Riptide (A Dangerous Hearts Romance)

by Deborah Camp

  “Yes, tell us about the Malibu Intruder,” drawled a young man who wore a distinct sneer. “I’ve heard that the police don’t have a clue to his identity.”

  Whitney studied the young man, and it took her several minutes to place him. He was an actor, but he was out of work most of the time. She’d seen him a few times at Hollywood parties and he was always pumping people for news of auditions. She searched her memory and finally came up with his name—Steven York. Funny, she didn’t know he lived in the Colony …

  “Look, folks,” Shadow said, holding up his hands to ward off the questions, “I’m here as a guest, not as a detective.”

  “Why is it that some of us are getting more attention from the police than others?” Ashley asked, her green gaze bouncing off Whitney in a subtle accusation. “The press is beating down Whitney’s door and—”

  “Wait just a minute,” Whitney cut in, no longer able to control her irritation.

  “Whitney, it’s okay,” Shadow said, placing a calming hand on her arm.

  “No, it’s not okay,” Whitney said, shaking off his hand. “I have a few things to say and I’m going to say them!” She turned frosty eyes on Ashley. “I thought the purpose of this party was to make us forget the Malibu Intruder for the evening, but since the subject has been forced on us I’d like to take this opportunity to make it clear that I’m not enjoying the attention I’ve been getting lately, and I certainly haven’t courted it. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I could live without having my home invaded and my personal property destroyed.” She shifted her biting gaze to Jarrod Stallmaster. “As for any criticism of the police, I have nothing but praise for them. I wouldn’t have stuck around here this long if it hadn’t been for my faith in police officials like Shadow.”

  Feeling Shadow’s regard of her, Whitney turned to him and her heart expanded with love when she caught the gratitude in his smile. “I think that if we’d all cooperate with the police instead of criticizing them we could put this Malibu Intruder business out of our minds much faster.” She took a deep breath, aware of the shock registering on the faces near her, and spotted a well-known composer. “Marv, why don’t you make yourself useful by playing something romantic on the piano so we can get this party on the right track?”

  The composer saluted her and strode toward the piano. A few moments later a ballad drifted from the instrument and the guests dispersed into smaller, more intimate groups

  “You’re absolutely right, Whitney,” Jarrod Stallmaster said with dignity. “My apologies to you and your friend.”

  “Apology accepted, Jarrod.” Whitney pressed a quick kiss to the man’s cheek.

  “Come on, Jarrod,” Ashley said, seizing one of his hands. “I want to talk to you about that new script you’re flashing around town. I’m hurt that it hasn’t been sent to me.”

  Whitney smiled, catching Jarrod’s swift grimace, then turned back to Shadow. “Do you think I said a little too much?”

  “No, ma’am.” Shadow took her drink from her hand and set it with his on the tray of a passing waiter. His arm circled her waist and his other hand captured hers. “Let’s dance.”

  Whitney followed his lead, resting her cheek against his shoulder as they moved to the music. A dreamy glow settled over her when she recalled that special look Shadow had exchanged with her moments ago after she had risen to his defense. Without speaking a word, he had told her what she had been yearning to know, she was certain she had seen the light of love in his eyes.

  “What did I ever do to deserve you?” Shadow whispered close to her ear.

  “Are you complaining?” Whitney asked with a smile.

  “You know better than that,” he said, chuckling. “Did anyone ever call you a spitfire?”

  “No.”

  “How about an opinionated wildcat?”

  She smiled. “No.”

  “A stubborn vixen?”

  “No,” she answered, still smiling.

  “Okay. How about a loudmouthed, pushy broad?”

  “Hey!” She drew back from him and gave him a playful slap across his chest. “Are you on my side or what?”

  He lowered his head until the tip of his nose touched hers. “I think we’re on the same side, don’t you?”

  “Definitely.” Whitney removed her hand from his and laced her fingers at the back of his neck. “Didn’t you tell me last night that you liked to dance?”

