Surrender the Dark (8 page)

There was no mistaking the glitter in his eyes now. It was anger, not any new awareness of her that tempered the silvery depths with steel. She said a silent prayer that he was still too weak to move swiftly, because she didn’t
doubt he’d tie her to the chair to keep her from leaving if he thought it necessary. And it would be necessary. At the very least.

“Two men,” he said quietly, so quietly he captured her complete attention. “One white-haired, age fifty-five, about five-ten, a good one seventy-five. The other midthirties, dark-complected, black hair, short beard, mustache, eyes blacker than hell and a soul to match. Both with too many aliases to make any of them worth repeating.”

So, he wasn’t going to fight her. Good. She took the information in stride, relieved that he’d stopped with only that. They both knew that physical power was the least of his weapons. The power to give knowledge, or withhold it, was also in his hands. Some things never changed.

Rae’s only response was a nod of understanding. She walked to the door, then turned back to him. McCullough was sipping his coffee, his gaze fixed on the scenery beyond the deep bay window.

“You can’t possibly know how much I hate having to watch my back on my own mountain.”

McCullough never shifted his attention from the window. “I’ve never gone through what you did, but I can appreciate your need for sanctuary, Rae. I’m not using you by choice. And I won’t risk you unnecessarily.”

When there was no response, Jarrett looked over his shoulder. The doorway was empty.

He turned back to the stark vista that filled the unadorned panes of glass. The sun outlined the very edge of the crest, the slope facing him still cast in shadows. It
was all grays and browns, covered with barren-branched trees and piles of tumbled rock. The sky was colorless the ground strewn with broken leaves and dead tree limbs. Everywhere was death. Death of a season. Death of a sanctuary.

The sun chose that moment to break free of the high ridge, shooting daggers of golden light up into the sky and down the side of the mountain. They speared the trees, highlighting the tiny buds of spring, the broken rocks where lush ferns were nested, and the spikes of wildflowers breaking through the protective winter blanket of leaves and twigs.

Suddenly, instead of death, all he could see was life.

The sensation that filled him was one of protection of being cradled in something far stronger than anything he’d ever known, something that no army or weapon could ever destroy.

A warm knot uncurled in his belly and something that felt dangerously like languor crept into his veins. He doused it with the last dregs of his cold coffee, then barely restrained the urge to hurl the mug through the window, as if it could shatter the altered reality he’d just discovered beyond it.

Rae negotiated the last tight storm-rutted turn toward her cabin. To say she wasn’t looking forward to the talk she knew she had to have with Jarrett was an understatement. Both men Jarrett had described had been spotted in town, asking questions.

She put the four-wheel-drive Jeep into park and see
the brake, then let her hands rest on the steering wheel. She stared up at the front of the house she’d called home for close to two years. It beckoned to her now as it had the day she’d first driven up.

She’d decided the same day she’d stormed out of McCullough’s office that she wanted out of the city, even of the suburbs. She’d stayed at her Arlington apartment for four months, endured therapy—both physical and mental—until the afternoon she’d spotted the ad for this place in the weekend real-estate section of the
Washington Post.
Two weeks later it was hers. And she’d never gone back.

She looked up at the cedar-beam structure. The wood was old and weather-stained, but the construction was solid and enduring. It soared into a modified A-frame, with almost as much glass as wood on the front and back. While her security training had rebelled at the open visibility the windows provided to anyone looking in, her soul had cried out for the sensation of freedom she got when she was inside looking out. There was nothing remotely cell-like about this house.

She felt as if she were perched on the side of something ancient and strong, held loosely in its arms, yet she only had to turn and there were miles upon miles of rolling hills and trees. And solitude. And peace.

Unbidden, and unwanted, the image of McCullough flashed into her mind. As she had all morning, she thought of that moment when she’d turned back to find him staring out the kitchen window. The words he’d said had never reached her ears. All she’d heard was the sudden pounding of her heart, because for the first time,
his expression was completely unshuttered. Had he known?

