Riptide (A Dangerous Hearts Romance)

by Deborah Camp

  “Whitney?”

  Whitney jumped slightly and twisted around. “Yes, Selma?”

  “There’s a phone call for you.”

  “Oh, thanks.” Whitney leaped from the chair and raced upstairs to her bedroom. “I’ll take it up here, Selma. Would you hang up the downstairs phone when I’m on the line?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Whitney grabbed the receiver, pausing to steady her breathing and collect herself. It was Shadow, she told herself. He’d had time to get to the office and he was thinking about her and he wanted to tell her how much she meant to him and … Whitney smiled and lifted the receiver to her ear.

  “I’ve got it now, Selma.” There was a click and the scratchy connection improved. “Hello?”

  “Whitney, it’s Jean-Claude.”

  Her smile slipped from her lips and her knees buckled. Whitney sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes wide. “Jean-Claude?”

  “Yes. Remember me?”

  “Of course I remember you,” Whitney said, breathlessly. “I’m just… just surprised to hear from you.”

  “Did you expect me to lie down and take your abuse without a word?”

  “Jean-Claude, I know you must be upset about—”

  “That’s an understatement!” His voice boomed across the line from Paris. “You send the police to question me as a suspect in this Malibu Intruder case and you think I’m just upset? Think again, Whitney! I’m … I’m—”

  Whitney cut in quickly while Jean-Claude searched for the correct English word. “Jean-Claude, I didn’t send the police. I mentioned your name and this detective went overboard and—”

  “Save your breath,” Jean-Claude growled. “I know what you’re up to, and it won’t work! I’m not coming back to you.”

  “What?” Whitney’s fingers tightened around the receiver until her nails etched half-moons into her palm. “You think I want you back?”

  “That’s exactly what I think. You can’t face the fact that I ended our relationship, so you’re out to get me, but two can play at that game so you’d better call off the dogs! I turned the other cheek when you talked Madame Simone into canceling my showing, but I won’t ignore this!”

  “Listen to me,” Whitney said, trying hard to keep a civil tongue in her head, “I didn’t convince Madame Simone to do anything, and I begged the police to keep you out of this mess, and I don’t want you back!”

  “Ha! You are crazy about me. Everybody knows it. But, you listen to me, Mam’selle Campbell, I have a new lover and I will not allow you to destroy this thing of beauty I have found. She makes me happy and she satisfies me—things you could never do—and I will not sit quietly while you throw sour grapes in my face!”

  “Jean-Claude, I’m not trying to—” Whitney winced as the telephone buzzed in her ear. She stared at the receiver in her hand for a few moments before replacing it in its cradle. She stood up and went to the window. Thick clouds moved across the sun as frustration moved through Whitney.

  What she had feared had happened. Jean-Claude was convinced that she was trying to hurt him because she was still hurting from his rejection. Oh, why had Shadow been so intent on having Jean-Claude questioned? It didn’t take a mental giant to know that Jean-Claude had nothing to do with these break-ins! She wanted Jean-Claude well out of her life, but Shadow Tallwalker had thrown him right back into it.

  Whirling from the window, Whitney glared at the telephone while her mind played back the long-distance conversation. He’d said he had a new lover. Someone who made him happy. Tilting her head to one side, Whitney examined her lack of feelings at hearing this news. Funny, she had thought a few months ago that she would dissolve into bitter tears upon hearing that she’d been replaced, but here she was taking it all very calmly—even dispassionately. If she felt anything, it was pity; pity for the new woman in Jean-Claude Noir’s life because Whitney knew the man was incapable of true and lasting love. He was an opportunist.

  Surprised by her own admission, a wondrous smile touched her mouth. Perhaps her mother had been right about learning from your mistakes, Whitney mused. She had learned a lesson from the bad times. She had learned to see Jean-Claude for what he was—a shallow man who used women as meal tickets, and she had been one of those meal tickets. Although she had been fond of him, Jean-Claude’s feelings for her had never been firmly rooted.

