"Three..."
"I need rope, honey."
"Then get some, honey."
"Can't. No more left. Henry used it all."
Amanda hesitated. "Untie Jake. You can use that rope."
"Jake? Who the hell is Jake'?"
She nodded to the breed, and Tom Rafferty shrugged. "Fine by me."
Amanda felt a trickle of unease ripple down her spine. The man had agreed too easily, and she watched him all the closer because of it. The second he took a step toward Jake, she knew what the sneaky rat was up to.
Reaching out, she grabbed the man's bony arm and shoved the pistol hard into the small of his back. "On second thought, I'll untie Jake."
She stepped around Tom, and split a cautious glance between the two devious looking Raffertys as she bent and retrieved Jake's knife from where Henry had tossed it to the ground. The hilt felt cold and heavy in her palm. The long blade glinted like silver ice in the firelight.
Her attention trained on the Raffertys, Amanda stepped to Jake's side and squatted beside him. Until now, she'd avoided looking at him, even when she'd felt his gaze on her. Knowing he was alive had been enough to keep her going. She was afraid to look at him, afraid to see what Henry had done. Her grip on courage was tenuous at best. Seeing Jake's familiar copper skin cut and bleeding might have made her slip; it might have been her undoing. It was a risk she hadn't been willing to take.
Until now. Now, she had to look at Jake.
Amanda restricted her gaze to his face, staunchly resisting the morbid urge to look lower. Her glance was brief, probing—she didn't dare take her eyes off the Raffertys for more than a split second. The tension hanging like a thick cloud in the air said they were waiting for any chance to jump her.
Jake gritted his teeth and forced his gaze and expression to remain neutral; a direct contrast to the emotions burning inside of him. Had he ever in his life been as furious with a woman as he was right here, right now, with Amanda Lennox? Hell, no!
The stupid bitch! Here he'd aimed to keep her safe—keep her alive!—by leaving her injunction, and what did she do? She not only followed him—how she'd done that, he'd yet to figure out—but she'd also meandered right into the thick of things, at a time when the situation was at its dangerous worst. Did she know those two idiots would just as soon kill her as spit on her? Did she have any idea how much danger she was in?
Or did she know, and not care?
White women, Jake thought with an inward snort of disgust. Who could figure 'em? Jesus, it seemed like every time Jake thought he had Amanda Lennox pegged, she up and did something that surprised him. Again. And yet again.
His gaze shifted from the pistol to the knife. He wondered how she planned to cut through his ropes, and at the same time train both her gaze and weapon on both Raffertys. A quick glance at her face told him that Amanda was wondering much the same thing.
"Give me the knife," he growled.
Amanda shook her head and frowned, her gaze again fixed on Henry and Tom Rafferty. "I can't. Your hands are tied."
"So what? Give me the goddamn knife!" Jake's words were sharper than he'd intended, but he didn't care. His inner forearm stung like a son of a bitch from where Henry had cut him. And when his body tensed with annoyance—as it usually did when Amanda Lennox was around—the pain was incredible.
After a split second of indecision, Amanda put the knife into the hand not tied to the tree. Jake's fingers curled around the familiar wooden hilt, deftly turning the weapon so the deadly tip pointed downward. He sliced the rope in one smooth stroke, then made short work of the one securing his wrist to the tree.
His relief was instantaneous. The rough hemp had been tied tight enough to make his wrists bleed, but not so tightly that he'd lost all circulation. Of course not. Henry Rafferty hadn't wanted him numb; he'd wanted Jake to feel every torturous second of the pain he'd gleefully inflicted.
A soft crunch of leaves snapped Amanda's attention back to the Raffertys. Her gaze speared into Tom Rafferty who, sensing her and Jake's distraction, had seized the chance to move a few steps closer to his brother.
Amanda swallowed a surge of panic, knowing that every step Tom took lessened her chances of hitting him should she be forced to shoot. Her fingers tightened on the pistol, and she leveled the snubby barrel in what she hoped was the direction of his heart. "Take one more step and I swear to God I'll shoot."
"Uh-huh," Tom muttered. His voice no longer wavered, but was tight and controlled. A cool grin curled over his lips as, his brown eyes meeting Amanda's gaze, he took not one step... but three. "I'll just bet you will, honey. That doesn't mean you're going to hit anything though. Not at this distance."
"I will."
Jake's voice came so closely behind her that Amanda could feel the kiss of his breath on the back of her neck. She hadn't heard him stand, but she knew Jake well enough now to not be surprised by it.
She also knew what that flat, cold tone meant; the threat in his voice was unmistakable.
Amanda wasn't the only one to notice. Tom Rafferty stopped dead in his tracks, his brown eyes fixed on a spot just behind Amanda's back. His gaunt cheeks drained to a ghostly shade of white, and his jaw tightened with indecision. "You'll miss," he said suddenly, but his tone lacked conviction. "Henry cut you good. No way you can throw with your arm sliced up and bloody."