Killshadow Road Read online

  Then the water hit her wounds, and she couldn’t hold back a sharp yelp.

  A couple of seconds later, the bathroom door slammed open and Darcy filled the doorway, his dark eyes alert.

  She ducked down until the foamy water covered her naked breasts, shooting him a baleful look.

  The concerned expression faded into a ridiculous smirk. “Hot water hit the wounds?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact.”

  “Are you all right?”

  She nodded.

  “I can stay in here. In case you need help.” His lips curved a little more, and for a second, she was tempted to splash water on him. Then it occurred to her what he was doing. He was trying to distract her from the pain still slicing through her ravaged side.

  “I’m fine,” she assured him. “Really, I am. Not pretending to be stronger than I am.”

  “Are you certain you want me to leave?”

  “Positive,” she answered, mocking his accent.

  His quirked lips made it all the way to a smile. “I’m told I’m excellent at scrubbing backs.”

  “I’m sure you are. But I think I can reach my own back.” She almost believed she could, although she wasn’t in a hurry to test the theory.

  “You know, maybe we should consider conserving water, since we’re borrowing the place from someone else—” He reached for the top button of his shirt.

  “Out, Darcy.”

  He dropped his hands and grinned. “Call if you change your mind.”

  “I won’t,” she vowed as he headed out of the bathroom again.

  At least, she hoped she wouldn’t. The mental image of Nick Darcy’s big, soapy hands moving over her body was already making her feel weak.

  And weak was the last thing she needed to be around him.

  * * *

  ABOUT TWO MINUTES before Darcy was ready to barge back into the bathroom to see what was taking so long, McKenna emerged wrapped in a fluffy terry-cloth robe. “I found this in the bathroom. Must belong to Susie.”

  “Right.”

  “Kind of hoping she has more clothes around here. She’s a little taller than I am, but we wear close to the same size.” She tugged the garment more tightly around her. He saw a spot of blood beginning to appear and spread on the side of the robe.

  He rose quickly to reach her. “You’re bleeding again.”

  She looked down at the bloodstain. “Oh. I don’t think it’s a lot.” But as she looked back up at him, she began to sway a little, her eyes drifting unfocused.

  He scooped her up and carried her back to the bedroom, depositing her on the bed. Her hands dropped away from the lapels of the robe as her eyes struggled to focus, and the robe gaped open, revealing the shadowy curves of her breasts. They were milky pale, one apricot-colored nipple just visible under the edge of the lapel.

  Desire lanced through him, but he quelled it ruthlessly, tugging the edges of the robe closed before he realized he needed to remove the robe entirely if he wanted to take a look at her wounds.

  “I’m okay,” she murmured, sounding anything but.

  He checked her pulse and found it fast and a little weak. Her skin felt dry and loose. “Rigsby, did you drink any water while I was gone?”

  “I ran out, and I didn’t feel like getting up to get more.”

  “Damn it, Rigsby, you’re dehydrated. We must get some fluids into you before you pass out.” He brushed her hair away from her face, not liking how warm she was. Maybe the hot bath had been a bad idea.

  He crossed to the closet door and pulled it open, hoping he’d find some of Susannah Marsh’s clothes hanging there, but there were very few hanging clothes, only a couple of jackets and what looked like an Army dress uniform stored in a plastic garment bag.

  “Try the drawers,” McKenna suggested, her words weak and slurred.

  He hit pay dirt in the dresser at the foot of the bed. Two drawers contained women’s underwear and a variety of shorts, jeans and T-shirts.

  “She likes to dress down these days.” McKenna had pushed herself up on her elbows and was looking at him through a tangle of ginger curls. “She can be herself here, again. She was always a tomboy. Hated heels and skirts and all that girlie stuff, as she calls it.”

  “She’s gone blond-haired and blue-eyed again.”

  “I know.” McKenna’s eyes followed him as he returned to the bed with a bra, panties, a light blue T-shirt and a pair of navy running shorts. They were a murky green color at the moment, like a mountain pool. “You gonna dress me, Darcy?”

  “Don’t tempt me,” he murmured, handing over the clothing. “I’ll be in the kitchen getting you something to eat and refilling your water bottle. Call me if you need me.”

  He took several deep, bracing breaths as he refilled the water bottle, adding a little ice this time in hopes of helping her fight the fever. It was utterly ridiculous that he found himself thinking of stripping her naked now, of all times, considering her weakened condition.

  But she’d always had that effect on him, hadn’t she? Even in the high-stress atmosphere of the US Embassy in Tablis, McKenna Rigsby had been a constant temptation to him.

  It wasn’t just that she was beautiful in that fresh-faced, natural way of hers. It was also her sharp mind, her blazing intellect and her dogged determination to reach her goal in any situation, despite any obstacle.

  He might have saved her from sacrificing her life in a lost cause to save her colleague that fateful day in Tablis, but she’d saved him first, dragging his concussed and woozy ass back inside the embassy before the terrorists blew up the gates and surged inside.

