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Synopsis
Carrying a naked woman up a mountain in a driving storm - now there's a way for a man to start the day. But for Jamie, the unconscious redhead in his arms is an intruder, one who could bring him harm. He has his reasons for hiding out in this mountain cabin; for keeping his emotions hidden; for never, ever getting too close to anyone. And he's not about to stop now.
Before she passed out in his bed, she said her name was Faith - an appropriate name since he has to take her at her word. Who is she? Why is she here? Who sent her? And what is she doing to him? Jamie's used to feelings of wariness, isolation, of being on guard. What he's not used to is this dangerous, nearly uncontrollable new emotion raging through him.
Jamie wants Faith, as a man wants a woman...and it may already be too late to turn back....
Contains mature themes.
Release date: March 19, 2013
Publisher: Zebra Books
Print pages: 384
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Jamie
Lori Foster
The relentless rain came down, accompanied by ground-rattling thunder and great flashes of lightning. Jamie liked storms ... but not this one. This time he felt more than the turbulence of the weather. The air crackled with electricity—and good intentions. Determination. Resolve.
They hunted him. Well-meaning, but destructive all the same. He had only himself to blame. He’d allowed them to become friendly. He hadn’t been aloof enough, had interfered too many times. But God, what other choices did he have? Watch them suffer? Feel their pain?
No, he couldn’t. He had enough of his own pain to deal with.
Sitting on the plank floor, his back to a wall, his knees drawn up, he stared out at the darkness. Not a single lamp glowed in his home. The fireplace remained cool and empty; a chill skated up his spine.
He laid his forehead to his knees, trying to block them out, wanting to pray that they wouldn’t find him but unable to summon the right words in the midst of so many feelings bombarding him.
Then it dawned on him. His head shot up, his black eyes seeing beyond his immediate surroundings. Not just the townsfolk. No, someone else crept up his mountain. Someone else wanted him.
Without conscious decision, Jamie pushed to his feet and padded barefoot across the icy floor. No locks protected his doors; he didn’t need them. At all times, even in sleep, he kept himself open to data from the outside world. As a remote viewer, he could shut down or accept information at will.
But remaining open made him feel more secure. He used his focus on the townsfolk, on the throbbing life around him, as a psychotherapeutic tool, allowing it to tune out other influences. As long as he kept his brain busy accepting information from locals, no one, not even the profs at Farmington Research Institute, could control his intentions with automatic transmissions.
Shoving his raw wooden door open, Jamie moved out to the covered porch. The scent of wet foliage and earth hung heavy in the air. Rain immediately blew in against him, soaking his shirt and jeans, collecting in his beard and long hair until he looked, felt, like a drowned rat.
Something vaguely close to excitement stirred within him, accelerating his heartbeat, making his blood sing. He lifted his nose to the wind, let his heavy eyelids drift shut. He found a target through space and time ... and he knew.
The first visitor stood alone, a stranger. A woman. Seeking him out. Needing him.
Yes, this he could do.
Half-furious and half-thrilled for the distraction, he stepped inside the house and shoved his feet into rubber boots. Forgoing a jacket, sensing the limitations of his time frame, Jamie stepped off the porch and into the pouring rain.
Storms were different deep in the woods, with leaves acting as a canopy, muffling the patter of the rain, absorbing the moisture. Once, long ago, he had hoped they might absorb some of the emotions that assaulted him. But they hadn’t. Even from such a distance, high up the mountain in the thick of the trees where no one ever ventured, he had still gotten to know the townsfolk: first the children, then the others.
And they’d gotten to know him.
Despite his efforts to the contrary, they were starting to care. They didn’t know about the institute, about the time he’d spent as a guinea pig, learning more about himself than the profs could ever discover with their intrusive mind experiments and illegal testing.
The townsfolk didn’t know that their caring could destroy him, could strip away the last piece of self-respect he had.
And he couldn’t tell them.
Twice as dark as it’d be in the open, the day looked like night. Jamie made his way cautiously away from his home, down an invisible trail known only to him. He walked and walked, mud caked up to his knees, his clothes so wet they proved useless against the weather.
Pausing beside a large tree that disappeared into the sky, he looked down the hillside.
Clint Evans, the new sheriff who’d listened to Jamie’s dire warnings without much disbelief, picked his way tirelessly up the hillside. Jamie narrowed his eyes, knowing this was Julie’s doing, that she wanted Clint to get his agreement to attend their wedding.
He would have gone. To make sure everything stayed safe. To keep watch. Julie didn’t need to send her hulking new lover after him. He should be pleased it wasn’t Joe, because Joe wouldn’t give up, no matter what. Worse, it could have been Alyx, Joe’s sister, who’d surprised him once when she’d gotten too close for Jamie to send her away. After that she’d come back again. And once more.
She’d actually been in his home, and damn her, she wanted in his heart. She wanted his friendship.
They all did.
Jamie closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing, on blocking destructive sentiment so he could feel the other intruder. His eyes snapped open and he lifted a hand to shield his vision from the downpour. There, farther up the hill from Clint, she shivered and shook, miserable clear to her bones, tears mixing with the rain and mud on her face.
Jamie felt ... something. He didn’t know what. Odd, because normally only those he cared about muddled his perception. His powerful acclaim to telepathy, clairvoyance, and precognition left most people and events as clear to him as an open book.
But when he cared, emotional reactions mixed with his truer senses, leaving him as confused as everyone else.
Maybe she didn’t know what she felt, so how could he know?