  Fond. A sadness floated through her and tears burned her eyes. She had drought she had been in love with Jean-Claude, but she knew better than that now. Her budding feelings for Shadow were stronger than anything she had ever felt for Jean-Claude.

  Her parents had warned her about men who found money more attractive than love, and Whitney had prided herself on spotting those types easily. But she had let down her guard with Jean-Claude and, for a while, he had fooled her.

  What of Shadow? What type of man was he? Her money didn’t seem to interest him in the least. In fact, she couldn’t recall Shadow even mentioning her wealth. Was he one of those once-in-a-lifetime men who saw only the person and was blind to everything else? Whitney shut her eyes and hoped with every fiber of her being that Shadow wasn’t impressed or put off by her wealth.

  Money is a two-edged sword, her father had told her often. It brings happiness and sorrow, cutting both ways. Well, she had known both with Jean-Claude, Whitney thought with a twinge of sadness.

  Brushing aside her tears, Whitney told herself it was time to let bygones be bygones. She had made a mistake by ignoring Jean-Claude’s faults and playing up his few assets, but it was over and done with. Or was it?

  She sat on the bed again, her hands clutched tightly together as her anger resurfaced. Jean-Claude was still in her life, thanks to Shadow Tallwalker. If she were lucky, that phone call would be the last time she’d have to deal with Jean-Claude; that is, if Shadow Tallwalker would keep his nose out of her personal past!

  Someone tapped lightly at her bedroom door, and Whitney shook her head to clear it of her gloomy thoughts.

  “Yes, Selma?”

  The door opened and Selma peeked around it. “You’ve got a visitor downstairs.”

  “Oh? Who is it?”

  “Detective Anthony Tallwalker.”

  “Good!” Whitney stood quickly and marched toward the door. “I want to talk to him!”

  Selma stumbled backward a little as Whitney pushed past her and swept down the stairs. Shadow rose from the couch, the beginning of a smile touching his mouth and lighting his eyes.

  “I just received a phone call from Jean-Claude,” Whitney charged without preamble. “Thanks to you, he’s set on revenge.” She afforded him only a cursory glance as she paced back and forth. “He thinks I’m licking my wounds and determined to make him miserable. Why did you have to involve him? Did you do it just to irritate me or to prove that you can do whatever you please? I hope you’re satisfied! He thinks I’m heartbroken and that I’m trying to get back at him.”

  “Why do you care what he thinks?” Shadow broke in. “He left you without worrying about how you felt or what you thought of him.”

  Shadow’s words sliced through her, and Whitney stopped pacing. She examined him carefully, and some of the fight left her. It was a crime to look that good in a simple dark suit and white shirt with gray pinstripes. “What makes you so sure that he left me? Did it ever occur to you that I might have asked him to leave?”

  Lifting a long-fingered hand, Shadow rubbed his jaw to hide his twitching smile. “Simple deduction, Whitney. You avoid any discussion of Jean-Claude which makes me think that you’re still smarting from being rejected. When a woman kicks a man out of her life, she doesn’t flinch every time his name is mentioned.”

  Furious that he was secretly laughing at her, Whitney narrowed her eyes to bronze slits. “I don’t talk about my former relationship with Jean-Claude simply because it’s none of your business! I don’t ask for the sordid details of your past liaisons, do I? I wish you would extend me the same courtesy!”

  He p
laced his hands at his waist and shifted his weight to one leg, looking very much like a determined bull to Whitney. “There’s a difference, Whitney. I’m not being harassed by the Malibu Intruder, and I’m a police officer. I have a right to question you—about anything and anyone.”

  “And I have the right to refuse comment! Besides, your questions are personal, not professional. My relationship with Jean-Claude has absolutely nothing to do with the Malibu Intruder and you know it.” She gathered air into her lungs, held it there for a few heartbeats, and released it in a slow hiss. She felt torn in two directions. One part of her wanted Shadow to take her in his arms and smother her anger with fiery kisses, while another part of her wanted to injure Shadow for thrusting one man at her when she wanted to concentrate on another.

  Shadow started to speak, then seemed to think better of it. He clamped his teeth together, shoved his hands into his pockets, and stalked over to the empty fireplace. He stared into the charred emptiness for several moments as if he were gazing into a crystal ball.

