and he’d no longer be there if she needed anything.
Neither would anyone else.
CODY PACED the motel room. The air conditioner hadn’t stopped running since they’d come in, nearly an hour ago, but still the air was sultry and suffocating. He hated being cooped up in this one-room cabin, hated more that this operation had gone wrong. Beginning with the moment Sarah Rand had stepped off that airplane—pregnant.
He glanced at her sleeping form, her blond hair all mussed and spreading over the pillow, the rounding of her stomach beneath the sheets. The cloth he’d given her had been tossed aside, the corner of it dangling from the edge of the honey-colored nightstand. He picked it up and carried it into the cubbyhole of a bathroom.
A cold, wet cloth. That was the extent of what he knew about tending an upset stomach. Sarah, on the other hand, appeared to know what to do for every ailment. From bumps on the head to indigestion, she was a walking medical encyclopedia.
Amazingly enough, Dr. Marino had backed her up when he’d called, said that if she was having no further complications, rest was probably the best thing for her. But, if she became sick to her stomach again or developed a lasting headache, she was to see a doctor at once.
A rectangle of fading light found its way through the narrow window at the back of the cabin and caught Sarah in its glow. Cody stared at her for a minute, then swallowed hard. The woman might look all sweet and innocent when she was asleep, but the images were totally deceptive. She was a woman willing to sell out to the devil himself for cold hard cash.
And if ever there was a devil walking around in a man’s body it was Tomaso Calderone. Murdering innocent people came as easily to him as swatting a mosquito did to most folks. Only he seldom did the killing himself. He paraded around his palatial estate wearing designer clothes and partying with a bevy of beautiful women while his paid assassins did whatever it took to keep the drugs rolling into the States and the money rolling into his bank account.
Anything for money. Calderone and Sarah Rand had a lot in common.
The pager at his waist vibrated. He pulled it loose and cradled it in his hand while he checked the number. More bad luck. It was the number to the office phone at the Smoking Barrel.
He crossed the room and stopped at the window. It looked out on the back of the building. A narrow river meandered a few yards away. Beyond that, the land stretched into thorny brush, a few scrubby trees and a line of ever-present barbwire.
Moonlight painted them in shadows and whispers of silver, a magical touch that contradicted the ruggedness of the land. He’d lived in Texas all his life, wandered from one part to the other, found work where he could, staying in one place only until the need to move on would hit again. That had never taken long, not until he’d arrived at the Smoking Barrel.
He exhaled sharply and moved away from the window. The Smoking Barrel was part of his past. It held nothing for him and he had no desire to hear anything Mitchell Forbes had to say. He hoped the man didn’t hold his breath waiting for him to return the page.
Determined and weary, he strode back to the door. He needed to move the truck out of sight, park it beyond the patch of thick brush. His job was to keep Sarah Rand safe until the disk was delivered into Daniel’s hand, and he never quit on a job until it was finished. But once it was, he planned to get as far away from Texas and the Smoking Barrel as he could.
Montana sounded good to him. So did Alaska. Muscles tight and drawn, he opened the door. It creaked and groaned, but Sarah didn’t move a muscle. Just as well. This might be the last night she slept in a bed without bars around it.
The thought burned in his brain and pulverized his will. He wanted to see Calderone brought down more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life, but he hadn’t bargained for this.
“CODY.”
He jumped, his head flying from the back of the chair as he reached for the lamp switch. “What’s wrong?” The grogginess of sleep cracked his voice.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. I just wondered if you were still here.”
“I’m here.” He pushed up his sleeve and checked his watch. Only eleven-thirty, but it seemed much later. “How are you feeling?”
“Good. I told you all I needed was some rest. Getting out of that bouncing truck didn’t hurt either.” She pushed up on her elbows. The sheet fell from her shoulders, and he realized with a jolt that between the time he’d fallen asleep and now, she’d crawled out of most of her clothes, including her bra. The silky border of her slip dipped low, and her nipples were outlined against the revealing fabric.
She’s not only pregnant with another man’s baby but she’s a rotten mercenary, he reminded himself, hoping his body was listening.
Apparently noticing the direction of his gaze, Sarah grabbed the sheet and pulled it up to her neck. “How well do you know Daniel Austin, Cody?”
“Well enough.”
“That’s a nonstatement if I ever heard one. What did he tell you about me?”
“Not much.” Not that she was pregnant or that she was almost as good at disguises as Dan himself. Her ability to appear innocent was messing with his mind and he knew better. “He said you were bringing some files that he wanted and that I was to make sure you and the disk arrived safely.”
“Why didn’t he meet me at the airport himself?”
“I couldn’t say.”
She sat up straight and stared at him, her pink lips all pouty. “I just don’t get it, Cody. Are you always this curt, or do you just not like me?”
Cody hesitated. Any answer he gave would have to be an out-and-out lie or else give too much away. She had to believe that both he and Austin were working for Calderone now.
“It’s the situation that’s making me edgy,” he finally answered. “Not you.” He walked to the sink for a glass of water. On second thought, he filled two of the glasses with water from the tap. He walked back to the bed and handed one to Sarah.
“Is this a peace offering?” she asked, taking the glass from his hands.
“You could call it that.”
“Then I accept.”
She drank heartily, no sissy sipping. If he’d met her anywhere else but under the present circumstances, he’d have sworn she didn’t possess an ounce of pretense. But then he would have sworn the same about Mitchell Forbes before he found out differently.
“So tell me, Sarah, what do you plan to do once you deliver the disk to Daniel Austin?”
“Go back to work and save all the money I can. I have insurance to pay the hospital and doctor expenses, but I want to stay home for at least six months so that I can bond with my child. I think that’s important, don’t you? I mean those early months are crucial in an infant’s development.”
“I don’t know much about infants,” he admitted. “But it makes sense that a baby would like to have its own mother around while he’s adjusting to the world. I doubt my mother had that option, though, and I grew up just fine.”
“You grew up kind of grouchy,” she corrected him, “with a serious lack of social skills. Anyway, you said he, and I think my baby’s a girl.”
“Is that what your doctor said?”
“No, but I’m good at predicting things. You know, it’s like I see them before they happen. And every time I think of my baby, I picture her dressed in a dainty pink dress with little pink booties and a lacy bonnet. In fact, I’m so sure that I already bought the bonnet.”
Cody turned away. He was seeing things, too, and they stuck in his throat so that he could barely swallow. The image was of Sarah in a prison-gray uniform, her shiny blond hair cut short and stuffed under a cap while she slaved away in a prison laundry. But she must