Chapter Six
Near Greenbriar, Montana
Earn his trust first. Then Christina could tell Jackson the dirty details of her time deep undercover with the cartel.
Otherwise, he’d think the worst of her. There were times she looked back on her actions and questioned her decisions. Hated the compromises she made and the position Kehoe had put her in.
The one person she would never want to debrief her about her time in the cartel was going to push for all her secrets.
When she was a teenager, head over heels in love with him, his parents’ judgment of her and his silent agreement with them that she wasn’t good enough had been like a knife in her chest. As pathetic as it was, the prospect of him judging her now, condemning her choices, was a fist around her heart.
His opinion shouldn’t matter anymore. But it did.
Already, without even deliberately thinking, she was deciding what to share, what to withhold, how to balance the scale between trust and concealment.
She had played the game for so long she didn’t know how to stop. After all, that was Alice’s fourth commandment: Anticipate and strategize two moves ahead.
Not that she had any intention of manipulating Jackson as she’d done for years with the enemy. Jackson was on her side, or at least they were both fighting for the same thing: to bring down the cartel. To cripple their drug-trafficking operation and hamper their money-laundering schemes.
To get an image of Rio Estrada so that they could run it through facial recognition, find him and monitor his every move until the task force was ready to arrest him.
All those lofty goals, which she had been so close to achieving, now seemed like distant fragments of a dream.
None of it mattered if the elements killed them. Or the Reaper.
She stumbled over a rock, pitching forward, headed face-first toward the hard ground. Strong arms caught her around the waist.
Jackson held her close, moving his arms higher to wrap around her, his hands clasped on her biceps. “I’ve got you.” His words punctured the icy haze that had taken hold of her.
Warmth spread, and she found herself leaning into him. “Thanks.”
As she pressed against his body for balance, her heart thudded wildly at the base of her throat. He tightened his arms around her, and she realized how badly she was shivering.
Her toes and fingers were numb. They’d hiked through the woods for what felt like forever. Teeth chattering, wounds throbbing, muscles aching, she didn’t know how much farther she could go.
“I—I need to t-t-tell you,” Christina said. “The intel I had for K-K-Kirk.” If she lost consciousness out there, she had no idea where they would end up. Perhaps separated, with her behind bars.
“You will.” He kept a tight hold on her. “Soon.”
“D-depots. Three. S-s-stockpiles. Weapons. Drugs. Money.” The mother lode of intel she had been compiling.
Too critical and sensitive to simply hand over to Kirk until he was ready to extract her.
If the task force acted on the information prematurely, seizing everything, it would be the decisive blow that would neutralize the cartel.
It also would’ve exposed her as the leak.
She’d held on to it, waiting for the right time, hoping she could accomplish the prime directive: Nail Rio Estrada.
“You, you have exact locations?” he asked, trembling beside her.
“Yeah.” The depots were the central nervous system of Estrada’s Team US, and if they seized the contents as soon as possible, before everything was moved, and got their hands on Rio, the task force could crush the cartel’s stateside operation. “They’re f-full. Now.”
“Then we have to hit them.”
All she could do was nod. Each breath burned. Her lungs were on fire, even though it was a side effect of the cold.
She looked down at his hands locked on her arm. Big, capable hands. Hands that never fumbled the football in high school. Hands that had once caressed every inch of her body.
There was so much she needed to tell him.
About the depots. And other stuff. Years ago, when they’d gone their separate ways, it had been in a fit of anger.
She’d said horrible things. After loving him for years, defending him against the club’s criticism, she regretted how they had ended things. On such an ugly, bitter note.
“If—if we don’t make it,” she said, huffing, straining for breath.
“We’ll make it.” His voice was firm. Confident.
He was always so optimistic. As though he could change reality with the sheer force of his will. It was one of the things she’d admired about him.
To his credit, she hadn’t drowned, thanks to him.
She burrowed deeper against him, letting herself remember how he used to hold her. Look at her. How it made her feel.
So safe and wanted. Hopeful. That they could overcome any obstacle. There were never any walls with Jackson, not when they were alone. Their relationship was a beacon of light, illuminating the path to a future with him that she’d wanted more than anything.
She wasn’t supposed to reminisce about before, because there was no going back.
