Exception to the Rule Page 19

  Just in time to see Carolyne being dragged toward the entrance road, offering enough resistance to annoy them but not enough to do any good. Slick and City Shoes and Carolyne…

  Bad feeling bad feeling bad feeling—

  Kimmer ran to the building’s door, found it open, found Boots standing with his back to the door, a safe distance from Rio, gun out and aimed but pointing not at Rio’s head or heart, but his knee.

  “Sick bastard, are you?” Rio asked, his voice gritty. He sat up on his own now, looking stiff and awkward, one knee raised and the other in a half lotus before him. He wore his shirt, still unbuttoned but hiding much of the damage done to him.

  “I know opportunity when I see it,” Boots replied. “Stupid of you to make me look bad in front of those two.”

  “It was stupid, all right,” Rio agreed, though he wasn’t referring to himself.

  Oh, God, don’t wind him up! Kimmer looked at Boots’s back, looked at Carolyne disappearing through the trees, looked at Rio on the floor—he had to have seen her, he had to have—looked back at Carolyne, almost gone now, looked at Boots and the slight tension in his gun hand, the shift of his aim to something more precise, Rio’s blood about to spill—

  Decision.

  Chapter 13

  Surprise flickered in Rio’s expression, enough to warn Boots as Kimmer palmed her little war club and launched herself up the steps—but not enough so he had the chance to wrench around and face her. As he turned she slammed into his shoulder and brought the weighted club down on his arm. The gun clattered to the floor—no gunfire to alert the others, very nice—but Boots was quick enough to snatch her wrist with his other hand, engulfing the bones in his hammy grip and twisting.

  She didn’t even try to resist. She went with the brute force of it, but she kicked him behind the knee on her way down, then rolled around her own arm to come up in front of him, levering her arm against the weak point of his thumb and popping free to snake a hand into her vest pocket. He tried to grab for his gun; she kicked it aside. He lunged for Kimmer instead, scooping her up over his head like a pro wrestler, raising her up even higher so he could dash her down against the floor, his hold awkward with the injured arm but enough to do the job. He seemed to think she wiggled in fear, and so had no warning when she yanked her Mini Talon free of her pocket and jammed it into his thick, deliciously exposed neck, giving him a long three-second shot of juice.

  He gurgled a harsh cry, arching back as Kimmer brushed the ceiling. He collapsed beneath her, falling on top of Rio to make her the top layer of a three-person pile.

  She didn’t hesitate there. As soon as the world stopped heaving beneath her, Kimmer scrambled to solid ground, grabbed Boots’s gun from where it had rebounded off the wall and headed for the door—where she almost missed Rio’s gravelly, breathless call. “Wait!”

  It was enough to make her hesitate, if barely. “I don’t have time—”

  He pushed Boots aside, freeing himself. “That’s the point. You don’t. To catch up with them, maybe. Not to stop them. But I know where they’re going.”

  She did more than hesitate then, but didn’t move away from the door. “Maybe I’m faster than you think.”

  “Maybe. Listen.” He took a breath, trying to marshal his thoughts, his gaze on her not entirely focused. “They’re going to the rest stop just south of Erie. They’re waiting for Scott there—he thinks he’s coming to the rescue with ransom. Idiot. It’ll take them three hours…it’ll take him five. You see? We have time to get there. Both of us.”

  She raised an eyebrow in highest skepticism, but relaxed slightly. “The naked, beaten person being one of the ‘we’?”

  “I can—” He tried to get up, failed and subsided with a noise between a curse and a groan. Bruises darkened his chest behind the unbuttoned shirt and blood spotted the back of it, also trickling down the side of his face from a scalp wound; he’d managed to scoot back against the filing cabinet, mostly freeing himself from Boots. “I will.”

