Hidden Betrayal, page 5
***
Mikayla blinked her eyes open to the light of daybreak. She shifted to her back, ignoring the discomfort in her shoulder. The river was a muted rumble in the early morning quiet, while closer the distinctive call of a blue jay sounded.
Sitting up, she unzipped the tent flap, cocking her head to see past the awning. The stars had faded from view and the canyon wall stood in dark silhouette against the pink and lavender of the dawn sky. Leaves rustled in the cottonwoods and Mikayla spied movement where the campground bordered the forest. A doe stepped tentatively into the clearing, pausing to nibble on a tuft of grass.
Mikayla slipped on her shearling boots and stepped outside, breathing the earth-scented air deep into her lungs. Not a cloud in sight, which meant the day would be beautiful and likely warm by mid-afternoon.
She glanced across the road to Linc’s campsite. The tent flap was open, which made her wonder if he was still inside. She’d noticed him the previous day before the rain had started. Where other campers spent the day hiking or fishing, he’d hung around his campsite. How anyone could spend so much time sitting in a camp chair when there was so much to see and explore, she had no idea.
He’d taken himself off on a short walk in the late morning, then returned to spend the next hour pretty much motionless, sometimes reading, sometimes not, long legs sprawled before him as he sat, butt planted in a sling-bottom chair. There were times she thought he’d been sleeping in that chair, but somehow she knew he hadn’t been because she’d felt his eyes on her.
Hard to tell behind those mirrored aviator shades, but if it were possible to feel someone’s gaze like a physical touch, she’d felt Linc’s. When the rain started, he’d shoved his chair into the back of his Jeep and hitched himself inside. That was the last she’d seen of him until he’d rounded the bend in the trail to rescue her.
After a quick trip to the restroom, she opened her bear-proof locker. She filled a pot with water and lit the stove before setting it on the burner. Opening an airtight container, she spooned coffee beans she’d ground at home into her double-walled French press. Once boiling, she poured the steaming water over the grounds, set the lid in place to let it brew, and got out a pan to make oatmeal. She took a moment to gaze at the sky now streaked orange by the rising sun. This was why she’d come. The serenity and beauty of early morning in the outdoors did more to soothe her soul than anything else in the world.
A rustling noise from Linc’s campsite caught her attention as she pressed down on the plunger of the French press. Her hand wobbled and she nearly dumped the pot as he emerged from his tent.
Oh Lord. Trying not to ogle, she peered at him from the corner of her eye. He’d looked dark and dangerous the previous evening, all tousled hair and scruffy beard. But this morning the man had transformed into a gorgeous specimen, as in mouthwateringly gorgeous. Dark briefs, the kind that came down the leg a bit, covered a tight butt, and unless you counted the black hair on his head, he wore nothing else.
Chapter Six
Mikayla liked a man with body hair, and Linc Jameson had his share. His long legs had a light covering, but his chest, now that was something. Hair spread across heavy pecs to arrow under the waistband of those briefs. He was big everywhere. Great shoulders, wide chest, cut abs. And, ahem…
He turned and her stomach jolted. On the right side of his ribcage, a bright pink scar stood in sharp contrast to the tanned skin and dark hair. She didn’t think that injury could be anything but a gunshot wound. Linc had been shot, and recently. Shock, dismay, and an unexpected a stab of fear for him swarmed through her. He stooped to reach inside the tent, then stood, pulling a dark shirt over his head. Mikayla forced herself to return to her task.
Stirring oats into boiling water, she looked up when she heard the back door of the Jeep open. A little sigh of disappointment escaped when she saw he’d donned a pair of blue jeans. He caught her looking. Grabbing something from the back of his Jeep, he trudged toward her.
“Hey.” He held a large stainless steel mug.
“Hi.”
“How’s the shoulder?”
“Sore.”
“It will be for a few days. Take the Tylenol.” His gaze traveled to the French press. “Any way I can get a cup of that? I’ll pay you the Starbucks rate.”
She gave him a considering look. “No.”
