Riptide (A Dangerous Hearts Romance)

by Deborah Camp

  “What are you doing here? Has something happened to Hampton?” she asked as she approached him.

  “No, nothing has happened to Hampton,” he answered in a deep purr. “I told him I’d pick you up.”

  “Oh.” Whitney handed her carryon to him. “That’s nice.”

  He took the carryon and her luggage claim tickets. “Come on,” he ordered curtly, striding ahead of her toward the claim area.

  Whitney frowned at his back. Why was he being so rude? Nobody asked him to pick her up! She waited while Shadow whipped her two suitcases off the conveyer belt. Without giving her even a backward glance, he started for the exit with her luggage.

  Following him, Whitney again experienced a shiver of anxiety. Even though the sky was clear, she felt as if a storm were brewing. Shadow opened the trunk of a late-model Cutlass and pitched her luggage inside before slamming it closed. He unlocked the passenger door, swung it open, and went around the driver’s side without bothering to close the door behind Whitney.

  Whitney examined his profile as he levered himself behind the steering wheel. Her anxiety mounted when she saw a muscle jerking out of control in his jawline. Yes, a storm is brewing, she thought with trepidation. Suddenly, Shadow swiveled to face her and his eyes were gray and cloudy.

  “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing, going off to New York without notifying me?” he demanded, then without giving her time to draw a decent breath, “Answer me!”

  “Hey, hey!” Whitney said, holding up her hands. “Don’t use that tone of voice with me!”

  “Just answer me!” Shadow insisted, still using that growling tone.

  Whitney faced front, incensed by Shadow’s belligerence. “I wasn’t aware that I was under house arrest. I’m a victim, not a criminal. Remember?”

  “You know better than to leave town without notifying the police,” he said between gritted teeth. “If you really want us to catch the Malibu Intruder, you’ll cooperate.”

  Whitney cut her eyes to him. “I don’t like the way you phrased that last accusation. Are you suggesting that I don’t want the Malibu Intruder arrested?”

  “I’m just saying you aren’t doing anything to help us.”

  “It’s not my job. It’s yours,” Whitney reminded him icily.

  “Oh, sh—” Shadow bit off the word when Whitney turned a warning frown on him. “Expletive deleted,” he murmured as he started the car and backed it from its parking place.

  “Nothing has happened since I’ve been away?” Whitney asked.

  “No. Hampton’s waiting for you at your house.”

  “Good.” Whitney relaxed a little in the seat, hoping the storm had blown over. “Were there any fingerprints on the picture frame?”

  “Yes. We lifted a couple of pretty good ones.”

  “Great!” Whitney flashed him a brief, happy smile, but it faded quickly when he refused to return it. “I wish you hadn’t bothered to pick me up. Hampton would have at least welcomed me home.”

  “Welcome home,” he said without emotion.

  Whitney turned her face from him and bit her tongue. Oooh! He could make her so mad! She brought her anger under control, but still didn’t look at him.

  “I don’t think I’ll be bothered by the Intruder anymore,” she said, hoping that saying the words would make her believe them.

  “The Intruder hasn’t stopped harassing his other victims. Why should you be any different?”

  “Because I’m not really famous,” she said, thinking how silly that sounded. Famous. It had such a snobby connotation. Giving a little shake of her head, she tried to explain. “You see, the other victims are actors or singers. I’m just the creator of a moppet called Penelope. That’s not really famous, is it? Most Americans have never even heard of me.” Glancing at him, she saw that he wasn’t convinced. Whitney gave a mental shrug. Why should he be? She wasn’t convinced, either. It was just wishful thinking.

  “How was your trip to New York?”

  Surprised by his more congenial tone, Whitney turned wide, coppery eyes on him. “It was … productive.” She examined his placid expression for a few moments, noting that his hands rested lightly on the steering wheel and that he seemed more relaxed. “Tell me,” she said, drawing out the words dramatically, “do you shout at all the Malibu Intruder victims or have you singled me out?”