Not one of Alice’s commandments—it was just something she couldn’t let herself indulge in.
It made her feel weak. Too vulnerable. But while she was hiding at the City Drift Motel, she’d thought a lot about the past and him.
What might have been if…so many things had been different.
“Jackson…” She panted, forcing herself to put one foot in front of the other. “There’s more. I need to say…”
He pushed branches of a spruce out of the way. “We’re here,” he said, pointing to a farmhouse.
Relief yawned through her. If she could’ve teleported over to the house, she would’ve, but they still had several hundred feet to go.
Smoke rose from the chimney and a sedan sat parked in front of the house.
Clinging to each other, they trudged the rest of the way up to the steps of the covered porch. Jackson released her, knocked on the door and wrapped his arms around himself as they waited.
Footsteps approached inside. The door swung open.
A woman in her early fifties or late forties stood in the doorway. Her red hair was in a French braid draped over her shoulder. She had kind eyes that flared wide, and a look of surprise swept across her wholesome face. “Oh my God. Jackson. What are you doing here?”
“I’m in a bind, Imogene. We are,” he said, gesturing to Christina with his head.
“You’re on the news. Both of you. They keep showing images of the airport. Aerial footage from a helicopter. What happened?”
“It’s complicated. But I could use some help.”
“Of course.” Imogene looked them over, finally taking in the state they were in.
“You’re both wet and look like you’re about to shatter into pieces.
You must be frozen. Your lips are blue.” She ushered them inside, closing the door behind them, and Christina welcomed the immediate wave of warmth that hit her.
Imogene fidgeted and licked her lips. “Patrick can’t know you’re here.
He went into town. Should be gone for a couple of hours, but there’s always the chance he could come back early. ”
Worry radiated off the woman.
Christina noticed she wasn’t wearing a wedding band.
A quick scan of the living room and she spotted several framed photos.
Most were of Imogene with a young man who resembled her.
Same complexion and hair color. Only two of Imogene with a man around her age.
Patrick was a boyfriend, but the relationship wasn’t casual. They were probably living together.
“We don’t want to cause any trouble for you,” Christina said.
Jackson nodded. “If I could borrow a phone and maybe your old truck, we’ll get out here.”
“Give me a minute.” Imogene hurried off, disappearing deeper inside the house.
Christina glanced at the fire on the other side of the living room. She wanted to run over and curl up in front of it, but she didn’t dare to track footprints through the house.
Imogene returned, carrying blankets and a black duffel. “This is my go-bag,” she said, handing it to Jackson.
“You still keep one?”
“Old habits.” Imogene shrugged and wrapped a blanket around each of them.
“There’s a burner phone inside the bag, a portable fast charger, some cash, clothes and shoes.
All women’s. You look a little smaller than my size, honey.
Something should work for you, though it might be a bit baggy.
There’s also a loaded gun. The serial number has been removed. I know it’s illegal, but—”
“It’s fine,” Jackson said. “Considering.”
Imogene fished out keys from a bowl on a side table. She gave one to Jackson. “It’s for the truck in the garage.”
“What if Patrick asks about it?” Christina wondered.
Rule number five for her, always have a story ready. Some plausible explanation.
“I’ll tell him that I loaned it to a friend, but I doubt he’ll even notice.” Imogene steered them out the door and headed toward the detached garage.
To Christina’s surprise, the woman led them around to the back, where there was a staircase.
“You can freshen up in my son’s place and get warm.” Imogene hustled up the stairs.
Climbing the seventeen steps to the top felt like climbing a mountain. Every time Christina bent her hurt leg, a stinging sensation traveled through the wound.
“Zach will be at the university the rest of the day in classes.” Imogene unlocked the door. “Then he has work and will probably spend the night at his girlfriend’s. He usually does on the weekends.”
They stepped inside.
The studio apartment over the garage was chilly, but warmer than outside.
“There’s food in the pantry. Not sure what you’ll find in the fridge, though.
” Imogene adjusted the temperature on the thermostat and flicked a switch, starting a gas fireplace.
“Jackson, there’s a washer and dryer behind that door,” she said, pointing it out, “but feel free to take whatever you need from Zach’s closet.
