Perilous Christmas Reunion. Laurie Alice Eakes

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ her help and some gritting of his teeth, he managed to get his legs beneath him enough to fight the softness of the sofa and stand. “I don’t need medical help, but we do need to get that flash drive to law enforcement tonight. If you have any ideas how we will do that, you have better resources than I do.”

      As if to emphasize his words, a gust of wind howled around the corner of the house, and icy pellets chattered against the windows.

      “There’s a Jeep and a snowmobile in the garage.” Lauren gathered up her first-aid kit and headed to the kitchen.

      “Of course you have a four-wheel drive vehicle and a snowmobile.” Relief filled Chris as he perched on one of the stools at the breakfast bar. “Either would work if we knew someone wasn’t out there taking potshots at us.”

      “‘Someone’? You mean my brother.”

      “I mean someone after your brother—or you.”

      “Me?” About to pick up the frying pan from the sink, she spun to face him.

      “You made contact with Ryan. Ryan was about to accept a plea bargain in court when he chose to run instead.” Chris took in Lauren’s blank look and wondered if being CEO of her own company had turned her into an excellent actress or if she truly didn’t understand. He explained, “Ryan has information the government wants, information that can bring down a whole lot of bad guys. They want to stop him from talking. He thinks his life is threatened. If others believe Ryan told you something, your life is in danger, as well.”

      “I see.” Lauren folded, held upright with her elbows on the breakfast bar and her face in her hands.

      Once upon a time, Chris would have rounded the counter and offered her comfort. Now he sat gazing at her, tongue-tied, mind spinning to find something to tell her. All he seized upon was “I’ll do my best to protect you.”

      Except his weapon was gone, possibly taken by her because Ryan had warned her of danger.

      “You’ve already got hurt pushing me out of the way of a bullet.” Her voice was muffled by her hands.

      “Maybe my presence alone will be a deterrent. Injuring a deputy US marshal is asking for more attention and trouble than these guys want.”

      “That’s good, with you hurt and all.”

      “I’m all right. Breathing hurts, but isn’t excruciating. I think that’s a good sign. If I may use one of your guest rooms until the weather improves...” He trailed off, not sure how to ask for something that made him seem like he was welcome.

      “You can use either room upstairs.” She turned her back on him and began to scrub the frying pan. “You’ll probably find some of Ryan’s clothes in the one at the top of the steps. They’re old, but they won’t have holes in them.”

      “Thanks.”

      Wearing the clothes, even castoffs, of a man he was pursuing seemed vaguely unethical. But not taking advantage of dry clothes would be foolish.

      He climbed the steps running along one wall of the living room and entered the bedroom at the top. It didn’t look recently lived in. The bed was neatly made, the shutters closed, the curtains drawn. Though someone had cleaned away dust, the room smelled closed. Not musty, but stale. Were this a normal visit, Chris would have flung open the windows despite the cold and inhaled the glorious freshness of pine trees and the tang of wood smoke. But he didn’t dare so much as look at the lake or glance to see how badly the snow was falling. Instead, he opened the door to the en suite bathroom and removed his many layers so he could examine the damage to his back with the aid of the mirror. Getting Lauren to look would be easier than twisting around, but no way would he ask that of her. It wasn’t appropriate. It wasn’t necessary. He had a terrible bruise. Ice would benefit him.

      Goose bumps rose on his skin at the idea of an ice pack. The fire’s heat didn’t reach the upper floor, and Lauren must have the propane furnace turned low to conserve fuel.

      He found T-shirts and flannel button-downs in the dresser. They fitted a little too well. The jeans in another drawer proved too short, so he settled for a pair of sweatpants to get out of his own soaked trousers. He drew the line at wearing another man’s socks, but he located a pair of fleece-lined moccasins in the closet. He shoved his cell phone and wallet with his deputy US marshal credentials into the pockets of the sweatpants, then glanced around for anything else he might need if he and Lauren had to evacuate the house in a hurry.

      His boots. With the snow, he would need boots. In their wet state, however, they might take too long to pull on. His good snow boots were in his Jeep. He hadn’t taken the time to change into them. He’d been too anxious to see if Ryan had gone to his sister.

      He’d been too apprehensive about seeing Lauren again to remember his dress boots weren’t effective in more than an inch or two of snow.

      Back downstairs, Lauren stood at the stove, turning bacon in a pan. “I have frozen waffles and eggs, if you want those. Or bread for a sandwich. I was going to make BLTs before the shooting started.”

      “That sounds good.” Chris hesitated in the opening to the kitchen. “Can I toast the bread or something?”

      “Thanks. And slice the tomatoes?”

      “Sure.”

      They worked in silence punctuated by the sizzle of bacon in the pan and the howl of the wind outside. A log shifted in the stove, the toaster sprang with golden-brown slices and still they said nothing. Lauren took the toast and tomatoes from Chris and piled on bacon and lettuce. Still neither of them spoke.

      Then Lauren opened the refrigerator. “What do you want to drink? I have three kinds of pop, milk and orange juice.”

      “Can I trouble you for coffee?” Chris carried the plates of sandwiches to the small round table by the stove. “I need to warm up and stay awake.”

      “For what?” She began to run the coffee carafe beneath the tap. “You look like you need sleep.”

      He shouldn’t care that she noticed his fatigue.

      “I presume Ryan has a key to this house?”

      “He does not.” She set the carafe on the hot plate.

      Chris watched her graceful movements, the sureness of each scoop and pour without scattering grounds across the countertop as he always did. She was smart and good at just about everything she tried—except for loving him.

      He shook his head. “You expect me to believe you never gave a key to your big brother?”

      “I expect you to believe the truth.” She turned from the counter and filled two glasses with water. “Let’s eat while it’s warm.”

      They settled at the table, thick sandwiches and a bowl of apples between them. The table was so small their knees nearly touched. It was a table meant for playing board games. The dining table was across the room, in the shadows away from the warmth of the fire. That warmth eddied around them like an invisible cocoon holding them in the same place—a place full of memories of other meals shared at a similar table, of rainy days spent playing Scrabble or Monopoly at his mother’s house.

      If СКАЧАТЬ