Killjoy

Chapter 17

"You'll be okay here," John Paul told Avery.

"What do you mean, I'll be okay? You're thinking about hiking to Coward's Crossing now? In the dark… in a rainstorm?

Are you nuts?"

"Avery," he began.

She grabbed his arm. "Okay, if your mind's made up, I'm going with you."

She knew he'd argue, and he did exactly that. He was almost civil as he told her she would slow him down, and he didn't want

or need to have to worry about her out there. When that didn't work, he tried intimidation, even going so far as to threaten to tie her to the steering wheel.

She let him go on and on as she climbed into the backseat, found her black jogging jacket, and put it on, and then dug through her bag until she located her baseball cap.

Scooping her hair up under the black-and-orange Orioles cap, she adjusted the brim, sat back, and kicked off her tennis shoes.

Her goal was to try to blend in with the night, and white tennis shoes would be seen.

Thank God she'd decided to bring her hiking shoes. She knew he was watching her every move as she carefully repacked her duffel bag.

"I think it's crazy to hike in the dark… only an idiot would try it, but if that's what you want to do, then I'm right behind you,"

she said.

"You're staying here," he said between gritted teeth.

She pretended she hadn't heard him. "We won't get far, and one of us might break an ankle or something walking into a hole

we can't see. If I were making the decisions," she added as she carefully placed her tennis shoes, soles up, on top of her clothes and rezipped the bag, "I'd say we should stay in the car until dawn. Then we hike at a fast clip."

"Yeah, well, you're not making the decisions. I am."

She pushed the duffel bag to the floor, stacked her hands on the headrest, and leaned forward until she was just inches from

his face. "Why?"

He couldn't hold on to his glare or his bad mood when she smiled. Hell, she even batted those big baby blue eyes at him.

"Are all the typists at the Bureau smart-asses like you?"

He was trying to put her on the defensive so she'd stop arguing with him and let him do what he was trained to do. It was a

great plan, he thought, but unfortunately she was having none of it.

"Are all burnouts as obnoxious and stubborn as you are?"

He caught himself before he smiled. "Probably," he allowed.

"Are we going or not? Time's a-wasting, John Paul."

"We're going to wait until dawn," he said. "Don't give me that smug look, sugar. I had already decided to wait."

"Uh-huh."

He was smart enough to know it was time to stop arguing. Honest to God, she was more stubborn than he was, and in truth,

that impressed the socks off him. She wasn't going to let him win this round, but he already had another plan in mind. He'd

sneak away a little before dawn. When she woke up, she'd have to stay in the car and wait for him to come back.

And if he didn't make it back…

"I'm gonna leave the keys in the car."

"Okay."

"Get in the front seat so I can fold down the back. I've got a sleeping bag," he added. "You can use it."

"We'll both use it."

"Yeah?"

She rolled her eyes. "Don't get any fancy ideas, Renard."

"Fancy?" He laughed.

Avery had already found the latches and unhooked the seat backs. When they were flat, she spread out the sleeping bag. She tucked her hiking shoes under the seat, removed her jacket, and tossed it on the floor. John Paul stretched out on his back with

his feet against the dashboard. He looked comfortable, his hands stacked on his chest, his eyes closed.

Shivering from the cold, she had to climb over his legs to get to the other side. Her teeth were chattering as she stretched out beside him. She couldn't reach her jacket. It was under the seat below him. A gentleman would have put his arms around her

to warm the shivers away. He wasn't a gentleman, she decided, when he completely ignored her.

It had always been a point of pride with her never to complain. She was usually quite good at suffering minor and major

ailments in silence. But John Paul brought out the worst in her. She really wanted to whine now, and she was more disgusted

with herself than with him. He couldn't help being a jerk. She could.

Suck it up, she told herself. Then a minute later, when she was sure her toes were frostbitten, she whispered, "Screw this."

"What?"

"I said it was cold."

"Huh."

"Huh, what?"

"I could have sworn I heard you say, 'Screw this.' "

He really liked being rude, she supposed, and no wonder, he was so very good at it. She smiled in spite of her misery.

"Don't you think it's cold?"

"No."

