“Not a chance.”
The next thing she knew she was being dragged up and into his arms. She wasn’t so far gone that it didn’t register in her mind that she was too heavy for him to carry in his deteriorated condition. But she was too weak to argue.
Warmth emanated from his body into hers. Mattie relaxed against him. She felt her head loll back. She looked up at the swirling gray sky, caught a glimpse of Cutter’s face. His lips had a blue tinge, but his jaw was set, his expression was determined.
He’s saving my life, she thought dazedly.
Then darkness descended in a cold black rush, and she didn’t think of anything at all.
FAILURE WAS THE ONE THING The Jaguar could not tolerate. Not in himself. Certainly not when it came to others. But that was exactly what had happened. His team had failed him. Which meant he had failed.
Holed up in a tourist hotel twenty miles from the Canadian border and waiting out the storm, he was not in a good mood. He’d never been good at waiting. He’d never been a good sport when it came to losing. Or when it came to failing. He would not let the American scientist slip from his grasp.
“How did this happen?” he asked, his voice not betraying the fury building inside him.
“We followed them into the cave. We were minutes away from apprehending them, but an avalanche blocked the cave exit.” The young man’s glossy black hair was swept back in a ponytail revealing high cheekbones and heavy brows. His eyes and voice were level and calm. Like all the other men who worked for The Jaguar, he was a professional. But The Jaguar saw the nervousness just beneath the surface. The way the young man’s hands fluttered when he spoke. The up-and-down motion of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed.
“An avalanche?”
“We believe the American agent used an explosive to set off an avalanche sealing the cave and preventing us from following.”
“I see.”
The young man’s eyes went to the window where snow continued to fall. “Perhaps after the storm—”
The Jaguar spun on him. “Not after the storm. Now. I want the chopper fueled and ready to go in an hour.”
“But the FAA has grounded all—”
The Jaguar leaned close, so that his face was mere inches from the younger man’s. “Are you a coward? Afraid to die for your cause?”
“No.”
“Good. Fuel the chopper. Brief the pilot. Make sure he’s ready to lift off within the hour.”
The young man bowed his head slightly. “Of course.”
But The Jaguar wasn’t finished. “Tell the rest of the men that I personally will kill any man who is not prepared to die for this cause.”
The young man nodded once then turned and fled the room.
CUTTER CARRIED HER as far as he could, and then he carried her a little farther. Visibility had dwindled to zero. The wind slapped at his face like a rude, icy hand. The cold stole through his body, paralyzing his muscles.
At some point in the past hours, he’d ac cepted the very real possibility that they were going to die out here. The optimistic side of his mind reasoned that at least they would not die at the cruel hands of The Jaguar. Hypothermia wasn’t such a bad way to go. The only problem with that logic was that Cutter wasn’t ready to call it quits for at least another thirty or forty years.
But he was thinking about stopping. Just laying Mattie down in the snow, snuggling up beside her and holding her until the cold claimed them both. But then, that would be the easy way out. And he’d never been able to do things the easy way.
Just then he stumbled over something buried in the snow. Weakened by hypothermia, he dropped Mattie and fell flat on his face. For the span of several seconds he just lay there. Damn, this was bad. He should get up and do something. Maybe dig a snow shelter. At least that would get them out of the wind.
Mattie lay next to him, her hair wet, her complexion deathly pale. Dear God, had she succumbed to the cold? Shaken, he started to get up to reach for her and noticed the slow rise and fall of her chest. Thank goodness she was breathing. But he knew they couldn’t last much longer. Damn, he hadn’t wanted things to end this way.
He wasn’t sure where he found the strength, but he got to his knees, scooped her into his arms and struggled to his feet. That was when he realized the thing he’d stumbled over was not a log, but a piece of wood. He squinted into the blinding white swirl of the blizzard. At first he thought he was seeing some bizarre mirage. Then he realized the board had fallen off the porch of a small cabin. He’d stumbled upon the very thing he’d spent the past several hours searching for: the old hunting lodge.
