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AWOL with the Operative
Jean Thomas
Eve Warren made a sworn promise–she'd never tell the FBI her real connection to mob informant Charlie Fowler. When he's found dead, we-have-ways-to-make-you-talk agent Sam McDonough wants to know everything.But as the gruff, gorgeous G-man escorts Eve from the Yukon for questioning, their chopper is shot down, crashing in the frozen Canadian wilderness. Suddenly, Sam's memory is gone–and he's not the same man.Sam doesn't remember much, but he trusts this "angel" by his side. As he and Eve battle the elements–and dangerous thugs determined to kill them both–he knows their survival depends on the most tentative trust…and huddling very close together for warmth.


“My lips are sealed.”
Eve Warren made a sworn promise—she’d never tell the FBI her real connection to mob informant Charlie Fowler. When he’s found dead, we-have-ways-to-make-you-talk agent Sam McDonough wants to know everything. But as the gruff, gorgeous G-man escorts Eve from the Yukon for questioning, their chopper is shot down, crashing in the frozen Canadian wilderness. Suddenly, Sam’s memory is gone—and he’s not the same man.
Sam doesn’t remember much, but he trusts this “angel” by his side. As he and Eve battle the elements—and dangerous thugs determined to kill them both—he knows their survival depends on the most tentative trust…and huddling very close together for warmth.
Their reunion was simultaneously sweet and savage as Sam covered her face with kisses.
Eve had never experienced such wonderful kisses. Feverish kisses of relief. Kisses of two souls seeking a fulfillment beyond just the physical.
“I was terrified they’d caught up with you,” she said. “That you were dead.”
“Would I do that to you? Never. I managed to outrun them.”
“Where—” Eve sucked in her breath as his mouth traveled to her jaw, then her cheeks. She exhaled slowly, weakly. “Where are they now, do you suppose?”
“Gave up for the night, I imagine, and returned to their chopper. What else could they do?”
His lips had found her eyes, which she’d closed to accommodate him. He tenderly kissed each lid. Trembling, she croaked, “But they’ll be back, won’t they? They won’t quit.”
“Yeah, sooner or later they’ll be back.”
* * *
Dear Reader,
Is there any chance that, like me, you just can’t get enough stories about two people on the run from danger? I sure hope so, because that’s what I’m giving you in AWOL with the Operative. Of course, a story like this isn’t any good without a highly sensual romance. And although there are always the obstacles of a deadly enemy in pursuit to be overcome, there must also be the personal conflicts between hero and heroine that have to be resolved before they can earn that happily-ever-after they deserve.
There is another important ingredient in such stories—the setting. In the case of AWOL with the Operative, the setting is the frozen Canadian wilderness, where Eve and Sam have to deal with the enemy and learn how to survive in a hostile environment. Now that’s a challenge in itself. Are you up to it?
Jean Thomas
AWOL with the Operative
Jean Thomas

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
JEAN THOMAS
aka Jean Barrett, lives in Wisconsin in an English-style cottage on a Lake Michigan store bluff. The view from her office window would be a magnificent one if it weren’t blocked by a big fat computer that keeps demanding her attention.
The author of twenty-four romances was a teacher before she left the classroom to write full-time. A longtime member of Romance Writers of America, Jean is the proud winner of three national awards and has appeared on several bestseller lists. When she isn’t at the keyboard, she likes to take long walks that churn up new story ideas or work in the garden, which never seems to churn up anything but dirt. Of course, there are always books to be read. Romantic suspenses are her favorite. No surprise there.
To Betty Straus. Thank you, Betty, for your loyal readership through the years. It is deeply appreciated.
Contents
Chapter 1 (#u88a7a714-11b0-56bc-8f02-03fd2280b1c1)
Chapter 2 (#uf2a04671-c50b-5188-b0da-192a456284a2)
Chapter 3 (#u08d19327-d7b9-5475-af9c-94abfb6f800e)
Chapter 4 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 1
The first thing Sam noticed about her was the fear in her eyes.
Okay, maybe not the first. If he was going to be honest with himself, the first had to be how tantalizing those eyes were. That is, if a pair of eyes could be described as tantalizing. Hers could, he decided. Definitely. They were wide, framed by dark lashes and a pure, luminous green.
But, yeah, at the moment registering her fear. Understandable, he supposed, considering how her boyfriend had died. And now she was at risk herself. Or so Sam’s squad supervisor believed. Sam, himself, had yet to be convinced of that.
“Anything new on the case?” he asked the ruddy-faced RCMP officer, to whom he had just presented his American passport and his FBI credentials.
The young Mountie, standing protectively at Eve Warren’s side, shook his head. “We’re still investigating. That particular stretch of road can be real bad, especially in winter conditions. Either the accident was just that, an accident, or—”
The Mountie glanced at Eve, plainly not wanting her to hear the rest. But Sam could guess what he must have intended to say.
Or Charlie Fowler’s rental car was forced off the road and down that mountainside where he fell to his death.
“It was snowing, you see,” the Mountie explained, “and the tire tracks were no longer visible for us to read. But a witness on the lower road thought there was another car up there behind Fowler’s. If so, it disappeared from the scene.”
Sam gazed at Eve. If she was upset listening to what she must have heard already, it wasn’t visible on her face. Except for the fear that was still in her eyes. Other than that, she was silent. Just as she had been since Sam had introduced himself a moment ago when he had arrived in the lobby of the main lodge. They had been waiting for him.
Could be she was in a state of shock. Damn. He was in no mood to deal with anything like that. This situation was bad enough as it was.
The Mountie returned Sam’s wallet folder containing his picture ID and badge, which he tucked back into his coat pocket, along with his passport. “Unless there’s anything else, Special Agent McDonough, I’ll turn Miss Warren over to you.”
Sam nodded and addressed himself to Eve with a brusque, “You ready?”
“Yes.”
Her voice was low and husky. And every bit as sexy as her green eyes, Sam thought. One more thing he was in no mood to deal with.
They both started to reach for her suitcase at the same time. Their fingers made contact. Sam swore he felt a jolt of current that was decidedly not static electricity shoot clear up his arm—something he was determined to ignore. She must have felt it, too. She quickly withdrew her hand, letting him take possession of her suitcase.
Eve thanked the Mountie for guarding her and accompanied Sam out the front door and down the steps to his waiting rental car. He stowed her bag in the trunk and saw her settled in the passenger seat. Then, before climbing behind the wheel, he did a fast check of the area to be sure it was secure. They were alone.
God, what a place for a high-class skiing village, he thought as he started the car and headed away from the lodge. April, and still as cold and white as mid-January. He supposed that was the point, to be located somewhere that would extend the season as long as possible. Yeah, but did it have to be in the Yukon wilderness, remote and isolated? Perfect for Charlie Fowler, though. A safe spot for his little tryst with Eve Warren. Or so Charlie must have believed.
The driveway out to the main road took them winding through the village’s colony of chalets. The chalets were presumably occupied by guests who preferred the small, Swiss-style structures over accommodations in the lodge.
“You and Fowler stay in one of those or in the lodge?” Sam asked the woman beside him.
“In a chalet,” Eve informed him. She didn’t point out which one.
Figures it would be a chalet, Sam thought. More privacy that way. And Charlie Fowler would have wanted as much privacy with her as possible. The FBI special agent would bet they never wasted a moment out on the ski slopes.
Sam didn’t blame Fowler. If he’d been holed up with a woman like Eve Warren, he’d want her all to himself, too. Or he would have before his life went all to hell. Now it was just a question of getting through each day without losing his sanity.
They had reached the main road. Sam turned right. When Eve realized which direction they were headed in, she challenged him with a startled “This isn’t the way to Dawson!”
“We’re not going to the commercial airport in Dawson.”
“Stop the car and turn around!”
Sam stopped the car. “Yeah, we can do that,” he said, not bothering to soften the sarcasm in his tone. “We can turn around and head for Dawson. That what you really want? To climb up over that pass where Charlie died?”