“No? You’re killing me here, Mikayla. I haven’t had a decent cup of coffee in days.”
“How do you know I make decent coffee?”
“Smelled it.”
She held out her hand, and without hesitation he handed over the mug. She tipped the French press and filled his mug to the brim, the dark, rich aroma scenting the air.
He sipped, blew on it and sipped again. “God, this is about perfect.” His gaze snagged hers. “I thought you said ‘no.’”
“The no was for the Starbucks rate.”
“Thanks.” He raised his mug in salute and moved closer to peer into the pan as she adjusted the flame.
“You making breakfast?”
“Oatmeal.” His doubtful expression made her laugh.
“Oatmeal? You ever make pancakes?”
“Yes, but this morning it’s oatmeal.”
“Oh.”
He sounded so disappointed, she laughed. “Don’t you like oatmeal?”
Her breath caught in her throat as his gaze locked on her face. She’d thought his eyes were green, like hers, but now she saw they were hazel, the iris glowing gold around the center and light green at the outer rim. Her heart thudded heavily as he raised a forefinger to brush it lightly across the rise of her cheekbone. “You should have freckles.”
“Well, I don’t.” Of course her voice would come out in a croak.
He moved closer and Mikayla held her breath. He reached behind her to switch off the burner on the stove. “I think your oatmeal is done.”
She turned to find he’d saved the pan from boiling over. A lock of hair fell to shield her face, and she was grateful for a break from his intense scrutiny. Careful, she told herself. It would be too easy to fall for the magnetic pull of Lincoln Jameson. The man had rescued her from danger and she wasn’t immune to his inherent charisma. Given the circumstances, her attraction to him was understandable, but would likely fade away. She stirred brown sugar and raisins into the oatmeal, all the while aware of his fixed attention. She cleared her throat. “Do you want some?”
“No, thanks. Can’t say oatmeal appeals.” She was aware of his continued regard as she spooned the hot cereal into a bowl. “You good to talk when you’re done with breakfast?”
She nodded silently.
“I’ll be back in fifteen.” He raised his mug in salute. “Thanks again.” He returned to his camp and she took a seat at the table.
Being near Linc Jameson wasn’t for the fainthearted. She spooned up a mouthful of oatmeal and watched him walk toward the showers with a towel hanging around his neck and a mesh bag in one hand, coffee mug in the other. The fact that he’d dominated her thoughts the entire morning should be a warning. She couldn’t be attracted to him. She wouldn’t be attracted to him.
She could excuse herself for nearly drooling when he’d stepped out of his tent in his underwear, because, hey, he wore those briefs really well. But her heart jumping into her throat when he’d touched her cheek moments before was completely unacceptable.
Whatever emotions she’d felt for him since the attack were the product of relief and gratitude. His sheer size, his powerful presence, his no-holds-barred willingness to fight on her behalf most likely had triggered an instinctive response. Something biologically driven that compelled a woman to find a strong protector attractive. That made sense, and now that she knew her response was science-based, she could more easily dismiss it.
Ignoring an attraction to Linc Jameson was a matter of self-preservation. She simply couldn’t handle making another poor choice in men. She’d just broken up with her fiancé, for goodness sake. The profound sense of liberation she’d felt when she’d passed that small box, duly insured, to the clerk was all the proof she’d needed that she’d made the right decision.
Taking a sip of coffee, she remembered her brother telling her Peter reminded him of a glossy photo of a pinup girl, pretty to look at but totally lacking in depth. Peter might be perfect for some other woman, some woman who never wanted to make her own decisions, but not for Mikayla. She should never have accepted his marriage proposal.
Now wasn’t the time to get fluttery feelings over someone else. A small voice in the back of her head reminded her she’d never had fluttery feelings over Peter. Regardless, she refused to be a cliché, the woman who falls for the guy who saved her life. Despite questionable judgment about Peter, she was an intelligent, competent, even-keeled kind of person. She had a doctorate in modern American history, and considered herself a levelheaded woman.
Ignoring her reaction to Linc was a matter of reason triumphing over emotion.
