“Put your hands up,” Jake said.
“Damn cheap—”
“Put ’em up, ma’am. Now.”
“But my pants are ripped and my—”
Jake cursed.
Compromising, she put one hand on her head, clutched the torn fabric together with her other.
He sighed. Well, wasn’t this a hell of a mess?
Easing his eyes away from the flesh in question, he looked her in the eye. If he’d thought her gaze would be any less mesmerizing than her thigh, he was mistaken. He felt its impact with the force of a hammer striking the head of a spike and driving it deep.
“Probably caught your pants on a branch on the way down,” he offered.
“No thanks to you.” Awkwardly she kept one hand behind her head, the other clutching the tear. “I need a safety pin.”
“Ma’am, I don’t have anything like that.”
“Yeah, you don’t look much like a safety pin kind of guy. I’m sure it would be totally stupid of me to ask if you have a needle and thread in that saddlebag of yours, wouldn’t it?”
Jake watched the color rise into her cheeks, felt his own discomfort grow. He wasn’t sure why her request bothered him, but it did. Probably because he couldn’t fault her for being modest, even if she was a criminal. “I’ve got some sutures we might could use. I’ll have a look in my pack as soon as I get you settled. Maybe we can rig something to get you by.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean by ‘settled’?”
Jake didn’t like the way the situation was shaping up. Procedure dictated he search her next. By no means did he want to get his hands anywhere near that body. Male officers normally didn’t search female prisoners, but during the briefing the team had been warned that this woman should be considered armed and dangerous. If he’d been in town, he could have radioed for a female officer to assist to do a quick preliminary search for weapons or drugs. But he wasn’t anywhere near a town, and there wasn’t a female officer within fifty miles, so he was going to have to do the deed himself.
Oh, boy.
The thought shouldn’t have rattled him; he’d searched plenty of prisoners before transporting them. Quick. Impersonal. Half the time he found something illegal. But for the first time in the course of his career, Jake felt as if he were out of his element. Man, he needed this like he needed a kick in the head by his mule.
“I’d like for you to step over to the tree and put your hands on the trunk for me,” he said.
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re going to—”
“Ma’am, just do as I say.”
“I know the drill.” Clutching the material of her torn jumpsuit, she stalked over to the tree—and put her one free hand against it. Jake swore softly, but didn’t ask her to let go of the tear. He figured he’d be better off if he just didn’t think about that tear at all. He might be a cop, but he’d been cursed with the scourge of being a gentleman, as well. To this day he wasn’t sure if that was his saving grace or his fatal flaw.
“Do you have any weapons or drugs or anything I should know about before I search you?” he asked.
“I don’t have anything on me, except a truckload of really bad luck.” She slapped her other hand against the tree.
Jake tried not to notice when the material parted, exposing a glimpse of her rear end and those white panties. Walking up behind her, he put his hand on her shoulder. “Spread your legs apart for me.”
She did, but it wasn’t far enough, and he nudged the insides of her sneakers with his booted foot. Making a small sound of annoyance, she spread her feet wider. He would search her just enough to make sure she didn’t have a gun or knife. Anything smaller than that, he would just have to deal with when and if the situation arose.
Starting at the top of her head, he ran his hands over her hair. It was so thick and curly, he had to squeeze it between his fingers to make sure she didn’t have anything hidden within that wild mass of curls. As impersonally as possible, Jake swept his hands down the front of her, beneath her arms, careful to check her pockets and out-of-the-way places for weapons sewn into the lining of the jumpsuit. He checked her waistband, hips, the outsides of her thighs, down her legs, even her ankles.
He tried not to notice the way she was shaking as his hands moved swiftly over her. Up until now she’d been holding her own. But there was always something demoralizing about the search that undid people. By the time he was finished, he’d broken a sweat and his own hands weren’t quite steady. He could tell they were both relieved when he stepped back.
“Okay,” he said. “You can turn around.”
She faced him then, but Jake didn’t miss that, for the first time since he’d discovered her hiding in the tree, she didn’t meet his gaze.
He pulled the cuffs from his belt. “Give me your hands.”
Surprising him, she offered her wrists. “Let’s just get this over with. I’m cold and starving and I just want to get warm.”
Jake wasn’t buying the sudden cooperation. Not from this woman who’d risked her life to escape, then covered an amazing amount of terrain that would have exhausted most men.
He looked down at her hands. They were small and soft-looking. A woman’s hands, he thought, only these hands were scratched and bruised. Her fingertips were red from the cold. He reminded himself that she was the one who’d gotten herself into this mess, not him. Still, he’d never been able to let someone suffer if it was within his power to stop it.
Cursing silently, he shoved the cuffs into his belt. “Hold on a minute. I’ve got an extra duster you can wear to keep the wind off you.”
“T-thanks.” Her teeth were chattering. “It’s getting colder.”
Pulling the radio from his belt to call for a chopper, Jake started toward Brandywine to get the duster. “RMSAR Homer Two, this is Coyote One. Do you read me? Over.”
Jake wasn’t so sure about the chopper. The winds had kicked up considerably in the past half hour. Once sustained winds reached forty knots, the Bell 412 would be grounded.
“This is Coyote One. RMSAR Homer Two, do you read me?”
“RMSAR Homer Two here, Coyote. You getting snowed on yet?”
“I’m about to. Homer, I’ve got a Ten-Twenty-Six. Expedite. Over.”
“Roger that. Eagle went back to her nest. What’s your Twenty?”
On reaching the horse, Jake glanced over his shoulder to check on his prisoner, but she was gone.
Chapter 2
Abby covered the ground at a reckless speed. She stumbled over rocks and brush, zigzagging around gully washers deep enough for a person to fall into and never climb out of. She had to hand it to Cowboy Cop. He’d been decent to her—which was a lot more than she could say for some of the law enforcement types she’d encountered in the past year—but she didn’t have any regrets about taking off. No matter how decent he’d been to her, she knew what the end result would be. There was no way in hell she going to spend the rest of her life in prison for a crime she hadn’t committed.
She’d only put twenty yards between them when she heard a shout behind her. Some cop cliché about stopping or he was going to shoot her. Abby didn’t stop. The curse that followed wasn’t cliché, but the temper behind it made her run even harder. She may have been duped a few times in her life, but she’d garnered some instincts over the years. She was savvy enough about human nature to know the man