State Of Emergency. Cassie Miles

Emily squeezed her eyes closed then open again, as if she could change reality with a blink. She shouldn’t be lying on the ground with an escaped convict kneeling beside her. She shouldn’t be excited about the possibility of a kiss.

      This was all his fault. Why did he have to be such a sympathetic person? She would’ve felt better if he slapped her. Instead, he was gentle and apologetic.

      Ignoring his own injury and pain, he helped her to her feet. She leaned against him, intensely aware of his warmth and strength. Her hand slipped inside his unbuttoned shirt as she braced herself. When she touched him, he shivered. And she knew his reaction wasn’t due to a sudden chill. It was the opposite. He was hot for her. And she felt the same way about him. A terrible magnetism drew them together. “This couldn’t be any worse.”

      “That’s where you’re wrong,” he said. “Do you hear that?”

      A distant whir signalled the approach of a helicopter. Emily should have guessed that the chopper pilot, Harrison Perry, would fly by and check on her. They’d worked together on several S.A.R. missions. Last winter, they’d gone out on a couple of dates.

      Jordan hustled her back inside the house. He turned her toward him and held her arms, forcing her to look directly at him. “Quick. Tell me about the chopper.”

      “A police helicopter. The pilot is a friend of mine. He checks up on me.”

      “What do you usually do when he flies over?”

      “I step outside and wave.”

      The noise of the rotary blades racheted loudly. He was hovering over her cabin. Outside, Pookie danced an enthusiastic but clumsy puppy welcome.

      Jordan peered deeply into her face. His dark eyes glowed hot as charcoal embers. “I’m not a killer.”

      “But the evidence—”

      “If I’m recaptured, a great injustice will be done. Please, Emily, give me this chance.”

      “I want to believe you.” The noise from the chopper was deafening.

      “Go outside and let the pilot see you’re all right.”

      She nodded.

      “Emily.” His voice was low and intense as he stepped away from her and took the gun from his waistband. He didn’t need to state his threats. The presence of the weapon was reminder enough. “You hold my life in your hands.”

      Emily went onto the porch. Now was her chance to turn him in. She could easily signal Harrison Perry, letting him know she was in trouble. She could scream. She could make a thumbs-down gesture. He’d find a place to land and radio to the sheriff. Deputies would surround them. This ordeal would be over.

      But what if Jordan truly was innocent? What if he’d been framed for a murder he did not commit? His escape attempt might be the last nail in his coffin. The death penalty was seldom used in Colorado, but life in prison was worse. She imagined Jordan being locked away forever with shackles on his wrists and ankles. How could she do that to him? She was a nurse. Her life was dedicated to nurturing.

      She stood outside her cabin with Pookie at her side. The dog’s liquid brown eyes seemed to accuse her. Don’t do this to him. She looked up at the chopper and felt her lips pull back in a false smile. The downdraft from the rotary blades swirled around her. Her arm lifted and she waved. For good measure, she made an O with her thumb and forefinger to let Harrison know she was okay.

      He waved back. Then, like a giant dragonfly, the police helicopter moved away. He hovered low, searching the wooded landscape for an escaped convict, searching for Jordan. The noise faded to stillness as she stood, unmoving. Possibly, she’d just made the biggest mistake of her life.

      She heard Jordan approach. He said, “You did the right thing.”

      That remained to be seen. “Harrison will report that everything is okay in this area. It’ll give you a little more time for your escape.”

      “It’ll give us more time.”

      When she turned, Emily saw that Jordan was already wearing his backpack. In his hand, he held a length of nylon rope which he looped over her head like a lasso and cinched around her waist.

      “What’s this?” she demanded.

      “Insurance,” he said. “In case your conscience needs a little reminder.”

      Furious, she yanked at the rope. “A leash! You’ve got me on a leash!”

      “It’s no use in tugging, Emily. This is a fisherman’s knot. On a double rope like this, you won’t be able to untie it because the other ends are attached to my belt.”

      “I hate this!”

      “Too bad,” he said. “I need both hands free for climbing, so I can’t carry the gun. But I need some way to control you.”

      After everything she’d done for him—treating his wounds and chasing away the chopper—he repaid her with a rope. To control her. She wanted to tell him off, but Emily was utterly incoherent with rage.

      Since she had no alternative, she stomped back toward the house and maneuvered into her backpack. She’d been a fool not to signal the chopper. She wouldn’t make that mistake again. On the trail, she’d take her revenge. This wouldn’t be an easy hike in the mountains and she would definitely leave a trail.

      With adrenaline pumping, she left the house and set out toward the open field at an aggressive pace. The rope pulled her up short and she whirled around. “Now what?”

      “We should stay under the cover of the trees until nightfall. Your friend with the chopper might be back.”

      “Fine,” she snarled.

      “I suggest we head in a roughly northeastern direction,” Jordan said. “Back toward Aspen.”

      “That’s about the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. Everybody’s going to be looking for you in Aspen. Why would you want to take that risk?”

      “Investigation,” he said.

      “Of what?” She’d just about had it with his cryptic responses. Even if he didn’t think she’d understand his logic, she deserved to know what was going on inside his head. “Tell me, Jordan. Just what do you think you’re going to investigate in Aspen?”

      “I’m going to find out who murdered my wife.”

      AFTER TWO HOURS and twenty minutes of hiking, Jordan ached in every cell of his body. The gunshot wound in his arm was nothing compared to the screaming muscles in his thighs and lower back. The tight throb of the stitches in his face penetrated his cheekbones and spread across his skull. Though he’d been in the high country for a couple of months and had acclimated to the altitude, his lungs couldn’t suck enough oxygen from the thin mountain air.

      It didn’t help that Emily chose consistently uphill routes or that she purposely pushed back tree branches and allowed them to snap back at him. Though she claimed to hate the rope that tied them together, she yanked at the cord every five minutes, sending a jolt through his midsection.

      Still, Jordan hadn’t complained. Neither he nor Emily had spoken for over half an hour.

      The only one who seemed happy about their cross-country trek was Pookie. The dog bounded ahead of them, scrambling over rocks and darting through the firs. The dog suddenly froze, alert and watching. Had he seen something? Were the searchers approaching?

      “Hold it,” Jordan said.

      “Why?” Emily halted and turned toward him. An evil grin spread across her lovely face. “Are you tired?”

      Damn right! But he’d never admit weakness to her. “Pookie sees something.”

      The hairs on Pookie’s back stood up, then he charged through the trees. His bark was different, deeper. “Whooo-whoo-woof.”

      “What’s