Cassie Miles - State Of Emergency

Fortunately, Jordan was an expert in all things mechanical. His company in Florida manufactured high-tech computer chips. As they returned to the kitchen, he activated the walkie-talkie. Within minutes, he was picking up the police band radio.

“I’m impressed,” Emily commented. “When it comes to mountain survival and emergency medical aid, I do a good job. But that thing baffles me. I hate carrying it on searches.”

As she disinfected the wound on his cheek, Jordan focused on the static reports from the walkie-talkie. The sheriff had already set up roadblocks on the main highway and some of the major roads leading away from Aspen. Had they come this far? Had they thought of Cascadia?

“The stitching is going to hurt,” Emily said. “I don’t have anesthetic. Maybe I should just use a couple of butterfly bandages.”

But he might be on the run for days and wouldn’t have a chance for further medical attention. He needed a more permanent solution than a couple of bandages. “Stitch it up.”

He could manage the pain. What he couldn’t stand was being recaptured again. There was no way in hell he’d go back to jail.

She handed him a bottle of ibuprofen. “Take three.”

He washed down four tablets with another swig of orange juice. “I’m ready.”

As she prepared to stitch, he stared at the curved needle. If she wanted, Emily could inflict serious damage on his face. He nudged the nose of the gun against her rib cage as a reminder. “Don’t try anything cute.”

“I’m a nurse, Jordan. And I take pride in my work. I won’t hurt you any more than I have to. Try not to move around.”

He closed his eyes and retreated deep into his head, seeking a meditative core of stillness. Instead of tensing his body, he willed himself to relax. In an almost objective state, he felt the needle pierce his flesh. He acknowledged the stab and, just as quickly, dismissed the resulting pain.

He inhaled a deep breath before she stitched again. Behind his eyelids, he saw cool blue Gulf waters lapping against the Florida sands. He imagined gentle breakers washing over him, soothing his mind and his spirit, lifting him above the throbbing agony.

He didn’t flinch. The stitching was necessary. The hurt was nothing compared to the thought of spending a lifetime in prison for a crime he did not commit.

“Done,” she said.

When he opened his eyes, he glimpsed a fleeting gentleness in her eyes. For an instant, Emily almost looked like she might hug him. He wanted her touch, yearned for her attention, her affection. If he had only one person to believe in his innocence…

“That’s all I can do,” she said. “You promised to leave.”

Stiffly, he nodded.

Jordan’s attention returned to the police radio. They were setting up roadblocks near Cascadia. He couldn’t use the car for his escape.

Logically, a plan fell into place. He would escape on foot across the mountains where it would be harder to find him. He was, however, ill-equipped to handle mountain survival by himself. He needed an expert. He needed Emily.

“Get your backpack,” he said. “You’re coming with me.”

From the start, Emily knew they would have a problem: What would Jordan do with her when he went on the run again? He couldn’t simply wave goodbye and stroll out the door. He couldn’t leave her behind as a witness.

She thought he might tie her up or disable her car. She feared he might knock her unconscious. But she never dreamed his solution would be to take her with him. “Why, Jordan? Why do you want me to go with you?”

“Makes sense,” he said.

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Think about it.”

“You want to use me as a hostage.” A helpless pawn, he’d use her as a bargaining chip to gain his freedom. The idea disgusted her. Emily had never been a docile woman. She was descended from warriors. Her father had been in Vietnam, and she liked to think she was like him. “I warn you, Jordan. If you take me with you, I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you’re recaptured.”

“Then I’ll have to keep an eye on you.”

Shirtless, he sprawled in the ladder-back kitchen chair with his long legs splayed, gathering his strength after her emergency medical care. His stoic endurance when she stitched his facial wound had astounded her. He hadn’t cried out, hadn’t even twitched a muscle. His intense self-control and determination worried her. This man wouldn’t give up without a fight.

She watched his bare chest rise and fall with each heavy breath. Despite six weeks of jail time, he was in decent physical condition. The span of his shoulders and chest narrowed to a lean torso. She guessed his age to be mid-thirties, a few years older than she was.

He was damned attractive, she ruefully acknowledged. When she’d been dressing the wound on his arm, his flesh warmed beneath her hands. When she’d inadvertently brushed against the black, springy hair on his chest, the texture enticed her. For a moment, her fingers yearned to stroke that hair, to glide across his muscled body. With a jolt, she’d returned to her senses.

Emily couldn’t allow herself to entertain fond thoughts about Jordan Shane. He was an escaped convict, a criminal. Her duty was to return him to police custody.

She snapped, “You can put on your shirt now.” He did as she ordered though his injured left arm was somewhat inflexible. He left the bloodstained, prison-issue workshirt unbuttoned.

Her gaze lifted to his face. She had covered his stitches with a white antiseptic dressing, but she could still see the angry red swelling on the left side of his face.

“I need you to come with me,” he said, “because of the roadblocks. I can’t use the car. I’ll have to escape on foot.”

“Are you crazy? It’s mid-September. The temperatures at night are below freezing. It might even snow.”

Casually, he reached down to pat Pookie who had taken up a position on the floor beside Jordan. “That’s why I need you. I don’t know how to survive in the mountains. I’m just a computer nerd from Florida.”

He certainly didn’t look like a nerd with those broad shoulders and darkly handsome features. But he didn’t look like a murderer, either. Appearances, she reminded herself, could be deceptive.

He rose to his feet, towering over her. “Pack your gear. Plan to be gone for a week.”

“A week?” Her voice rose to a squeak. “But who’ll take care of Pookie?”

At the sound of his name, the puppy bounded to his feet. His head whipped back and forth, glancing between Emily and Jordan. “Murfle, moof.”

“We’ll bring the dog along,” Jordan said. “Let’s move.”

Because she was always ready for an emergency call from S.A.R., Emily was quickly able to assemble two backpacks with sleeping bags, climbing equipment, medical supplies and freeze-dried food for herself and Jordan as well as puppy chow for Pookie.

“Do you have maps?” he asked.

“In the top left drawer of my desk.”

“I don’t suppose you have a G.P.S. unit.”

“What’s that?”

“G.P.S. stands for Global Positioning Satellite. A signal bounces off satellites and triangulates on your position. It gives longitude and latitude, accurate within ten meters, then references area maps.”

He’d lost her after the word “triangulate,” but Emily nodded as she always did when someone explained technology. “I don’t have one of those.”

While she completed her packing, Emily plotted an escape of her own which didn’t involve satellites or triangulation. Simple was better. If she could break away from Jordan, she’d make a run for her car which was parked less than thirty yards from the front door. One fast sprint and she’d be behind the wheel. She’d drive away and not look back until she’d contacted the sheriff’s department.