CHAPTER 4—AN INTERESTING DEVELOPMENT

A cell phone rang in a quiet room.  A large hand reached over for it, not only to answer it, but also to silence it as well.  "Yes," a deep, somehow soothing voice said.  "What is it?"  There was a brief pause as the man listened to what his caller was telling him.  "What do you mean she's gone?  I don't want to hear any excuses.  You fucking find her, and when you fucking do, you'd better get the fucking package, and then you'd better fucking kill her."

The man disconnected the call and leaned back in bed.  He was still upset that the senator's whore had not been shot to bits at the same time.  He didn't like leaving witnesses behind, because he made it a point never to get caught doing anything.  Downfalls and prison time were meant for other people, his flunkies, not him.  He hadn't wanted to give the order to take out the senator, but Wengrod hadn't wanted to play ball anymore.  And when his friends no longer wanted to play, they were taken off the team permanently.

Of course, there was an interesting complication to consider.  The whore was with Frank Donovan.  He knew Donovan, knew of his expertise, and his stubbornness.  It would be a difficult feat to get one of his people near the girl.  He wouldn't doubt that Donovan had literally cuffed himself to her.  Of course, he wasn't averse to taking Donovan out, either.  Yet, it would be a crying shame.  Whatever the case, Remy Ellis needed to be found and taken out.  He wasn't about to risk his freedom.

*  *  *

By the time Donovan and Remy made it to the hideout, it was dark and pouring down rain.  Only after their arrival did he release her from the handcuffs.  Both of them darted outside, grabbed their bags, and ran for the door.  Donovan fumbled around with his keys until he managed to unlock the door.  Once inside, he flicked on the light switch by the door, but nothing happened.

"Shit," he grumbled, "the storm must have knocked the power off."

"Wonderful.  I suppose that means no heat?  At least there's a fireplace."

He glanced at her and noticed that she had wrapped her arms about her body.  Both of them were soaked to the bone.  "Don't move," he told her.

Donovan picked his way around the darkened room.  The isolated cabin was an established FBI safe house for temporary protection of witnesses.  It was small, with only three rooms:  a kitchen, living room, and bathroom.  A hallway separated the living area and bathroom.  The living area was sparsely furnished with one chair, a small couch, and a daybed in the very corner of the room.  He had stayed at the cabin a few times before, and thought he had the layout of the place memorized.  Of course, it had been some time since his last visit, but he hoped that nothing had changed.  He found the small bathroom easily enough, but there were no towels.  He turned and went in search of the linen closet.  In the process, he bumped his shin into an end table that hadn't been there before.

"Fuck," he spat as pain began to spread up his leg.

"Are you okay," Remy called from the living room.

He rubbed his hurt shin slowly.  "I'm fine," he said stiffly.  There was nothing worse for him than banging up either his shin or his elbow. 

Although he was tempted to smash the end table to splinters, he resisted.  He was freezing and needed to find a couple of towels.  He found the linen closet a few seconds later, but not without further injury.  He twisted his ankle after tangling his foot into a rug near the closet.  Maybe I don't know the layout after all, he thought as he braced himself against the wall.  He didn't need a broken ankle to go with his developing pneumonia.  Donovan was relieved when he found dozens of towels.  They smelled a bit musty, but would do.  With two towels in hand, he followed the same path back to the living room, ensuring that he dodged both the rug and end table.

Before he could step back into the living room, he stopped dead in his tracks.  Remy had taken off her soaked clothing.  She stood in the middle of the room with only her bra and panties covering her.  He knew he should have stepped back and away, but he didn't.  Some evil little part of his brain kept his feet rooted to the floor.  Why hadn't she told him to stay out of the room?  Had she wanted him to see her?  Quickly, before she noticed him spying on her, he moved back several steps and nearly tripped over the damn end table again. 

Donovan cleared his throat, exaggerating the noise more than was necessary.  "I found some towels," he announced.

"It's about time.  I think there are icicles on my ass," she griped.

And I almost saw them, he thought wickedly.  Goddamn, get a grip.  "Are you dressed?"

What a bizarre question, she thought as she shrugged into her robe.  How had he known she was undressing?  Had he seen her?  Had he been looking?  She didn't feel as offended as she should have been. 

"Of course," she snapped.  "Why would I be standing naked in this ice cold room?"

He shook his head and reentered the living room.  Thankfully enough, she had covered herself with a terry cloth robe.  Mutely, he offered her a towel.  She took it without a word and began to dry her hair.  Donovan took his towel and walked over to another corner of the room. 

