Manhunt in the Wild West by Jessica Andersen Read Free Book Online Page B

done. She’d done nothing.
    A long time passed before her tears dried up, but eventually they did.
    When that happened she swiped her hands across her eyes and drew a deep breath. “You’re okay,” she told herself. “You’re going to be okay.”
    Thinking things might look a little less grim if she ate something—the breakfast sandwich she’d had seemed aeons in the past—she stood and headed for the kitchen.
    She was almost there when a man stepped into the kitchen doorway. She saw his silhouette first, big and muscular, then his dark hair, the lines that cut beside his mouth, and piercing blue eyes that seemed to bore into hers. He was wearing tough-looking black cargo pants and heavy boots, along with a thick sweater and scarred leather jacket, rather than the guard’s uniform from before, but she recognized him instantly.
    Fairfax.
    Heart jolting into her throat, Chelsea screamed. At least she tried to. But he moved too quickly, getting an arm across her collarbones and pressing lightly on her throat while he clapped a hand across her mouth, holding her body motionless as effectively as he trapped the scream in her lungs.
    “Don’t,” he ordered. “I won’t hurt you.”
    Rationality said she should fight, but she hesitated instead, still caught up inside her own skull, torn between attraction and logic, between gratitude and fear.
    When she stilled, his grip loosened a fraction. “Good girl,” he said, which was patronizing yet somehow soothed her, for reasons she promised herself she’d analyze later. “You going to behave if I let you go?”
    She nodded as her pulse hammered in her veins.
    “Okay. Here goes.” He let his hands fall away, and stepped back.
    Chelsea bolted for the front door, screaming, “Help! Help me!”
    She heard his bitter curse, heard his footsteps too close behind as she grabbed the knob and twisted. Before she could get the door open, she found herself hanging midair, suspended by her belt and the back of her shirt.
    “Damn it.” He half hauled, half carried her into the living room, where he tossed her on the sofa. Then he loomed over her, cold blue eyes snapping with temper. “I said I’m not going to hurt you. Settle down!”
    She glared back. “Why should I do anything you say?”
    “I—” He snapped his jaw shut and exhaled. “Because you owe me one. I saved your life.”
    Of all the things for her to feel at that moment, disappointment probably wasn’t the most logical. But that was what flooded through her, alongside a flare of anger and disillusionment at the realization that he was no different from the others, after all. He hadn’t saved her because she’d aroused some soft emotion in him. He’d saved her so he could use her.
    “You want me to help you escape,” she said, voice flat with anger.
    “I managed that one on my own, thanks.”
    “Then what—” She thought of Rickey’s body and shuddered. “You’re going to kill me after all.”
    He shook his head, managing to look both frustrated and vaguely insulted without a change in his cool blue eyes. “No, I’m not going to kill you. I need you to sneak me inside the ME’s office.”
    That confused her enough to dampen some of her panic, especially given that he hadn’t made a move in her direction since tossing her on the couch. He was keeping half his attention on the windows—being careful not to cross between them and the light—and the other half on their conversation. He wasn’t concentrating on her, wasn’t making her feel any immediate menace.
    He was treating her like a means to an end, nothing more. Like the way one of her fictional spy heroes would treat an asset.
    “Why do you want to break into the ME’s office?” she asked, not sure if she’d stopped trying to escape because she was frozen in shock, or if it was because of the way the inexplicable events of the day were realigning themselves in her head, shaping themselves into an impossible hypothesis.
    “I need