Dismissing Clint from his mind, already knowing what Clint would see and what he’d do, Jamie pushed away from the tree. The woman wore no hat, and her hair was plastered to her skull. A redhead, Jamie thought, although with her hair soaked it looked dark enough to be brown. He didn’t have to survey her to know of her pale skin barely touched by freckles, or her blue eyes, now bloodshot.
Her face, more plain than otherwise, served as adequate deception to her body, which bordered on sinfully luscious.
With an absorption wrought from years of isolation, Jamie studied her incredible breasts, her small waist, her long, shapely legs. Those legs ...
Trying to gain better footing on the slick hillside, she turned, showing him her profile. She had a behind that would excite many men. That is, if they noticed. More likely, her quiet demeanor, choice of clothes, and ordinary face put them off. As she intended. She hid, just as Jamie did.
They had that in common.
Holding tight to a skinny tree, she tried and failed to take a few more steps up the mountain. Her feet gained no purchase on the rain-slick ground and she fell forward with a gasp that got her a mouthful of mud. Moaning, she rolled to her back and just lay there, more tears coming, her chest heaving as she coughed and spewed out mud.
Jamie picked his way toward her, and with each step he took, a sense of alarm expanded until her fear and worry and pain became his own. One of the pitfalls of remote viewing was the level of sensory absorption. Sometimes it could be a serious setback.
For most people, time filtered their emotions, unconsciously burying pain, fading loss, and overlooking illness. Only the strongest emotions remained on the surface, powerful enough for others to perceive. For a remote viewer, the more hidden emotions were also clear.
At the moment, the woman’s emotional pain and physical discomfort were strong enough that they became Jamie’s too.
Exhaustion and a lingering fever robbed her of strength, leaving him weakened as well. Her lungs labored and her eyes burned.... Jamie cut her off, breaking contact so he could concentrate on reaching her.
But before he could get to her, before he could warn her not to move, her determination surfaced and she again tried to stand. She got upright, then one foot slipped out from under her and her arms flailed the air—and she fell back. Hard.
She didn’t roll down the hill.
The rock kept her from doing so.
In seconds, Jamie reached her. She was so incredibly still. Squatting down, he touched her cheek and knew that her fever wasn’t cause for alarm. Sick, yes, but not so feverish as to be life threatening. The bump on her head ... that worried him. He coasted his fingers through her tangled, wet hair, gently prodding, searching, and encountered a considerable swelling behind her right ear, but no blood.
Jamie patted her cheeks, unwilling to speak because Clint drew nearer and he simply couldn’t deal with them both right now.
Tipping a leaf to gather the moisture off it, Jamie wiped some of the mud from her face. Her hair spiked up in front when he pushed it away from her eyes, giving her an appearance that might have been comical in other circumstances. He tapped her cheeks again, smoothed his thumb along her soft, fever-warm cheekbone, and her eyes opened.
As he already knew, they were blue, but unlike any blue he’d ever seen.
Her eyes weren’t intense, like Alyx and Joe Winston’s. They weren’t a gentle blue like Deputy Scott Royal’s. They were deep, dark cobalt blue, reminding Jamie of a stormy sky. At first vague, her gaze sharpened the moment it met his.
Jamie half expected hysterics. Absurd, given he should have known exactly what she’d do. But still, her reaction surprised him. Her eyes widened. Then her lashes sank down in relief and she sighed, “Jamie Creed. Thank God I found you.”
And just like that she drifted off, as if exhaustion had been hot on her heels and only sheer grit had kept her going until she found him.
Left eye twitching, muscles tensed, Jamie ran through his options before deciding what to do. He wouldn’t take chances. He didn’t know her, had no idea what she wanted with him. He had to protect himself, because God knew no one else would do it for him.
Mind made up, Jamie stripped her useless jacket from her shoulders and laid it flat on the ground. She wore a thick shirt, and he gripped the front of it in both hands. Drawing a breath, he jerked hard, rending the material from neck to hem. She didn’t move. Her body remained boneless. With methodical intent, he stripped her of every shred of clothing, placing each garment atop the jacket so he could easily gather them into one bundle.
When she lay naked in front of him, the proof of her perfect body there for him to see, Jamie took only a moment to absorb the sight of her before hefting her into his arms. She wasn’t a petite woman, but then, he wasn’t a slouch. He could, would, carry her—as far as necessary.
With his right hand, he snatched up her torn pile of clothing. It had been so long since he’d held anyone, since he’d allowed himself the comfort of physical contact, that his heart felt full to bursting, pounding hard and fast. Never mind the mud and rain and whatever ailed her, she still smelled like a woman: soft and feminine and ripe with sex appeal.
He’d missed that smell so much.
First things first. Rather than climb back up to his cabin, Jamie made his way to the west, toward the plunging edge of a cliff. He looked over to a deep ravine cut through the mountain by a fast-moving stream, now swollen from the heavy rains. Tightening his hold on the woman, he reared back and slung her clothes over the side. The ruined garments soared, sank, and hit the creek with a dull splash, separating, dragged along by the current to get dumped a good distance away from him.
Just getting rid of the clothes made Jamie feel better.
She could still have a surveillance device on her body somewhere, and he’d check for that as soon as he got her out of the foul weather. She might not like his thorough inspection—what woman would? But then, he didn’t like being hunted, either. Given the howling wind and stinging rain, it looked like they both had to tolerate a few things.
Even burdened with the woman’s weight, the climb to his cabin didn’t tax him. Whenever he went anywhere, he walked, so his legs were strong and he had an abundance of stamina.
