“Are we?” She refused to meet his eyes, keeping her gaze fixed on his chest. She sounded very tired all of a sudden, and there was something hollow in her tone that told him she was alone once more.
He wondered whether she had finished grieving for her David, the dead lover Margo had been so scornful of. Had she? Was he just a memory now, or would she torment herself for the rest of her life because she hadn’t been able to save him?
Are we both haunted by what we didn’t do?
That thought almost made him obey the urge to protect himself and pull away from her, but instead, giving in to some compulsion he didn’t question, he pulled her into his arms and held her.
Sarah was stiff for only a moment before she relaxed and leaned into him. Her head tucked perfectly into the curve of his neck, and her warm breath against his skin sparked a tiny flare of heat deep inside him. She felt good in his arms. Almost terrifyingly delicate, but very good.
Her arms slid inside the flannel shirt and around his waist, and he knew the moment when she touched the gun.
She didn’t react at all except to say, “You have a gun.”
Belatedly, he remembered she was an army brat; guns undoubtedly were familiar to her. “I thought it might come in handy,” he said.
“You’re probably right.”
One of his hands lifted to touch her hair, winding the silky strands around his fingers. “Can you handle guns?”
“Yes. But I never liked them much.”
“It’s just another precaution, Sarah.”
“I know.” She drew back just enough to look up at him.
He hadn’t intended this to go any further than comfort, but the next thing Tucker knew, her warm, soft lips were beneath his.
It was a careful, tentative kiss, without force and yet tense with a hunger he could feel growing stronger and stronger inside him. A hunger he felt in her as well. It was held rigidly under control in both of them, something he was very aware of, and that restraint made the kiss curiously more erotic.
He raised his head finally, reluctant but all too aware of both her vulnerability and a bad situation that was only going to get worse. “Sarah…”
She reached up and touched his mouth lightly, her fingers gently stopping whatever he would have said. “I don’t think either of us is going back to sleep. Why don’t I go get the coffee started?” Her voice was a little husky and nakedly defenseless.
After a moment, he nodded and let her go. He wanted to say something, to reassure now in a different way, but the words wouldn’t come.
Left alone on the deck, he stood for a few more minutes gazing out over the lake. It was quiet and calm and peaceful. He wished he could say the same about himself. Finally, he turned and went into the cabin, where Sarah had turned on the lights and was making coffee.
“You’re so cautious,” Cait said with a sigh.
“When you’ve been at this a little longer, you will be too,” Brodie told her as he peered through the infrared binoculars.
“You’re also made of iron,” she grumbled. “What, you only sleep on odd Thursdays? I’m beat.”
Brodie smiled slightly but kept the glasses trained on the small cabin on the other side of the lake.
She shifted, trying to find some comfortable position on a hard and chilly ground, and sighed. “Look, we’ve got to approach them sooner or later, or Gallagher’s going to slip right through our fingers again.”
“Not in the dark,” Brodie said flatly. “Never trust anybody who comes to you in the dark, Cait.”
She glanced at him curiously, but said only, “Lesson number one thousand and one?”
“If you like.” He met her gaze, his own a little impatient. “Dammit, I’m trying to keep you alive.”
“I realize that,” she said with some dignity. “Just stop treating me like a child.”
He looked at her a moment longer, then shook his head and returned his gaze to the cabin. “It’ll be light soon.”
“What’re we going to do about Mackenzie?”
Brodie’s mouth tightened. “Not much we can do.”
“He won’t let us get at her without a fight.”
“I know that.”
“So? If she’s made him part of the package—”
“Then he’s part of the package. I doubt the world would notice the disappearance of one writer more or less.”
Cait opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, Brodie spoke again. “Pack up.”
“Yes, sir,” she muttered with a small salute.
Brodie didn’t notice.
Tucker came into the great room after showering and shaving, feeling better physically but still more than a little rattled emotionally. He didn’t really know what to say to Sarah, except to follow her lead and just not mention those unsettling few minutes on the deck.
They had both retreated, quickly and cautiously, as if from the edge of a precipice.
She was frying bacon in the kitchen, and as he came to fix a cup of coffee, she said, “Tucker?”
“Hmm?”