He felt her eyes on him, and then she gasped. “Zack, you’re gushing blood.”
He looked down, saw blood pouring through his coat and cursed between clenched teeth. Damn, it ticked him off when people shot at him.
“Swell.” He shifted his gaze from the road to Emily to the rearview mirror. He could feel the warmth of blood on his shirt beneath his coat. He didn’t think it was more than a flesh wound; he wouldn’t be able to function if the bullet had penetrated his gut. Still, the damn thing hurt like a son of a bitch.
“We need to stop,” she said.
“We’ve no place to stop,” he said tightly.
“My dad used to own an old hunting cabin not far from here. He left it to me when he died.”
“How far?”
“About fifteen miles south of Shoup. In the Salmon National Forest. There’s a dirt road.”
Zack figured it was the best they could hope for. He only hoped the police—or his pals from MIDNIGHT—hadn’t done their research thoroughly. Because if they had, there was no doubt in his mind someone would be waiting when he and Emily arrived.
THE SNOW MADE THE NARROW mountain road a nightmare to maneuver. Even with the four-wheel drive, the Jeep got stuck twice along the way. But with some pushing and cursing and a little bit of luck, Zack finally pulled into the snow-covered driveway of the cabin and parked beneath a thick stand of ponderosa pines.
He’d been quiet for the last ten minutes of the drive. At Emily’s urging they’d stopped at a service station for first-aid supplies. Zack had forced her to wear the mustache and glasses. She wasn’t sure what the clerk had thought, but she was relatively certain he hadn’t recognized her face.
Emily slid from the Jeep into a foot of snow. Zack was already close to the cabin. She didn’t like the way he was moving—hunched over as if he were in pain. She prayed the bullet wound wasn’t serious because she knew he would refuse to go to the hospital.
The cabin was small. The front porch sagged a little more than she remembered. The tin roof was rusted through in places and in dire need of repair. Surprisingly most of the windows were still intact. On the porch she came up behind Zack as he tried the front door.
“Locked,” he said. “Do you have a key?”
She shook her head. “We’ll have to find another way to—”
Zack smashed his elbow through the small pane closest to the bolt lock. “You can bill me later,” he said and opened the door.
The cabin smelled of ancient wood and dust motes. The floorboards creaked like old bones as they stepped inside. “This place have electricity?” he asked.
“No.”
“Terrific.”
“There’s a fireplace. And there should be a kerosene lamp or two.”
“Better than spending the night in the snow.”
“Or in jail.”
He turned to her and his expression softened. “Sorry I snapped at you earlier.”
“It’s okay. You’re hurting.”
“Yeah, and pain really ticks me off.” He touched the side of her face with the backs of his fingers. “I’ll build a fire. Why don’t you see if you can round up those kerosene lamps you mentioned?”
She tilted her head slightly, pressing her cheek into his hand. She knew it was silly, but the small contact felt incredibly reassuring. “Deal,” she said.
Ten minutes later Emily had located two kerosene lamps. The wick had rotted in one of them, so she set it aside and lit the single remaining lamp. Zack had managed to find some dry wood and was kneeling in front of a blazing fire. He’d shaken the dust from a Navajo-print rug and spread it on the floor.
“That ought to warm it up in here enough to keep us from freezing to death during the night,” Zack said, sitting back on his heels.
Emily knelt beside him. “I need to see to that gunshot wound.”
She could tell he wanted to argue, but he was smart enough to know he couldn’t let a potentially serious injury go untreated. Neither of them had any idea when or if he would be able to seek medical help.
Grimacing, he motioned toward an Adirondack chair a few feet from the hearth. “That okay?”
“It’ll do.” Turning away from him, she dragged the small end table to the chair and set the kerosene lamp on its dusty surface. Behind her she could hear Zack taking off his coat. She knew it was silly, but the thought of facing his bare chest made her mouth go dry. Gathering the first-aid supplies, she turned to him.
He was standing next to the chair watching her. She stood mesmerized as his hands moved down the front of his shirt, unfastening the buttons. Never taking his eyes from hers, he worked the shirt from his body. Light from the hearth flickered over bronzed skin and muscles that rippled when he moved. His chest was wide and covered with a thatch of black hair that tapered to the waistband of his trousers.
There were a thousand reasons why she shouldn’t be attracted to this man, but she was. And that attraction was pulling at her, like some volatile chemical reaction that would invariably burn them both.