  “That’s right.”. His other arm circled her waist, anticipating her next comment.

  “Well, let’s see what you’ve got, gumshoe.” She gasped, then laughed when he swung her around in a tight circle.

  He was light on his feet and, Whitney admitted to herself, better at dancing than she was, but his confidence was infectious and Whitney surprised herself at her ability to keep up with him. Her mind wove a fantasy, making her feel like Ginger Rogers in the arms of Fred Astaire … dancing cheek to cheek with a man in top hat, white tie and tails.

  The piano ballad ended too soon and Whitney was reluctant to leave her fantasy behind. She looked up, captured Shadow’s gaze, and saw that he had woven a fantasy of his own. He smiled absentmindedly, then blinked his eyes as if he were awakening from a spell.

  “Are you ready to go?” she asked.

  “Are you?”

  “Let’s get out of here.” She took one of his hands in both of hers and led him toward the sliding glass doors and out onto the beach … far, far away from prying eyes. Once they had put some distance between themselves and Ashley’s house, Whitney released Shadow’s hand, slipped her arm around his waist, and set a slow, lazy pace. “Ah, alone at last.”

  Shadow laughed and pulled her closer to his side. “I get the strong impression that you didn’t care for Ashley’s party.”

  “I’ve been to her parties before and they’re all the same. The talk centers on the frustrations of living in Malibu.”

  “What frustrations?”

  She kicked at the sand, feeling carefree and younger than springtime. “Oh, the septic tanks and clogged hot tubs and hurricane winds. You heard Timothy griping about his neighbor building an addition and blocking Timothy’s view of the beach, didn’t you?” She glanced up and caught his nod. “Well, that sort of thing gets people worked up around here.” She rolled her eyes and moaned softly. “And when they started on the Malibu Intruder, that ended the evening for me. Believe me, my little speech only put that discussion on hold temporarily. They’re probably wagging their tongues about the Intruder this very minute.”

  “You really don’t like to talk about the Intruder, do you?”

  She stopped and removed her shoes, holding onto Shadow’s shoulder for balance. Shoes in hand and not caring if she ruined her hose, Whitney resumed her leisurely stroll. “I waste enough time thinking about the Intruder,” she said with a sigh. “I can understand the Colony’s desire for his arrest. We all want to live normal lives again.”

  “Can you live a normal life?” he asked, his voice heavy with doubt.

  “Of course!” Whitney lifted her hair from the back of her neck to let the ocean breeze caress it, and Shadow took her shoes from her. “Having been raised in the public eye, I’ve become an expert at avoiding it.” She let her hair drop and started ticking off points on her fingers. “No interviews, no famous restaurants or night spots where photographers await the glittering customers, and no press releases. Perky Penelope is a real publicity hound, but I’ve had my fill of that scene.”

  “Are you Penelope’s press agent?” Shadow asked with a mischievous grin.

  “No, Hampton is.”

  “Come here, you.” Shadow dropped her shoes to the sand and wrapped his arms around her.

  Whitney was barely able to catch her breath before his mouth conquered hers. When he ended the kiss, Whitney gathered in a deep breath. “My, my! What brought that on?”

  He smiled and kissed the tip of her nose. “You’re adorable.”

  “I’m glad you think so.” She stood on
tiptoe, brushed her lips across his and hugged him to her. Love’s sweet power washed over her, bringing tears to her eyes, and Whitney batted her lashes to be rid of them. “Oh, Shadow, won’t it be lovely when you do find this demented stranger and you put him away where he can’t bother us anymore?”

  “What makes you so sure he’s a stranger? He could have been a guest at the party tonight for all we know.”

  She shuddered at the thought and realized that Shadow wasn’t as close to making an arrest as she had hoped. His arms tightened around her as if he sensed her train of thought.