The woman didn’t make a peep, didn’t open her eyes again, but she must not have been entirely out of it, because her arms went around his neck and she tucked her face in near his chest to avoid the rain. Prodded by a strange yearning, Jamie curled her closer still, even bent over her a bit to afford her more protection. He could feel the rapping of her heartbeat on his chest, her gentle breath on his throat.
Cravings he hadn’t suffered in far too long awoke within him. He didn’t like it. Or maybe he liked it too much.
He knew the moment Clint spotted them. He felt the sheriff’s shock and curiosity slapping against his already heightened senses. Eyes narrowed against the rain, Jamie forged onward, refusing to look back.
Clint called to him, but his words blew away on the storm. Knowing the woods better than even the bears, Jamie easily lost Clint by moving between trees and boulders and across narrow streams.
By the time he reached his cabin, he knew Clint had turned back. What tales he’d tell to the others, Jamie could only guess. But when the rain stopped and the mud dried—tomorrow or the next day—they’d come for him.
He knew it as sure as he knew the woman in his arms would be trouble.
And still, he carried her over the threshold and into his cabin.
When he nudged the door shut with his shoulder, she shifted, making a small, purely feminine sound of discomfort. Charmed, Jamie watched and waited for her to become fully aware.
She lifted her head slightly. Her gaze shied away from his, and she took in her surroundings, then, blinked twice. No smile. No fear. But she had nervousness in spades, almost equal to her tenacity. While Jamie continued to hold her, she licked her lips, hesitated, and finally turned her face up to his.
His awareness on a razor’s edge, Jamie assessed her. Mud streaked her pale cheeks. Her long, wet hair tangled around his shoulder. Her lips shivered with the cold.
Taking him off guard, she lifted one small, woman-soft hand to touch the side of his face. “Thank you.”
Very slowly, Jamie set her on her feet. Faith tried not to waver, but a hollow weakness invaded her every muscle. At the moment, staying upright seemed pretty impossible.
Showing all the external emotion of a manikin, Jamie caught her upper arms to steady her.
“I’m sorry,” she told him in a voice that sounded raspy and thin. She clutched at his shoulders. “I’ve been sick. I ... I need to sit down.”
“Not until I know you’re safe.”
A lump of uncertainty lodged in her throat. He didn’t mean safe from danger; he meant safe to have her in his home. Carefully keeping her thoughts blank, a practice she’d perfected through necessity, Faith nodded her agreement. She didn’t know what he’d do, but she had no choice other than consent. “All right.”
With eyes so black and fathomless they should have been frightening, Jamie stared at her. But she recognized those eyes in more ways than she dared to consider, because anything she thought, he’d know. And right now, he couldn’t know anything. The timing had to be right.
“I’ll help you,” he said low and slipped one strong, steady arm around her waist to support her, drawing her cold, limp body flush against his.
Grateful that she wouldn’t be falling on her face, Faith leaned into him. Even through his soaked clothes, he radiated heat, and it felt good. He felt good.
Being naked disconcerted her, but complaining would gain her nothing. She understood that much about him. “Go ahead,” she said. “Do what you have to.”
“You won’t like it.”
“Neither will you.” He smelled of wind and rain and man, strong and mysterious—and more than capable of any number of things, good and bad.
Because she’d allowed those thoughts to ring clear in her mind, Jamie stalled. The sense of danger darkened his eyes even more. “You know me?”
Faith tried to still the trembling of her limbs. “Yes.” Naturally seeking his heat and strength, her naked body pressed closer to his. She should give him her name, but not yet.
“Why?” As he asked it, his fingers sifted through her tangled hair, searching her scalp, rough fingertips exploring each ear, along her nape and under her chin.
“You don’t trust me.”
“I don’t trust anyone.”
Faith closed her eyes when his warm hand moved down her body, under each arm, beneath the fullness of each breast. Her nipples tightened from the cold, and her skin prickled with goose bumps. She felt ultrasensitive, horribly exposed.
“I don’t remember you,” Jamie told her, still staring at her face, his voice low and moderate while he touched her. Everywhere.
“That’s okay.” She swallowed audibly and began to shake more. “I know ... know you can’t, won’t, take my word for it. But I’m not bugged.”
“You could have a device on you and not even know it.” His deep voice held no inflection, no emotion. “Who sent you here?”
She shook her head fast, dislodging the thought before it could form. If he knew, all would be ruined. “No one who means you harm.”
“You know the people who would harm me?”
“No!” Oh God, she felt sick. Her legs wanted to collapse beneath her. “That is ... I know people who ... who care about you.”
His expression didn’t change, but he might as well have yelled liar for all the stock he put in her statement. “You’d never have found my cabin on your own.”
“I know.” Her heart clapped in time to the raging storm as his palm coasted over her behind, warmly palpating each cheek, slipping under, lifting—going between.
Gripping him tight, she hid her face against his soggy shirt and prayed she wouldn’t embarrass herself by crying.
Watching her, soaking up her every reaction, Jamie didn’t falter. He caught her right leg and lifted it high against his hip, catching it there with the press of his elbow, making the most intimate parts of her body accessible to him.
The need to plead with him burned in her throat. But more than that, she wanted to beg for his help. She wanted him to care about her—about them.
“Shhh.” With his rough hand open on the cool skin of her belly, he whispered, “I’ll be quick.”
And then his fingers pressed low, moving along the crease of her legs before going inward, sifting through her pubic hair. As unemotional as a doctor, he stroked along her damp cleft. His fingers explored, prodding between her lips, over her, into her for a brief but deep and thorough exam that physically burned and robbed her of all modesty, leaving her close to keening in frustration, humiliation, and more.