Though she’d seen only half of his face, the pain and anguish had been clear. But that wasn’t what had sent her flying to the safe haven of her shop and her work like there were demons breathing fire on her heels.

It had been the other emotion she’d seen, so naked, yet so true. Yearning. That was what she’d seen.

And it had been like looking in a mirror. Had he turned to her in that moment, she would have shattered into a million pieces. So she’d run.

And for the rest of the morning she’d told herself that she hadn’t finally discovered the reason for her persistent need to take care of him.

With a sound that was half disgust, half despair, she shoved open her door, hopped down, and went around the back to unload her purchases. She hauled the bags containing his clothes up the front deck stairs and left them on the bare wrought-iron chaise by the door. He was probably sleeping, or at least in the bedroom, but she wasn’t ready to face him, so she took no chances.

She hopped back down the stairs and tugged out the box with the canned dog food, smiling when she remembered how she’d scanned the shelves at the feed store. There had been every type of animal chow in the world. Rabbits, hamsters, cats, dogs, even goats and lambs. But no wolf chow. She made a mental note to talk with Jarrett again about alerting the authorities. There had to be a way to do so without jeopardizing him. The longer the wolf stayed, the more difficult it
would be to release him back into the wild. It might be too late already.

She slid out the wood she’d purchased at the hardware store and tossed the bag of hardware supplies on top of the dog-food box. Hefting the box onto one hip, the wood onto the other, she set out around the house. She went into the garage and checked on the pup, cleaned up after him, fed him, and gave him another shop rag to gnaw on along with the big rawhide bone that had somehow found its way into her cart.

“You won’t find this in the wild,” she told the puppy, who was now yipping and leaping around her ankles. She set the box of food down, opened one can, and dumped it into a bowl. “But then, I don’t think you’d find”—she examined the label—“chicken with cheese and liver in the wild either.
Bon appétit.
” She straightened and turned to go, but ended up watching as the pup circled the bowl warily a few times, then laughed out loud as he turned and pounced on it, alternately growling and mewling as he tore into the soft meat.

He’s a cutie, she thought, noticing that he’d grown already in the few days he’d been with her. Finished with his meal, he warily stalked the knotted rawhide she’d tossed on his bedding. The urge to kneel and call to him, to play tug-of-war with him, was strong. So strong she turned and left without another glance. “Next thing you know, you’ll want to name the damn thing,” she grumbled under her breath.

She scooped up the lumber and hardware supplies and headed on to her shop. It was there, nearly two hours later, that Jarrett found her.

He stopped just inside the shop door. He’d had no idea what to expect, but it wasn’t this. Rae was covered from neck to shins with some sort of thick protective apron. She had on heavy canvaslike gloves that extended past her elbows, and to top off the lovely ensemble, her face was hidden behind a metal mask with a tiny window in the front. Obviously this was all to protect her from the huge blowtorch she was wielding.

She hadn’t noticed him. Of course, he couldn’t figure how she could see much of anything from inside that helmet. And considering the nature of their relationship, he wasn’t about to disturb her while she could turn him into toast with a flick of her wrist.

Fighting the odd urge to smile, he took a seat on a nearby stool and settled in to watch her. Now that he knew she was back and safe, the tension that had been riding him all morning left with a suddenness that made him feel almost weak.

He didn’t stop to analyze his feelings; he was too caught up in the intriguing process of her art. The room was hot to the point of sweltering, but he didn’t mind. He didn’t know how she stood it inside that apron. Then he found himself wondering what she wore under it. He visualized a T-shirt, damp from the heat and her exertion, clinging to every curve and angle of her body.…

Jarrett tore his gaze away and shifted uncomfortably on the stool, thankful for the roominess of the sweats she’d brought him. As he glanced around the room, his attention was captured by the unusual clock on the far wall.

The jumbled strands of various metals should have looked like nothing more than a scrap pile welded together. Yet the way she’d sculpted them gave them a sinuous shape that actually looked stronger for all the twists and turns. His gaze shot back to Rae. Sort of like the lady who’d created it, he thought, again wanting to know more about her. What had really driven her to join his team, and what forces had shaped her life since she’d left him?