  “I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to spook you. I don’t want you to trust every—”

  Whitney heard his heart falter and then slam against his chest just before his hands grasped her forearms and pushed her back from him. Confused by his abrupt change of mood, she searched his face for a clue and saw the tense set of his jawline and the narrowed intensity of Shadow’s eyes as he stared at her house.

  “What is it; Shadow?”

  He didn’t look at her, but kept his gaze fastened on her house. “Whitney, do just as I say and don’t give me any lip,” he ordered in a clipped, no-nonsense tone. “Go back to Ashley’s house immediately and wait there for me. Go!” He gave her a little shove and then sprinted down the beach toward her house.

  Stumbling slightly, Whitney regained her balance and watched the white tails of Shadow’s jacket flapping behind him in the darkness. She started moving toward Ashley’s, but froze when she saw a figure dash from the side of her own house and streak down the beach away from her with Shadow in hot pursuit.

  “The Intruder.” The words fell from her lips and jarred her into moving. Turning, Whitney made a mad dash for the lights of Ashley’s house, not stopping until she had burst through the open patio doors.

  She stared at the sea of faces and knew that fear was written all over her.

  “Whitney?” Ashley stepped forward, grasping Whitney’s cold hands and pulling her toward a chair. “What is it, hon?”

  Whitney’s knees buckled and she dropped into the chair, then someone was pushing a drink into her hands and she took a gulp of straight bourbon. The liquor cleared her head and took her breath away.

  “Whitney, what is it? What’s happened?” Ashley crouched before her and squeezed her hands.

  “I … I think the Intruder was in my home. Shadow told me to wait here.”

  Her announcement created a wave of excited chatter among the guests and released Whitney from their rapt attention.

  “The Intruder?” Ashley’s eyes were as large as half-dollars. “In your house? Right now?”

  “I don’t know for sure.” Whitney took another careful sip of the strong liquor. “I’m supposed to wait here for Shadow.”

  “Okay, honey, you just relax. Want another drink?” Ashley pried the glass from Whitney’s fingers and went to the bar.

  Nervous excitement settled in the room and quivered in the air as they all waited for Shadow’s return. Whitney accepted another drink from Ashley, hoping it would lend her a false courage. She gripped the glass tightly, not wanting anyone to see how her hands were shaking, and stared into the glass while seconds ticked into minutes.

  She tried not to think of the danger Shadow might be in, but it was impossible. She squeezed her eyes shut and swore that if Shadow didn’t return within the next five minutes she was going after him.

  “Here he comes,” Jarrod Stallmaster bellowed over the noisy guests.

  Whitney opened her eyes and tears blurred her vision when she saw Shadow, unharmed, coming toward her. He dropped to one knee, wrestled the glass from her hand and finished the drink. He coughed and his eyes watered from the kick of the liquor.

  “Shadow?” Whitney’s trembling fingers touched his cheek. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” He sucked in air. “I’m just out of breath.”

  “Well, what happened?” Ashley demanded. “Did you catch him?”

  Shadow set the glass on the floor, grasped Whitney’s hands and pulled her to her feet. She leaned against him, weak with relief.

  “I didn’t catch anyone,” Shadow told the guests. “There wasn’t anyone to catch. It was just a false alarm.”

  Moans rose and questions were asked all at once, but Shadow held up one hand as he moved with Whitney toward the front door.

  “I think everyone should just go home and relax,” Shadow said, raising his voice above the noise. “Good night, folks. Sorry for the dramatics.”

  When they were outside, Whitney moved away from Shadow and faced him.

  “You’re not telling the truth, Shadow. I saw someone running from my house.”

  He seized one of her hands and brought it to his lips. “You’re right. I just didn’t want the entire Colony traipsing over to your house to conduct their own investigation.”

  “He… he broke in again?” She swallowed hard when he nodded. “Did you catch him?”

  “No, it was dark and I lost him. He ran toward the highway and that was the last I saw of him.”

  Whitney closed her eyes for a moment, wishing this were all a terrible nightmare and she could wake up and not have to deal with it. “What did he do this time?”