His fingers felt big and hard, touching her in ways she’d seldom been touched. The idea of fainting to escape the inevitable appealed to her. Unfortunately, she remained cognizant of his every move, the watchful way he took in her every breath, her every shudder, how dispassionately he searched her body.
Her breath chopped, bordering on panic, and her vision blurred....
He withdrew his hand and scooped her up, carrying her to a short, stuffed sofa shoved up against the far wall. Faith didn’t meet his gaze when he set her on the edge of the cushions. Cold and desperation had her curling in on herself.
But Jamie wouldn’t have that. He crouched in front of her, touched her chin, and brought her face around to his. His long hair hung wet down his back. His silly beard dripped. He’d changed so much....
Faith blanked her mind, wiped it clean and returned his enigmatic gaze with insouciance.
Quirking one ebony eyebrow, he lowered his attention to her mouth, then her legs.
“I-I’m cold.”
“I know.” His gaze darted up to hers and then away. “I’ll be quick.” He ran his hands over her thighs, behind her knees, down to each foot. He checked her wet toes, between each one, then straightened and did the same to her hands.
Met with the sight of his tall frame, his lean strength, Faith shook her head. With his disreputable beard and ponytail, he now resembled a hermit more than a highly intuitive genius. If it hadn’t been for those eyes, so deep and intelligent, so caring, she might not have recognized him.
Teeth chattering, she stammered in indignation. “What do you p-possibly think I could have h-hidden between my fingers or toes?”
He didn’t pause in his inspection. “There are devices invisible to the naked eye, as small as the head of a pin, that can give off a powerful signal.”
“Not up here. Not in th-these woods.”
He snared her gaze with his. “Depends on how determined the hunter is.” He watched her a moment, then smoothed her wet hair back and pressed his palm to her forehead. Scowling, he said, “Don’t move. I’ll get you some towels so you can dry off.” With fluid grace, he rose to his feet and started away.
Faith squeezed her eyes shut. Damn him, he spoke without feeling, as if he hadn’t just touched me more intimately than any man had in—
Abruptly turning, Jamie narrowed his ebony eyes on her face. Faith gulped; his look was so tactile she felt again the intrusion of his hands on her body. Shocked by her own wayward thoughts, Faith emptied her mind. Nothingness, she chanted to herself, nothingness, nothingness. She would not blow this by thinking things she couldn’t think.
After a long, inscrutable silence, Jamie walked away, and Faith slumped, so emotionally and physically depleted she didn’t know how much longer she could stay awake. Every muscle ached, every breath hurt. Considering her worry and her strain and the exhaustion of her trip, she didn’t have much left in her.
To help keep awake, she looked around Jamie’s small cabin. Made of logs and planks of wood, so natural, it seemed grown from the mountain instead of built by men. Square, with a wraparound porch, it boasted several curtainless windows—none with locks. A rustic ladder led to a loft where she could just barely see Jamie moving around the footboard to a full-sized bed.
Beneath the ladder, a door led to a tiny bathroom that appeared to have only a toilet, sink, and minuscule shower. Before too much longer, she’d make use of that shower. But right now, she just wanted to be warm.
She glanced at the large stone fireplace dominating one wall. It appeared to have been cold for a very long time. Not even a hint of ashes remained in the grate. Faith wrapped her arms around herself and prayed Jamie would hurry.
On the opposite side of the room, open kitchen shelves, holding only a few dishes, flanked a double-bowl ceramic sink situated beneath a window. She imagined Jamie there, rinsing a coffee cup while staring out at nature. Contemplative. Alone.
She shook her head again, refusing to get maudlin.
But still, the sight of his neat, tightly situated kitchen made her heart ache. He owned a squat refrigerator, a tiny freezer, a two-burner stove, and a stacked washer and dryer. A single chair rested beneath his round wooden table.
She couldn’t imagine eating alone night after night.
Obviously, he had electricity. He also had lamps. But they weren’t on. Deep shadows and a dreary chill filled the cabin.
She feared they might fill Jamie’s heart, too.
She was just about to give up and lie down, cold or not, when Jamie reappeared with towels, a quilt, some clothes, and a jar of suspicious-looking liquid. Somehow he’d come down the ladder without her hearing him.
Hesitating in front of her, he visually explored her nakedness again, his gaze lingering on her breasts and belly, before reluctantly handing her the towels. “Did you drive here?”
Her hands shook and her lips trembled. “Part of the way.” She stood and awkwardly wrapped one towel around herself, but it barely touched the top of her thighs. Never in her life had she flaunted herself in front of anyone, and she disliked doing so now.
“Let me. ”Jamie set his bundle on a simple square table at the end of the couch, next to a battery-operated radio, and took the second towel from her.
“I can do it.”
Lacking sympathy, he said, “No, you can’t.”
True. Her heavy limbs dragged at her, and her knees wanted to buckle. She pressed her legs together, trying without success to conceal herself.
But as he began drying her with methodical indifference, she gave up. He ran the towel up the insides of her thighs, behind her knees, and she shuddered, feeling very unhinged and out of control.
“You drove ... ? ” he prompted, while easing her back against the couch to save her from collapsing.
Knowing he needed answers, Faith slumped into the deep cushions. “I left my car several hours back and hitchhiked to Visitation.”
Jamie paused, then resumed drying her. “You could have been hurt.”