She didn’t respond, but when he turned his head to look at her, he saw her shudder with something like grief or dread. Maybe both.
“I didn’t think so,” he said without offering any sympathy as he drove on.
“Then where are you taking us?”
“To a small airfield used by private planes. I’ve arranged for us to be flown out of here by one of the bush pilots there. Any more questions?”
He shouldn’t have given her the opportunity. Should have known she’d have one. The woman was turning out to be a real pain in the ass.
“But why?”
“Because I’m a cautious agent, Eve Warren. If Fowler was murdered, then whoever killed him could be watching either that road or the airport in Dawson, just waiting for you to turn up. Okay?”
She must have been satisfied with his explanation because she offered no more objections. Not that he would tolerate them if she did. All that mattered to him was that she obey his instructions. The sooner he got her to Chicago and turned her over to his boss, the sooner he could walk away and get back to his life. What remained of it, that is.
He could see she was nervous, though. Her body went rigid every time they encountered an icy patch on the road, with the car starting to slide sideways before he corrected it.
Although he periodically checked the rearview mirror to make certain they weren’t being followed, there was no other vehicle either in front or behind them. They were on their own out here.
When he wasn’t concentrating on the road, Sam found himself sneaking glances at the woman beside him. Not wise. Not wise at all, but he couldn’t seem to help himself.
She was an eyeful all right. A mass of russet-colored hair, creamy complexion, a beguiling little cleft in her chin and a full mouth that…well, a mouth that could only be described as lush.
He couldn’t see her body under that bulky parka, but he was willing to imagine it was every bit as alluring as the rest of her. And that made him even more puzzled about her than he’d been back in Chicago.
“What was this Eve Warren doing up there with Fowler?” Sam had asked his squad supervisor. “According to the record you have on him, he was never married, so she couldn’t have been his wife. There wasn’t a mention of any ongoing affair, either. So just who is she?”
Frank Kowsloski, hands folded across his paunch as he rocked back in his desk chair, had just shrugged. “We don’t know. We didn’t even know she existed until the RCMP called us with the news of Fowler’s death. And since then…well, there’s been no time for any proper investigation. All we could learn were the basics online. Her address, that she’s single, parents deceased, works for a magazine in St. Louis. That kind of thing.”
“Seems to me Fowler could have told you he was meeting someone up there.” Sam hadn’t been able to keep the sour note out of his voice as he’d faced Frank across his littered desktop. He’d resented being called in like this. Still did.
“Look, I was lucky to even persuade him in the end to tell us where he was going. I could have lost him if I’d pushed too hard.”
And that, Sam had thought, would have meant losing the FBI’s prime opportunity to send one of the nation’s most notorious crime bosses to prison. Because Charlie Fowler had been Victor DeMarco’s longtime accountant. He’d had the evidence to convict DeMarco, records that would prove years of tax cheating. And Charlie had been willing to turn those records over to the FBI. Why? Terminal cancer. Apparently, Charlie had also suffered from an attack of conscience and a need to make things right before he died.
But now it was too late. For all his careful handling of the case, Frank had lost Charlie Fowler anyway on that road to Dawson.
“Why didn’t you send an agent up there with him?” Sam had pressed his boss.
Frank had shaken his head. “He anticipated that. Said if one of my agents turned up there, the whole deal was off. Guess he wanted this last fling of his, if that’s what it was, to be strictly private. Anyway, the Canadians don’t appreciate our agents operating up there, not without permission and a lot of red tape. I had to settle for the Mounties promising to keep an eye on him.”
Which hadn’t worked, Sam thought, although he knew the RCMP was a reliable law enforcement agency.
“Why me, Frank? Why do I get to be your delivery boy? Hell, you know I’m not ready to come off leave. I’m still a head case.”
“Can’t be helped, Sam. All our agents are either out in the field or off somewhere with their kids on their spring vacations. Disney World, for all I know.”
Yeah, Sam had thought, warm places. Not the freeze-your-ass-off Yukon Territory. Why had Charlie Fowler chosen such a spot? Probably because he’d figured it was absolutely safe. It hadn’t been, not if he was murdered because DeMarco had suspected his accountant was about to turn on him. If that was true, it meant DeMarco’s boys had somehow managed to find him.
“You know, Frank, it would have been a helluva lot easier if Fowler had just turned those records over to you before he took off for the Yukon.”
“But he wouldn’t, not until his return. Probably his way of making sure I’d stick to my end of the bargain. I had no choice but to play by his rules.” The squad supervisor had hunched forward in his chair with an earnest “Look, it’s a simple enough assignment. All you have to do is fly up there and bring Eve Warren out. I need her, Sam. My gut tells me if DeMarco’s goons haven’t managed to get their hands on those records, then the woman either has them or knows where they are.”
Sam had doubted that then in Frank’s office, and he doubted it now even more after meeting Eve Warren. There was nothing about her to indicate that Fowler would have trusted her with such important information. No, given her spectacular looks and the considerable age difference between Fowler and her, Sam would wager she had to be nothing more than a playmate hired by Charlie to share his last holiday.
But, yeah, Sam could understand all right why Fowler had wanted her. Temptation that she was, he desired her himself. Not that he would try to initiate anything. She was his assignment, and that was all. Period.
Still, Charlie Fowler must have cared for her on some level other than a purely carnal one. The report Sam had read on his flight up here indicated Charlie and Eve had flown separately to Dawson and that Fowler had intended them to return in the same manner, which was why Eve wasn’t in that rental car with him. Why had Charlie insisted on that? Because he had wanted to safeguard her in the event of trouble? Sam wondered…

She didn’t like him.
On a purely physical level, Eve thought, Sam McDonough might qualify as every woman’s ideal male fantasy. He certainly had all the right, rugged looks for it. She wouldn’t deny him that.
All right, so in that sense she wasn’t entirely immune to him herself. But his attitude…well, that was another matter. The man was a devil—nasty to the point of harshness.
If he had any sympathy for her loss, he didn’t bother to express it either by word or manner. One thing was clear. He resented her.
Eve didn’t bother to wonder why. She was suffering from too much grief over Charlie’s death to trouble herself with something that didn’t really matter.
Charlie, Charlie, what happened exactly? And why did it have to happen?
She missed him. Missed him terribly. She was alone now. Alone and frightened.
Not quite alone, Eve. There’s the man at your side. But why, oh why, do you have to be so aware of him and this very disturbing effect he has on you?
It was impossible to ignore him as she would have liked. He was too blatantly there. Very much of a forceful presence with his hard body and hot temper.
An FBI agent of all things. They had sent an FBI agent to escort her home. Something connected with Charlie, and she was clear about none of it. Still too traumatized by the whole thing to try to figure it out. Or could it be that she didn’t really want to know?
How had she managed to get herself into this terrible situation anyway? She was just an ordinary girl living an ordinary life. Work, a nice apartment, good friends, occasional dates when both her mood and interest prompted her enough to go out with the men who asked her.
Pleasant company. None of them that held the promise of anything approaching a serious attachment. None of them any more extraordinary than she was. No secrets in her life, no suggestion of intrigue. And no man who assaulted her senses while managing to be hateful about it at the same time. Until now.

The airfield was a simple one—two runways recently plowed for takeoffs and landings and a metal hangar attached to a small building that must serve as an office.
Their pilot emerged from the structure, shaking hands with them when Sam and Eve climbed out of the car. He was a portly, middle-aged man with the look of a Native American. Or at least a mixture of ancestry, Sam thought.
The guy verified that when he introduced himself. “Ken Redfeather,” he said. “Plane’s all gassed and ready for you.”
Sam nodded in the direction of the rental car. “There’ll be someone who’ll return the car to the Dawson airport, won’t there?”
“Yep. All arranged for, just as you specified on the phone. This way, folks.”
Ken Redfeather led them out to the waiting plane, a single engine, high-wing craft. Insisting on carrying her own suitcase this time, Eve followed their pilot. Sam brought up the rear with his own bag.
