roar away into the night, and wanted to howl with frustration. Drawing a deep breath, he forced himself to calm down enough to analyze the situation he found himself in. The sofa was pretty sturdy. Still, if he could exert enough pressure on the joint where the armrest met the back, he might be able to break it free.
Ten minutes later, he rolled off the couch and dropped the remnants of splintered wood onto the floor. Staggering over to his duffel bag, he fished through his gear until he came up with the key to the handcuffs, and released himself. He felt dizzy. He felt sick to his stomach. He felt as if he’d been poisoned.
He knew he needed to go after Madeleine, but first he needed to clear his head. He stumbled through the dark bedroom and into the adjoining bathroom. God, he felt wretched. Under the fluorescent light, his normally bronze skin had a sickly hue to it. His mouth tasted like cotton and his head throbbed. Turning on the faucet, he scooped handfuls of cold water onto his face, and then opened the small medicine cabinet in search of something to relieve his headache.
His eyes narrowed as he picked up the small prescription bottle on the first shelf. The cover was missing. There were three capsules inside. Bending down, he tipped the small trash basket toward the light and peered inside. There, at the bottom, lay the crumpled shells of at least five capsules, possibly more.
He couldn’t help himself; he leaned weakly over the sink and started to laugh. The little witch had slipped him a Mickey Finn. Luckily for him, the prescription was outdated, otherwise he might find himself in serious trouble and miles from any hospital. At least it explained the misery he was feeling now. But his laughter lasted less than thirty seconds as he considered the ramifications of what Madeleine had done.
She had taken his gun.
Jesus.
The whole situation had just escalated from serious to seriously bad. And all because he’d been duped by a pair of shimmering gold eyes. He groaned at the memory of how he’d reacted to her tears. He’d held her, comforted her. Christ, it had taken every ounce of self-control he had to send her to bed alone. When he’d awakened later to find her bending over him and looking as if she might devour him, he’d assumed she’d wanted to pick up where they’d left off. Kissing her had seemed as natural a response as breathing. He just hadn’t been prepared for the effect it’d had on his senses. He’d wanted her. Badly.
Now he couldn’t help but wonder how much of her behavior that night had been genuine, and how much had been an act in preparation for ditching him. It didn’t matter now. He had to find her. She had his service revolver. Even if she had no intention of using it, just the fact she had it made her dangerous, and any law enforcement officer would be well within his rights to shoot her if she so much as made a move for the weapon.
He braced his hands on the edge of the sink and groaned, cursing himself. He was a complete idiot. He had allowed his emotions to influence his actions. He’d underestimated her desperation. Even knowing she was in trouble, he hadn’t thought she would act so rashly, and had let his guard down. As a deputy marshal, he knew better.
He should never have let Madeleine leave the diner. He should have contacted the local authorities and had her taken into custody right there in Lovelock. Instead, he had violated protocol and bucked every rule in the law book. And now the woman he’d thought to help was out there, armed and dangerous, and more vulnerable than she realized. He had no choice but to contact the authorities and let them know she’d stolen his gun.
He’d lose his badge. At the very least, he could find himself suspended. Ironic, really, since the one thing he’d always prided himself on was that he always got his man. The guys in his district would get a good laugh when they learned he’d been outsmarted by a woman toting a toy
Ten minutes later, he rolled off the couch and dropped the remnants of splintered wood onto the floor. Staggering over to his duffel bag, he fished through his gear until he came up with the key to the handcuffs, and released himself. He felt dizzy. He felt sick to his stomach. He felt as if he’d been poisoned.
He knew he needed to go after Madeleine, but first he needed to clear his head. He stumbled through the dark bedroom and into the adjoining bathroom. God, he felt wretched. Under the fluorescent light, his normally bronze skin had a sickly hue to it. His mouth tasted like cotton and his head throbbed. Turning on the faucet, he scooped handfuls of cold water onto his face, and then opened the small medicine cabinet in search of something to relieve his headache.
His eyes narrowed as he picked up the small prescription bottle on the first shelf. The cover was missing. There were three capsules inside. Bending down, he tipped the small trash basket toward the light and peered inside. There, at the bottom, lay the crumpled shells of at least five capsules, possibly more.
He couldn’t help himself; he leaned weakly over the sink and started to laugh. The little witch had slipped him a Mickey Finn. Luckily for him, the prescription was outdated, otherwise he might find himself in serious trouble and miles from any hospital. At least it explained the misery he was feeling now. But his laughter lasted less than thirty seconds as he considered the ramifications of what Madeleine had done.
She had taken his gun.
Jesus.
The whole situation had just escalated from serious to seriously bad. And all because he’d been duped by a pair of shimmering gold eyes. He groaned at the memory of how he’d reacted to her tears. He’d held her, comforted her. Christ, it had taken every ounce of self-control he had to send her to bed alone. When he’d awakened later to find her bending over him and looking as if she might devour him, he’d assumed she’d wanted to pick up where they’d left off. Kissing her had seemed as natural a response as breathing. He just hadn’t been prepared for the effect it’d had on his senses. He’d wanted her. Badly.
Now he couldn’t help but wonder how much of her behavior that night had been genuine, and how much had been an act in preparation for ditching him. It didn’t matter now. He had to find her. She had his service revolver. Even if she had no intention of using it, just the fact she had it made her dangerous, and any law enforcement officer would be well within his rights to shoot her if she so much as made a move for the weapon.
He braced his hands on the edge of the sink and groaned, cursing himself. He was a complete idiot. He had allowed his emotions to influence his actions. He’d underestimated her desperation. Even knowing she was in trouble, he hadn’t thought she would act so rashly, and had let his guard down. As a deputy marshal, he knew better.
He should never have let Madeleine leave the diner. He should have contacted the local authorities and had her taken into custody right there in Lovelock. Instead, he had violated protocol and bucked every rule in the law book. And now the woman he’d thought to help was out there, armed and dangerous, and more vulnerable than she realized. He had no choice but to contact the authorities and let them know she’d stolen his gun.
He’d lose his badge. At the very least, he could find himself suspended. Ironic, really, since the one thing he’d always prided himself on was that he always got his man. The guys in his district would get a good laugh when they learned he’d been outsmarted by a woman toting a toy
Similar Books