Cutter stumbled onto the ramshackle porch. He rammed the front door with his shoulder. The rotting wood gave way with a resonant snap. He staggered into the murky interior. Dust and the musty odor of rotting wood filled his nostrils. Straight ahead a river-rock hearth dominated the room. Grimy windows allowed little light inside, but there was enough for him to see the rickety table and chairs near the rear door. A small sink. Cupboards. A bunk.
The woman in his arms stirred. Cutter looked down at her. “Hang on, blondie,” he whispered.
He swept dust and small debris from the bunk and set her on the mattress. Looking around, he spotted a tattered blanket draped over the back of a chair. Cutter opened the blanket and covered her with it. It would have to be enough until he could get a fire started.
His head spun when he rose, and he fought to maintain his balance. He needed wood for the fire. His limbs felt as if they were made of lead as he crossed to the table and chairs. Awkwardly, he lifted one of the chairs to shoulder height, and brought it down on the table. Once. Twice. The table broke into two pieces on the third try. Another blow and two of the chair’s legs clattered to the floor.
Cutter gathered the wood and stacked it neatly in the hearth. He found several pages of an ancient newspaper someone had used to line the cupboards, wadded it up and placed it beneath the wood. A curse broke from his lips when he pulled the matchbox from his pocket and found most of the matches damp. Picking through, he finally found one that was dry, struck it against the stone. It lit. Carefully he set the flame beneath the wood and watched the paper ignite.
Once the wood was burning, he turned back to Mattie. She looked incredibly small and vulnerable lying curled on her side beneath the old blanket. He had to get those wet clothes off her. Cutter didn’t want to do it—he wasn’t at all comfortable with the way he was responding to her—but he knew enough about hypothermia to know nothing zapped body heat more effectively than water.
Kneeling next to her, he set his hand on her shoulder. “Mattie?”
“Tired…” she muttered, but she didn’t open her eyes.
“We did it,” he said. “We’re in the cabin. I made a fire. See? You need to get out of those wet clothes so you can get warm.”
Her eyes fluttered open. She didn’t seem to recognize him. Worry descended at the sight of her dilated pupils. Her core body temperature was dangerously low. She was in no condition to undress. If her heart rate and oxygen intake slowed…
“I’m going to get you out of those clothes, okay?”
“Gotta…sleep.” Her words slurred.
“Not right now.” Reaching behind her, he lifted her to a sitting position and glanced down at her clothes. She was still wearing the tattered black wool suit jacket and slacks. A white blouse. She was soaked to the skin.
Propping her against his right arm and shoulder, he used his left to unbutton the jacket. Mattie was like a rag doll in his arms as he worked the jacket from her body and tossed it to the floor. The blouse clung to her like skin. Beneath it, he discerned the lace of her bra and the swell of her breasts. His fingers shook as he began unbuttoning the blouse.
“Wha’r you doing?” Mattie thrashed and brushed at his hands.
Cutter didn’t stop. “You’ve got hypothermia,” he said firmly. “These wet clothes need to go so your body can warm up.”
He tried not to look when he
r blouse fell open. But his gaze was irresistibly drawn to the swell of her generous breasts encased in lace and cotton, a flat belly and the kind of curves a man liked to sink his hands into.
She slapped at his hand. “Please. Don’t.”
Cutter caught her wrist. “Easy,” he said. “I have to do this. Then we’ll put you next to the fire, okay?”
The mention of the fire seemed to calm her. Cutter quickly removed her blouse. He tried not to touch her skin as he undid her slacks. Tried even harder not to look as he peeled the material down her long, shapely legs. But while Sean Cutter was a MIDNIGHT agent first and foremost, he was also a man.
The memory of the way her body had felt against his assailed him. The softness of her mouth. The warmth of her breath against his cheek. Not even hypothermia could keep the blood from rushing hotly to his groin….
