The Bounty Hunter's Forbidden Desire. Jean Pichon Thomas

As far as she knew, Chase McKinley was legitimate. And unless she gave him any real grief, she didn’t think he was a danger to her. All the same, her resolve to get away from him was stronger than ever. And if by some miracle that chance should present itself again, this time she’d need to be smarter about it.

      What did she need most of all? Money. She’d have to get her hands on some cash if she were to get back to Portland and the people she could count on to help her out of this mess.

      Money, she realized, that was waiting for her on his bedside table.

      Chase had locked her purse, containing her wallet and cell phone, inside the SUV, placing it far out of her reach. But his own wallet, which he’d removed from his back jeans pocket, presumably because it would have been uncomfortable to sleep on, he’d placed on the edge of his bedside table.

      What’s more, the handcuff key was inside the change section of that wallet. She had watched him tuck it there.

      Had she any prayer of getting the wallet without disturbing him? It wasn’t very likely, but nothing ventured...

      Concentration. She would have to exercise extreme concentration, starting now. Her first step was to lie there quietly while she formed a plan. By necessity, it had to be a rough, simple plan.

      She began by willing her left arm to go limp, absolutely motionless, as if it were no longer a part of her body. Only this way could she prevent the wrist of that arm from tugging in the slightest fashion on the cuffs, a fatal action that would be almost certain to rouse Chase.

      This achieved, and bracing herself with her right elbow, Haley slowly elevated her body from the waist up. She was satisfied when she was sitting without having stirred any part of her lower body.

       Now comes the hard stuff.

      In slow, patient degrees, she twisted herself in Chase’s direction until she was facing the wallet. Could she manage this next challenge, leaning over his body while stretching her right arm out far enough to snag the wallet?

      All, she reminded herself, without the use of her left arm to prop herself in place. Even though that arm had been available, there was such strain on it from holding it steady, it had gone to sleep. Like it was no longer her own limb.

      What Haley needed right now was the skill of a contortionist. The best she could do was to will herself across the gulf with a combination of balance and strain. Out went her right arm, reaching, reaching.

      Contact. Her forefinger on the surface of the wallet. Applying pressure, she was able to drag the wallet toward her just far enough to capture it with both forefinger and thumb. Holding her breath, she lifted it off the night table and drew it slowly, carefully toward her.

      Apparently not carefully enough. She watched in horror as it slipped and landed on his waistline. She expected him to surge up off the bed, yanking on the chain between them. To her relief, there was nothing from him but a low grunt. He didn’t move, didn’t open his eyes. He was still asleep.

      She waited a few seconds before plucking it off him and dropping it into her lap. Victory! She could breathe again. Her fingers were trembling now, which was why, when she parted the wallet, it fell open not to money or the handcuff key but a photograph in a clear plastic sleeve.

      Haley wasn’t interested. She was ready to move on when something about the picture captured her attention. The photo showed two boys, one a teenager and the other much younger. Although the two of them were looking out at the camera with almost identical grins, it was not a posed shot. It must have been taken in midaction, with the teen just having boosted the younger boy up on a horse, where he was helping him to stay firm in the saddle.

      Funny how the picture seemed to tell a story. Even odder was that it should mean something to her at all. Like, for instance, what? Haley took long seconds she couldn’t afford to examine it more closely. First of all, she could tell these two kids were related. But although they resembled each other strongly enough at that stage, the resemblance hadn’t followed them into full adulthood.

      Wait a minute. How did she know that?

      The explanation struck her all at once. There was just enough of a slight likeness remaining, maybe in their similar grins, to tell her why Chase McKinley should have seemed familiar to her from the beginning.

      The man beside her and Josh Matthews, the man she’d dated before he left Portland, were brothers. She didn’t know how she could be certain when their surnames were different, but she was sure of it.

      An unrestrained hand reached out and snatched the wallet away from her.

      He was awake, was he? Good!

      “Get these handcuffs off me, you son of a—”

      She was so angry she choked on the rest.

      * * *

      Son of a bitch was right, Chase thought. He’d messed up by placing his wallet where he had thought she couldn’t possibly get at it. He had forgotten, too, that the snapshot was in there.

      The mistake with the wallet, although bad enough, was nothing by itself. This whole effort was a disaster. He hadn’t been thinking clearly when he’d taken her. Crazy of him. On the other hand, it had seemed the only way to get the truth out of her. She was all he had, and now he’d blown his cover.

      She rattled the handcuffs binding them.

      “Take these cuffs off of me before I shout the motel down!”

      Since there didn’t seem to be any wisdom in hesitation, Chase got the key out of his wallet and removed the bracelets. She couldn’t thrust herself away from him fast enough. Springing feetfirst off the bed, she whirled around to confront him, her blue eyes sparking with fire.

      “I want answers, and I want them fast!”

      “Hey, take it easy.”

      “Do I get my answers, or do I go to the office and ask them to call the cops?”

      “Look, you’ll get your answers, but don’t you think they might wait long enough for us to take turns in the bathroom? I don’t know about you, but, uh, I could use the facilities.”

      Eyes narrowed at him suspiciously, she seemed to think about it a minute before deciding. “All right, but make it quick.”

      Quick was exactly what Chase needed. Flushing the toilet afterwards, he washed his hands at the sink, splashed cold water on his face and was drying himself when he glimpsed his reflection in the mirror. Jeez, he looked like hell, bleary-eyed, unshaven, clothes rumpled from a night of sleep.

      She was waiting for him when he emerged. “You took your time,” she grumbled.

      She had a comb in her hand. As a matter of fact, it was his comb. She held it up. “I helped myself to this in your bag. Hope you don’t mind.”

      “Oh, sure, why not? Come to think of it, there’s some shaving cream in there you might like.”

      She sailed by him into the bathroom, rounding on him just before she shut the door behind her. “You will be here when I come out, won’t you?”

      Now that was funny, considering that until a short while ago, this was exactly the kind of question he would have been asking her. But then she no longer had a reason to escape.

      Chase was ready to handle her when she came out of the bathroom. Or maybe not. He knew he looked crappy. She looked great. His comb had done wonders for that mass of dark hair. And although she might figure she could benefit from makeup, he felt her beauty was natural enough not to need it.

      That face of hers was the kind a man yearned to—

       Don’t go there, McKinley. This is no time for getting all worked up.

      He’d left their room long enough to bring her purse from the car, passing it to her now in hopes she would regard it as a peace offering. Apparently not. She swiped it out of his hand without