Why the hell couldn’t he keep his eyes off her? First it was her face. Now it was her backside. Or, anyway, what he could see of it in that coat. Whether the seductive sway of her hips was done consciously or unconsciously, whether it was fair of him or not, he resented her for his arousal. Emotionally messed up as he was, he didn’t need this unexpected complication.
Redfeather took their luggage when they reached the plane and stowed it in a baggage compartment behind the seats. Apparently a conscientious pilot, he invited them to settle themselves inside while he checked the outside of the plane to make sure everything was sound.
Ducking under the wing, Sam folded the front passenger seat back. “You take the backseat,” he indicated to Eve.
“Why?”
“Because there are no windows back there to speak of. You’ll be more secure.”
“And just what do you think I could possibly be in danger from up there? Birds?”
“It’s not birds I’m worried about. I don’t want you being a possible visible target when we land for refueling, which I was told when I made the arrangements that we’d have to do before we set down in Calgary.”
“And after Calgary?”
“We board a commercial jet for Chicago. No more questions. Get in the back.”
“I don’t think so,” she said stubbornly. “It’s bound to be warmer in front near the heater.”
“So, just keep your coat on.”
“I’d still like to ride in front.”
“I’m not giving you that choice,” he informed her sharply. “Just do what I tell you when I tell you, and we’ll both be happy.”
He could tell by the way her eyebrows lifted and the ice-hard glare under them that she was royally pissed off with him. Well, that was her problem.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re rude to the point of—”
“Meanness? Yeah, plenty of times. So what?”
She muttered something under her breath that he didn’t catch. He could guess what it might be. Something that probably involved the word bastard. Too bad. She had to understand he was responsible for her. That meant, like it or not—and she obviously didn’t anymore than he did—following his instructions.
“I’m beginning to think the only threat to me is you, Special Agent McDonough.”
One of those shapely eyebrows of hers, which Sam was beginning to realize were capable of expressing a whole range of emotions, shot up again with barely restrained anger. Before she could go on arguing with him, he cut her off with an emphatic, “Now get in the back like a good girl, and try not to give me any more grief.”
She must have figured it wasn’t worth the effort to make a further issue of it. Long-strapped, leather purse swinging from her shoulder, she clambered aboard and into the backseat. Sam lowered the front seat and swung himself into it. He shut the door behind him as Ken Redfeather rounded the tail of the plane and approached the pilot’s door.
As cramped as the cabin was, Sam wondered how Redfeather, with that ample belly of his, could possibly fit behind the yoke. As it turned out, once he’d shed his coat, he managed it with relative ease.
“Belt up, folks, and we’ll get my girl here on her way.”
A few minutes later, the plane lifted off the runway and into the clear, blue sky. When they had reached their cruising altitude, Sam looked down over the side.
The terrain spread out below them was an impressive sight. Snowy mountains, frozen lakes, vast forests of white spruce, birch and fir. On the flat, treeless bowl of a valley, Sam thought he could spot what had to be a herd of elk.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Redfeather said, obviously proud of his rugged homeland.
Sam murmured his agreement. Eve, probably unable to catch more than glimpses of what lay below them, had nothing to contribute. Sam should have felt some guilt about that and didn’t. Hey, he was only ensuring her welfare, wasn’t he?
Needing to confirm that welfare after a long silence in the cabin, he twisted around in his seat to check on her. And learned she was waiting for him. Or so it seemed when their gazes collided head-on. Sam sucked in his breath as her green, siren’s eyes held his, searing him with a hot intensity.
The moment was a compelling one. He had never felt so inflamed by a woman. And he didn’t appreciate it. Not when his self-control was in jeopardy by this senseless attraction to a woman he’d met less than two hours before. Not when he felt helpless to do anything about it, except damn himself for a weakness he couldn’t afford.
She finally broke the contact, dragging her gaze away from his, her face flushed. That’s when Sam realized she was not only conscious of him on the same level but that she didn’t want this tug of strong emotions between them any more than he did.
Releasing his breath with a rush of air, he turned around in his seat to avoid the provocative sight of her. Ken Redfeather appeared to be unmindful of the whole exchange. Sam meant to keep it that way.
“Think I’ll catch a few winks,” Sam mumbled. “I didn’t have a chance to sleep on the flight up here.”
Focused on his flying, Redfeather merely nodded.
It was warm up front, probably why Redfeather had wisely rid himself of his coat before takeoff. Something else that Sam should have felt guilty about, especially since he meant to follow the pilot’s example. Unbuckling his seat belt, he squirmed out of his own coat and dropped it down beside Redfeather’s in the space between them.
Sam restored his belt before he slid down in the seat as much as his tall body would allow. He closed his eyes, but, although he needed the rest, he didn’t expect to sleep. He didn’t sleep much at all these days, not even in his own bed. And with Eve Warren very much on his mind…

Sam must have dozed off after all. For how long he had no idea. The next thing he knew, the pilot was calling to him.
“Agent McDonough, wake up! I need you!”
Sam didn’t like the insistent, concerned tone in Redfeather’s voice. Shaking off the fog of sleep in his head, he sat up on his seat, instantly alert.
“What is it? Something wrong?”
“I hope not. That out there has been tailing us.”
The pilot nodded in the direction of the window on his side. Sam leaned over to get a better view through the glass. That proved to be a sizable helicopter of the military variety.
“How long has it been out there?”
“Not sure. But it has to be a powerful chopper to keep up with us.”
Not only keep up with them, Sam realized, but overtake them. The craft was flying level now with their plane a few hundred yards straight off to their left.
“Maybe it’s an official chopper patrolling the region. Just checking us out to make sure we’re legitimate.”
Ken Redfeather shook his head. “I don’t think so, not in this area. Anyway, I’ve never seen anything like it before.”
“What’s happening?” Eve demanded to know.
Sam had forgotten that, except for a very small pane on either side, she had no window back there. He turned his head to make sure she was all right. “Probably nothing. Just keep low until we know,” he ordered her curtly. He swung his attention back to their pilot. “Can you rouse them on your radio? Ask them what they’re doing out there?”
“I can try.”
Before Redfeather could act, the helicopter suddenly and rapidly closed the gap between them until it was no more than a couple of hundred feet away. A door in the side of the craft rolled back, revealing a burly, bearded man kneeling there in the opening with a rifle raised to his shoulder. Within seconds, Sam could hear bullets pinging against the body of their plane.
Sonofabitch!
“They’re shooting at us!” Redfeather shouted.
Sam concurred with a caustic “I noticed that.”
He knew what their objective was. Eve Warren. He also knew who they were. Had to be Victor DeMarco’s goons ordered to bring their plane down. But how in hell had they learned his method of transport?
No time to worry about that. Somehow he had to get them out of this mess, but first—
“You okay?” he asked, whipping his head around. “You weren’t hit, were—?”
He broke off in exasperation. Although she managed to shake her head, she went on sitting there upright, looking too numb with terror to move.
“Didn’t I tell you to get down?”
“Stop bullying me!”
“Then, dammit, do as you’re told.”
The look of alarm on her face was joined now by rancor directed at him. But she complied this time, squeezing down as low as possible in her seat.
Satisfied, Sam faced forward again, snatching his Glock out of his shoulder holster. Not that it would be of much use at this distance against a powerful rifle, but he felt better with the gun in his grip. He scanned the sky out his window. Not a cloud in sight. Wait a minute. There, below them!
“We’ve got cloud cover under us,” he informed Redfeather. “Looks big enough to hide in.”
“It’s a low snow mass.”
“Man, I don’t care if it’s a typhoon. Just get us into it, and fast.”
Ken Redfeather obeyed him, pushing the yoke forward. The nose of the plane went down, sending them into a dive. Sam steadied himself against the plunge, hoping Eve was hanging on. And hoping even more that Redfeather had the skill to get them out of this steep descent once they were buried in the cloud mass.
If the helicopter was swooping after them, Sam had no indication of it. At least there was no further gunfire from the chopper. None that he could detect anyway.
