Under the Microscope

Then they lay there.

Together.

THEY TURNED TO EACH OTHER twice more as the snowstorm built, crested and then ebbed outside, leaving the world cloaked in white and the plow crews working double duty to keep the roads open.

The third time, they drew out the experience as long as they could.

If their first time together had been all need and greed, and their second time together had moved with the fresh, exciting rhythms of new lovers, then their third time was forever. Simply forever.

Though she hadn’t said the words-and neither had he-Raine knew they’d made a commitment to each other that third time. They had soundlessly agreed to make a go of it, to find a halfway point between his desire for a homemaker and her desire to be a high-powered executive. Between trust and distrust. Between rescue and equality.

They’d find their compromises and make them work. What they had together was too special to lose.

Afterward, they dozed, twined together, until Raine woke near dawn. She held herself still, listening to her own heartbeat. To his, where her cheek was pillowed on his chest.

Max slept the deep, motionless sleep of satiation. He didn’t stir when she said his name. In fact, he barely appeared to be breathing.

It was foolish and feminine to be pleased by how thoroughly she’d undone him, but Raine felt both foolish and feminine, so that was okay.

Still, it was time for them to get up and out before their shot-up truck attracted attention.

Thinking to get a head start while he slept a bit longer, Raine levered herself away from him. Sitting cross- legged on the bed with one of the blankets draped over her shoulders against the morning chill, she watched him for a few seconds, memorizing the moment.

Though he slept deeply, his features weren’t soft or any less forbidding in repose. He remained formidable, as though chiseled in stone.

But she knew the gentle warrior within.

She touched his shoulder, knowing there were demons yet for them to face. “Max. Time to get up.”

He mumbled something and grabbed her hand, but didn’t wake.

Her heart tugged at the pressure of his fingers on hers, and she bent and kissed him. “Fine. You sleep. I’ll pack and check out.”

As she mentally reviewed the smaller highways they could use on their trip back to Boston, she realized they would pass very near the burned-out wreck of her rental house in New Bridge. Max’s truck should still be parked in the driveway. Did they dare switch out?

“Probably not,” she murmured. “If The Nine aren’t watching the house, you can bet Detective Marcus is.”

And if anyone had told her a week earlier that she’d be avoiding the police with relative calm by the weekend, she would’ve called them a liar.

There was no doubt about it. She’d changed.

Maybe she’d finally grown up in her mid-thirties.

She clicked on the light in the bathroom and got herself dressed, figuring Max would wake with the commotion. She left his clothes and weapon out, along with the food and drinks they hadn’t gotten to the night before, and packed everything else away in his duffel.

When there were still no signs of life from the bed, she shook his shoulder. “Come on, Max, wake up! What’s the matter, did I wear you out?”

She flipped the clock radio on, cranked the volume, and said in a loud voice, “I’m going to check out and load the truck. If you’re not up when I get back…” She let the threat hang, having no idea what she’d do.

He muttered and rolled over onto his back. Reassured that he’d soon be fully conscious, she pulled on his furry jacket liner, shouldered the heavy duffel, unchained the door and let herself out.

The hallway was several degrees cooler than the room. Raine shivered and huddled deeper in her borrowed coat. As the single elevator descended to the ground floor, she realized it felt strange to be alone. But there was no way for the shooters in the silver car to know where they were.

The outside air was ice cold and gloomy with the deadness of predawn. The parking lot was plowed and salted, but still slippery. Raine was shivering in earnest by the time she reached the truck, way in the back of the parking lot. She let the duffel slide off her shoulder and reached to stick the key in the driver’s side door lock.

A footstep scraped on the sandy pavement behind her.

“That was quick,” she said, her voice gaining a lilt at the thought Max had followed her out. “I thought you’d still be in bed when-”

She broke off at the click of a weapon and the feel of cold metal at her temple.

Her heart lunged into her throat and her guts dissolved to jelly. A whimper backed up in her throat.

Caught. She was caught.

“That’s right, boss,” a familiar voice said. “Behave, and neither of you will be hurt. Turn around, and keep your hands where I can see them.”

She did as instructed, winding up with her back pressed against the side of the truck. “Jeff.” Her voice broke at the sight of him. “How could you?”

Her once-trusted employee lifted one shoulder in his trademark half shrug, but there was no remorse in his blue eyes. “I’ve always been smart enough to find the shortcuts.”

Behind him, a black limousine rolled to a stop. One dark tinted window buzzed down, and silver hair flashed within. The man Ike had identified as Dr. Frederic Forsythe stared out at Raine.

“Where are the disks?” Jeff said.

Though her gut churned with sick, greasy fear, she lifted her chin and glared at him. “How did you find us? We tossed the phone near where your boys crashed last night.”

Jeff’s chest expanded with pride. He nodded to the truck, with its shattered window and damaged dashboard. “A little something I’ve been working on for a while now. I did some of the initial work in your lab, come to think of it. I’ve created a homing device small enough to be easily implanted beneath the skin. Or, in this case, inside a bullet. But that doesn’t answer my question.” His voice dropped. “Where are the disks? The computer disk with the database information on it, and the video disk the lawyer stole. Tell us where they are. Now.”

He raised his weapon and leveled it at her right eye. The opening of the barrel was very, very black in the dawn light. It was Sunday morning. The realization brought a flash of stained glass and the quiet grace of a dead woman’s memorial.

Too many people had died. This needed to end, now. But Raine was alone.

If you were planning on rescuing me, now would be a good time, Max, she thought with growing desperation.

Impatience kindled in Forsythe’s eyes. “Go find out what room they were in,” the plastic surgeon finally snapped from the limo. “Bring Vasek out here. Maybe she’ll be more cooperative once we put a bullet in him. There’s no way we’re leaving him alive. He’s too damned dangerous.”

“They both are,” Jeff said. He glanced back over his shoulder at his boss. “We can’t leave her alive to-”

“Shut up!” Forsythe said quickly, but not before she saw the truth in his eyes.

She and Max were both dead, regardless of whether they cooperated or not.

“Wait,” she said, thinking fast. “What about a deal?”

Forsythe smirked. “You don’t have anything I want.”

“I have Thriller. I have the patents and the development rights.”

“We’ve already taken care of your little drug.” He lifted one shoulder, allowing her to see that he was elegantly and expensively clad even this early in the morning. Or else he’d been waiting all night. He continued, “A pity. It would’ve made you a fair bit of money, but there was one major problem. It made women feel better about themselves. Sexier. More self-confident. Do you have any idea what that would do to the cosmetic surgery industry?” He shook his head. “No. It couldn’t be allowed. So I dispensed poisoned samples to a few trusted associates and maneuvered things so suspicion would fall on you. Nothing personal-just an effort to confuse matters.” His voice dropped. “Then that computer tech gave you a data disk that had the ghosts on it. Ghosts that could potentially be tracked back to me. That information could not be allowed to surface.”