“I knew I wouldn’t be.” As he rubbed the loose towel over her arms, upper chest, and shoulders, she clutched the other towel to keep from losing it. “And I couldn’t risk being followed here, though I knew that wouldn’t happen either.”
His gaze roamed from below her breasts all the way to her feet. He kept looking at her, giving her nudity a lot of attention.
Absently, he pointed out, “You’re not psychic.”
“No.” She’d never demonstrated even the slightest ability, much as she wished it otherwise.
He peered up at her. “Why?”
“Why what?”
Impatience showed briefly in his dark eyes, then disappeared. “Why do you wish you had psychi. . .
They hunted him. Well-meaning, but destructive all the same. He had only himself to blame. He’d allowed them to become friendly. He hadn’t been aloof enough, had interfered too many times. But God, what other choices did he have? Watch them suffer? Feel their pain?
No, he couldn’t. He had enough of his own pain to deal with.
Sitting on the plank floor, his back to a wall, his knees drawn up, he stared out at the darkness. Not a single lamp glowed in his home. The fireplace remained cool and empty; a chill skated up his spine.
He laid his forehead to his knees, trying to block them out, wanting to pray that they wouldn’t find him but unable to summon the right words in the midst of so many feelings bombarding him.
Then it dawned on him. His head shot up, his black eyes seeing beyond his immediate surroundings. Not just the townsfolk. No, someone else crept up his mountain. Someone else wanted him.
Without conscious decision, Jamie pushed to his feet and padded barefoot across the icy floor. No locks protected his doors; he didn’t need them. At all times, even in sleep, he kept himself open to data from the outside world. As a remote viewer, he could shut down or accept information at will.
But remaining open made him feel more secure. He used his focus on the townsfolk, on the throbbing life around him, as a psychotherapeutic tool, allowing it to tune out other influences. As long as he kept his brain busy accepting information from locals, no one, not even the profs at Farmington Research Institute, could control his intentions with automatic transmissions.
Shoving his raw wooden door open, Jamie moved out to the covered porch. The scent of wet foliage and earth hung heavy in the air. Rain immediately blew in against him, soaking his shirt and jeans, collecting in his beard and long hair until he looked, felt, like a drowned rat.
Something vaguely close to excitement stirred within him, accelerating his heartbeat, making his blood sing. He lifted his nose to the wind, let his heavy eyelids drift shut. He found a target through space and time ... and he knew.
The first visitor stood alone, a stranger. A woman. Seeking him out. Needing him.
Yes, this he could do.
Half-furious and half-thrilled for the distraction, he stepped inside the house and shoved his feet into rubber boots. Forgoing a jacket, sensing the limitations of his time frame, Jamie stepped off the porch and into the pouring rain.
Storms were different deep in the woods, with leaves acting as a canopy, muffling the patter of the rain, absorbing the moisture. Once, long ago, he had hoped they might absorb some of the emotions that assaulted him. But they hadn’t. Even from such a distance, high up the mountain in the thick of the trees where no one ever ventured, he had still gotten to know the townsfolk: first the children, then the others.
And they’d gotten to know him.
Despite his efforts to the contrary, they were starting to care. They didn’t know about the institute, about the time he’d spent as a guinea pig, learning more about himself than the profs could ever discover with their intrusive mind experiments and illegal testing.
The townsfolk didn’t know that their caring could destroy him, could strip away the last piece of self-respect he had.
And he couldn’t tell them.
Twice as dark as it’d be in the open, the day looked like night. Jamie made his way cautiously away from his home, down an invisible trail known only to him. He walked and walked, mud caked up to his knees, his clothes so wet they proved useless against the weather.
Pausing beside a large tree that disappeared into the sky, he looked down the hillside.
Clint Evans, the new sheriff who’d listened to Jamie’s dire warnings without much disbelief, picked his way tirelessly up the hillside. Jamie narrowed his eyes, knowing this was Julie’s doing, that she wanted Clint to get his agreement to attend their wedding.
He would have gone. To make sure everything stayed safe. To keep watch. Julie didn’t need to send her hulking new lover after him. He should be pleased it wasn’t Joe, because Joe wouldn’t give up, no matter what. Worse, it could have been Alyx, Joe’s sister, who’d surprised him once when she’d gotten too close for Jamie to send her away. After that she’d come back again. And once more.
She’d actually been in his home, and damn her, she wanted in his heart. She wanted his friendship.
They all did.
Jamie closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing, on blocking destructive sentiment so he could feel the other intruder. His eyes snapped open and he lifted a hand to shield his vision from the downpour. There, farther up the hill from Clint, she shivered and shook, miserable clear to her bones, tears mixing with the rain and mud on her face.
Jamie felt ... something. He didn’t know what. Odd, because normally only those he cared about muddled his perception. His powerful acclaim to telepathy, clairvoyance, and precognition left most people and events as clear to him as an open book.
But when he cared, emotional reactions mixed with his truer senses, leaving him as confused as everyone else.
Maybe she didn’t know what she felt, so how could he know?
Dismissing Clint from his mind, already knowing what Clint would see and what he’d do, Jamie pushed away from the tree. The woman wore no hat, and her hair was plastered to her skull. A redhead, Jamie thought, although with her hair soaked it looked dark enough to be brown. He didn’t have to survey her to know of her pale skin barely touched by freckles, or her blue eyes, now bloodshot.
Her face, more plain than otherwise, served as adequate deception to her body, which bordered on sinfully luscious.
With an absorption wrought from years of isolation, Jamie studied her incredible breasts, her small waist, her long, shapely legs. Those legs ...