He returned from the showers, damp hair curling at his neck, and wearing a deep maroon Henley with the sleeves pushed to his elbows and faded Levi’s. He rummaged in the back of his Jeep before crossing to her campsite. He placed a bright red apple on the table in front of her and sat across from her, white teeth biting into his own apple.
“An apple?”
“Yeah, payment for the coffee.”
“Ah, okay.” She narrowed her eyes. “And what’s my payment to you for disarming the guy yesterday? For saving my life?”
He flashed a fast, wicked smile. “I’ll hold that back for later.”
Mikayla drew in a quick breath. That smile was lethal.
“Besides, you didn’t seem too pleased that I’d interfered yesterday.”
She set her empty bowl aside and picked up the apple. She bit in and chewed, swallowing before responding. “It’s not that I wasn’t pleased you were there.” She shrugged, not sure how to explain. “I like to deal with my own problems. Sure, I was scared, but also supremely pissed. Who the hell was he to attack me like that? To hurt me? I guess I wanted a chance to prove I could protect myself.”
“Understandable.” His gaze traveled over her features, and Mikayla got the feeling he was a man who would notice the small details, like if a woman wore a new pair of earrings or styled her hair differently. “Look, you know I’m with the Marshals Service. Investigation is part of what I do, so I want to get back to those questions. See if I can get a handle on what that guy was after.”
She finished chewing a bite of apple. “Are you here for work?”
His expression closed. “No, but I still have questions. Take me through it again. But this time, start from when you left home. You’re from California?”
“Yes, Los Angeles.”
“What made you take this trip by yourself? And why here?”
“Here because I’d heard southern Utah is spectacular, and by myself because I needed to get away from things.”
She didn’t mention Peter, didn’t want to talk about him, mostly because she felt embarrassed she’d ever considered marrying him. Having known Linc Jameson less than twenty-four hours, she already understood he was the extreme opposite of Peter by almost every measure: where Peter was charming, gregarious, and in his element with a crowd, Linc appeared to be more reserved and watchful. Maybe the vigilance, the way he seemed to be constantly assessing his surroundings, was a law enforcement thing. And while she would consider both men attractive, Peter possessed a suave, urban polish quite different from Linc’s powerful build and untamed looks. Linc exuded a rugged maleness that pulled at her on an elemental level.
He raised his brows and waited. “‘Get away from things’? Want to explain?”
“Let’s say I’ve had a lot of family pressure, and taking myself on a vacation made more sense than committing felony assault.”
His eyes turned speculative and she thought for a minute he’d press the issue. “Is there anyone, and I mean anyone, at home, work, social group, who might want to harm you?”
“Most of my family is frequently unhappy with me, but so far they’ve held off on murder.”
He raised dark brows.
“Look, that sounds pathetic. I know.” She heaved a sigh. “My mom and sister simply have different ideas about what I should be doing. You know, where I should live, the type of career I should have. Even the kind of car I drive. Basically, they believe I make poor decisions on every damn thing in my life. This trip was supposed to give me some distance so I can figure out what it is I want, not what everyone else wants for me.”
“You have a husband?” When she shook her head, he reached across the table and picked up her left hand, holding it up between them. His thumb moved across her ring finger, his hand warming her chilled fingers. “You’ve got a pale line here where you’ve recently taken off a ring. You skip out on a husband?”
“No, I haven’t skipped out on a husband.”
He waited, attention unwavering.
“Okay, okay. Damn it.” She looked away. “I broke up with my boyfriend.”
His thumb brushing her ring finger again brought her gaze back to his. “Boyfriend?”
“Fine, fiancé. I broke up with my fiancé.”
She didn’t know how to interpret the glint in his eye. “And how did the fiancé react?”
She hitched a shoulder. “The usual. Peter hears what he wants to hear and pays no attention to the rest. He refused to accept it was over.”
“Was he angry?”