  He flexed his long fingers and a slight grimace twisted his features for an instant. “Whitney, you were wrong to go to New York without telling us.”

  “Hampton knew where I was,” Whitney said, still feeling the need to defend herself. She wasn’t used to reporting her whereabouts, and she didn’t like the feeling of being on a short leash. “All you had to do was contact him and—”

  “I did that,” Shadow interrupted. “Does anyone else have a key to your house besides Hampton?”

  “No.” Whitney adjusted the air conditioning vent until the cool air blasted her directly in the face. It was hotter than usual, she thought as she noticed how the air undulated around the cars in front of them. The Pacific Coast Highway traffic was bumper-to-bumper, making the trip from the airport to her house take twice as long as usual.

  Shifting her gaze from the congestion, Whitney found that she couldn’t keep her eyes off the man beside her. During her three days in New York, she had woven daydreams about this half-Choctaw half-Italian puzzle. Hampton had told her to go with her feelings, and she had carefully examined her feelings for Shadow. It had come as a jolting shock to realize how much she wanted to deepen her relationship with him; how desperately she regretted her bout of second-thoughts when she had been in his arms; how thrilling it was to know that he wanted her.

  How deep did his feelings for her run? she wondered. Had he thought of her—in a strictly personal way—since she’d been away? Or was she just a passing fancy?

  “Here we are,” Shadow said with a relieved sigh as he parked the car in her driveway. “I’ll carry your luggage inside for you.”

  “Thanks.” Whitney gasped as humid air whipped across her face when she emerged from the cool interior of the car. She went up the steps quickly, anxious to escape the smothering heat, and offered up a bright smile when Hampton threw open the front door.

  “I plead innocent,” Hampton said, looking past her to where Shadow was removing her luggage from the car. “He held a gun to my head and gave me no choice but to wait here while he met you at the airport.”

  Whitney laughed and placed a kiss on. Hampton’s cheek. “I forgive you, under the circumstances.”

  “Did he give you a welcome home kiss?” Hampton asked, lowering his voice to a confidential whisper.

  “Hardly,” Whitney answered with a frown. “He gave me a tongue-lashing. He’s a little upset about me leaving town without telling the police first.”

  “Yes, so I gathered.” Hampton stepped back, his hands on her shoulders. “Well, I’m glad you’re home. How did the business go? Is everything settled now?”

  “Yes. They promised me this would be the last trip I’d have to make until the illustrations are finished.”

  Hampton pulled her to one side to let Shadow into the house. “You can take those upstairs to Whitney’s bedroom, if you’d like,” Hampton suggested with a devilish glint in his eyes. “That is, if you’d care to be a gentleman.”

  “At your service,” Shadow returned with a quick grin. “It’s all part of being a public servant.” He shifted the luggage in his hands and his expression changed from light banter to seriousness. “I’m going to check the house before I leave. Okay with you, Whitney?”

  “If you feel it’s necessary …”

  “It is,” he assured her before bounding up the stairs to her bedroom.

  Hampton pulled her into the living room and pushed her down onto the couch. He sat beside her, still holding her hands.

  “Whitney, I had a talk with the good detective and I ! think you should play it safe and obey his every command.”

  Whitney l
ooked into Hampton’s eyes and saw that he was genuinely concerned. “Hampton, has something happened while I’ve been away?”

  “No, nothing like that,” Hampton assured her. “I know you, Whitney. I know how your mind works.” He squeezed her hands affectionately. “When bad things happen, you put them out of your head and stubbornly get on with your life. That’s a good policy, normally, but you shouldn’t pretend these things aren’t happening.”

  Whitney laughed softly, shaking her head. “Dear Hampton. There’s no way I can ignore these break-ins. Believe me, I’ve tried. Don’t worry. I’ll obey police orders and keep my house locked up tight.”

  “Maybe you should stay with me until this—”

  “No.” Whitney withdrew her hands from his. “I’m staying here.” Her gaze fell on a small stack of mail on the coffee table and she grasped the diversion. “Looks like I received quite a bit of mail during my three-day absence.”

