alone—that it's a trap. But if he sees me, he might—"

  "Might what? Think you're Laura? Grab you instead of her?" He reached past her and opened the door once again. "Leave the crime fighting to me, okay, Casey? I know what I'm doing."

  "I really doubt that." But this time, she got out.

  Marcus was pulling away even as she shoved the door closed.

  She was infuriating. And how the hell was he supposed to think, to plan, when she kept him so distracted he could barely remember his own name?

  He wanted her. He told himself that was all. Physical desire and nothing more. But somewhere inside he knew that was a lie.

  Casey didn't go straight to the suite and doubted Graham even realized they'd returned. Taking a quick, precautionary glance around the parking lot, she determined that Graham wasn't lurking out here somewhere, watching her. There were only cars parked in neat rows. Mostly empty. A man sat in one. She could only see the shape of his head, dimly silhouetted in the shadowy interior. The car was running. But he definitely wasn't Graham. Too big.

  Taking a breath, she went to the spot where she'd parked her car and opened the door.

  Then she went still.

  What was she doing? Running after Marcus like some love-struck, desperate wimp? No. No, he cared for her, dammit, and he was going to realize that sooner or later. Let him sleep on it tonight. Alone. Let him think about what could have happened if he'd taken her with him. Let him dream about making love to her … and wake up sweating and wishing she was there. Chasing him wasn't going to help. Giving in to her burning desire for him, telling him a one-night stand was enough after all, that would do no good, either.

  Let him sweat it out tonight. And maybe tomorrow…

  She slammed the door and spun toward the hotel before she could change her mind.

  The explosion came from nowhere … and everywhere. A roar that pierced her eardrums and then her brain. A force that slammed into her, searing hot and so powerful her body rocketed forward. She hit the pavement hard, felt the impact, the burn of her flesh being scraped away as she skidded over the blacktop. Pain screamed from so many locations she couldn't pinpoint one. An all-over pain—as if her entire body were on fire. Dizziness swamped her, blurred her vision as she weakly lifted her head, wondering what the hell had happened.

  In the distance, the man got out of his car and stood looking toward her for just a second. His form swam as she blinked, trying to clear her vision. And for a moment, she brought him into focus. And she knew.

  The bastard who'd tried to hurt Laura.

  He gave a satisfied nod and got into his car. Casey strained to see it, to form a mental photograph of it in her mind. She squinted at the plates as the black smoke rose to distort her vision once again.

  Or maybe it wasn't smoke at all, because that blackness seemed to close in all around her, and a second later, it was all there was.

  Marcus had gone maybe a block when he heard the explosion. It seemed to reverberate right through him, and he knew…

  "Jesus, no…"

  Yanking the wheel to the left, he pulled a squealing U-turn. Cars skidded, horns blasted. Marcus stamped the accelerator, took a corner on two wheels and came to a screeching halt in the hotel lot. Red-orange flames, thick black smoke, people running around like ants on amphetamines. And Casey, lying very still, facedown on the ground, thin wisps of smoke trailing skyward from her clothes.

  Marcus lunged from the car and ran toward her, shoving his way through the crowd gathered to gawk at her. "Get an ambulance, dammit!" He didn't hear the reply, couldn't hear a thing because his heart was hammering so loudly in his ears. He fell to his knees beside her and, careful not to move her, tore the smoldering blouse down its center and pulled it away from her skin. His hands shook when he lifted her hair away from her neck and pressed his fingers to her throat, praying silently that he would feel an answering beat.

  There. She was alive.

  "Casey. Casey, can you hear me?"

  No reply. Moving her hair away from her face, he touched her cheek. Then patted it gently. "Casey, wake up. Talk to me, come on."

  Sirens screamed in the distance, growing louder. Someone yelled, "Let me through, I'm a doctor."

  Casey's eyes fluttered open. She tried to lift her head.

  "Don't move. Lie still, Casey. Just lie still."

  "It hurts…" A bare whisper. Pain in her eyes.

  "I know. Hold on, help is on the way."

  Her eyes closed in pain. Her breath came in stutters, ragged, uneven. Sucked through her clenched teeth.

  "Don't close your eyes. Don't, Casey…"

  "Let me in here," someone said. A man with a bag. The doctor, Marcus figured. He started to move, to get out of the way. But Casey's hand suddenly gripped his with a strength that surprised him.