When Remy got her hair as dry as she could, she briefly glanced over at the goon.  He was still soaked, and the towel wouldn't be enough.  She was concerned about him.  The feeling was odd and unwelcome.  Her eyes locked onto him, and she found herself staring at him, gazing at the way his wet clothing clung to his lean, taut body.  She bit her lower lip and couldn't quite tear her eyes away.  He was handsome in a hard assed, chiseled sort of way.  She loved his voice and his soft unidentifiable accent.  She wouldn't have any trouble listening to him speak all day.

He threw the towel casually over his shoulder.  "I'm going to change," he said before leaving her again.

Remy sighed heavily.  She wouldn't have minded if he had changed in front of her.  It was now her turn to get a grip.  What was she thinking?  She simply couldn't get swept away in a man's good looks and sex.  That was what had gotten her involved with the senator and in her current mess.  She couldn't deny that she found the goon attractive, but she didn't want to end up in another empty affair.  Her nasty demeanor had kept her safe thus far, and she hoped it would continue to do.  However, another thought entered her mind.  How long would she have to stay with Donovan?  Surely someone else would take over? 

When Donovan returned, he was amused to note that Remy was trying to start a fire.  She had managed to find wood, kindling, and matches, but she couldn't get it going.  Every few seconds, she would light a match and throw it onto the kindling.  It would catch for a minute and then die out.  Luckily for them, though, he found an extra blanket two shelves down from the towels.

"Damn it," she said.  "This is impossible."

"Where did you find the wood," he asked as he approached.

Her eyes settled on his long legs and traveled up his tall frame until they settled on his.  He had donned a pair of thick woolen slacks and a dark turtleneck sweater.  "Outside."  Before he could speak, she held up her hand.  "Don't say it, Mr. Donovan, I know it's wet.  I thought I would try."

Amused, he kneeled down beside her.  "Wet wood and dry matches aren't compatible, you know."

She glanced at him.  His brown eyes were sparkling.  She felt a nasty comment coming to surface, but she was really too exhausted for it.  "No duh."

He unfolded the blanket and held it out toward her.  "Do you mind?"

"No," she said, "go ahead."

He wrapped the blanket around her shoulders.  She grasped the edges and secured it about her body.

"Aren't you cold," she asked.

He shook his head.  "I'm fine."

He was lying, of course.  It was dark in the cabin, but she could clearly see him shivering a little and hear the catch in his breath as he spoke.  Men.  All of them were stubbornly macho.  She had two choices.  She could either offer half the blanket to him or allow him to suffer.  Of course, she preferred the latter, but the other side of her won out.

She opened the blanket and fixed her eyes on his stubborn face.  "Come here.  There's no need in you sitting there freezing too death.  I don't bite."

Donovan was tempted to take her up on her offer, but he hesitated for a moment.  Was it a good idea to get so close to his charge?  Come on, you idiot.  You're freezing too death and she's offering you half a blanket, not her body.  His practical side winning out for the moment, he slid closer to her and grabbed the blanket.  He felt awkward, uncomfortable even, but at least he wasn't freezing his ass off anymore.  Her body was warm and soft, very inviting.  He was careful to keep his hands away.  As close as she was, it would be easy to draw her into his arms. 

What am I thinking?  This woman, his charge, had watched her lover die a gruesome death, and he sat beside her thinking unnatural thoughts.  Getting under the blanket with her had been a bad idea, a very bad one indeed.  Quickly, almost too quickly, he moved away and wrapped the blanket back around her.  He stood and walked over to the chair behind her.  He sat down and crossed his long legs, hoping she couldn't see him shiver.

"What's wrong," she asked looking over her shoulder at him.

He wished she wouldn't look at him.  Her violet eyes seemed hurt, and he couldn't stand to see the pain in them.  "Nothing," he said.  "This type of weather makes me restless."  As do other things.

She turned her head away and stared blankly at the dead fireplace.  Perhaps she had been too forward.  She wasn't stupid.  Remy knew she didn't want to get herself embroiled in another quickie affair, but it felt nice having a warm body beside her again, even if he was a goon [a decidedly sexy goon].

"I think I owe you an apology," he said suddenly.

Surprised, she turned to look at him.  He had leaned forward in the chair and propped his chin onto his clasped hands.  She wasn't sure what he was apologizing for.  A lot had happened in the few days she had been traveling with him.  "For what?"  Honestly, her behavior had been so horrid that he really didn't owe her anything.

"The photo," he said gently.

"It was a bit much," she said.