Small comfort, Sam thought wryly, remembering his squad supervisor’s certainty. It looked like Frank Kowsloski had been right about Eve Warren. That she did know something vital enough for Victor DeMarco to want her taken down. In this case, literally.
So much for a simple pickup and delivery. Squad supervisor or not, he was going to blister Frank when he got back. If he got back.
A fog closed in on the plane, cloaking them with its thickness. Snowflakes swirled around them, adding to their cover. They were in the cloud mass.
To Sam’s relief, Ken Redfeather pulled them out of the dive. They were flying level again. He searched through the windows on both sides. No sign of the chopper. They were safe. At least for the moment.
“Where are we anyway?” he wanted to know.
“On the border between British Columbia and Alberta,” Redfeather said.
“Not anywhere near Calgary, I suppose, since we haven’t stopped for refueling.”
“No, Calgary is still a long way off.”
Sam checked on Eve. “You holding up?”
“Just dandy,” she answered him dryly.
He guessed that was all the reassurance he was going to get. He wasn’t going to ask for more. He’d had enough of her obstinate crap. Besides, he had another concern to address. He switched his attention back to Redfeather.
“I don’t know about you, Ken, but I think it’s time you got on your radio and called out a distress. Let them know what’s happening up here.”
“I’ll try, but I’m not sure I’m in range of one of the towers. Bush pilots have been complaining for years about the dead zones out here.” Redfeather reached for his mike. “Let’s see if I can reach—” He broke off, staring in alarm down at the instrument panel.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
“The oil pressure is dropping—and dropping fast. One of those bullets must have struck a push rod tube, and now we’re leaking oil at the bottom of the cowling.”
Great. Another freaking complication. “How bad is that?”
“Real bad. You want it straight?”
“Let’s have it.”
“Without oil, the engine will lock up and quit. I’m surprised she hasn’t already—”
There was a sudden, sickly sputtering. It was happening. The engine was seizing up. Sam heard a horrified gasp from the rear seat, and then there was nothing but a terrible stillness. The engine was dead.
The plane drifted for a few seconds, and then Sam could feel it settling as it lost altitude on its descent through the cloud cover.
“I’ll try to glide us in for a safe landing, folks, but it’ll be a miracle if there’s a clearing down there. Better make sure your belts are tight before you fold yourselves into a crash position.”
Sam whirled around in his seat, barking a command at Eve. “Brace yourself! Head on your knees!”
But she knew the drill. Her head was already lowered, face hidden against her knees. Sam risked a quick glance through the window. They had broken through the cloud mass. The ground was coming up on them swiftly. There was nothing down there resembling a clearing, only the dense, unbroken forest.
Sam ducked down, straining against his belt to get his head on his knees. A few seconds later, they plowed into the forest. He could hear the undercarriage tearing apart as the plane, nose down, smashed through the limbs of the trees.
The action jerked him up, slamming his head against the window on his side. He felt a sharp, shooting pain, and then everything went black.
Chapter 2
For a full moment after the plane came to rest Eve was too shaken to move. Then slowly, carefully, she lifted her head from her knees. Dazed. She was so dazed she was imagining she was tipped over at a crazy angle. That had to be the explanation.
It was only when she struggled to sit up on the seat that she realized she was at a crazy angle. Or at least the plane was.
But as rough as the impact of crashing into the forest was, it had been softened somewhat by all the branches that had snatched at them on the way down. Must be the reason why, when she tested her own limbs, they seemed to work just fine. No other injuries she was aware of, either.
Shaking her head to clear it, Eve tried to see through the thick gloom of the cabin. It was hard to distinguish anything in the dim light of the forest and with the broken boughs of the evergreens plastered against the shattered windows on all sides.
She became conscious then of something else in the cabin. The awful silence. Sam McDonough, the pilot! Why wasn’t she hearing them? Why weren’t they stirring?
For another long, stunned moment she was too fearful of the answer to move. But she couldn’t go on sitting here like this. She had to know, had to help them. If it wasn’t too late. But she wouldn’t let herself believe that it was.
She made an effort to get to her feet, and couldn’t. The seat belt, of course. She was still tightly restrained by it. Her fingers were unsteady, but she managed to unbuckle the belt and stagger to her feet. With her sight adjusted now to the murky light, she immediately learned the worst when, supporting herself against the tilt of the plane, she leaned over the back of the pilot’s seat.
Ken Redfeather’s head was at an unnatural angle. The kind of angle that said his neck was broken. His eyes were open. And sightless. There was no question of it. The man was dead. Had Charlie looked like this after his own death? The possibility was so unbearable that Eve thrust the image out of her mind.
She willed herself not to start wailing in shock and sorrow. Sam McDonough needed her attention. She moved on to him. He was slumped against the passenger door. Cracks radiated in the glass of the window where his head rested, an indication he must have suffered a severe blow when his head struck the window.
No evidence of any blood, but she could detect a sizable lump already swelling on the side of his head. She prayed he was still alive.
His collar was open at his throat. Searching for a pulse, her hand brushed against the stubble on his jaw. She tried not to think how warm his skin was, how touching him like this felt both wrong and right at the same time.
Stop it. There’s nothing wrong or right about it. It’s simply a necessity in a bad situation.
To her relief, she located a pulse in his neck. It was strong and even—a confirmation that he was unconscious and not dead. But maybe injured internally, perhaps with a concussion, and needing medical care.
What should she do? What could she do?
There was the radio. Call out a Mayday? Impossible. Even if the radio was still working, she had no idea how to operate it. Besides, Ken Redfeather had said it was unreliable in the air and down here in the forest…
Eve had never felt so helpless, so close to outright panic. She gazed wildly around the tight cabin, as if looking for a miracle. There was no miracle. There was only another serious discovery. Through the window on the pilot’s side, she could see gas dripping down from the crumpled wing. And she could smell it through a gap in the glass. There was something else she could smell. Smoke!
Dear God, the plane must be on fire somewhere, and if the flames reached those wings where the fuel was stored—
You can’t go on standing here doing nothing.
She had to act, had to get both Sam and herself out of the plane before it went up like a firestorm. The door on the pilot’s side provided no exit. It was blocked by a heavy tree limb. It would have to be the passenger door.
Summoning what she hoped was a sufficient measure of strength and fortitude, Eve leaned over Sam as far as she could. It wasn’t easy getting a grip on those shoulders of his, not when they were so wide and hard as stone. But she somehow managed to lever him away from the door in slow degrees and finally to heave him over to the left.
She was puffing from exertion by then. Although the door latch was exposed now, she had to pause long enough to catch her breath. She used the opportunity to check on the fire. She could see the source of it now through the cracked windshield. Little wisps of smoke were curling up from the nose where the engine was located. No visible flames yet, but if she didn’t hurry—
Eve took up the battle again, straining to reach the latch. No good. The only way she could get at it was from the front. There was a narrow gap between the door and the passenger seat. Wedging herself in the opening, body twisting and squirming, she managed to squeeze through. The awkward effort cost her her balance, almost landing her in Sam’s lap.
Righting herself, she attacked the latch. The door was stuck. What if she couldn’t get it open? What if they were trapped in here?
She refused to accept that. This time she put her shoulder to it, shoving ferociously with an equally fierce curse of frustration. “Open up, damn you!”
The door popped wide with a suddenness that almost pitched her out into the snow. Recovering herself again, she realized that her purse was getting in the way, hindering her every move as it swayed like a pendulum from her shoulder. She tossed the bag out on the ground.
The action reminded her that she had to free Sam of his seat belt. Twisting herself around, she groped for the catch on the belt. Her fumbling fingers couldn’t avoid coming in contact with his waist. Again she experienced that sensation of firm, warm flesh, of something intimate and forbidden just beneath the fabric of his shirt. It was a giddy pleasure that made her want to—
The catch snapped open, releasing Sam. Backing quickly away from him, Eve lowered herself to the ground, leaned into the opening and caught him by the ankles.
