Page 17 of Trapped

“What did you tell him?” Martin asked immediately.

“That his leg isn’t strong enough.”

“What about his leg?”

“He was shot. He thinks that happened in Thailand.”

“Good thinking—coming up with that answer.” He waited a beat, then asked, “Can he make the trip out of here?”

“I think so.”

“But you don’t know.”

“He won’t be worse off than he is now.”

“True,” Martin conceded.

“I need to relax. Twice I was almost caught.” She didn’t explain how she’d hidden in Cash’s bed—with him lying on top of her.

“Yeah. Try to get some sleep. I’m going to see if I can contact home base.”

“Okay.”

He turned down the light to a soft glow, then stepped out into the corridor. She heard him trying to use the special radio that he’d been given, but it was obvious that they were too far underground, and the tons of rock above them were preventing him from getting through.

They were on their own.

He’d looked sick when he’d gone out. Sick or in pain. But he appeared to be in better shape when he came back.

Was he on drugs? Was that what was going on? Because his behavior was consistent with an addict. He’d seem sick and shaky. Then he’d disappear and come back looking a lot better.

Did that mean he’d fooled everyone else involved in this assignment—and she was the only one who had picked up on the secretive behavior?

That certainly left her in a precarious situation.

He leaned against the wall for long moments, staring at her like he had similar doubts about her.

Finally, he turned down the lights several degrees, then crossed to the other cot and lay down, his gaze focused on the rock-hewn ceiling. Mercifully, he didn’t ask any more questions about her encounter with Cash.

And she was left alone with her thoughts.

She wished that Martin would turn the light all the way off. She didn’t want him to see how shaken she was. On the other hand, that would leave them in total darkness, and she didn’t like that alternative either.

She wanted to fold her arms across her chest and hug herself. Instead, she pulled the covers up to her chin, which made sense in the chilly air of the cave. To give herself the illusion of privacy, she closed her eyes.

As she’d matured, she’d concluded that there was no point in lying to herself. Truth be told, she’d been in love with Cash Baker all those years ago. A very stupid move, since he apparently wasn’t planning to return any deep emotions.

But that one night with him had been the most wonderful experience of her life. Even at twenty, he was a fantastic lover. From her previous—and very scant—experiences, she’d thought that sex must be overrated. He’d proved that she didn’t have a clue about how good it could be.

Behind her closed lids, she found herself reliving the memories of that night—reinforced by the very recent memories in his bedroom. Every touch. Every kiss. Every whispered word.

Unfortunately, she was making herself hot, and she was in danger of having an orgasm just lying here thinking about Cash’s touch. Because those brief, intimate moments with him in his room proved that nothing had changed inside her head. Cash Baker was still the man who did it for her.

Sliding her hands to the side of the cot, she gripped the aluminum frame, willing herself to calm down.

Maybe if she focused on the bad stuff, she could regain her cool.

Like what was he going to say when she told him she’d gotten married to forget him? Then given up and gotten divorced two years later because she’d finally admitted she’d married the wrong man.

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