  “It’s probably bills,” Hampton said. “Are you sure you won’t move in with me until—”

  “No, Hampton,” Whitney said firmly as she sorted through the envelopes in her lap. “The subject is closed.”

  “Is she giving you a hard time too, Hampton?” Shadow asked as he sauntered into the living room and sat in the chair opposite the couch.

  “I’m not giving anyone a hard time,” Whitney insisted, flashing Shadow an irritated look before returning to her mail. Hampton was right. Most of the envelopes were from boutiques and utility companies. Wait a minute! Whitney picked up a postcard and examined the color photo and the words printed on it: Greetings From the Film Capital of the World. Whitney laughed softly. Who would be sending her a postcard from Hollywood? she wondered as she turned it over and read the brief message: Hope you enjoyed your trip to New York City. I’ll be calling on you soon.

  “Oh no!” Whitney moaned, closing her eyes and shutting out the image of that familiar penmanship.

  “What? What is it?” Shadow demanded, snatching the postcard from her fingers.

  Whitney opened her eyes. Shadow was staring at the postcard, his smooth forehead now lined and his thick, peaked brows lowered over eyes that darkened from silver to gray. His gaze lifted to hers, and Whitney was struck by the glimmer of regret in them.

  “It’s from him,” she said. “He’s getting bolder and bolder.”

  “From him?” Hampton shot up from the couch and went over to Shadow. Looking over Shadow’s shoulder, Hampton read the message. Uncharacteristic anger flushed his face a bright red. “That fiend! Why is he doing this?”

  “He’s nuts,” Shadow said, simply and truthfully. “I’ll take this with me and get it—”

  “Fingerprinted,” Whitney supplied with a slur. The shock at finding the menacing missive had diminished, and she took a deep breath, trying hard to ward off her approaching fear. “What good has that done?” she demanded of Shadow. “You have enough fingerprints by now, don’t you? Why don’t you find him and arrest him? You keep letting him slip through your fingers again and again! Either he’s very clever or you and the rest of your colleagues are very stupid!”

  Hampton raised his eyebrows, obviously surprised by her outburst. Shadow rose to his feet, his hands clenching and unclenching as if he’d like to strangle the woman before him.

  “I’m not stupid, Whitney, and my job would be a whole lot easier if you and your colleagues would take this Intruder business seriously instead of turning it into a sideshow!”

  “Oh, sure,” Whitney lashed out with sarcasm. “Blame it on the victims. It couldn’t possibly be your fault that this—this creep is running around loose.” She stood, suddenly needing a stiff drink, and went to the built-in bar in the corner of the large living room. “You don’t have one suspect, do you? Not one!”

  “For your information, I’ve followed up one false lead after another, and the press is usually on the scene before me because the poor victims have called the newspapers before they’ve notified the police!”

  Whitney poured herself a measure of scotch, finding it difficult to hold the crystal decanter because her hands were shaking so violently. Shadow’s voice rolled over her like thunder, but she wasn’t really listening to him. Fear roared in her inner ear, drowning out every other sound except for the pounding of her heart. The sinister message on the postcard wove through her mind. He was going to visit her again. When? Tonight? Tomorrow? Would he be satisfied with another harmless prank or would he want more this time?

  Shadow came to stand beside her, intent on capturing her undivided attention.

  “Everyone in the Colony is paranoid these days,” he told her. “They swear that the Intruder has broken into their homes and most of the time they’re just whistling in the dark. And you’re just as guilty as the rest of them!” He rested a hand against the back of his neck and heaved a weary sigh. “Running off to New York like that without a word to anyone! What were you thinking of, Whitney? How can I protect you if I don’t even know where you—”

  Whitney had been studying the glass in her hand which was none too steady, but when Shadow bit off his tirade, she glanced up to see that he was watching her trembling hand. She set the glass down with a thump.