This part isn’t going to be easy.
And it wasn’t. However, gravity was on her side this time. The crooked plane was tipped to the right, making her effort all downhill. With a combination of tugging and sheer force of will, she eased him out over the side where she was finally able to drop him into the snow.
What he might have suffered in the process, Eve didn’t allow herself to imagine. Her struggle wasn’t done. Raising his arms over his head and gripping him by his big hands, she dragged him inch by inch away from the plane. He was a heavy, solid man, but the snow helped, letting her slide his body over its slick surface.
Eve delivered him a safe distance away from the hazardous plane. Winded, she wanted nothing more than to collapse at his side. Not possible. She had remembered something. His coat. He would freeze out here without it.
As much as she wanted to keep far away from the plane, she had no choice. The flames were visible now, licking slowly but steadily in the direction of the wings.
There was a haze of smoke in the cabin when she returned to the plane, making it difficult to see anything at all. She dared not climb inside. Stretching out her hands as far as they would reach, head averted to keep from inhaling the fumes, she felt around for his coat where he had dropped it between the front seats.
Eve had paid no attention to what their pilot had been wearing, but she remembered that Sam’s coat was a dark leather. When her fingers came in contact with a smoothness that could only mean leather, she knew she had the right coat. No telling where his gun had landed when the plane crashed. Nor did she have the time to look for it.
Grabbing up the coat, she spared a last glance at the lifeless figure of Ken Redfeather. Guilt seized her at the necessity of abandoning him. It couldn’t be helped.
Hugging the thick coat to her breasts, and pausing only long enough to retrieve her shoulder bag, Eve trotted back to the pine tree under which she had deposited Sam on his back. She didn’t think she had the strength left in her to lift him into a sitting position and support him long enough to get him into the coat. Crouching beside him, she did the next best thing, spreading the coat over him and tucking it snugly against his sides.
The coat was enough to keep out the worst of the cold. But it was no protection when a minute later, just as she had feared, the heat of the fire reached the wings containing the fuel. There was a horrific blast, followed almost immediately by a second explosion.
Eve’s reaction, when she flung herself full length over Sam’s inert body, was an instinctive one. Or so she told herself. Face buried against his neck, she heard the hiss of hot metal raining down on the snow. Thankfully, none of those shards fell on them.
There was snow, too, in the air. She noticed it when she turned her head. It must have been drifting down in feathery flakes even before the crash, but Eve hadn’t been conscious of it until now. It was a soft, gentle snowfall. An ironic contrast to the violence she had just experienced.
There was something else she was acutely aware of. The hardness of the body she was covering. Even through the layers of the coat, she could feel his muscular strength. More than that. With her nose pressed against the exposed skin of his throat, she was able to detect his scent. The faint, clean fragrance of his soap mingled with something masculine. Something that was distinctly Sam McDonough.
Eve had a sudden longing to do more than inhale him. A longing to flick her tongue over that warm throat where his pulse beat a seductive rhythm. A longing to taste him.
Insanity. Don’t go there. Not with a man you don’t like and who doesn’t like you.
Hastily pulling away from him, she rolled over and sat up in the snow, drawing her knees to her chest. Tragic though it was, the fire made a welcome distraction. The crackling blaze by now had engulfed the entire plane. Several of the trees nearest the aircraft had gone up like torches, but fortunately the snow prevented the flames from spreading into the forest.
Eve knew she should be thankful for their safety. And she was. But a new reality was beginning to settle on her. A harsh one. The reality that they were on their own in the Canadian wilderness, and no one knew where they were.
Except—
A sudden recollection occurred to her. Last spring she had edited an article for her magazine about recreational aviation. The author had described the safety features of small, private airplanes. One of those features was a unit that automatically sent out signals in the event that a plane went down.
What was the thing called? Eve searched her memory. Emergency Locator Transmitter. That was it. And if Ken Redfeather’s plane had been equipped with an ELT, then—
Forget it. If such a device had existed, then it would be toast by now in the conflagration that was still raging. There could be no prospect of the plane being found and its survivors rescued. At least not by that method.
No question about it. Their plight was a dismal, desperate one. Forced down in the middle of nowhere, where the vastness was still locked in winter. An enemy somewhere out there who might not be satisfied that she was no longer a threat. And all of it complicated by a difficult man who shared this calamity with her.
Sam McDonough, who from the beginning had made no secret about what he thought of her. Never mind asking herself why. He just had.
She looked down at him, her eyes lingering on his mouth as she remembered his gruff commands to her. And even if the wide mouth that had issued those commands was the most sensual male mouth Eve had ever laid eyes on, the man behind it was still unpleasant.
This isn’t helping. You can’t go on sitting here like this doing nothing.
Right. But whatever decisions confronted her, they had to wait. First she needed to make some effort to rouse Sam.
And don’t let yourself wonder if that might not be possible. Just do it.
How? Exactly how was she supposed to manage that? There was only one way she could think of. Getting to her knees and scooping up a handful of snow, Eve leaned over him. She started to apply the snow, but her hand paused in its descent, her gaze captured by the sight of his face.
It was a strong, compelling face beneath a thatch of dark brown hair. A seasoned face with angular features and a square jaw. There was a certain toughness about it that didn’t surprise her. What she didn’t expect was the complete lack of tautness. A tightness of expression that had clearly been there during his conscious state, hinting at some dark, inner struggle. Or was she just imagining the whole thing?
All right, so you’re sexually attracted to this man. You’d better control your susceptibility if you don’t want to get hurt.
It was a sensible instruction. Eve obeyed it as she briskly rubbed the snow over his face, hoping its wet cold would wake him. Praying he wasn’t in some coma she couldn’t penetrate.
“Sam,” she called to him urgently, “can you hear me?”
Her treatment must have worked, but not as she’d anticipated. Instead of stirring slowly, he startled her when he came to with a sudden jerk of his body, as if shocked out of a deep sleep. The next thing Eve knew she was gazing into a pair of brown eyes with amber lights in them.
Those eyes focused on her face bent over his. There was puzzlement in them. She waited for the familiar scowl when he recognized her. She didn’t get it. There was something entirely different. A grin of pleased discovery that spread across his rugged features. It was accompanied by his deep, rich voice with a low but untroubled tone that amazed her as much as the words that came out of his mouth.
“Whoever you are, angel, please tell me that we’re more, much more, than just casual acquaintances.”
Eve caught her breath in disbelief. This was a man she didn’t know. She was looking into the eyes of a stranger. What on earth was happening?
When she was able to breathe again, she uttered a hoarse “You can’t be serious. You must know I’m Eve. Eve Warren.”
“Hello, Eve Warren,” he said, caressing her name with a slow softness that, in spite of her promise to herself, sent a warmth spreading through her whole body.
Thoroughly confused, she sat back on her heels, afraid to ask but knowing she had to. “But you remember everything else, don’t you?”
“Sorry. Afraid I don’t.”
Her questions came swiftly then, one after the other. “Not what happened? Not where we are? But you know who you are, don’t you? You have to know that.”
To all of those questions, he replied by shaking his head from side to side.
His head injury from smacking so hard against the window, she thought. A trauma apparently sufficient to have short-circuited his memory. Maybe only temporarily. Maybe all she had to do was prompt him, and the rest would follow.
“You’re Sam McDonough,” she told him. No response. She tried again. “You’re an FBI agent.”
No use. He looked at her blankly. She hadn’t triggered his memory. Like it or not, she had to accept his condition. God in heaven, she realized suddenly, on top of all else, she was stuck out here with a man suffering from amnesia!
He must have read the concern on her face. “Don’t worry, Eve. I’m running on empty now, but I’ll get it all back.”
He was worried about her, not himself. What’s more, his reassurance had been expressed in a kind voice. Even the smile that followed it was a pleasant one. Nothing like the hard cynicism before the crash. Was it possible that someone’s attitude, perhaps his very nature as well, could change so totally like this? If so, she was ready to be thankful for it.