She tugged her hand free and jammed it into her pocket. And realized she still wore Linc’s sweater. Great. She was like the cheerleader wearing the quarterback’s letterman jacket. She set the core of the apple in her bowl and stood. “I’ll get your jacket. There’s probably blood on the sweater. I’ll wash it before I give it back.”
He held up a hand. “I’m not worried about the sweater. You said the fiancé wouldn’t accept that you broke up with him, but you sound like it’s a done deal.”
She hesitated, then sat again. He certainly knew how to stick to a subject. “Right. Well, here’s the thing. Peter doesn’t know we’re officially broken up.”
“How’s that?”
“I tried to break up with him. Twice. He simply refused to acknowledge what I was saying. I felt like he wanted to pat my head and say, ‘there, there,’ like I was a recalcitrant child. He’d slip around the conversation, and by the time we were done, I was frustrated and angry, and still engaged.”
She felt the steam rising out of the top of her head all over again. “So yesterday on my way here, I stopped at a post office and put the ring in the mail to send back to him. A big, fat diamond solitaire. I never liked it. Diamonds are so cold.” She closed her eyes and willed the irritation to subside. She hadn’t meant to give away so much. “Anyway, that has nothing to do with the guy on the trail yesterday.”
“The guy on the trail wasn’t local. He was from the city.”
“How do you know that?”
“How he dressed.”
“Because he wasn’t wearing Patagonia or REI? Every hiker doesn’t wear the same thing, you know.”
He gave a short laugh. “I do know. But even without traditional outdoor gear this guy wasn’t dressed for hiking or camping. He had city written all over him. I’d say street thug, likely a cartel member. You notice the tattoo on the back of his left hand?”
“No. I was too busy staying away from that knife.”
“I didn’t get a good look either, but I’d put money down that I’ve seen it before. There’s a cartel in Mexico that cuts off the tattooed hands of this group when they can catch them.”
“You’ve got to be kidding. Aren’t we a little outside cartel territory?”
“Exactly. Which is why I’m wondering who would send a cartel thug after you.”
Before she could respond, a white and green National Park truck pulled to a stop next to Linc’s Jeep, and Alex Smallcanyon stepped out. He nodded in their direction. “’Mornin’.”
They greeted the ranger, and Mikayla asked, “Mr. Smallcanyon, can I make you some coffee?”
“It’s Alex, and if it’s no trouble, that would be great.”
Mikayla rose from the bench to put water on the stove. She rinsed out the coffeepot before adding scoops of ground coffee.
Alex walked over to watch her work. “I haven’t used a press before. Are you happy with it?”
“I think it’s the best thing if you don’t have electricity. It works for me.”
“You have anything to report?” Linc’s voice sounded abrupt, and she glanced over Alex’s shoulder and caught Linc’s lowered brows.
Alex laughed, dark eyes tracking from her to Linc. “Actually, yeah. Last night local sheriff’s deputies spotted a car with California plates stuck in the mud over near Concord. That’s about twenty-five miles from here. There’d been some flooding and the fool drove right through it.” He nodded toward Linc. “He matched your description. We caught a lucky break.”
“I want to question him.”
Alex smiled thinly. “Might have a little jurisdictional squabble over that one. He didn’t give up peaceably and punched the arresting officer, so the county boys want to hold on to him for now. Sheriff’s a real hard-ass. He wants you both to ID him in a lineup before he’ll even consider turning him over to the Department of Justice for federal charges.”
***
Linc stepped ahead of Mikayla and held open the door of a squat sheriff’s office painted institutional beige. Despite his impatience to get going, she’d kept him waiting at the campground until she’d had her shower. They’d driven in his Jeep to the small town of Concord, and throughout the journey Mikayla found herself watching him—the way he handled the vehicle, his big hands on the gear shift, his narrowed gaze moving from road to mirror.
They stepped inside and, after introducing themselves, the deputy manning the front desk had them wait in the lobby.
Mikayla pulled her phone from her back pocket and sat on an upholstered bench. The phone had dinged about a dozen times once they’d gotten close to town and within service range, streaming a backlog of text messages. She thumbed through them as Linc leaned against a wall and tapped on his phone.