How could he be so damn attracted to the woman he’d been hired to take back? A woman who’d betrayed her country?
Annoyed with himself, Cutter ground his teeth. Quickly, and as impersonally as possible, he removed her shoes, then her slacks. Her bra and panties were wet as well, but there was no way he was going to remove them. Covering her with the blanket, he then dragged the bunk closer to the fire so she would get maximum heat.
He hung her clothes over the back of a chair and set it next to the hearth for quick drying, then set to work removing his own wet clothing. He had begun to shiver, which was a good sign. His body was coming to life, trying to warm itself and raise his body temperature back to a normal level. But even with the fire blazing, the temperature inside the cabin was below freez ing. If they were going to recover enough to walk out of there under their own power, he was going to have to do a hell of a lot better.
Aside from the fire, the next best source of warmth was body heat. As much as he didn’t want to think about crawling onto that cot with Mattie Logan when they were wearing nothing more than underwear, he knew it was the smartest thing to do. Not only for him, but for her. Her body temperature was dangerously low. Warming too quickly could shunt cold blood from the surface of the body to the internal organs, causing shock. Body heat was the perfect solution.
Shivering uncontrollably, he lifted the blanket from Mattie. She was lying curled on her side. Trying not to notice her beauty, he bent and touched her shoulder with the back of his fingers. Her skin was cold to the touch, but her lips were no longer blue. He checked her pulse, found it slow. Too slow, he thought.
Decision made, he climbed onto the cot and lay down behind her with his body spooning hers. Pulling the blanket over both of them, he wrapped his arm around her torso. He willed himself not to think of her in inappropriate terms, but his body had no such reservations. The mattress smelled moldy, but it was the scent of rosemary and lemon that filled his nostrils as he drifted into a dreamless sleep.
Chapter Seven
Mattie woke to blessed warmth and the sensation of a muscular male body snugged up against hers. Her first thought was that she’d just wakened from a very bad dream. She was back in her condo in D.C. She’d finally slept with Daniel. But none of those things explained why every part of her body ached. Or why the wind was howling and snow was battering the windows with the force of tiny missiles.
The urge to shut her eyes again and snuggle closer to the warm—and evidently aroused—male body was powerful. But as the fog of exhaustion-induced sleep lifted, the events of the past twenty-four hours flooded back into her brain. The crash of the prison van. The cold-blooded murders of the U.S. Marshals. Running for her life in hostile mountain terrain. The man with icy blue eyes carrying her through blizzard conditions…
Mattie sat up abruptly. The ramshackle room was cold despite the embers glowing in the hearth. Then she noticed she was wearing only her bra and panties, and as far as she could tell the man lying next to her was half-naked, as well.
She scrambled from the cot, taking the blanket with her. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she asked.
Cutter instantly awoke and sat bolt upright. His eyes darted first to the door, then to her. “Judging from the look on your face, not what you’re thinking.”
Mattie couldn’t help it. Of their own accord, her eyes flicked down his body. He was wearing a shirt, but it was open. She saw a muscular chest covered with swirls of black hair; a six-pack stomach that was flat and rock hard; long, athletic legs. He wore navy boxer shorts, and she couldn’t help but notice he filled them out the way a man ought to fill out boxer shorts.
Banking the thoughts that were crazy at a time like this, Mattie glared at him. She’d heard of male members of law enforcement taking advantage of female prisoners. The thought had always disgusted her, frightened her if she wanted to be honest about it. Even though she didn’t know him well, she couldn’t imagine Cutter stooping that low. Up until this point he’d been Mr. Professional Cop. But how had she ended up half-naked and in bed with him?
“You took off my clothes,” she accused.
“I removed wet clothing to keep you from losing body heat,” he said. “You were hypothermic.”
“You had no right.”
“If I hadn’t, you very likely would have died.”
She motioned toward him. “Is that why you took off your clothes, too?”
He reached for the dusty pillow and set it on his lap. “You weren’t the only one whose clothes were wet. We’d been in the snow for hours. We were both wet. We needed shelter and to get dry.”
