To Catch a Thief. Christina Skye

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      His cell phone buzzed quietly, one burst and then no more.

      All clear.

      Target acquired and clues in place. Ready to exit the building. Everything was moving nicely ahead of schedule.

      He thought briefly about the funds that would be wired to four of his offshore accounts by this time tomorrow. Maybe he’d buy that island in the Seychelles after all. It was remote enough and there was a fresh water source as well as a sizable bungalow with upgraded docks.

      He shoved away the thought. There was still risky work to be done. In two minutes he would phone in an emergency call notifying the switchboard of Everett Jonell’s collapse, sounding suitably shocked and upset. Once his regular shift was complete, he would drive to the short-term apartment that he leased in northern Maryland under one of his many other names. Once there he would collect the carefully wrapped piece of art. After the transfer was done, he would follow his normal schedule with no deviation.

      He’d even attend Everett Jonell’s funeral and offer deep and sincere condolences to his wife.

      He’d stay in place after the theft was discovered, monitoring progress on the investigation inside the museum. In six months he would resign quietly, pleading health problems, and then vanish.

      He glanced at his watch.

      Showtime.

      He took a deep breath, schooling his features to a frown. When he triggered the walkie-talkie alert, the alarm in his voice was deeply convincing.

      “Command post one. Guard down. I repeat—guard down! Backup needed immediately.”

      He was kneeling over Jonell’s lifeless body, looking pale and agitated, when the first security patrol car screamed up the museum’s back service drive.

      CHAPTER THREE

      DAKOTA WATCHED A SMALL shape appear out of the windblown snow. Relief kicked in when he saw Nell wave one hand in a brief thumbs-up gesture.

      She looked like hell, he thought. Her hair was flecked with frozen snow. She had mud on her gloves and a welt across one cheek.

      “Amanda’s stable,” Dakota said, catching the anxious glance Nell sent to the first tent. “The group leader needs hospital care, but he’s finally calm, which won’t create such an oxygen debt. Go inside. You need to rest.”

      Nell looked exhausted as she crawled into the second tent, snow swirling up behind her. She pulled off her climbing gloves and flexed her hands. Her teeth began to chatter. “There’s more snow on its way. I can feel the moisture. In icy conditions—”

      Without a word Dakota unzipped his parka and pulled it around her shoulders.

      She stiffened and tried to push away his hands. “What are you doing? I can’t take this. What about you?”

      “I’ll be fine. I’ve got excellent cold tolerance. You need this more than I do right now.”

      She continued to protest, but Dakota cut her off.

      “How did it go?” He held out a canteen with water, taken from his pack.

      Nell took a drink, then handed back the canteen. “They’ll be fine. A doctor was waiting at the inn.” Her voice tightened. “The last trips down were pretty bad. The wind—” She closed her eyes, hunching over to cough sharply.

      “Let it go, Nell.” Dakota leaned over and zipped his parka around her trembling body. “You’ve done all you can. Once the weather clears, a chopper will be dispatched for Amanda and the group leader.”

      Nell nodded slowly, but her body remained tense. She didn’t seem to notice when Dakota pulled a thermal blanket around her and tucked it into the rope wrapped around her waist.

      “How do you let it go?” She shivered, ran a hand across her cheek and stared at a line of dried blood covering her palm. “The last boy, Jess, panicked and he was going to let go of the rope. If he had, I would have lost him. No doubt about it. And it was so close.”

      Dakota heard the horror that she had tried to hide beneath anger. “Nell, you did everything right. Let it go.”

      “I can’t. Not until everyone is safe.”

      He was acutely aware of her scent and the sounds of her breathing as he pulled her slowly toward his chest. He told himself the gesture was entirely impersonal, meant to drive off her panic and uncertainty.

      She’d just completed one of the riskiest rescues ever undertaken, but even strong people had limits, and Nell MacInnes was at hers now. Dakota didn’t wait for more arguments, didn’t try to reason or explain. He pulled her against his chest, sliding her thighs around his waist. His hands moved under her jacket, massaging her back and shoulders for warmth and circulation.

      He was keenly aware of her hair, pressed against his cheek. In different circumstances he might have turned his head to taste the smooth line of her throat and test the full curve of her mouth with his lips.

      Very bad idea. Here and now there was no place for emotion or desire. She was his mission.

      Their eyes met. She shivered and studied his face as if she’d seen something there that she couldn’t understand.

      She looked down and seemed to realize how her legs were wrapped around his waist.

      With a low gasp, she tried to pull away.

      Dakota held her right where she was. “Don’t fight me, Nell. We need to stay warm. Now close your eyes and rest. I’ll keep an eye on things.”

      “Why should I trust you?” she whispered.

      “Because right here, right now, I’m all you’ve got,” Dakota said gruffly. As he wrapped the thermal foil blanket around them, the wind howled out in the darkness.

      OKAY, THE MAN was tough and he thought on his feet. Calm under pressure, he had a way of moving in and taking charge before you realized what was happening.

      But Nell wasn’t a skittish child and she didn’t take orders from strangers.

      She yawned. Even as she struggled to keep her eyes open, she couldn’t ignore the hard lines of Dakota Smith’s thighs. The man had a great body, and the warm strength of his arms was like a dangerous drug.

      She felt the hammer of his heart beneath her cheek, felt the rise and fall of his broad chest. Even his scent teased her, a blend of salty air, sweat and heather.

      As he stretched slightly, Nell felt his thighs tighten against her, and his arms shifted to hold her steady. Though they were thigh to thigh, chest to chest, he didn’t brush her breasts or make suggestive comments.

      Life seemed small and very fragile as they waited out the storm’s fury. Idly Nell rubbed her elbow, which had begun to ache. Might as well try to sleep until the storm ended, since they were going nowhere.

      She closed her eyes, feeling her hips slide over his thighs. The man had excellent thighs, too.

      Maybe СКАЧАТЬ