“The thing is—” he started to say, then broke off, his nose wrinkling as he sniffed the air. “I smell smoke.” Before she could explain, he lifted his head from the ground in order to gaze at the now-blackened remains of the plane. The flames that had consumed it were beginning to die down. “What happened?”
“We went down in the woods, and the plane caught on fire.”
“Everyone get out?”
“Not our pilot. He died in the crash itself.” Like Charlie, she thought, the pain of his death registering all over again. “With the plane burning as it was,” she managed to explain, “there was no time for me to try to get his body out of the wreckage.”
Eve didn’t want to think about the loss of Ken Redfeather, the family he might have left behind. Didn’t want to remind herself of Charlie and how much the memory of him hurt. She’d start to bawl if she permitted herself that lapse, and she had to hold herself together if she stood any prayer of getting out of this mess.
Sam had swung his attention away from the wreckage and was gazing at her again, this time not with concern but realization. “I was unconscious. I couldn’t have helped myself out of the plane and over here on the ground. That was all you, wasn’t it?”
There was gratitude in his voice. And, yes, admiration, too.
“You are some woman, Eve Warren.”
His praise was unexpected. And recalling the Sam McDonough she had experienced before the crash, another complete surprise. That it had lit a glow deep inside her was probably not so good.
Eve covered her fluster with a hasty “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to find and rescue your gun when I recovered your coat. But you have your passport and your wallet with your FBI ID. Maybe seeing them will help you get your memory back.”
From the movement under his coat, she assumed he was feeling for the passport and wallet in his back pockets. “No, they’re not in your pants pockets,” she corrected him, remembering he had shoved them into a side pocket of his coat after showing them to the Mountie. “They’re in one of your coat pockets.”
Hands emerging from beneath the coat, he burrowed into its pockets. “No passport or wallet,” he said. “Just earmuffs, a pair of gloves and a scarf.”
“But they have to be there. Are you sure that— Oh, no!”
“What?”
“I was in such a rush I must have grabbed the wrong coat, thinking the pilot’s coat had to be very different from yours, when all along— Oh, Sam, how could I have been so stupid?”
“You weren’t stupid. Anyone could have confused them in a situation like that.”
“But your passport and wallet—”
“Destroyed in the fire. So, Eve, I guess I’ll just have to trust that I’m who and what you say I am. But while I’m doing that…” Coat sliding down to his waist, he lifted himself into a sitting position. It was apparently an unwise action. It was followed by a sharp “Whoa” and his hand going to the lump on the side of his head.
Eve was instantly alarmed. “How badly does it hurt?”
Sam felt around the swelling. “Has to be a souvenir from the crash.”
“Your head connected with the window hard enough to crack a fairly thick pane of glass.”
“Which explains my memory loss, I guess. Actually, it’s just a little tender. But I do have one hell of an old-fashioned headache.” He eyed her purse on the ground. “I don’t suppose you’d have a couple of aspirin in there?”
“I do, but I’m not sure you should take them. You could have a concussion, and taking anything like that might not be safe.”
“I’m willing to risk it. I’ll have those aspirin, please.”
Eve hesitated and then reluctantly reached for her bag, finding the aspirin inside and handing two of them to him. She watched him swallow the pills, washing them down with a handful of snow he scooped up from the ground. She was putting the aspirin container back in her bag when she spotted her cell phone in one corner. She had forgotten it until now.
“Look!” she said brightly, holding up the phone. “We’re saved!”
But they weren’t saved. When she flipped open the instrument and powered it up, the display indicated a strong battery but no signal whatsoever. What had led her to believe there possibly could be one when Ken Redfeather had complained of the scarcity of communication towers in the region?
She closed the phone and put it back in her bag. “No signal,” she reported. “And no distress call from the plane, either. The pilot never got the chance to send one.”
“Looks like you and I are on our own out here, Eve. Just where are we, anyway?”
“Canada. Somewhere along the British Columbia and Alberta border, so the pilot said. We were headed for Calgary, and from there…”
Eve was prepared to fill him in on all the rest. She figured he’d want to know everything from the time he met her at the ski lodge, but he halted her.
“Just what I’m doing here and why can wait. In case you haven’t noticed, the light is growing weaker, which means it must be late afternoon.”
“And?”
“We have to find shelter of some kind before night closes in. It’s winter, isn’t it?”
“Getting on toward late April, actually. It’s cold but not as cold as it was up in the Yukon where we boarded the plane. I suppose because we’re much farther south now.”
“Yeah, but the temperatures are bound to drop after dark. We could freeze out here.”
“What are you doing?” she challenged him as he climbed to his feet and bundled into the coat.
“Trying this on for size. Not bad. A little short and a little too roomy, but it’s plenty warm.”
“You shouldn’t be up yet.”
“You think it’s a lot healthier for me to have a wet backside on the ground?”
“But if you do have a concussion—”
“Maybe, but I don’t think I have any of the classic symptoms.”
“You have a headache.”
“So would you if you smacked your head into a hard surface. It’s not conclusive evidence of a concussion.” He looked down at her where she was still crouched in the snow, a glint of humor in his eyes. “I love you fussing over me, angel, but don’t.”
Angel. He had called her angel again. Now why on earth, in a situation as bad as this one, should she suddenly and out of nowhere recall the memory of her mother teaching her when she was a little girl how to bake an angel food cake from scratch? How, through the years of growing up that followed, her mother had taught her so many other culinary skills. A joy that stayed with her to this day. Warm, pleasant memories. Maybe that’s why she recalled them. Because at this moment she needed something that was ordinary and nonthreatening.
Sam was still gazing at her. “Have it your way,” she mumbled. “Just be careful.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Come on.”
Before she could prevent it, he leaned down from that six-foot-plus height of his, caught her by the hand and raised her to her feet. Eve didn’t need his help. She wasn’t used to men helping her. She had always been independent and self-reliant. Well, maybe not with the same certainty since Charlie’s cruel death. Everything had changed after that.
She waited for him to release her hand once she was standing. He didn’t. He pulled her against his hard length. She felt suddenly light-headed as he pinned her there to his chest, his eyes searching hers. Not only light-headed but powerless to resist his sexual charisma. And she needed to do just that.
Thankfully, it was all over in a brief moment, although Eve was shaken when he let her go and she was able to step safely away from him.
He zipped up the coat that was now his as if nothing had happened, added the scarf, drew on the gloves from one pocket and covered his head with the earmuffs from the other pocket. His suggestion that “You might want to raise the hood on that parka” was a casual one.
How could he be so confident and unconcerned when he’d lost his memory, when calamity had landed them here where their very survival was in jeopardy? Could being relieved of your conscious memory also relieve you of your cares? Was this an explanation for the drastic change in Sam’s disposition? It was a theory, anyway.
“You ready?” he asked. Eve had produced her own gloves from her coat pocket, wriggled into them and raised her hood. “Then let’s move. There’s nothing more here for us.”
Without waiting for her, he strode ahead through the trees. Snatching up her shoulder bag, Eve hurried after him. All right, she would admit it, at least to herself. Sam McDonough was a remarkable man. He could also be an exasperating one.
He might have lost his memory, but not the qualities that must have made him an exceptional FBI agent. Like leadership. Or had that simply been built into his character from birth? Either way, he took charge, and as long as he didn’t bark orders at her, Eve let him.
One thing was evident. Sam was in no way handicapped by either his injury or the amnesia it had produced. Except to check on her at regular intervals to make sure she was okay, he never faltered in his straight, southerly course through the forest, as if certain of their destination. Was it pure instinct, Eve wondered, or did the FBI train its agents in wilderness survival?
It had stopped snowing shortly after they left the site of the wreckage, which was an advantage as far as seeing through the failing light was concerned. But the fresh powder on top of the accumulation below was not so easy to navigate. At least it wasn’t for Eve, who welcomed the places under the thicker canopies of the evergreens where the white cover was thin.