After everything you’ve done for the two of us, he won’t mind. ”
The two of them. Christina’s assumption that Imogene had met Patrick here, in her new life, was correct.
“Are you sure?” Jackson said.
“Oh, please.” Imogene waved a dismissive hand. “Get out of those wet clothes. Take a warm shower and stay under the water until you feel better.”
“We’ll do our best to hurry,” Jackson said.
“Don’t worry. If Pat gets back early, I’ll think of something. Maybe send him out again for a nice bottle of wine that I’ll insist on having with dinner. Or I’ll get a sudden craving for ice cream.”
If Christina’s face wasn’t so stiff from the cold, she would’ve smiled. She and Imogene would’ve gotten along, provided they had a chance to get to know each other.
“Thank you,” Christina said, still shivering despite the blanket wrapped around her shoulders. “For sticking your neck out like this. I can only imagine what you’ve heard about me on the news.” Murder suspect wanted in connection to the shooting of an FBI agent and two other men.
“I’ve learned not to judge,” Imogene said. “Besides, you’re with Jackson, so as far as I’m concerned, I’m happy to help. Both of you. Now, go get warm before you catch pneumonia.” She set the truck key on the kitchen counter and left them alone.
Jackson strode across the small apartment to the bathroom. Inside, he started the shower. A moment later, he called out, “The water is warm.”
Christina plodded into the bathroom and stared at the steaming shower.
“Let me see your arm,” Jackson said.
Her arms felt like lead, but she unzipped the coat and shrugged it off.
Tugging on the tear in the sleeve of her sweater, he ripped it wide-open and examined her arm. “Another superficial wound.”
“See. Nothing to worry about.”
He studied her face. Cold shivers gone, he stood with his shoulders squared and his spine stiff. His eyes were hard and suspicious. His face deadpan while hinting that he knew more than he was willing to say. Whatever he was thinking, it wasn’t good.
But the fact that she had no idea what was on his mind bugged the heck out of her.
Grabbing the hem of her sweater, she pulled the ruined piece of cashmere off over her head and dropped it on the floor, leaving her bra on. She bent over and unlaced her boots.
“I’ll see what’s in the pantry,” he said. “Hopefully, there’s some soup I can heat up while you’re in the shower.”
Christina caught hold of his wrist. “We’re both freezing and we’re short on time,” she said, toeing off her boots.
“It’s silly to waste any of it by taking turns.
” She unzipped her jeans and peeled them off her legs, swallowing a groan.
“I think we can handle it. We’re adults who have already seen each other naked. ”
Even though that was true, she stepped into the shower wearing her underwear. The spray of warm water stung her flesh, but she relished the heat. She stood there and pretended like it was no big deal, being half-undressed in front of an old lover, but it wasn’t just any old lover.
It was Jackson, and a stark sense of vulnerability left her unnerved.
Without a glance at her, he left the bathroom.
A shiver raked through her, but not from the cold. Her legs shook. She drew the shower curtain. Flattened her palms against the cool tile, steadying herself. She was exhausted. Every muscle ached.
She rinsed her wounds, both on the left side of her body. Blood washed from her skin, stinging her injuries. Pressing her forehead to the porcelain wall, she sighed.
The only reason the Reaper had shot her was to make her move and expose Jackson. Well, not the only reason, but definitely the main one. Otherwise, he would’ve done more damage.
He could’ve killed her. Once he had a chance to do it in the manner he saw fit, he would certainly try, and she would make it difficult.
She was on borrowed time.
A dead woman walking.
Jackson yanked the curtain back, startling her. The only thing he had on was his underwear. Boxer briefs. A nice upgrade from the tighty-whities he used to wear as a teenager.
She took in his muscular physique that still had the smooth athleticism that made him a star quarterback in high school. He stepped into the shower behind her.
“I put my stuff in the dryer.” He closed the curtain. “You were right. It’s silly to wait. I’m freezing.”
Something stirred in her. Something foreign, yet familiar. Something dangerous.
Without overthinking it, she turned around, facing him, and wrapped her arms around his waist. She tugged him fully under the stream of water with her until their bodies were pressed close. Their eyes locked and heat flooded her. “Skin to skin is the fastest way for us to warm up.”