Blue Ridge Ricochet. Пола Грейвс

hips as if they’d been made for him. She’d also laid out a couple of oversize football jerseys. He grabbed the darker of the two and shrugged it on. It fit only marginally better.

      He dropped to the edge of the bed, tempted to lie down and sleep for a few days. But there was the matter of the pretty brunette down the hall. All the way through his shower, he couldn’t stop thinking about what a stroke of fortune it had been to walk into the path of a woman who hadn’t asked any inconvenient questions. Who hadn’t insisted on calling the police when he asked her not to. What absolute luck.

      Problem was, he’d never put much faith in the notion of luck.

      Why hadn’t she asked him more about who he was and how he’d found himself facedown on a mountain road in the middle of a sleet storm?

      He looked around until he found the scuffed oxfords he’d been wearing since he’d been run off the road somewhere north of Ruckersville. The dress shoes looked incongruous with the sweats and jersey, but he didn’t like the vulnerability of bare feet at the moment.

      Nicki looked up as he entered the living room. She offered a gentle smile that made her look like a goddess, her skin gleaming in the glow of the fire she’d just turned from stoking.

      “Thanks for the clothes.”

      “They fit. Sort of.” She stood and dusted her hands on her jeans. They hugged her curves like a lover, sending a rush of desire darting through his belly. He ignored his body’s inconvenient reaction, determined to stay focused and on alert.

      “I think I’ve lost weight,” he said.

      Her eyes narrowed slightly as she moved closer to him. “You seemed pretty hungry earlier.”

      “You haven’t asked me how I got in this condition.”

      For a second, her faint smile faltered, and he realized he’d struck a nerve. But her smile recovered quickly and she gave an artful shrug. “I didn’t want to pry until you were warm and fed. Maybe got some rest, you know? You’ve clearly been through a lot. I figured you might want to wait to tell me about it until you felt better.”

      He took a step closer to her, taking advantage of the difference in their height. “I could be a serial killer for all you know.”

      She didn’t flinch, her smile expanding as his legs began to wobble under him. “I think I could take you. In this condition, anyway.”

      He reached for the nearest armchair and sat, his legs trembling. The heat of the fire nearby was too tempting to resist; he turned toward the flames, stretching out his hands while slanting a look at his pretty hostess. “You’re one of those women who’s not afraid of anything?”

      “Oh, you’ve never seen me with a spider,” she answered lightly as she pulled her own armchair next to him.

      One corner of his mouth lifted. “Now I know how to pay you back for your hospitality. Arachnicide is my specialty. Just give me a rolled-up piece of paper and stand back.”

      The smile she darted his way made his gut twist unexpectedly. Damn, but she was a good-looking woman, all wavy dark hair and eyes the color of a summer sky. And those jeans and that snug-fitting T-shirt showed off a slim but deliciously curvy body that he hoped would haunt his dreams tonight.

      Anything to drive away the nightmares that had tormented him since the truck full of bearded thugs had run him off the road nearly a month ago.

      “Is there someone I should call?” She stretched her own small hands toward the fire.

      How could he answer that? The truth was, he wasn’t sure what to do. The FBI employee he’d been for over a decade demanded that he call the authorities, turn himself in and tell his story. The truth would out.

      But the boy from eastern Kentucky knew that sometimes, the truth wasn’t enough to keep a man alive. Some of the most evil people in the world could hide behind a badge and the veil of authority. He knew that from experience, including his most recent brush with corruption in the guise of justice.

      “I’m not sure,” he said finally. “I think maybe sleeping on it is a good idea, if that’s okay with you.”

      Her eyes narrowed slightly at his words, but she just gave a nod and laid her head back against the chair. They sat in silence for a while, tension sharpening the warm air wafting around them.

      Did she think his hesitation meant he had something to hide from the authorities? Was she considering calling the cops herself as soon as he went to bed?

      It was a chance he’d have to take, because he was almost asleep as it was. If he stayed here much longer, he wasn’t sure he could drag himself out of this chair. And no matter how tough or strong she thought she was, he doubted she could haul his weary butt over to the sofa by herself.

      “I’ll take the sofa,” he offered. “No need to run you out of your bed.”

      She shook her head. “Take the bed. You’re the one in bad condition. The sofa sleeps fine, and I’m short enough not to be uncomfortable sleeping on it.” She waved her hand toward the pillows and blankets piled up at the end of the sofa. “I’m set for the night.”

      He looked at her, taking in the guileless expression on her face. He wanted desperately to trust someone, especially someone as pretty as the woman who’d introduced herself as Nicki. But trust didn’t come easily to someone like him on the best of days. And good days had been thin on the ground for him for a while now.

      “You’re remarkably easygoing for someone who just had a stranger crash her life,” he said as he pushed to his feet.

      She rose with him. “That’ll probably change when you’re stronger.”

      “Glad to know you plan to keep me on my toes.”

      “I’ve seen you flat on your face. On your toes is definitely the way to go.” She nodded toward the hallway. “Go to bed. I’ll lock up and we’ll see how you feel in the morning.”

      The walk to the bedroom felt as if he was hiking uphill all the way, but he finally made it to the edge of the bed and sank on the soft mattress, facedown. He would move in just a minute. Crawl under the covers and settle down like a real human being.

      It was the last lucid thought he had for a long while.

      * * *

      WHEN SHE CHECKED on Dallas Cole, she found him lying facedown on the bed, angled diagonally across the mattress as if he’d fallen asleep as soon as his body hit the bed.

      Good. She needed him to be dead to the world for a little while.

      She had somewhere to go.

      Bundling up against the dropping temperature outside, she headed east through the woods that butted up to her cabin, going uphill for almost a mile until she reached the small creek that snaked its way down the mountain to join with Bowden Fork south of River’s End. At this particular curve of the stream, there was a small natural cave that was only a few feet deep and barely tall enough for Nicki to enter hunched over.

      Just inside, a loose stone hid a cavity about eight inches deep into the cave wall. About the size of the mail cubbyhole at the motel where she’d worked a few years ago, the cavity was just big enough to hold a folded-up letter like the one tucked in the pocket of her jeans.

      She took a deep breath and tucked the letter into the cavity, then replaced the stone.

      Outside the cave, she scanned the woods around her to be certain she was alone. But there was nobody else out there. Only idiots and people with something to hide would be out in this weather.

      Next to the cave was a fallen log. She turned the log onto its side until a broken limb about the length of her forearm revealed itself. She propped up the log with a stone to keep it from rolling back over and headed back down the mountain toward her cabin.

      She didn’t know how often the man she thought of as Agent X passed this way. Sometimes two