Trying to gain better footing on the slick hillside, she turned, showing him her profile. She had a behind that would excite many men. That is, if they noticed. More likely, her quiet demeanor, choice of clothes, and ordinary face put them off. As she intended. She hid, just as Jamie did.
They had that in common.
Holding tight to a skinny tree, she tried and failed to take a few more steps up the mountain. Her feet gained no purchase on the rain-slick ground and she fell forward with a gasp that got her a mouthful of mud. Moaning, she rolled to her back and just lay there, more tears coming, her chest heaving as she coughed and spewed out mud.
Jamie picked his way toward her, and with each step he took, a sense of alarm expanded until her fear and worry and pain became his own. One of the pitfalls of remote viewing was the level of sensory absorption. Sometimes it could be a serious setback.
For most people, time filtered their emotions, unconsciously burying pain, fading loss, and overlooking illness. Only the strongest emotions remained on the surface, powerful enough for others to perceive. For a remote viewer, the more hidden emotions were also clear.
At the moment, the woman’s emotional pain and physical discomfort were strong enough that they became Jamie’s too.
Exhaustion and a lingering fever robbed her of strength, leaving him weakened as well. Her lungs labored and her eyes burned.... Jamie cut her off, breaking contact so he could concentrate on reaching her.
But before he could get to her, before he could warn her not to move, her determination surfaced and she again tried to stand. She got upright, then one foot slipped out from under her and her arms flailed the air—and she fell back. Hard.
She didn’t roll down the hill.
The rock kept her from doing so.
In seconds, Jamie reached her. She was so incredibly still. Squatting down, he touched her cheek and knew that her fever wasn’t cause for alarm. Sick, yes, but not so feverish as to be life threatening. The bump on her head ... that worried him. He coasted his fingers through her tangled, wet hair, gently prodding, searching, and encountered a considerable swelling behind her right ear, but no blood.
Jamie patted her cheeks, unwilling to speak because Clint drew nearer and he simply couldn’t deal with them both right now.
Tipping a leaf to gather the moisture off it, Jamie wiped some of the mud from her face. Her hair spiked up in front when he pushed it away from her eyes, giving her an appearance that might have been comical in other circumstances. He tapped her cheeks again, smoothed his thumb along her soft, fever-warm cheekbone, and her eyes opened.
As he already knew, they were blue, but unlike any blue he’d ever seen.
Her eyes weren’t intense, like Alyx and Joe Winston’s. They weren’t a gentle blue like Deputy Scott Royal’s. They were deep, dark cobalt blue, reminding Jamie of a stormy sky. At first vague, her gaze sharpened the moment it met his.
Jamie half expected hysterics. Absurd, given he should have known exactly what she’d do. But still, her reaction surprised him. Her eyes widened. Then her lashes sank down in relief and she sighed, “Jamie Creed. Thank God I found you.”
And just like that she drifted off, as if exhaustion had been hot on her heels and only sheer grit had kept her going until she found him.
Left eye twitching, muscles tensed, Jamie ran through his options before deciding what to do. He wouldn’t take chances. He didn’t know her, had no idea what she wanted with him. He had to protect himself, because God knew no one else would do it for him.
Mind made up, Jamie stripped her useless jacket from her shoulders and laid it flat on the ground. She wore a thick shirt, and he gripped the front of it in both hands. Drawing a breath, he jerked hard, rending the material from neck to hem. She didn’t move. Her body remained boneless. With methodical intent, he stripped her of every shred of clothing, placing each garment atop the jacket so he could easily gather them into one bundle.
When she lay naked in front of him, the proof of her perfect body there for him to see, Jamie took only a moment to absorb the sight of her before hefting her into his arms. She wasn’t a petite woman, but then, he wasn’t a slouch. He could, would, carry her—as far as necessary.
With his right hand, he snatched up her torn pile of clothing. It had been so long since he’d held anyone, since he’d allowed himself the comfort of physical contact, that his heart felt full to bursting, pounding hard and fast. Never mind the mud and rain and whatever ailed her, she still smelled like a woman: soft and feminine and ripe with sex appeal.
He’d missed that smell so much.
First things first. Rather than climb back up to his cabin, Jamie made his way to the west, toward the plunging edge of a cliff. He looked over to a deep ravine cut through the mountain by a fast-moving stream, now swollen from the heavy rains. Tightening his hold on the woman, he reared back and slung her clothes over the side. The ruined garments soared, sank, and hit the creek with a dull splash, separating, dragged along by the current to get dumped a good distance away from him.
Just getting rid of the clothes made Jamie feel better.
She could still have a surveillance device on her body somewhere, and he’d check for that as soon as he got her out of the foul weather. She might not like his thorough inspection—what woman would? But then, he didn’t like being hunted, either. Given the howling wind and stinging rain, it looked like they both had to tolerate a few things.
Even burdened with the woman’s weight, the climb to his cabin didn’t tax him. Whenever he went anywhere, he walked, so his legs were strong and he had an abundance of stamina.
The woman didn’t make a peep, didn’t open her eyes again, but she must not have been entirely out of it, because her arms went around his neck and she tucked her face in near his chest to avoid the rain. Prodded by a strange yearning, Jamie curled her closer still, even bent over her a bit to afford her more protection. He could feel the rapping of her heartbeat on his chest, her gentle breath on his throat.
Cravings he hadn’t suffered in far too long awoke within him. He didn’t like it. Or maybe he liked it too much.
He knew the moment Clint spotted them. He felt the sheriff’s shock and curiosity slapping against his already heightened senses. Eyes narrowed against the rain, Jamie forged onward, refusing to look back.
