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Scene #20
Sophie balanced a cup of coffee and a bag in one hand, opening the
door with the other. The overhead light flashed on. Other than a
sharp intake of air, she appeared calm; her eyes steady on the gun
pointed at her chest. "Get in," Hawk growled. A big
smile lit her face. "Damn! It's about time you got here. I like
the Grizzly Adams look. It makes you sexier. Must be the beard."
She hoisted herself into the cab and shut the door. "Put the gun
away. If you'd wanted to shoot me, I'd be dead." He slipped
the pistol into his sweatshirt pocket. Easy enough to get in a
pinch. Her bold gaze journeyed over his body. "I've spent two
weeks driving three hundred miles a day on the Alcan. Back and
forth. You'd better be worth it." Hawk didn't mince words.
"I want to know what the Bureau's up to. So spill it." Her
smile vanished. "You're in deep shit, Hawk. Now's not the time to
piss me off. Not if you want my help, which, by the way, you'll
have to pay for." Hawk laughed. "Think a few months in the
woods has killed my brain? You're the last person I'd want help
from. Not to mention, I'm out of cash at the moment."
Her grin gave him the willies. What was that saying? Hell hath no
fury like a woman scorned? "I'm not interested in something
in your pants, but it's not your money," she drawled. You're going
to finish what you started last Christmas Eve." He didn't
bother pretending ignorance. "Look, Sophie. I was three sheets to
the wind that night." The words flowed from his mouth smooth as
honey. Inside, his liver quivered and his crotch tightened at
memories of her long silken legs tangled with his under the cotton
sheets. God! She'd been so hot. He'd pushed into her wet warmth
and exploded like a sixteen-year-old with his first woman. And
then passed out. Sophie laughed without a pinch of humor.
"And to rub salt in the wound, you crept out of the hotel room like
a thief before dawn." Hawk bristled. "I've got more serious
problems right now than worrying about your sexual
dissatisfaction." "Is that right?" Her whisper held a hint
of threat. "This can be a win-win situation, Hawk. I save your
sorry ass and you give me what I want." He twisted to better
see her. "Let me get this straight. This isn't any coincidence.
Somehow you tracked me down. Now you expect me to believe that in
return for your help, all you want is sex?" Sophie's chin
hiked up a few inches. "Not quite." "Ah. So there's more to
the story." "Well," he prompted when she remained silent.
"Stan Clements is on your side. My instructions are to
partner up with you...you know, watch your back. Stan knows where
you're going. He also figures Agents Blair and Reed know that,
too. For a moment, Hawk was speechless. Stan thought he'd
trust him? After the betrayal of two of the FBI's finest? Had the
world gone crazy while he'd been fending off wild animals? He
regarded Sophie for long moments. She might be bugged for all he
knew. "If Stan believes in my innocence, why'd he send you? A
green kid with no field experience?" A flicker of anger came
and went in her eyes. "I'd forgotten your blunt way of
communicating." "Answer the question." She shrugged and
she looked away. "I don't know. Perhaps because I expressed
concern about your predicament." Hawk wasn't buying it, but
for the time being, he'd let it ride. If Sophie was here alone, he
faced no immediate threat "Besides," she drawled, her hurt
obviously forgotten. "I had my reasons for finding you that had
nothing to do with clearing your name." "Get real. The
stakes are higher than your wounded libido. Both good guys and
the bad ones want my hide. I'm exhausted, but I'm not stupid.
More of the Bureau has their fingers in this pie than you and Stan.
Admit it." She cocked her head. "How'd you get mixed up
with the Canadian drug cartel? According to Blair and Reed—"
Rage surged to his head. He pounded the dash. "Those
double-crossing sons-a-bitches? I suppose they're having fun
nailing me to the wall." Sophie sipped the coffee and handed
him the cup. "Something like that. Not everyone believes what
they're saying. I don't." His sharp gaze noticed that once
again her eyes slid away from him when she spoke. She opened the
bag. "Hungry?" He gulped the coffee. The hot liquid burned
his throat and still tasted damn good. He pinned her to the door
with a look. Like a starving man, he grabbed the sandwich she
offered. Hell, he was a starving man. "How'd you find me? Where
are the others? The ones with the handcuffs and chains?" Her
eyebrows rose. "I can't understand you. Your mouth is full.
You'll have to rust me." Hawk forced himself to slow down.
As much as he wanted to stuff the entire ham and cheese sandwich in
his mouth, he knew he'd make himself sick. "Fat chance. You're a
goody two shoes who'd never risk your job helping a wanted man
unless forced to." He swallowed more coffee, his gaze never
leaving hers. A surge of heat passed through him having nothing to
do with the hot drink. For two years he'd managed to steer clear
of Sophie. And he'd done a damn good job until last year's
Christmas party. Damn the Jose Cuervo. "What?" he pressed. No
smart answer?" "It's Stan and me. No one else."
"Right," he scoffed. "I haven't a clue what you have up your
sleeve, but won't go down without a fight." "Give me what I
want. In return, I'll get you where you're going." "You want
sex. Right?" The desire burning in her eyes set him on fire.
"Unlike before, I want satisfying sex."
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