  As he set the water bottle on the table, he heard the sound of footsteps behind him, moving at a quick but unsteady pace. He turned to find McKenna standing in the kitchen doorway, her face sickly white. She’d managed to put on the T-shirt, but she wore only panties beneath, and blood was trickling down her left leg.

  As he took a step toward her, she grabbed his arm, her green eyes wide with fear.

  “What is it?” he asked, his gut tightening with alarm.

  Her voice came out in a raspy whisper. “Someone’s outside.”

  Chapter Five

  He was so warm. So solid. Right now, McKenna felt like a mass of cold jelly, shivering and wobbling as she followed Darcy back to the bedroom. He turned suddenly, catching her as she stumbled into him and easing her onto the foot of the bed. “Stay right there. I need to find you something a little warmer to wear.”

  Resisting the temptation to drop back onto the soft mattress, she watched him search the dresser drawers until he found a pair of jeans. “May be a little long for you, but we’ll have to make do. Can you get them on?”

  It was going to be hell wriggling into jeans, she realized, but she took the pants from him and did her best, biting back a deep groan.

  He moved to the window and took a quick peek out the curtains. “Nobody’s there.”

  “I swear, there was.”

  “I don’t doubt you.” He left the window and crossed to where she sat. “Do you need help?”

  She could tell from the impatient tone of his voice that he didn’t want to be slowed down by having to aid her in dressing herself, so she shook her head. “Do whatever you need to do.”

  He touched her face briefly, his fingers cold against her skin. His brow furrowed as he dropped his hand away. “I’ll be right back.”

  She finished tugging the jeans over her hips and slumped back on the bed, feeling as if she’d just run a marathon. She was still sitting in that position when Darcy returned a few minutes later with a large backpack and a medium-size duffel, both olive drab and well used. “I’ve packed supplies in the backpack,” he told her, setting it on the floor by her feet. “Food, water, flashlights and tools. In case we
have to bug out.”

  “How can we bug out?” she asked. “If someone’s out there, they already know we’re here.”

  “There’s another way out,” he said cryptically as he held his hand out to her. “Let’s get those pants zipped and see if we can find you some socks and a jacket.”

  She let him pull her to her feet, not even protesting when he caught the tab of her zipper and pulled it up to close the fly of the jeans. But the slight curve of his lips as he snapped the button closed on the waistband sent a flood of heat pouring straight to her core. “That’s rather the opposite of what I’m used to,” he murmured.

  A flare of jealousy snaked through her, catching her off guard. “How used to it are you?” she asked before she could stop herself.

  His dark eyes snapped up to meet hers, a hint of humor dancing in their depths. “Gentlemen never unzip and tell.”

  “Tease,” she murmured, dropping back to the edge of the bed while he went in search of socks.

  He found a pair and brought them over to her, bending to put them on her feet.

  “I can do it,” she protested.

  “I’m sure you can, but there’s no point in your expending any extra energy. If we have to leave, you’ll need all the strength you can muster.” He slipped the second sock on her other foot and reached for the shoes she’d been wearing that morning when she showed up at his door. They were a sturdy pair of cross trainers, built for support, and they’d probably helped keep her going long after her stamina had begun to fail her.

  Right now, however, they felt like two stone blocks tied to her feet. She wasn’t sure how she was going to walk across the room, much less go on the run.

  As Darcy turned back to the bed holding a corduroy jacket that clearly belonged to her cousin, a rapping sound came from the front of the house, and they both froze, staring at each other.

  “Not a sound,” he murmured, touching his hand to her face. “Stay put.”

  Then he turned and was gone.

  She heard his footsteps all the way down the uncarpeted hall, then moving across the front room. The door opened, and she heard the soft murmur of voices. Then, with a click, the door closed again, and the cabin fell silent.

  What was going on? The curiosity that had been a characteristic part of her life since she was a tiny child kicked in with ferocity, tempting her to ignore Darcy’s order to stay put.

  But her weary, aching body wouldn’t comply with her mental order to start moving. She felt as weak as a newborn kitten, and just about as useful.

  To her dismay, she started to cry.

  * * *

  “WHAT THE HELL are you doing here?” Cain Dennison’s gray eyes narrowed as Darcy hustled him out of the doorway and back onto the porch.

  “Checking on the place for Bragg,” Darcy lied. “What are you doing here, following me?”

  Dennison raked his fingers through his dark hair, looking suspicious. “You didn’t show up at my grandmother’s place earlier.”

  “Yeah, changed my mind.”

  “Why?”

  Darcy ignored the question. “How did you know to look for me here?”

  “Your vehicle’s still fitted with a company GPS tracker.” Dennison arched one dark eyebrow. “Why’d you change your mind?”

  “I found what I wanted to know on the internet.”

  “What did you want to know?”

  Darcy crossed his arms, noting his fellow agent’s sudden inquisitiveness. Cain Dennison had never been the talkative sort, and while Darcy considered him one of his closer friends at The Gates, it was more a matter of his not really having any close friends to speak of. He’d grown up in the spotlight as the son of an American ambassador, and his parents had drilled into him warnings about the folly of letting down one’s guard to the wrong people.

  What they’d failed to teach him was how to tell the wrong people from the right people. So he’d ended up trusting almost no one at all.

