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The door creaked as he pushed it wider. The room was dark, but in the light from the hall he could discern the color of the hair spilling across his pillow.
Blond, as he’d expected. Almost before that detail could register, she turned to look at him. Their eyes met, and he felt his knees go weak. It was Rachel, all right.
For a second, he was torn by indecision. She was taking a huge risk, doing something he couldn’t imagine she’d ever done before. She was usually so careful. He didn’t want her to be embarrassed but, after Susan, he’d sworn he’d never take a woman’s love lightly again. Which meant he couldn’t accept what she was offering.
What now?
“Hey.” Her lips curved in a self-conscious smile.
Knowing he needed to do something before she felt even more uncomfortable, he crossed over to her. He’d simply talk to her, explain that he wasn’t interested in a relationship with anyone at the moment, least of all someone he worked with. Having grown up without the usual teenage sexual exploration, she didn’t fully understand the emotional complexity of what she was doing and how it might affect both their jobs. It didn’t help that she’d become a police officer. Law enforcement had kept her circumspect. She’d seen too much but experienced too little. This was the first time he’d ever known her to cast all reservation aside.
God, what a way to go….
Without actually touching her, he sat on the edge of the bed. “What’s…going on?”
“The panties didn’t give it away?” Her smile suddenly faltered, which told him she was already losing her nerve. He wanted her to lose it, didn’t he? He thought so—but he wasn’t sure. He’d never been so much at war with himself.
“Rachel…we work together. As your boss…this probably isn’t…” He struggled for the right words, the kindest words. But rejection sounded like rejection, which made this very difficult indeed, especially because, on a very base level, he didn’t really want to turn her away. “…the best thing for us to do,” he finished lamely.
“I guess I’m having trouble thinking of anything better,” she responded, and then she guided his hand beneath the covers to her bare breast, burying all his good intentions beneath an avalanche of testosterone. He couldn’t even remember what he’d said or where he’d planned to go with his little speech. He’d just been glad she hadn’t really listened.
Stop now, his mind screamed in one final attempt to keep him out of trouble, but he didn’t have the strength to withdraw. He willingly let go of sanity the moment their lips met. Maybe if he gave her as much pleasure as she gave him, it would be an equal trade and everything would be fine.
He’d folded back the blankets, taken one look at her and realized he’d willingly trade just about anything to have her. She was so beautiful, so soft, so responsive. And it wasn’t as if she wanted it polite and easy. That seemingly unbreachable wall of caution she generally put between herself and the world was gone. She’d gotten wild with him—sunk her fingernails into his back, bitten his shoulder and rode him as hard as he rode her—which whipped him into a frenzy unlike any he’d ever experienced. He was confident he’d just had the best sex of his life. Until morning. Then, as he slumped over her, exhausted, he’d heard the softly uttered words that’d chilled him to the bone: I love you.
A noise in the hallway brought Nate to a sitting position. Rachel was up. Judging by her footsteps, she was adjusting the setting on the swamp cooler.
Rubbing a hand over his face, he willed himself to relax. That memory had been so vivid his heart was still slamming against his chest. The only way he could get it to slow down was by focusing on the ending: I love you….
No matter what happened, he had to keep his hands to himself. Susan had taught him that I love you were three very dangerous words.
The next evening Rachel had to take Nate’s truck and go to the first meeting alone. She’d known that from the beginning. In a way, it was a relief to leave Nate at the trailer and set off on her own. Since the storm, the tension between them had only grown more intense. It seemed that he couldn’t look at her without lowering his gaze to her lips or her br**sts, and she wasn’t faring much better. It didn’t matter where he was, she felt compelled to seek him out. Even when he went outside to fix the air-conditioning in the truck, she’d gone to the window time and again, just to catch a glimpse of him.
They needed to infiltrate the Covenanters as soon as possible so they’d have something else to concentrate on—like guarding their true identities and finishing this assignment. Maybe, if they did, they could siphon off some of the excess energy that was putting them on edge.
But when the tall fence and barbed wire surrounding the complex came into view, Rachel grew nervous. That fence was a metaphor for what she’d experienced as a child, and her heart quailed at the thought that she’d be left to the mercy of another person’s dictates. That she’d be cut off from the world she’d embraced since fighting so hard to establish her freedom.
Telling herself to calm down, she waited for the beat-up Volkswagen bus ahead of her to pass through security. The Covenanters were obviously very careful about who they allowed onto the property. They were checking IDs and vehicles as if this was a military installation.
Maybe the dossier Milt had created had been purposely vague, but he’d done his homework when it came to her ID. Department 6 had someone on staff who took care of that sort of thing. Someone good. Rachel wasn’t worried that the Utah driver’s license issued to Rachel Mott would be spotted as a fake. But she was concerned about what she’d learned from Thelma and Martha. She was also nervous about the sentiments expressed in the letters Ethan Wycliff had written to Charles Manson. Just how crazy was he?
Once the Volkswagen rattled inside the compound, she let Nate’s truck move slowly forward until she came even with the two men working the checkpoint. “Hello,” she said with a smile.
“Good evening, ma’am. May I see your identification?” One man, about twenty years old, peered closely at her face, comparing it to her picture. The other, a portly older gentleman wearing army fatigues like his younger companion, walked around her vehicle using a long-handled mirror.
As the younger man returned her license, Rachel tried not to stare at the crudely made C on his forehead. “Do you have any weapons with you?” he asked.