The only sound was the crunch of their booted feet as they trudged through the snow. They talked infrequently and only in brief intervals, saving their wind for the trek. Even so, Eve was beginning to tire.
She was also starting to wonder if this whole thing was madness. Whatever Sam’s easy assurance, maybe they were hunting for something that wasn’t there. Maybe they should have stayed with the plane. Didn’t pilots file flight plans? Yes, of course, they did. And when their plane didn’t arrive at its destination, wouldn’t a rescue team come searching for it?
But we won’t be there when they find it.
Eve was about to tell Sam this. She didn’t, because she understood something else then. It could be hours before anyone realized the plane was long overdue and an air search was mounted. And days after that before they located the wreckage, if ever. Long before that, she and Sam would have died of exposure. He was right. They had to find shelter of some kind, even if it was a cave.
As miserable as tramping through this endless forest was, there was one thing Eve did enjoy. The sight of Sam in front of her with his steady, long-legged gait and erectness of body, almost military in its bearing. Not to mention his tight, sexy backside, what she could see of it, anyway, in that coat.
She tried to tell herself it didn’t hurt to look, though she knew her interest was a mistake. Another attraction she should be resisting. But she couldn’t seem to help herself.
Even that sight, however, was no longer entertaining when her legs started to ache and her weariness had her stumbling over half-buried logs and rocks. Fearing that darkness would overtake them out here, Eve was about to break their silence and ask him just how much farther he expected them to travel when he halted abruptly.
“Look,” he said, moving aside so she could see his discovery.
Light just through the trees! The last of daylight that seemed bright after the gloom of the forest. It had to be a clearing, maybe not natural, maybe man-made. And that could mean some form of civilization.
It did disclose itself as a form of civilization when they reached it a moment later. But it was no longer occupied and hadn’t been in years, probably even decades.
Eve could see in the fading light that the once-sizable clearing was being reclaimed by the forest. Young pine trees were everywhere in the tall, dry weeds that long ago had likely been a field and a garden. Subsistence farming, she thought, and it had failed. Not surprising out here in the middle of nowhere.
“I think I can make out a kind of track over there leading out of the clearing,” Sam said. “If so, we’re in business. It must lead to a settlement somewhere. But tonight…”
“We need a shelter.”
Not that she could see anything resembling one. There were the remains of a small log cabin and an adjacent outbuilding at one side of the clearing, but they offered no shelter. Their roofs had collapsed long ago, and their walls threatened to soon follow, leaving both structures wide open to the elements.
“Has to be something we can use,” Sam said. “Let’s look for it.”
The light was fast leaving them as they crossed the clearing, but Sam seemed to have the eyes of an owl. He found that something near the cabin.
“What is it?” Eve wondered, peering through the twilight at a snow-covered mound.
“I’m betting it’s a root cellar.”
He was right. There were crude stone steps leading down to a plank door that was still intact.
“Better let me go first,” he said, his booted foot scrubbing aside the snow piled on the steps as he descended to the door. “Could be some unfriendly animal has taken up residence down there.”
Not an impossibility, Eve thought, since the door at the bottom of the steps was ajar by a few inches. The door was sagging, which meant Sam had to put his shoulder to it to scrape it open. Eve waited nervously at the top of the steps as, head lowered for what was presumably a low ceiling, he disappeared into the cellar. Seconds later she heard his muffled curse.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I just knocked my head against something hanging from a hook in the ceiling.”
Great. As if he needed another lump on his head.
“Hey, I think it’s a lantern. And it still has oil in it. There’s a tin of safety matches, too, on a ledge just below it.”
It had to be black down there. How could he possibly make out anything?
“Let’s see if they still work.”
They did. A moment later the lantern bloomed with light that glowed through the open door.
“Come on down,” he urged.
Eve joined him in the root cellar. The light of the lantern that Sam had placed on an overturned crate revealed a small room with a hard-packed earthen floor, the low ceiling she had anticipated and stone walls against which were ranged wooden shelves.
Sam was pleased with his find. “It’s okay, huh? Belowground like this, and with that mound over it, the temperature down here must never dip below freezing. The lantern puts out some warmth, too.”
“Home never looked better,” Eve agreed.
Sam found an abandoned can in one corner. He took it outside to fill with snow, which he intended to melt over the heat of the oil lantern. By the time he returned, Eve had placed two of the wide, loose shelves on the floor to serve as seats for them.
“Cozy, right?” Sam asked a short while later as they sat side by side on the boards, legs outstretched.
Eve couldn’t deny, with the door now tightly shut and keeping out the worst of the cold, that the cellar made a snug refuge for them. The snow had melted in the can. He passed it to her. She drank from it and handed the can back to him. It tasted flat, but it was water. She was grateful for that.
“Too bad,” Sam said after satisfying his own thirst, “they didn’t leave any food behind on those shelves. Not that it would be any good by now.”
“You hungry? I am, too, so…” Opening her shoulder bag, Eve produced two granola bars from its depth. “Like the Girl Scouts, I believe in coming prepared. Or is it the Boy Scouts? Doesn’t matter.”
She extended one of the bars toward him. Sam grabbed it with a heartfelt “Angel, you are an angel.” He started to tear off the wrapper and then stopped. “This is no good.”
“Why? What are you thinking?”
“If we eat both of these bars tonight, it leaves us nothing for tomorrow. Unless you have some more goodies down there.”
“I don’t.” He was right. They needed to save something for tomorrow. Maybe even beyond tomorrow, much as she hated to think of that possibility.
“Here,” he said, giving his bar back to her. “Take temptation away from me before I weaken.”
With his strong will, she doubted he would. But she accepted the bar, tucking it back in her purse before she unwrapped the other bar, divided it and handed him his half.
They were silent for a moment, munching on their spare rations. Sam had asked her not to fuss about his health. She had obeyed that request while they were on the move, but now that they were safe and settled she felt a need to question him.
“Your headache—”
“Is no longer a problem. The aspirin took care of that. And please don’t make an issue of the lump I’m wearing up here, either. It’s still a bit sore from that hard whack against the window, but it isn’t giving me any real trouble, I promise.”
“Good.” She hesitated before asking a cautious “Your memory, Sam. Is anything coming back?”
He thought about it for a few seconds before answering her. “There have been a few images, just these quick flashes that come and go before I can hang on to them, never mind make any sense of them. Maybe it’s time we got working on that.”
“You’re ready to have me tell you what you’re doing here and why I’m with you?”
“Might help if I can start connecting some dots.”
He listened patiently, without question or comment, as Eve started from the beginning. She made her story as brief, but complete, as possible, telling him how she and Charlie Fowler were on holiday together at the Yukon skiing village. That they had traveled separately up to the village where he had left her at the end of the week to fly back home. And died on the road to the airport in Dawson, a death that the Mounties were unable to determine was accident or murder and which still had her in its emotional grip. But this last bit she kept to herself.
She did explain, however, that the Mounties had agreed on behalf of the FBI to keep an eye on Charlie Fowler. And since he’d apparently had some connection with organized crime back in the States, the RCMP had promptly contacted the bureau following his death. The bureau had sent Special Agent Sam McDonough to escort her to Chicago. Their bush plane had been shot down en route, allegedly at the orders of crime boss Victor DeMarco.
“That’s everything, Sam.” It wasn’t. There was something more, but Eve had no intention of sharing it with the FBI. They didn’t need to know it. “I’m sorry I can’t tell you anything about your life before you met me at the lodge. But maybe what I have told you is sparking your memory.”
Sam shook his head. “It isn’t. We’ll have to give it time.” He was quiet for a moment. “This DeMarco character. Why is he trying to kill you?”
“I don’t know,” she answered truthfully.
“Okay.” Having accepted that, he was thoughtful for another minute. “So, whatever the reason, we were going home to Chicago where I was to deliver you to my squad supervisor.”
“Well, home for you, I suppose, but not for me. I live in St. Louis.”
“And what do you do in St. Louis, Eve Warren?”
“I’m the senior editor for a regional magazine.”