  “Whitney?” Shadow placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her around to face him. He bent his knees until he was eye-level with her. “Are you mad or just scared? There’s nothing wrong with being frightened. I would be if I were in your shoes.”

  His eyes bored into her, ferreting out feelings she was reluctant to reveal or admit to. His fingers increased their pressure on her shoulders, urging her to open herself to him, and her concrete denial turned into sand. Whitney relaxed, her breath hissing through her teeth, her eyes dropping from his.

  “I’m so tired of it all, Shadow,” she whispered with a catch in her voice. “Why doesn’t he leave me alone? I’ve never done anything to him. I… I don’t even think I know him. Why does he want t—to terrify me?” A tear rolled from the corner of her eye and wet a path down her cheek.

  “He’s sick, honey, but he’s not going to hurt you. I won’t let him,” Shadow vowed as he straightened and pulled her into his arms, his lips grazing her temple.

  Whitney rubbed her cheek against the front of his sweater. Her arms came around his waist and she felt secure and safe in this harbor of his embrace. Her fear of the unknown abated and she silently thanked the man responsible for that, wishing he would hold her like this always. She opened her eyes, slightly startled to see Hampton standing across the room, his back to them. She had forgotten all about her friend. Shadow had a way of making everything and everyone fade into the background. Whitney smiled, realizing that Hampton had placed himself at a discreet distance and had turned his back to give them a measure of privacy.

  Removing herself slowly from Shadow’s slackened embrace, Whitney placed her hands on his forearms and focused pleading eyes on his face. “Will you stay for dinner?” she asked, hoping her expression didn’t reveal her desperation. She didn’t want him to leave her now. More than anything else, she wanted Shadow to stay with her until the last of her fear had been vanquished.

  Shadow glanced at his watch. “I can’t stay for dinner. I have to take that postcard to the station and have it fingerprinted. But, I can come back in a couple of hours if the offer will still be good then.”

  Whitney smiled. “The offer will still be good.”

  “Great.” Shadow dropped his hands from her waist and pulled his handkerchief from his pocket. He picked up the postcard with the handkerchief, and folded the fabric around it. Shoving it into the back pocket of his jeans, Shadow turned to Hampton. “Will you stay with her until I get back, Hampton?”

  “Oh, no, that’s not necessary,” Whitney objected, but she knew any argument would be wasted words as Hampton pivoted to face her and gave her a brittle glare.

  “She’ll be in good hands until your return, Detective Tallwalker,” Hampton said firmly.

  “Great, then I’m off,” Shadow said, st
riding toward the front foyer. “Is seven o’clock okay?”

  “Seven is fine,” Whitney called after him. Dinner, alone, with Shadow, she thought with an inner thrill. No one but the two of them to—She blinked at Hampton and remembered her manners with grudging reluctance. “You’ll stay for dinner too, won’t you?”

  Hampton shook his head as he settled down on the couch. “No, thank you. I have better ways to wile away an evening than to watch two adults make goo-goo eyes at each other.” One corner of his mouth twitched in amusement as he patted the cushion next to him. “Sit down, Whitney. I’m sure that you must be running on pure adrenaline by now. You’ve had quite a day.”

  Whitney picked up her drink and downed it in two long swallows. She set the empty glass on the counter and released a laborious sigh.

  “I haven’t seen you do that since that party in Monte Carlo when that obnoxious man you were with dared you to,” Hampton observed.

  Whitney laughed, remembering the evening and the dare. “And I won a thousand bucks. A fool and his money will soon part, as they say.” She moved toward Hampton, but shook her head when he patted the cushion again. “I can’t rest now. Don’t you know what a fine mess I’ve gotten myself into? I’ve invited that gorgeous man to share an intimate dinner with me—here!”

  Hampton knitted his brow for a moment in puzzlement, then his expression cleared. “Ah! I see your point. Julia Child, you are not.”

  “Precisely. What am I going to do?” Whitney glanced at the telephone. “Should I call a restaurant and have something catered? Do you think he’d know the difference between home cooking and restaurant food?”