  “Whitney,” he whispered, the tone of his voice subdued and no longer tinged with mounting irritation. “I didn’t come here to fight with you about Jean-Claude.” He turned his head and his eyes beseeched her to put down her weapons. “Will you have dinner with me tonight?”

  Her first inclination was to flatly refuse his invitation, but she found it impossible to follow that impulse when she was caught in the silvery depths of his eyes. His peaked brows lifted in silent inquiry and a cunning smile tilted up the corners of his mouth. Suddenly, she was defenseless and totally at his mercy.

  “Yes, I’ll have dinner with you,” Whitney said, laughing softly at her own weakness. “But this doesn’t change my feelings about you dragging Jean-Claude into this investigation.” She crossed her arms in front of her, trying to ward off the tug of Shadow’s magnetism.

  He took a few slow steps toward her. “There’s something else I want to talk to you about,” he said in a way that made her temperature soar. “I want to apologize for coming down so hard on you about going to New York without telling me first.” He brought his hands up to her shoulders and his touch was light and soothing. “I was taking it very personally.”

  “Really?” Whitney looked up, basking in his spell, and her heart thumped between her breasts as his hands curved possessively around her shoulders.

  “I feel protective toward you. When I couldn’t reach you, I was afraid that something might have happened to you. I called Hampton and when he told me you’d jumped on a plane for New York I was furious at you for making me a walking nervous wreck.”

  “Really?”

  He laughed and pulled her to him. “Is that all you can say?”

  Whitney wrapped her arms around him and rubbed her cheek against his shirt. He smelled fresh and starchy. She closed her eyes, content to listen to the beating of his heart and to know that he had worried about her. She moved her hands up his body, then stepped back in alarm when her fingers touched leather and cold metal.

  “Are you wearing a … a gun?”

  He flicked back his suit jacket to reveal a kid-leather shoulder holster and the butt of a revolver. “Yes. I always do when I’m working.”

  Whitney stared at the sinister weapon and shuddered. “I hate guns,” she said firmly. “Have you ever used it?”

  “No.” His jacket fell back into place. “I’ve been a policeman for fourteen years and I’ve never fired a shot.” He examined her startled eyes and buttoned his jacket. “How does seven o’clock sound? Is that okay?”

  “Yes, that’s fine.” Whitney cleared her throat nervously, chiding herself for reacting so violently to the sight of his gun. It just seemed out of sync with all the things she associated with Shadow. “Which restaurant are you taking me to?”

  He draped an arm about her shoulders making her move with him toward the front door. “I know this place,” he said, his voice light and teasing. “It’s not fancy, it’s got lousy service, and the food isn’t all that great, but I think I can pull some strings and get us a bad table.”

  Whitney laughed, tipping her head back against his shoulder. Shadow’s mouth swooped to hers, and Whitney relaxed against him with a sigh of extreme satisfaction. Yearning moved through her like a restless wind, and Whitney felt better than she had all day. She turned into his embrace and, molding her body to his, curved her hands at the sides of his neck. His throat moved beneath her fingertips as his tongue slipped between her lips.

  This is what she had wanted this morning when he’d been so frantic to get to work, she thought as her lashes fluttered against her cheeks. She’d needed this reassurance from him, but it was worth waiting for. Shadow lifted his lips from hers and rested his chin on the top of her head. His breathing was ragged, like her own, and he chuckled softly.

  “I can’t kiss you without getting carried away,” he whispered. His hands stroked her hair before tilting back her head so that his eyes could seek out hers. “Seven o’clock.” He placed a lingering kiss on her forehead before stepping away from her. “At my apartment.”

  “Your apartment?” Whitney asked.

  “Yes.” He pulled a card from his jacket pocket and handed it to her. “This has my address on it, or do you want me to pick you up?”

  “No,” she said, glancing at the address. “I know where this is.”

  “Okay. Lock the door behind me.”