  “Research for a book,” he answered. “Since I’m not allowed to work for my pay, I thought I should start doing something constructive.”

  “And you’re doing it here at Bragg’s primitive cabin?”

  “Was your only purpose in tracking me down to ask me why I didn’t show up at your grandmother’s place? Because I’ve answered that question.”

  “Are you sure it wasn’t because you got there and saw Sara’s cruiser?”

  Darcy grimaced. “You were assigned to watch me, weren’t you?”

  For a moment, he thought Dennison wasn’t going to answer. Then the other agent gave a brief nod. “Yes.”

  “Quinn seriously believes I’m the mole at the agency?” He shouldn’t have felt hurt, but he did, he realized. While Darcy might not have many close friends, Alexander Quinn was one of the few people in the world he’d come to trust—for the most part. He certainly trusted Quinn to do what he thought was the right thing for the most people involved, at least.

  But clearly, Quinn didn’t return that trust.

  “I don’t think he does,” Dennison said quietly. “I know I don’t. You don’t have that sort of treachery in you.”

  “You don’t really know me, Dennison.”

  “I guess not. Because you’re lying to my face right now, and I sure didn’t expect that of you.”

  Guilt pricked Darcy’s conscience, but it wasn’t just his own life at stake. McKenna Rigsby was waiting inside, ill and feverish, entirely dependent on his ability to protect her. His loyalty to Cain Dennison, to Alexander Quinn and The Gates, had to come second to her.

  She was relying on him. He couldn’t let her down.

  “Is there anything else you need?” he asked Dennison in a cool, imperious tone he’d learned from his father.

  Dennison’s eyes widened slightly and he took a step back. “No. I don’t need a damn thing from you.” He turned and descended the porch stairs.

  Darcy was tempted to call him back, but he quelled the urge and watched until Dennison had disappeared into the woods. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with cool mountain air, then turned and went back inside the cabin.

  He found McKenna sitting where he’d left her, slumped forward with her chin on her chest. “He’s gone.”

  She lifted her head slowly, and the look of sheer misery on her tearstained face made his breath catch. “For how long?”

  He crouched in front of her. “What’s wrong?” He caught her face between his hands, alarmed at how hot she was. “You’re burning up.”

  “I don’t feel so great.”

  “Let me see your wounds.” He tugged gently at the hem of the T-shirt to expose her open wounds. Though the entry and exit wounds were puffy and red, he’d seen worse, he realized with relief. But if the infection was strong enough to cause McKenna to run a fever, it was still a source of concern.

  “We need to clean your wounds out and get some of these treatments started,” he told her in a firm tone.

  “No, please. I can’t take it right now.”

  Her teeth were chattering, he saw with alarm. Was her fever increasing?

  “Rigsby, you have to.” He crouched in front of her, taking her hands. Her fingers were icy cold; he rubbed gently to warm them. “I know you’re tired and you’re hurting, but we may need to leave here, sooner or later.”

  “Who was at the door?”

  “One of my colleagues.” He told her about Dennison’s visit as he continued to warm her hands between his. “I think he suspects I’m up to something strange.”

  “You told him you were checking on the place for Hunter?”

  “Yes, but I don’t think he believes me.”

  “What do you think he’ll do?” Her teeth had stopped chattering, he noticed, and her eyes seemed a little clearer than before.


  “Nothing for now,” he answered. “Possibly report my presence here to Alexander Quinn.”

  “Is that good or bad?”

  He thought about the question for a moment. “Neutral, I suppose. He’s not going to interfere as long as we’re safe.”

  “Are we?” she asked quietly as he released her hands and started to rise. “Safe, I mean.”

  He cupped her hot cheek with his palm. “As much as we can hope to be at the moment.” He dropped his hand away and opened his backpack to retrieve the first-aid kit he’d packed in case they needed to evacuate quickly.

  Feeling her gaze on him, he turned to look at her. The tears were back, trembling on her lower lashes. “I’m sorry.”

  He made himself look away, knowing pity was the last thing she wanted. “For getting shot? I doubt you chose that option willingly.”

  “For going weak-kneed on you.”

  “That’s the infection and dehydration. Speaking of that—” He reached in the backpack and pulled out a bottle of water. He twisted the cap open and handed the bottle to her. “Drink up.”

  She did as he asked, blinking back the tears that had formed in her eyes, not letting them fall. This was the McKenna Rigsby he remembered, the tough, gutsy redhead who’d taken the US Embassy in Tablis by storm. “Hurricane Rigsby,” some of the guys in security had called her, for she’d had a way of blowing into a room and blowing out again, leaving everything and everyone upended behind her.

  He finished gathering the supplies he needed and carried everything to the bed where she sat. “Do people still call you Hurricane?” he asked as he lifted the hem of her T-shirt again to check her injury.

  “Not to my face,” she said bluntly, flashing him a pained smile.

  He smiled back. “No, never to your face.”

  “I’m not the same person, Darcy.” Her voice darkened. “A lot has happened since I walked into the embassy almost nine years ago.”

  “A lot happened in the time you were there.”