  “Big on bouncing back, are you?” With a last, reluctant look at the direction in which Carolyne had gone, Kimmer set Boots’s gun aside and secured her own. She withdrew a handful of large cable ties from her inside vest pocket and bent to capture Boots’s hands and feet. Because it pleased her, she also tied his shoelaces together most thoroughly, with many inventive knot combinations. Then she hauled him over to the edge of the room, out of the way, and put her hands on her hips to regard Rio. Stunned, beaten, stunned again and then ending up at the bottom of the pileup, he looked every bit of it. Except for his eyes. Warm, rich dark chocolate eyes, still not focusing, but as determined as she’d ever seen him. A belated flush of relief ran through her body. He’s okay. Well, not right at the moment. But he will be.

  And he’s right. They had time to take a breath. For Kimmer to make sure that in this tangle of unexpected feelings and muddled emotions, she was doing the right thing.

  “I can do it,” he said, and then closed his eyes to admit, “Maybe with a little help.”

  She tipped her head up, acknowledgment without commitment. “We’ll see.” And then, unable to hide a slight blush of embarrassment, she said, “Do you have a cell phone? Or does the line to this building work?”

  He gave a slight shake of his head without opening his eyes, his head leaning back against the file cabinet. “Landline is turned off. My cell is in the bedroom, if they didn’t take it. You don’t—?”

  “Not at the moment,” Kimmer said, and bit her lip in consternation. “It’s a battery thing. It’s always a battery thing.” She stepped into the bedroom, doing a quick search; she found Rio’s modest shoulder duffel and hunted through it, pulling out a fresh set of clothes while she was at it. But no phone. “Where?” she called out to him. No response; she left the duffel and brought the clothes out into the living room, where he’d lost his battle to focus and had drifted off into his thoughts somewhere.

  “Way to bounce back,” she told him, and couldn’t help but glance at her watch. We have time. Scott’s arrival gives us time.

  “All part of the process,” he murmured. He shivered in the cold draft from the open door, and Kimmer felt something in her give in—the part that was trying not to get drawn into his pain, that had tried to stand aloof and matter-of-fact in order to get them past these moments of dependence and intrusive intimacy. Barely looking at the door, she took a step aside to kick it closed, and at the same time tossed the clothes, still folded, to land neatly beside the recliner.

  “Come on,” she said, moving in beside him, trying to find a place that might be safe to touch—and more to the point, to tug and haul and lift. “On your feet, and then in that chair. This floor’s too cold, and it’s a long way from soft.”

  “I’d noticed that.” He opened his eyes, caught her hand. “I’m not kidding. I’ll pull it together. I can help you stop them. You’re damn sure not leaving me behind.”

  She looked down at him, belatedly realizing that the strong words hid a question—to which, after a moment, she gave a nod. “All right,” she said. “Then let’s start pulling you together. I didn’t find a phone, so until we find something roadside, we can’t count on any help from Hunter.”

  “Unless Scott calls them,” Rio said, slowly rearranging his legs so he could push himself off the ground, his hand warm on Kimmer’s wrist as he used her arm—first to pull himself up, and then to lean on, making the few steps to the recliner. “If he called them in the first place to hire you, maybe he’ll have the wits to call again after hearing from the mercenaries who have Caro. And what is the Hunter Agency, anyway?”

  “Small,” Kimmer said, kneeling before him to check the extent of the damage to his legs—first visual, then a quick hands-on, searching for lumps and bumps and abrasions. She kept her touch light and professional, but careful enough. Sympathetic, and with enough firmness to comfort. She added, “Also private. And effective. And waiting with a safehouse not far from Buffalo, if we can just get her t
here.”

  He hissed and flinched as she found a bad knot above his knee, one already hard in the center and gone white with the extent of the swelling. “That’s a sap mark,” she said, and her fingers trembled a little, passing over it but this time not actually touching it. “I’ve got to run back to the cabin. I’ve got a first-aid kit—”

  Rio laughed, and instantly winced. “Ow.” He took a more careful breath. “We’re in the nurse’s station, you know. There’s bound to be something here.”