"I want you to understand why I did that," he began.

She held up her hand to silence him.  "Please, Mr. Donovan.  I understand.  And I'm not saying that to be ugly or mean toward you.  I'm serious.  I know I'm in over my head, but I didn't have anything to do with Anthony's death, and I have no idea why he was murdered.  I don't know what those people were looking for in my apartment.  All I know is that I was some senator's idea of a good time, and now I'm a target for some reason known only to Anthony's killer." 

"You owe me no explanation, Miss Ellis.  I wasn't sent to interrogate you."

His voice amazed her.  It had the ability to be harsh enough to cut a deep wound.  But it was also velvety smooth and comforting.  "I think I'm the one who should be apologizing, Mr. Donovan.  My behavior has been reprehensible."

"It's okay," he said.  "You're just protecting yourself."

Wow, she thought.  He knew his psychology.  "It's still no excuse."

Curiously, he watched as she brought herself up to her feet.  She approached him and held out her hand.  "I think we need to start over.  My name is Remy Ellis.  Please call me Remy.  I'm an all around world class spoiled brat."

He gazed up at her solemnly.  He thought she might be trying to play some sort of game.  He still couldn't quite trust her, regardless of her explanations or apologies.  There would be little sleep for him tonight.  He would have to watch her closely for the next few days to ensure that she didn't run off again.  Out here in the woods, it would be difficult to find her.  Without missing a beat, he took her proffered hand and shook it briefly.  He didn't want to hold onto it any longer than he had to.  Her touch was electric, but disturbing. 

"And I'm Frank," he said, "your local neighborhood goon bastard."

She stepped away from him, intent to move back to her spot in front of the cold fireplace, but Donovan did something she wasn't expecting.  He stood, as if he was leaving the room.  He took hold of her forearm ever so gently and brought her around to face him.  She waited eagerly, expectantly, knowing for certain that he was going to kiss her this time.  She didn't need the complication, but she wanted those lips, even if it was only for a few moments.  He took her hand in his and led her to the daybed.  He guided her body onto it and laid her down.  He leaned his body partially over hers.  Instead of a hungry kiss, she received another surprise altogether.  Moving quickly, he whipped out his handcuffs again.  He slapped one cuff over her wrist and snapped the other onto the bed's railing.

She had never felt so humiliated or angry in her life.  The goon bastard had deliberately misled her, had used her vulnerability against her.  "I can't believe you," she spat viciously.

He stood back a safe distance from her free arm and legs.  "Tonight was a good start, Remy, but you must earn my trust.  Not only that, but I'm not a machine.  I'm exhausted, and I need to sleep.  You've run once, and there's a chance you'll run again.  Think of those cuffs as insurance."

Donovan walked away from the angry woman and went back over to the easy chair.  He again had been tempted to kiss her, but he shook away the urge.  She was vulnerable, and it would be quite easy to take advantage of that.  It wasn't in him to use her, or anyone, like that.  Yet, he didn't doubt that Remy might have been trying to purposely seduce him to knock him off guard.  Whatever the case, he had to keep his mind sharp and focused.  He couldn't allow his attraction for her to distract him from his purpose.  He leaned back in the chair, but he didn't immediately go to sleep.  Perhaps I am a goon bastard, he thought with a mischievous grin.  He had earned a lot of nicknames from various women in his life, but 'goon bastard' ranked right up there as one of the most creative, if not fitting.

Later, Donovan was still awake.  For a couple of hours after cuffing Remy to the daybed, she had cursed him and his entire bloodline.  After awhile, she settled down and grew silent.  He was certain she was asleep.  Donovan stood and crept up to the bed.  He leaned over her and peered down at her calm face.  As he expected, Remy's eyes were closed, and her body still.  Before he had a chance to straighten his body, Remy caught Donovan's jaw with a right hook.  The blow was clumsy and misdirected, shocking him more than injuring him.  He gaped at her in disbelief as he rubbed his jaw.

She glared at him; her eyes literally glowed with anger.  "Consider us even," she spat through clenched teeth.

*  *  *

"Boss, I know where Ellis is," an excited voice said.

The man calmly stroked his beard and fixed his dark eyes onto a painting hanging on the wall.  This was his favorite piece, and he often gazed at it when stressed.  He held the cell phone up to his ear and felt a smile touching his full lips.  "That's good news.  Why are you talking to me instead of going after her?"

"Sir," the other man said nervously.

"Stop slobbering on the phone, you dumb fuck.  Get your ass in gear and get the girl."