Shoving back his annoyance, partly because she was right, Jake leaned against the seat. “Hit the power button. Wait for it to boot. Hit Receive.”
He watched her hit the tiny buttons, liking the way her brows knit, the way she bit her lip in concentration. They’d put three hundred miles between them and Rasmussen’s men. But Jake knew it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. Rasmussen would never stop looking for her. Watching her, Jake vowed he would do whatever it took to keep Rasmussen from hurting her.
“It’s a map,” she said after a moment.
Jake reached for the Blackberry and squinted at the tiny screen. “There’s a place we can go to rest about fifty miles north of here.”
“Jake, I don’t think you can make it that far.”
“I don’t have a choice.”
THEY DROVE PAST a huge road sign welcoming them to the great state of Missouri. Quaint farmhouses with silos and big red barns dotted the countryside. The sky had been overcast throughout the day. But as the sun sank in the west, dark clouds began to roil on the northern horizon, and Jake knew it was too cold for rain.
The first flakes of snow swirled as he turned the Hummer onto the gravel lane. In the distance, an old two-story farmhouse rose out of the flat ground like a jut of rock. As they drew nearer, he could see that the house was in rough shape. Paint that had once been white was weathered gray by years of neglect, and the harsh elements of the Midwestern seasons. Two ramshackle barns were just a gust of wind away from falling down. The house was surrounded by two hundred acres of vacant farmland.
The place was desolate and in the open. If anyone came for them, Jake would be able to see them coming. But he didn’t think anyone would find them here. For a few hours they would be safe. Once they rested and he got his wound cleaned up, he could decide what to do next.
“I hope you made reservations,” Leigh said.
All Jake could think was that he wished they were going to the kind of place that required reservations. The kind of place where they could sip champagne in front of a roaring fire. The kind of place with a king-size bed and linen sheets. A place where he could lay her down and peel away her clothes layer by layer until she was naked and trembling beneath him….
Jake parked the Hummer at the rear of the house and shut off the engine. The snow was coming down in earnest, the weatherman calling for several inches before morning. As long as it didn’t get any worse than that, he supposed they would be all right here.
A brutal north wind hit him like a bucket of ice water when he opened the door. Knowing he would be stiff, he cautiously slid from the truck. Without warning, his leg buckled. Grimacing, he dropped to his knees.
“Jake!”
Leigh rounded the front of the vehicle and knelt beside him. “My God! What happened?”
“I’m fine, damn it.” Embarrassment roughened his voice.
“Oh, I can see you’re fine.”
“My leg stiffened up on me, that’s all.” But for an uncomfortable moment he wasn’t sure if he could make it to his feet. And he began to wonder if the bullet wound was worse than he’d assumed. Whenever he put weight on the leg, the pain clamped down on him like a fanged beast.
“Let me help you.”
He was about to snap at her, but when he looked into her eyes and saw her concern, the words died in his throat. For the first time he noticed that her hands were on his shoulders. He knew it was stupid, considering the circumstances, but he liked having her touch him. It reminded him of the way it had felt when she’d touched him six years ago. It was the kind of touching a man never forgot.
“I can do it.” Shrugging off her hands, he used the door to pull himself to his feet.
“Are there any supplies inside? Running water? Blankets?”
He motioned toward the rear of the Hummer. “There’s a first-aid kit in the back. A blanket, too. Bring them in. I’m going to clear the house.”
Jake limped to the porch at the rear of the house and crossed to the door. He wasn’t surprised to find the door locked. Looking around, he spied a hand shovel and used it to break the pane of glass next to the knob. Reaching inside, he twisted the bolt lock and opened the door.
He noticed that the kitchen wasn’t much warmer than outside, aside from being protected from the wind. The counters were 1970s yellow Formica and covered with a thick later of dust. The white porcelain sink was chipped. The linoleum was badly scuffed and curling in the corners. He crossed to the sink, twisted the faucet, and water burst from the tap. At least they had water.