  “No doubt.” She sat back on her heels and regarded him. He did indeed look brighter than even a few moments ago, stronger and more able to concentrate, his expression taking a curious turn that she damn well wished she could read. “But I’ve got drugs the friendly nurse would never leave around here. Nice painkillers, for one. Some strong anti-inflammatories, which could save you a lot of grief if you take them now instead of even a couple hours from now.”

  “Spoken like a woman who knows.”

  “Yes.” She picked up the jeans, shook them out, and lifted a foot to aim it down the proper pant leg. The same with the second foot, and she pulled the jeans up to his knees, met his somewhat bemused gaze and then jerked her thumb toward the ceiling. “Stand up.”

  He gave a little smile. “As bedside manners go, yours is…unique.”

  “I never did learn how to croon soothing nonsense. Up.” But she stood first, and she offered him both hands, providing most of the lift. Then she swiftly bent and pulled the worn jeans up, easing them over the worst of the marks on his thighs and deftly fastening the top button. “Given the things that can go wrong with men and zippers, I’ll leave that part to you,” she said, as if she did this all the time. As if she’d ever physically ministered to anyone beyond the moment she pulled them out of the line of fire instead of handing them off to someone else. And as if it didn’t make tiny goose bumps run from the back of her neck all the way down her arms.

  “Unique is good,” he said, fumbling a little with the zipper; one hand was swollen and purpling, evidently from its work as a shield.

  Unique is good. Huh. It stopped her, halting her brusque movements long enough to absorb the way he looked at her, that he truly saw her—as though she mattered as Kimmer, not just as another operative here and now. As though the moment between them mattered, and was more than just another moment along the way. He held her with a black-rimmed brown gaze close enough to show little flecks of darkest brown, filled with a wry self-awareness and surprising vulnerability. Angled features drawn with pain held a confusing subtlety of messages, unspoken words that Kimmer normally heard unbidden and now couldn’t translate at all—except to know that he’d somehow stepped away from what had happened around them to turn inward, so only this sunlit spot in a cold little room in the fall-bright woods mattered at all.

  She blinked, pretending she didn’t notice. She’d given Rio more space than she ever offered anybody, allowed him to affect her—allowed herself to notice. Nothing in her life had prepared her to go beyond that, not even when something inside insisted that he deserved it. Just for putting himself on the line, he deserved it.

  She retreated to action. She pulled off the dirty, blood-spotted shirt he wore and took a quick look at his torso and arms…and his poor, poor back. “This looks terrible.” She strove for that matter-of-fact tone, and ended up with something slightly huskier. Her hand hovered over the reinflamed scar, and he stiffened against the pain of impending touch. She looked up at him and shook her head. “I won’t. I just wish—”

  I could make it better. Yeah, that fit into her set of survival rules just fine.

  “Yeah,” he said dryly. “I wish, too. But otherwise I don’t think we’re looking at anything but ugly spots. Maybe a cracked rib.”

  “Likely a cracked rib,” she amended, and threw the discarded shirt on top of Boots. She produced the clean one, a buttery hunter-green chamois that would be gentle against his abrasions. First one arm, then the other, and as she came around front to work on the fake bone buttons, his hands landed at her waist, pulling her in a step closer.

  “What—?” she said, though she knew what, and she didn’t stop it when she could have. And there it was, just a soft touch on her lips, and then another, a little more firmly, a little more deliberate, nibbling against hers just long enough to get past her surprise and make way for response. When he pulled away, Kimmer followed—even though she still couldn’t quite believe it had happened at all. He rested his forehead against hers for a moment, leaving her space for her inner confusion, and then he kissed her eyebrow and straightened.

  Kimmer discovered her fingers still at his shirt button, now shaking visibly. She jerked them back. “What—?” she demanded again, unable to find any more words but making herself clear enough.

  “Because I wanted to,” Rio said, giving her a little half smile that might have been sheepish if it hadn’t been so honest. “Because I think I’ve wanted to ever since I realized the strange dichotomy of Bonnie Miller, even after she turned into Kimmer Reed. Besides, I was weak. We have this moment…we might not have another.”