He turned back to the clock, seeing now the small bits of uncut gemstones tucked into the strands as hour markers. He strained his eyes until he could single out each spark of color, finding agate, malachite, quartz, and several other stones he didn’t know, feeling with each identification that he was actually discovering another piece of Rae. The real Rae.

She shut off the torch the same instant he turned back to her. After pulling off the steel mask, she set down the torch, then tugged the gloves off and adjusted the fuel gauges. He bit down on a smile when she peeled the apron off to reveal a loose-fitting flannel shirt, its rolled-up sleeves sagging drunkenly at her elbows, its ragged hem hanging down over baggy jeans. So much for his wet-T-shirt fantasies.

Suddenly she stilled, then very slowly she turned and faced him. He knew he hadn’t made a sound. It was as if she’d felt him watching her.

Her wary gaze should have made him feel like the intruder he was. It didn’t. In fact, sitting there in her shop, watching her bring life to inanimate objects, forging
some vision only she saw, he’d never felt closer to her.

“Do you have any other pieces of your work out here?” he asked. He gestured to the clock. “I’m intrigued.” When she didn’t answer him, just continued to stare, he nodded to the metal clamped to her worktable. “What is that going to be?”

As if coming out of a trance, she looked at her current piece, then turned her back to him altogether as she set about cleaning up. “You shouldn’t be out here.”

He sighed, feeling foolish for wanting to talk with her, for wanting to put everything else aside for just a moment. He should have known better.

He marshaled his wayward thoughts, resigned to another tense interchange. “I saw your Jeep and didn’t know where you were.”

She snorted, but didn’t look at him. “Don’t worry, McCullough, I wouldn’t run off and leave you.”

He didn’t say anything. For a second he couldn’t even swallow past the hard knot in his throat. No, he didn’t want her to run off—for her own safety as much as anything. And yes, he’d been worried. But the tightness in his throat, the constriction in his chest, came from the way she’d said she wouldn’t leave him.
Him.
He wanted to storm across the room, grab her, and demand that she promise never to leave him.

He finally swallowed, his jaw tight with restraint. “I just wished you’d checked in with me.”

She stilled, then her shoulders rounded a bit, as if the tension had finally become too much for her. “Well,”
she said quietly, “you don’t always get what you wish for.”

In that moment she looked very small and fragile to him, surrounded by all her tough tools and sturdy equipment. He was off the stool and limping toward her before he gave it a thought.

She turned when he was five feet away, bracing her hands on the workbench behind her, backing up an inch as if he were stalking her. That instinctive reaction and the defiant look in her eyes stopped him cold. Caught off balance, he leaned heavily on the table beside him.

The surface was cluttered with scraps of metal and small bits of stone obviously left over from some prior project. Wanting to ease the ever-present tension, he glanced from the mess to her and said the first thing that came to mind. “From chaos comes beauty.” He relaxed his jaw and his tone, aiming for teasing, settling for non-threatening. “I never took you for the messy type, Gannon.”

She released the table and folded her arms, her expression not exactly open, but less hostile. “I wasn’t aware that you paid attention to anything that didn’t pertain to the job at hand.” The barb was softened by the tiniest hint of amusement in her eyes.

He pressed a fist to his chest. “Direct hit,” he said, feeling a smile tug at his mouth. “You’re right, I never did. Before.”

His confession obviously surprised her, but her eyes narrowed quickly back to suspicion. He sighed again and held up one hand in surrender. “I’m not playing any
mind games on you. I’m just trying to make conversation.”

She raised her eyebrows in skepticism, but her posture softened a bit.

He pressed on. “So, I take it you’re not going to show me any more of your work. Will you at least tell me why?”

She regarded him for a moment, then said, “It’s personal to me. It has nothing to do with you.”

It’s personal to me.
Jarrett knew he was in deep trouble then.
He
wanted to be personal to her. The more she pushed him away, the more determined he was to get close. Damn, but she was making him crazy.