  "Don't leave me…"

  His breath caught in his throat. "I'm not gonna leave you. I'm right here."

  The ambulance arrived. Paramedics shoved him aside, and her hand was pulled from his. They surrounded her, blocking his view of her as he got to his feet and staggered a few steps backward. His knees felt like water, his stomach like a vat filled with boiling acid.

  "Marcus…?" She said it softly, brokenly. His name, over and over. "Marcus?"

  "I'm right here."

  "Pressure is dropping," someone said. "Could be internal injuries," another replied. Marcus's head swam. He had to brace himself on the hood of a nearby car to keep from losing his balance, and for the first time in his life he thought he might actually pass out cold.

  "Get that backboard over here! Move!"

  "Pressure's still falling."

  He couldn't see what they were doing, couldn't get close enough. "Don't let her die," he told them. "Damn you, don't let her die."

  A hand fell on his shoulder, and Marcus turned. Graham stood beside him, grim-faced, pale. "It's futile, isn't it?"

  "Don't even think that. She's going to be all right. She has to be."

  "Oh, I agree. But what I meant, Marcus, was the futility of trying not to care. It's not possible, you know. And losing someone hurts just as much when you haven't admitted it, to them or to yourself. Maybe even a little more, wouldn't you say?"

  They lowered the backboard beside Casey, and several men gripped her body, her head, her shoulders. They counted and carefully turned her over, so she lay face-up on the board. And then they strapped her to it. Strapped her head down. Her eyes were closed, her face ashen. When they lifted the board and moved toward the ambulance, Marcus was right behind them.

  "The police are on the way, sir," one of the medics told him. A short blond man lugging a heavy-looking case. "They'll want to talk to you."

  "Then they'd best come to the hospital, because that's where I'll be."

  The younger man met Marcus's gaze and didn't argue. "You can follow us. I'd let you in the back, but we need to be back there, for her sake, and there's only so much room."

  With a brief nod, he conceded the point.

  "She your wife?"

  The question startled him, and he looked down sharply.

  The medic shrugged. "It's kind of obvious. You look like you're the one who got blown across the parking lot. Hey, maybe you should have someone drive you…"

  The ambulance door opened, and they lifted her inside. "I can drive," Marcus muttered. The medics clambered in beside her. The door closed, and the sound seemed abnormally loud. Final. Like a gunshot.

  "We're gonna take good care of her," the kid said, and he shoved the bag into a compartment on the side of the vehicle before climbing into the front.
>
  "You'd damned well better," Marcus said, but no one heard. The ambulance was already pulling away, siren bawling, lights flashing.

  "The lad was right," Graham said. "I'll drive you to the hospital."

  Chin falling to his chest, Marcus didn't argue. He walked to the car, got in the passenger side, let Graham take the wheel. Graham pulled out into traffic and passed three vehicles in a no-passing lane, jerking the car back to the right about a half second before an oncoming delivery truck would have hit him. Then he ran a red light with the skill of Mario Andretti.

  Marcus, who'd come to full attention during the unexpected maneuvers, turned to stare at the older man. "I didn't know you could drive like that."

  "There's a lot you don't know, Marcus. Some of it far more important than the extent of my … skills."

  "What don't I know about?"

  "Life, my friend. Life."

  Sighing, Marcus mustered patience. "This isn't the time for subtle lectures, Graham."

  "Then I suppose you'll be asking what I found when I searched the Jones house."

  Marcus pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, closed his eyes tight. "I don't even care."

  "That's good, because I didn't do it."

  His head came up slowly. "You what?"

  "I didn't search the house." He passed a semi on the wrong side of the road, making use of the sidewalk without ever once blinking an eye.

  "Why the hell not?"

  "Because it was the wrong thing to do. It would have been a mistake. And … it was rather unethical."

  "Unethical? Unethical? Correct me if I'm wrong, Graham, but didn't you used to work for the CIA?"

  Graham only smiled. "How old do you think I am, Marcus?"

  "I don't know. Fifty-something?"

  "I was fifty-something before Caine died."

  Marcus blinked, searched the man's craggy face. He never seemed to age.

  "I've been around a good deal longer than you have, Marcus. And I'd like to think I've learned a few things." He zipped around a bus and emerged right behind the ambulance.

  "Like how to drive?"

  "Like what's important."