  “Dichotomy,” she said flatly. “Such words of woo you pitch, Mr. Carlsen.”

  “Carolyne says I do too many crossword puzzles,” he responded, quite seriously.

  “I think maybe you do.” But it was an automatic response, meant to cover the instant flush of fear at her own surge of response to him—and at the way she yearned to feel it again. The vulnerability it brought her with this man she couldn’t read and all the rules such feelings broke. Her fingers were brusque as they again took up the chore of buttoning his shirt. Done, she pointed at the chair and retrieved his socks and sneakers, dressing him in a way that felt far too intimate, taking a determined breath, excruciatingly aware of the impact he made on her senses. All of them. The faint rustle of material as she moved his jeans up to wiggle his sneakers on, and the flex of his calves as he settled his feet into place. The catch of his breath, caused by his own attempts to loosen his swollen hand into functionality. The lingering taste of him on her lips, which she really hadn’t meant to lick just now. All her life she’d kept herself removed from people and their physical needs. She’d never been a caretaker; she’d taken lovers more as opponents than companions, and rarely at that.

  No, this situation—this man—didn’t fit into her rules at all.

  Urgency sang through Rio’s body. Urgency and fear and pain, all mixed in with adrenaline of another sort altogether as he watched Kimmer disappear into the woods, headed for her tent.

  Her surprise at that kiss had been real, but so had her response. For all he’d startled both of them with his timing, for all the moment had been wrong, it had also been just as right. Right enough to pierce through the throb of his ribs, the burning lumps and bumps of his flesh and the trip-hammer beat of pain in his back. Dichotomy, he’d said, and wondered if she didn’t see it herself. Edgy, capable Kimmer Reed had something else altogether going on beneath the surface. Something he’d rattled.

  Something he intended to rattle again.

  But first he needed to get himself over to the wastebasket by the rickety old work desk. The mercs had taken Caro’s laptop and foolishly left her pad of thinking paper on the desk, missing the fact that all her conceptual work was done by hand. Also foolishly, they hadn’t mined the wastebasket for her failures.

  Because they weren’t all failures.

  Carolyne’s tears as she rushed to his side might have been real enough, but under the cover of that hysteria she’d whispered fierce words of warning, making sure he understood even through the haze of pain and confusion. “Right after you left last night,” she’d said. “Before they got here. I’ve got the beginning pieces. Anyone can go from my notes—”

  Something had distracted him them. A jagged rip of pain or maybe just a wave of stupidness. But Caro, she’d been insistent through her fear, ducking down close to his ear as though bowed by sobs, hugging him painfully with her intensity. �
��Listen, Rio! You’ve got to make sure those notes reach the right people as soon as possible. Anyone can fix it now, and they’ve got to do it fast. I don’t know how long—I’m not good at this—” Her voice had broken for real then, and he didn’t blame her for her fear. Soon she’d face this same scene with Scott. Soon enough the mercs would get tired of playing games and would turn their methods on Caro herself, no matter their reluctance to scramble her concentration.

  Rio thought Caro had probably exaggerated just a tad—not “anyone” could leap forward to a solution from her notes, but Rio knew people who could. So he’d just nodded, eyes closed, wits scattered, too damn aware that he might not walk out of this building at all.

  But now he had his chance, and Carolyne was counting on him. Counting on him to get this information to those who could use it to secure the missiles—while Rio had no intention of sacrificing her to deliver these notes to the CIA, or of losing her because this battered body wasn’t quite working right.

  And so for the first time since he’d been hurt, Rio found himself in the position of counting on someone else…and of believing in her. Kimmer.

  Kimmer’s run to the tent put a flush of exertion on her cheeks; she unzipped the vest and let the air cool her as she snatched up what few items she thought they’d need and shoved the remaining whole of it under the cot—someone from Hunter would clean up after them, probably within the day; they’d even find Rio’s rental from wherever he’d stashed it and make sure it was returned.