“Huh, impressive.”
“It’s not like one of the big New York magazines, Sam. We just cover the St. Louis metropolitan area—openings and restaurants and what’s trendy on the local scene. Things like that.”
“Family?”
“Not anymore. I just had my mother, and I lost her two years ago. My dad died when I was a teenager.”
Sam murmured his sympathy. Before she could thank him for that, she felt a yawn coming on. She smothered it, wondering what time it was. She checked her watch. Well after nine o’clock already, even though some light had remained in the sky not much more than an hour ago. But then she’d forgotten how long the days were at this time of year.
“I’m exhausted.”
“We could both use a solid night’s sleep,” he said.
She was about to agree and didn’t. She had remembered something. “You can’t go to sleep, not if you do have a concussion. At least not for more than an hour or two at a time. I think that’s what I’ve heard.”
She was afraid he would oppose her argument and was relieved when he agreed.
“All right, I’ll take the first watch. When I can no longer keep my eyes open, I’ll wake you for your shift.” He leaned forward, lowering the wick on the lantern until its glow was reduced to a faint gleam. “Still plenty of oil, but it might be smart to conserve it.”
Huddled together, with their backs against the wall, Eve was prepared for that solid sleep Sam had prescribed. She didn’t get it. The cellar might be above freezing, but it was anything but warm. Even with the door tightly closed, she could feel currents of cold air seeping through the cracks between its planks. And although she was so tired she couldn’t help dozing off, it was a fitful sleep. She kept waking up, shivering against the icy drafts that stirred around the floor.
He didn’t object when, in desperation, Eve scooted against the man at her side, seeking his warmth. Sam McDonough, offering security and comfort with his presence. She valued these along with a surprising gentleness and a sense of humor, both of which had miraculously surfaced from under a brittle crust.
Eve didn’t want him not to find his memory. To wish otherwise would be unthinkable. Still, she sighed, she would regret trading this caring man for the hateful one he’d been before his amnesia, when he’d been nothing but impatient with her.
She could imagine by the way he had treated her then what he must have thought of her. Probably some kind of mercenary wanton willing to go off with an older man for what she could get out of it. If so, his judgment couldn’t have been further from the truth. Eve was certainly no nun, but she did like to think she was a principled woman with decent values and she was in no way promiscuous.
This was no good. Even pressed against him like this, she was still cold, unable to drift off.
She must have made him aware of her discomfort, alerted him with her restlessness. He startled her with a softly growled “The hell with this.” Zipping his coat down, he held both sides of it open to her. “Come on inside here with me.”
Eve didn’t hesitate to accept his invitation, unwise though her action might be. Heaven, she thought when he’d folded the sides of the coat around her and she was sprawled practically on top of him, snuggled against the welcome heat of his body.
It was more than that, though. His effect on her—all right, admit it—was downright sexy. With her face buried against his hard chest, she could hear the beat of his heart, smell his masculine aroma. It was almost more than she could bear.
He must have found it equally arousing. “If you go on squirming against me like this, something is going to happen here that one of us might not want to happen.”
Oh, lord, he was right! She could feel it now, even through all the layers of their clothes. The rigid shaft of a male erection. “Sorry,” she muttered.
Eve fought the temptation of him and immediately stopped wriggling. After another moment, lulled by the reassuring sound of his breathing, she managed to fall into a deep sleep.

Sam had no trouble keeping that first watch. With Eve in his arms like this, it was impossible to relax long enough to so much as drowse. Not when he was so intensely conscious of his desire for her. How soft and warm she felt nestled against him, the seductive scent of her russet hair just beneath his nose and those sweet, feminine curves. Damn, when she’d strained against him like that, he’d wanted nothing more than to bury himself deep inside her. He had almost lost it then.
Face it, McDonough. You’ve got the genuine hots for the lady.
Not smart. Not smart at all with this predicament they were in that had him instinctively needing to protect her. Wanting to protect her. It wasn’t just duty, either. It was something much stronger than that, something beyond lust which included his irrational jealousy of a dead man he found himself battling.
Charlie Fowler. Had he been her boyfriend? It was only reasonable to suppose he must have been since they were alone together in that skiing village. And if Fowler hadn’t been her lover, maybe there was someone special waiting for her back home. Hard to imagine there wouldn’t be with a woman as alluring as Eve Warren.
This was nuts. He had no right to feel frustrated like this over a woman he’d known for only a few hours. Wasn’t he frustrated enough by his memory loss? For all he knew, he could have someone special himself waiting back in Chicago, maybe even a wife and kids. No, he was pretty sure he didn’t. He couldn’t say why he was so certain, only that he sensed on some deep level he was unattached.
But, yeah, that’s what he ought to be concentrating on—getting his memory back. So far all he had were those meaningless scraps. A disturbing image of a collection of paintings bathed in a low, eerie light. Then a room somewhere he didn’t recognize. That was all so far.
Never mind. He’d eventually sort them out. If, that is, he managed to get Eve and him through what tomorrow might bring. With nothing but a single granola bar between them, and maybe an enemy still out there somewhere, he was going to have one hell of a job keeping them alive and Eve safe in this frozen, no-man’s-land.
Chapter 3
Eve was aware of a faint but steady light in the root cellar. Not the oil lantern. The last time she’d swiveled her gaze in its direction, she had realized it must have exhausted its oil in the night. It was no longer burning.
Now, seeking the source of the light, she discovered little beams of it stealing through the narrow cracks between the planks of the door. Daylight.
The glow was just sufficient for her to read her watch. It was time for her to wake Sam again. They had traded off vigils of wakefulness during the night, with Sam registering no symptoms of a concussion. It seemed he was in the clear.
They had managed between them to get enough rest during the night. But now they needed to be on the move again. Not, however, before Eve answered another need. She had to relieve herself.
Much as she hated to leave the warmth and comfort of Sam’s side, she had no other choice. It was either that or risk an embarrassing accident. She managed to remove herself from his embrace without disturbing him. It wouldn’t hurt to let him go on sleeping until she returned from her errand.
Tucking the sides of his open coat over his chest, Eve got to her feet. Her intervals of slumber had permitted her to recover her strength, but her body paid the penalty of a night on the hard floor in an awkward position. She was as stiff as an old woman.
Taking a moment to restore her circulation and ease her sore muscles, she gazed down at Sam. Even like this, snoring softly and sprawled against the stone wall, he was a powerful figure. The sight of his face, shadowed with the beginning of a beard, rugged features relaxed in sleep, tugged at her with a gut-level sensation of tenderness.
You’ve got to stop this. It’s only going to mean heartbreak for you in the end.
He didn’t stir when she resolutely turned away from him, scraped the door back and climbed out of the cellar. The morning sunlight glinting off the snow was so brilliant it was blinding. No wonder. When she shaded her eyes against the glare with her hand, she saw that the sky had cleared in the night and was now a sharp, pure blue.
What last evening’s twilight and overcast sky had failed to reveal was plainly visible this morning. Far away, above the forest, rose a majestic mountain range. Beautiful, but at this moment there was something more important within easy reach. Behind the remains of the log cabin, and overlooked by them last night, was a weathered privy.
With a silent thanks to whoever had built the tiny structure, Eve hastened across the clearing. Like the root cellar, the privy was still miraculously intact.
After using the facility, and in the absence of water, she had no choice but to wash her hands with the clean snow. Frigid though it was, she scrubbed her face with snow, too.
Refreshed, she started back across the clearing in the still, frosty air. Sam had emerged from the root cellar and was standing at the top of the steps. He grinned at her when she reached him.
“I missed you,” he greeted her. “Where were you?”
“Had to answer the call of nature. In case you, ah, also…” She finished her explanation by nodding in the direction of the privy.
Sam lost no time in following her example. When he returned, he no longer wore the grin. It had been replaced by a slight frown.
“You should have roused me, Eve. We should have been on the move long ago.”
He must have consulted his own watch. She answered him with a pointedly sweet “Good morning to you, too.”

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