Ignoring his answer, she said, "We should share our body heat." He didn't move a muscle. "Put your damn arms around me, Renard. I'm freezing. For God's sake, be a gentleman."

He still didn't move. She was half on top of him now, trying to steal some of the warmth his body generated. The man was like

an electric blanket.

"Move it." She grimaced after giving the order. She sounded like a drill sergeant.

He was trying hard not to laugh at her. "If I put my arms around you, sugar, I might not remain a gentleman."

Oh, brother. "I'll take my chances, sugar," she drawled back.

She leaned up so he could put his arm out, and the second he did, she cuddled up against his side. John Paul rolled over and enveloped her with his arms.

He felt as if he were hugging an ice cube. The bottom of his chin rubbed the top of her head. Damn, she smelled good. Like peppermint, maybe, he thought as he began to rub her back.

"You're one big goose bump."

She didn't have the energy to talk. His warmth was so comforting, she closed her eyes and let him caress her. Her T-shirt

had ridden up above her navel, and too late, she felt his hands slip under the fabric. His fingers splayed wide across her back.

She lurched upward at the same instant he felt the scar tissue, her head slamming into his chin.

"Damn," he muttered as he dropped back. "What the hell did you do that for?" he asked, rubbing his jaw. Avery frantically

pulled her shirt down and rolled away from him. "Go to sleep."

She'd closed up on him quicker than he could snap his fingers. He rolled onto his back and closed his eyes. What in God's

name had happened to her back? He knew what he'd touched was scar tissue. Who had done that to her?

"Leave me the hell alone," Avery whispered. She was coiled for a fight. She waited tensely for the questions to start, holding

her breath. She expelled it loudly. Why was he silent? Why wasn't he asking questions?

She told herself she had nothing to be ashamed of or embarrassed about, but very few men had ever seen or touched her back, and she had memorized their reactions. The look of shock, and in one instance, disgust. Mostly she remembered how one man

she had actually believed wasn't superficial had visibly shuddered. Then, of course, the sympathy and the questions came…

the hundreds of questions.

John Paul wasn't talking, though. She couldn't stand his silence long. She rolled toward him, propped herself up with her elbow,

and glared down at him. The jerk's eyes were closed, and he looked as if he were sleeping. She knew better. "Open your eyes, damn it." "My name's John Paul, not Damn It." What the hell was the matter with him? Why wasn't he asking her questions…

or flinching? She knew he'd felt the knotted scars. "Well?"

He sighed. "Well, what?"

She was getting angrier and angrier by the second. "What are you thinking?"

"Trust me, sugar, you don't want to know."

"Oh, yes, I do. Tell me."

"You sure?"

"Answer me," she demanded. "I want to know what you're thinking."

"Okay. I'm thinking that you're a real pain in the ass."

Her mouth dropped open. "What did you say?"

"You heard me. I said you're a real pain in the ass. You damn near broke my jaw when you jerked up. One second you're

letting me warm you, and the next you're trying to kill me."

"I was not trying to kill you."

He rubbed his jaw. "I could have chipped a tooth."

Oh, brother. "Look… I'm sorry, okay? I was just startled, and I… Wait a minute. Why am I apologizing?"

He flashed a devilish grin. Her heartbeat immediately quickened. " 'Cause you should," he drawled in his seductive southern accent.

The big jerk was so aloof and impassive, so why were her senses going berserk now? With the bursts of lightning, she could

see his face clearly. The day's growth oi whiskers should have made him look scruffy, but it didn't. She had to resist the urge

to touch his cheek. His wonderful scent was driving her to distraction too. He smelled like wintergreen and musk and fresh wood shavings. And when he had held her in his arms to warm her, his body had felt like a smooth block of sculptor's marble. Everything about him was sexy, damn it. He was so masculine, so… Get a grip, she told herself. Remember, you're in charge.

Yeah, right. She put her forefinger and her thumb up in front of his eyes about a half-inch apart and said, "I'm this close to really hating you."

She'd used just the right amount of anger in her voice. She nodded too, just to let him know she meant every word.

He wasn't impressed or intimidated. He simply closed his eyes and lazily said, "I can live with that."