Clint called to him, but his words blew away on the storm. Knowing the woods better than even the bears, Jamie easily lost Clint by moving between trees and boulders and across narrow streams.
By the time he reached his cabin, he knew Clint had turned back. What tales he’d tell to the others, Jamie could only guess. But when the rain stopped and the mud dried—tomorrow or the next day—they’d come for him.
He knew it as sure as he knew the woman in his arms would be trouble.
And still, he carried her over the threshold and into his cabin.
When he nudged the door shut with his shoulder, she shifted, making a small, purely feminine sound of discomfort. Charmed, Jamie watched and waited for her to become fully aware.
She lifted her head slightly. Her gaze shied away from his, and she took in her surroundings, then, blinked twice. No smile. No fear. But she had nervousness in spades, almost equal to her tenacity. While Jamie continued to hold her, she licked her lips, hesitated, and finally turned her face up to his.
His awareness on a razor’s edge, Jamie assessed her. Mud streaked her pale cheeks. Her long, wet hair tangled around his shoulder. Her lips shivered with the cold.
Taking him off guard, she lifted one small, woman-soft hand to touch the side of his face. “Thank you.”
Very slowly, Jamie set her on her feet. Faith tried not to waver, but a hollow weakness invaded her every muscle. At the moment, staying upright seemed pretty impossible.
Showing all the external emotion of a manikin, Jamie caught her upper arms to steady her.
“I’m sorry,” she told him in a voice that sounded raspy and thin. She clutched at his shoulders. “I’ve been sick. I ... I need to sit down.”
“Not until I know you’re safe.”
A lump of uncertainty lodged in her throat. He didn’t mean safe from danger; he meant safe to have her in his home. Carefully keeping her thoughts blank, a practice she’d perfected through necessity, Faith nodded her agreement. She didn’t know what he’d do, but she had no choice other than consent. “All right.”
With eyes so black and fathomless they should have been frightening, Jamie stared at her. But she recognized those eyes in more ways than she dared to consider, because anything she thought, he’d know. And right now, he couldn’t know anything. The timing had to be right.
“I’ll help you,” he said low and slipped one strong, steady arm around her waist to support her, drawing her cold, limp body flush against his.
Grateful that she wouldn’t be falling on her face, Faith leaned into him. Even through his soaked clothes, he radiated heat, and it felt good. He felt good.
Being naked disconcerted her, but complaining would gain her nothing. She understood that much about him. “Go ahead,” she said. “Do what you have to.”
“You won’t like it.”
“Neither will you.” He smelled of wind and rain and man, strong and mysterious—and more than capable of any number of things, good and bad.
Because she’d allowed those thoughts to ring clear in her mind, Jamie stalled. The sense of danger darkened his eyes even more. “You know me?”
Faith tried to still the trembling of her limbs. “Yes.” Naturally seeking his heat and strength, her naked body pressed closer to his. She should give him her name, but not yet.
“Why?” As he asked it, his fingers sifted through her tangled hair, searching her scalp, rough fingertips exploring each ear, along her nape and under her chin.
“You don’t trust me.”
“I don’t trust anyone.”
Faith closed her eyes when his warm hand moved down her body, under each arm, beneath the fullness of each breast. Her nipples tightened from the cold, and her skin prickled with goose bumps. She felt ultrasensitive, horribly exposed.
“I don’t remember you,” Jamie told her, still staring at her face, his voice low and moderate while he touched her. Everywhere.
“That’s okay.” She swallowed audibly and began to shake more. “I know ... know you can’t, won’t, take my word for it. But I’m not bugged.”
“You could have a device on you and not even know it.” His deep voice held no inflection, no emotion. “Who sent you here?”
She shook her head fast, dislodging the thought before it could form. If he knew, all would be ruined. “No one who means you harm.”
“You know the people who would harm me?”
“No!” Oh God, she felt sick. Her legs wanted to collapse beneath her. “That is ... I know people who ... who care about you.”
His expression didn’t change, but he might as well have yelled liar for all the stock he put in her statement. “You’d never have found my cabin on your own.”
“I know.” Her heart clapped in time to the raging storm as his palm coasted over her behind, warmly palpating each cheek, slipping under, lifting—going between.
Gripping him tight, she hid her face against his soggy shirt and prayed she wouldn’t embarrass herself by crying.
Watching her, soaking up her every reaction, Jamie didn’t falter. He caught her right leg and lifted it high against his hip, catching it there with the press of his elbow, making the most intimate parts of her body accessible to him.
The need to plead with him burned in her throat. But more than that, she wanted to beg for his help. She wanted him to care about her—about them.
“Shhh.” With his rough hand open on the cool skin of her belly, he whispered, “I’ll be quick.”
And then his fingers pressed low, moving along the crease of her legs before going inward, sifting through her pubic hair. As unemotional as a doctor, he stroked along her damp cleft. His fingers explored, prodding between her lips, over her, into her for a brief but deep and thorough exam that physically burned and robbed her of all modesty, leaving her close to keening in frustration, humiliation, and more.
His fingers felt big and hard, touching her in ways she’d seldom been touched. The idea of fainting to escape the inevitable appealed to her. Unfortunately, she remained cognizant of his every move, the watchful way he took in her every breath, her every shudder, how dispassionately he searched her body.
Her breath chopped, bordering on panic, and her vision blurred....
He withdrew his hand and scooped her up, carrying her to a short, stuffed sofa shoved up against the far wall. Faith didn’t meet his gaze when he set her on the edge of the cushions. Cold and desperation had her curling in on herself.
