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“Just about. An integrated air mattress would be sweet.” His bag rustled, and the mattress creaked. “Camping pads are fine, but six inches of air would be better.”
“I suppose.” Sam rolled over, her shoulder aching from sleeping on it for so long. “Good night. I hope I can sleep. I could do without a replay of the night of the charging bull elk.” She couldn’t hold back her shiver at the memory of the snorting beast with the deadly rack.
Trevor snickered. “Me too. Good night.”
She’d thought it would take forever, but despite her long nap, she warmed up and relaxed, falling asleep in minutes. When she pulled the hood off her head, the tent fly glowed with the rising sun. She must have slept a solid ten hours; amazing when eight was hard to come by most nights. She sat up, shivering in the dawn chill, and slid a sweatshirt over her head. Then she looked at the man next to her. Trevor faced her, his mouth slightly open, breathing steadily, one hand extended toward her.
She didn’t want to wake him, but she needed the bathroom. Moving slowly, she put her shoes on and reached across him to unzip the tent door, carefully not touching him. Then she pushed up into a side plank, lifted her left arm and leg, and lowered both into the space left on the far side, holding a full plank above him.
There should be just enough room for her to move across, turn, and sit in the doorway, then twist and climb down the ladder. As she lifted her right leg, her left foot slid, and her legs came down on top of his.
Trevor’s sleeping bag hit her in the face, his arms went around her, he twisted, and she landed flat on her back, her wrists manacled by his hands, his legs over hers. Brown eyes glared.
“Trevor, wake up. I’m sorry!” Her heart pounded so hard she could hear it.
“Huh?” He looked around frantically. “Oh, sorry.” He rolled off to the side, blowing out a big breath. “Didn’t mean to attack you.”
Sam swallowed hard. “You didn’t. I was trying to get out without waking you, which, in retrospect, was stupid. I should have asked you to slide over.”
“Did I hurt you?” His glare had turned to concern, and he rose on one elbow, tracing her right wrist with his fingertips.
His fingers tickled, but that didn’t cause her to shiver. No, it was the intimate, gentle gesture and his gaze on hers. “No.” She swallowed. “I’m fine.”
He pressed his lips to her wrist, then flopped on his back. “Okay. Continue, and I’ll try to get my heart back under control.”
His soft lips sent her heart rate soaring higher than his reaction. “Sure. Sorry. It was entirely my fault.” Sam flipped around and skittered down the ladder, then walked to the toilet, practically panting. She was such a fool. He had a gun; he could have shot her.
But the kiss was just as hazardous. She had to get her head straight and stop letting her heart lead her into danger. Compassion couldn’t override safety. If he’d been a random FBI agent, she wouldn’t have thought twice about waking him. And a regular agent wouldn’t have kissed her, ever.
She surveyed her surroundings. A real agent probably would have gotten up with her, guarding her in the bathroom. At the toilet, she did her business, then sanitized her hands. Bad enough using a vault toilet; she really didn’t want someone listening. Besides, the area was deserted. When she arrived at the vehicle, Trevor was heating water with coffee mugs readied.
“It’s just instant, but better than no coffee, right?” He smiled, but it seemed forced.
“Absolutely.” He probably felt terrible. “I’m sorry. I should have woken you. If you were an FBI agent I didn’t know, I would have. I’ll be more professional.”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry for attacking you. But yes, wake me up next time, please. That way I can watch out for you, too. I don’t want you walking around on your own without a weapon.”
Sam patted her coat pocket. “Got one, remember?”
“And it will do you no good inside a concrete box with a bad guy outside.” He poured water, stirred, and handed her a cup. “Let’s have some breakfast and get on the road. I’d like to put some miles between us and civilization. Then I can dig into the files my boss sent me.”
She blew on her coffee to cool it. “Did you find anything?”
He added water to his cup. “There’s some interesting clues. I think if I dig farther, I’ll find enough to get a subpoena, and that will get us real evidence. I hope.”
“What if you don’t find enough?” Sam wanted to go home, sleep in her bed, use her shower, and work in her office. She’d gratefully work on a ridiculously complex will or litigate a disagreement between neighbors that a conversation could resolve. She couldn’t wait for regular annoyances and to leave the cloak and dagger stuff behind.
Trevor sipped. “I will. Even if I don’t find enough direct evidence to get a search warrant, I’ve already found enough to pull strings from the tangled web. It will unravel. You’ll get your life back, Sam. I promise.”
Sam glared and shook her head. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” He’d broken enough of those already.
“I’m not.” He nodded once. “I’m sure that what I’ve already found is enough to get a wiretap. From there, we’ll get more and more. It will happen, Sam.”
Sam wasn’t so sure. Even if they indicted Sharlene Murphy, the mob would still be in Marcus. Although, if Murphy testified, maybe the FBI could arrest enough people to make staying more trouble than the town was worth. With the access to legitimate banking shut down, Marcus simply wasn’t big enough to launder millions. Or even a hundred thousand. “Okay. What’s our next move?”
“Breakfast and driving.” Trevor opened oatmeal cups and poured water. Sam joined him, stirring, then setting her spoon on the lid to hold it closed. Trevor did the same, then tapped a spot on the open map book on the picnic table. “We’re here. There are plenty of small hotels and B&Bs in Stanley. We find one and I’ll do my thing. Then tomorrow morning, we log on, upload and download, then drive. From Stanley, we can go east or west. I think if anyone figures out where we logged on from”—he raised his hand, his thumb and forefinger barely separated—“they’ll count on us going to Challis and back to the Bitterroot. They’ve probably got people watching for us in Darby. The town has cameras, and I’d bet they’re not that hard to hack. Instead, we’ll go west and then north, on the Idaho side of the mountains. When we’re clear to return, we can go over Highway 12 or back to I-90.”
As he spoke, he traced the routes on the map. “At least it won’t be boring. Most of this is pretty country.”
