Perilous Christmas Reunion. Laurie Alice EakesЧитать онлайн книгу.
is it?” Chris repeated.
“Ryan gave it to me before he got up and started running again, right before the shooting.”
“And when were you going to tell me?”
“As soon as I remembered it.”
Chris arched one brow in skeptical inquiry.
“I was a little distracted over being shot at.” She spoke through gritted teeth. “I have no idea what’s on it. I have no idea why he gave it to me, but you probably have more use for it than I do.”
“I probably do.” Chris started to reach for it, thought of fingerprints and snatched a piece of gauze from the first-aid kit.
“It already has my fingerprints on it, and Ryan was wearing gloves,” Lauren pointed out.
“I don’t need to add my fingerprints to what might be there.” Chris wrapped the flash drive in gauze and slipped it into his pocket.
“Should I get my computer so you can see what’s on it?” Lauren asked.
Chris studied her face for a moment, trying to look beyond the distraction of her beauty to discover if she was being sincerely cooperative or playing some kind of game. He couldn’t forget his missing service weapon, nor the fact that Ryan had come straight to her, as Chris had suspected he would. He couldn’t forget that Lauren had put her criminal family before him five years earlier.
With her final words—I love you too much to let my family drag down your new career, but I can’t give up the only family I have—ringing in his ears, Chris made a decision.
“I’d rather give it to the nearest US marshal’s office to look at.”
“Even if it holds a key to where Ryan has gone?”
“Good point, but I can wait until I get my own laptop out of my SUV. It’s parked along the highway.”
Lauren gave him an exasperated glance. “My computer is about five feet from you. You’re welcome to use it.”
And have some special encryption erase the drive the instant he inserted it?
“You.” She flung up her hands. “Do you think I’ll destroy the data on that thing by some technical sleight of hand?”
“You are a computer whiz, aren’t you? The successful computer-security entrepreneur?”
“I am,” she said without conceit, “and I am also a law-abiding citizen with some compassion. Since you’re hungry, I can make us some dinner.”
Chris’s eyes widened. “You read minds?”
“I hear growling stomachs—yours and mine. Come sit at the breakfast bar while I cook.”
Chris tried to rise. Pain shot through his back, and a groan slipped from his lips before he could suppress it.
“You need a doctor.” Lauren grasped his upper arm on the unwounded side. “Let me help.” She tugged.
With 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