But Jamie wouldn’t have that. He crouched in front of her, touched her chin, and brought her face around to his. His long hair hung wet down his back. His silly beard dripped. He’d changed so much....
Faith blanked her mind, wiped it clean and returned his enigmatic gaze with insouciance.
Quirking one ebony eyebrow, he lowered his attention to her mouth, then her legs.
“I-I’m cold.”
“I know.” His gaze darted up to hers and then away. “I’ll be quick.” He ran his hands over her thighs, behind her knees, down to each foot. He checked her wet toes, between each one, then straightened and did the same to her hands.
Met with the sight of his tall frame, his lean strength, Faith shook her head. With his disreputable beard and ponytail, he now resembled a hermit more than a highly intuitive genius. If it hadn’t been for those eyes, so deep and intelligent, so caring, she might not have recognized him.
Teeth chattering, she stammered in indignation. “What do you p-possibly think I could have h-hidden between my fingers or toes?”
He didn’t pause in his inspection. “There are devices invisible to the naked eye, as small as the head of a pin, that can give off a powerful signal.”
“Not up here. Not in th-these woods.”
He snared her gaze with his. “Depends on how determined the hunter is.” He watched her a moment, then smoothed her wet hair back and pressed his palm to her forehead. Scowling, he said, “Don’t move. I’ll get you some towels so you can dry off.” With fluid grace, he rose to his feet and started away.
Faith squeezed her eyes shut. Damn him, he spoke without feeling, as if he hadn’t just touched me more intimately than any man had in—
Abruptly turning, Jamie narrowed his ebony eyes on her face. Faith gulped; his look was so tactile she felt again the intrusion of his hands on her body. Shocked by her own wayward thoughts, Faith emptied her mind. Nothingness, she chanted to herself, nothingness, nothingness. She would not blow this by thinking things she couldn’t think.
After a long, inscrutable silence, Jamie walked away, and Faith slumped, so emotionally and physically depleted she didn’t know how much longer she could stay awake. Every muscle ached, every breath hurt. Considering her worry and her strain and the exhaustion of her trip, she didn’t have much left in her.
To help keep awake, she looked around Jamie’s small cabin. Made of logs and planks of wood, so natural, it seemed grown from the mountain instead of built by men. Square, with a wraparound porch, it boasted several curtainless windows—none with locks. A rustic ladder led to a loft where she could just barely see Jamie moving around the footboard to a full-sized bed.
Beneath the ladder, a door led to a tiny bathroom that appeared to have only a toilet, sink, and minuscule shower. Before too much longer, she’d make use of that shower. But right now, she just wanted to be warm.
She glanced at the large stone fireplace dominating one wall. It appeared to have been cold for a very long time. Not even a hint of ashes remained in the grate. Faith wrapped her arms around herself and prayed Jamie would hurry.
On the opposite side of the room, open kitchen shelves, holding only a few dishes, flanked a double-bowl ceramic sink situated beneath a window. She imagined Jamie there, rinsing a coffee cup while staring out at nature. Contemplative. Alone.
She shook her head again, refusing to get maudlin.
But still, the sight of his neat, tightly situated kitchen made her heart ache. He owned a squat refrigerator, a tiny freezer, a two-burner stove, and a stacked washer and dryer. A single chair rested beneath his round wooden table.
She couldn’t imagine eating alone night after night.
Obviously, he had electricity. He also had lamps. But they weren’t on. Deep shadows and a dreary chill filled the cabin.
She feared they might fill Jamie’s heart, too.
She was just about to give up and lie down, cold or not, when Jamie reappeared with towels, a quilt, some clothes, and a jar of suspicious-looking liquid. Somehow he’d come down the ladder without her hearing him.
Hesitating in front of her, he visually explored her nakedness again, his gaze lingering on her breasts and belly, before reluctantly handing her the towels. “Did you drive here?”
Her hands shook and her lips trembled. “Part of the way.” She stood and awkwardly wrapped one towel around herself, but it barely touched the top of her thighs. Never in her life had she flaunted herself in front of anyone, and she disliked doing so now.
“Let me. ”Jamie set his bundle on a simple square table at the end of the couch, next to a battery-operated radio, and took the second towel from her.
“I can do it.”
Lacking sympathy, he said, “No, you can’t.”
True. Her heavy limbs dragged at her, and her knees wanted to buckle. She pressed her legs together, trying without success to conceal herself.
But as he began drying her with methodical indifference, she gave up. He ran the towel up the insides of her thighs, behind her knees, and she shuddered, feeling very unhinged and out of control.
“You drove ... ? ” he prompted, while easing her back against the couch to save her from collapsing.
Knowing he needed answers, Faith slumped into the deep cushions. “I left my car several hours back and hitchhiked to Visitation.”
Jamie paused, then resumed drying her. “You could have been hurt.”
“I knew I wouldn’t be.” As he rubbed the loose towel over her arms, upper chest, and shoulders, she clutched the other towel to keep from losing it. “And I couldn’t risk being followed here, though I knew that wouldn’t happen either.”
His gaze roamed from below her breasts all the way to her feet. He kept looking at her, giving her nudity a lot of attention.
Absently, he pointed out, “You’re not psychic.”
“No.” She’d never demonstrated even the slightest ability, much as she wished it otherwise.
He peered up at her. “Why?”
“Why what?”
Impatience showed briefly in his dark eyes, then disappeared. “Why do you wish you had psychi. . .
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