  She obeyed with reluctance, her hunger for him far from sated. Hearing the rattle of dishes in the kitchen, Whitney forced herself to climb the stairs again and enter her study. It would be nice to sit and chat with Selma; so lovely to waste time until seven o’clock, but she couldn’t allow herself that luxury. She was a working woman who had a deadline to meet. Whitney stood in the center of her office, her gaze sweeping across the room dominated by Perky Penelope.

  It seemed odd that she had to submerge herself into a childlike world when her body and mind were making adult demands. She was laughing gently at the situation when the telephone rang and she picked up the receiver.

  “You sound chipper today,” Hampton said.

  “It’s been a roller coaster day so far,” Whitney admitted. “How’s your day going?”

  “I have one appointment after another. Are you working—I hope?”

  “I’m just starting to get down to that, slave driver.”

  “I take ten percent of what you earn, Whitney, I prefer taking ten percent of several hundred thousand dollars instead of ten percent of nothing.”

  “I hear you, Hampton. I’m going to spend the rest of the afternoon with Penelope.”

  “And who have you spent the morning with?”

  Whitney grinned. “Ashley Summer.”

  “How disappointing.”

  “And Shadow Tallwalker.”

  “Ah-ha! I thought so!”

  “Oh, Hampton,” Whitney sighed into the receiver. “I think I might be falling in love.”

  “You sound lovesick,” Hampton observed. “Isn’t that an interesting expression? Lovesick. Very appropriate.”

  “You old Scrooge,” Whitney said, laughing. “If you’re through making fun of me, I’ll get to work.”

  “Good idea. You’ve been on the telephone too much today. I tried to call earlier, but your line was busy.”

  “Oh, that!” Whitney rolled her eyes heavenward, remembering Jean-Claude’s hysterics. “Jean-Claude called.”

  “That man is a bad penny. He keeps turning up.”

  “Well said.” Whitney sat on the high stool at her worktable. “He was upset at being questioned by the police. I think he’s out for revenge.”

  “Such a child,” Hampton said with a huff. “Don’t waste another moment thinking about him, he can’t hurt you anymore.”

  “I know.” Whitney shrugged off the tainted memory of Jean-Claude. “I’ll talk to you later, Hampton.” She replaced the receiver and stared moodily at the incomplete drawing in front of her. With extreme willpower, she focused her attention
on her work. She’d always found joy in her creations, not needing any other diversions. It had always been more fun than actual labor, but Whitney sensed an alarming transformation. Perky Penelope could no longer supply her every emotional need.

  That restless wind was still blowing through her, making her glance at the clock every half hour. Her work had suddenly become just that—her work—and Shadow Tallwalker had become her magical escape from it all.

  Chapter Six

  Shadow pulled the lasagna from the oven and raised the baking dish to his nose. He breathed in the aroma that always made him think of his mother’s kitchen in Bunch, then he set the dish on a cooling rack and placed a sheet of biscuits into the oven. He glanced at the kitchen clock and checked his wristwatch. She’d be here in a few minutes, he thought.

  Entering the dining room, he double-checked everything before going into the living room where he put a record on the stereo and adjusted the volume. The Bee Gees crooned and Shadow hummed along with them as he plumped up the sofa pillows and closed the draperies against the gathering dusk and city lights. The vocal group switched to falsetto voices and, undaunted, Shadow urged his voice to its upper register and did a little two-step back into the kitchen to check on the turnip greens. They were bubbling nicely in the saucepan, so Shadow began mixing his specialty.

  He paused in the process, suddenly aware of his own jubilant mood. A lopsided grin found his mouth and he chuckled softly before resuming his collaboration with the Bee Gees. It had been a long time since he’d been this excited about cooking dinner for a woman, he mused. Whitney Campbell was special, though, and worth all this attention and preparation. His brows drew together as his thoughts dwelled on her.

  He sensed a sadness in her at times that had nothing to do with this Malibu Intruder business, and Shadow longed to find the source of that sadness and obliterate it. At times she seemed … lonely. Yes, that was it. For a woman who lived in the very midst of glitter, glamour and good times, Whitney had a melancholy air about her; it shimmered in her eyes and tensed her mouth when she thought no one was looking.