Mattie remembered trudging through impossibly deep snow. She remembered the terrible feeling of exhaustion and confusion and the utter certainty that she was going to die. Only then did it dawn on her that this man had saved her life. That in the scope of things, her vanity was the last thing she ought to be worried about.
“Nothing happened,” he said.
“How long was I out?”
He glanced toward the window. “Judging from the light, I’d say we slept a couple of hours.”
She looked into his eyes. “You saved my life.”
“I did what I had to do.”
“I’m sorry I assumed…” Not sure how to finish, she let the sentence dangle.
“Hypothermia can cause confusion,” he said. “That’s how it works. You get tired. You get confused. You lie down and never get up.”
She released the breath she’d been holding. “Thank you.”
“I was just doing my job.”
Unable to meet his gaze, she looked out the window. Through the grime, she could see that the snow was still coming down hard. “What do we do now?”
“Rest. Find some food. Keep the fire going.” He parted the shirt and glanced down at his chest, shrugged. “Both of us are pretty banged up.”
Mattie caught sight of the angry red and purple bruises covering the flesh just below his left pectoral, gasping at the severity of them. “My God. Is that where you were shot back at the rendezvous point?”
He nodded. “My vest stopped the bullet, but it sure as hell didn’t keep it from cracking a rib or two.”
Mattie knew how painful broken ribs could be. When she was a teenager a car accident left her with two cracked ribs. She’d been laid up for a week and missed her junior prom. She couldn’t imagine having broken ribs and trudging through a blizzard. She certainly couldn’t imagine how much it had hurt him to carry her.
“Wouldn’t it have been easier if you’d left me behind to die?” she asked.
“My job isn’t about easy most of the time.”
Because she didn’t know how to respond to that, Mattie pulled the blanket more tightly around her and walked to the hearth. “Looks like we’re about to run out of wood,” she said, motioning toward the few remaining pieces of the table he’d been using.
“There’s no way we’re going to find dry firewood outside. Once that wood is gone, we burn whatever we can find, including the walls of the mud room and cabinets.” Rising, he walked swiftly to where his jeans hung near the hearth and stepped into them.
>
Mattie caught a glimpse of muscular male thighs. Lean hips encased in snug boxer shorts. The hint of a part of his anatomy she didn’t want to think about…
“What about The Jaguar?” she asked.
He shot her a sharp look. He always did that, she realized, whenever she mentioned the terrorist by that name. The Jaguar had reacted much the same way when his underling had mentioned Cutter’s name. She wondered if the men had some kind of history.
Grimacing, he looked out the window. “It’s hard to imagine a pilot crazy enough to fly a chopper in this weather.”
“If I recall, you’d just said something similar at about the time said chopper swooped down and those men started shooting at us.”
“I’ve never been good at predicting when someone is going to do something completely insane.”
An uneasy feeling stole over her. “That means they could be on their way here at this very moment to kill us.”
“They could. But they have to find us first. Then they have to get here. This area is remote.”
“It’ll be dark soon,” she said. “That will help us, won’t it? Hide us? Hide the cabin?”
“I wish I could say yes, but I can’t. If they’ve got infrared, the fire in the hearth will stand out like a beacon. The best we can hope for is that the storm continues and they can’t fly.”
“Not very reassuring considering they already flew at the height of the storm.”
Looking out the window, he shook his head. “If that son of a bitch is crazy enough to fly, all we can do is hope we hear them coming.”
CUTTER HAD NEVER BEEN GOOD at waiting; he’d sure as hell never been good at staying idle. Especially when there was something important he needed to do—like stop a madman. But while being holed up in a dilapidated cabin was bad enough, it was infinitely worse being locked up with a woman he was attracted to.
Only, Mattie Logan wasn’t just any woman. She was his prisoner. An assignment. A convicted criminal he’d been charged with apprehending and transporting to prison. How could he feel anything but disdain toward her?