  “You’re going to need another bedspread and a set of sheets.” He pulled her back into his arms. “He ripped up some of your clothes, too.”

  She shivered in dread of the sight that awaited her. “Did he leave another note?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Shadow, did he leave a note?” she demanded.

  “I don’t know—honest.” He grasped her shoulders and confronted her dubious expression. “I called the station. The fingerprinting team is in there. I didn’t check for a note.”

  “Well, let’s go see what he’s done this time,” she said wearily.

  “Let the fingerprinting team do their job and we’ll come back tomorrow morning.” His arm circled her shoulders. “Come home with me.”

  “No. I want to stay in my home tonight.” She started to pull away from him, but he held her fast.

  “Whitney, don’t be pigheaded.”

  “Don’t coddle me!” She ripped herself from his embrace and stared at her house, ablaze with lights and filled with strangers. A squad car pulled into her driveway and the two policemen who got out of it went directly into her house. Her home. Anger seared through her, making Whitney tremble with helpless rage. Balling her hands into tight fists, she wanted to shout at the devil, seize him by the throat, and end this evil ordeal.

  “I know you’re upset—”

  “I’m not upset!” Whitney bit out as she whirled to face Shadow. “I’m damned mad!” She pointed back to the house. “That is my home and I can’t live there because some … some creep is playing games with my life!” She paused and noticed the injured expression on Shadow’s face. Oh no, she thought, her anger melting into dismay, he thinks I’m blaming him! “Shadow, I’m sorry. I’m not accusing you of anything.” She stepped forward and his arms came up around her. Tears burned her eyes and a lump formed in her throat. “I’m so tired of it all. So tired.”

  “I know, sweetheart.” He, kissed her forehead and pulled her with him to his car. “Come home with me and we’ll face all of this tomorrow—together. Okay?” He dipped his head and his eyes begged her to agree.

  Whitney lifted a hand and wiped the tears from her eyes. “I did promise to cooperate with the police, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, you did.” Shadow smiled and gave her a swift hug. “When we get to my apartment you can take a long shower and I’ll give you a massage. How does that sound?” He opened the passenger door of his car and helped her settle in the seat.

  Whitney laid her hand against his cheek, feeling guilty for having yelled at him when he was only trying to help. She smiled and kissed him. “It sounds almost as good as chocolate gravy.”

  Chapter Eight

  Whitney stretched lazily and moaned her appreciation while Shadow kneaded her shoulders wit
h strong, soothing fingers.

  “You’re good at this,” Whitney murmured. “Have you had a lot of practice?”

  “Oh, sure. I have a bevy of beauties floating in and out of here every week for my massages.”

  “Someday I’ll learn to stop asking stupid questions.” Whitney closed her eyes, lulled by her earlier shower and Shadow’s expert massage. She cradled her head on her arms and caught Shadow’s masculine scent in the bathrobe she had borrowed from him. Old Spice.

  “Feeling better?” Shadow asked and kissed the tip of her ear.

  “Much. You have healing hands.” Knuckles rapped against Shadow’s door, and Whitney lifted her head. “Are you expecting someone?”

  “Only Hampton,” he answered, casually.

  “Hampton?” Whitney sat up and hugged the robe close to her body. “What’s he doing here?”

  “I called him while you were in the shower and asked him to go by your house and pick up some clothes for you.” He paused, his hand on the doorknob, and looked back over his shoulder. “It occurred to me that you might look peculiar tomorrow morning in that evening gown.”

  Whitney tapped her index finger against her temple. “Good thinking, Sherlock.”

  Shadow opened the door and stepped back to let Hampton enter. “Come on in, Hampton. Thanks for running that errand for us.”

  Hampton strode into the living room, looking dapper in a pinstriped suit, dark tie, and white shirt. He lifted a brow and gave Shadow the once-over. Shadow glanced down at his own black shirt that hung open and began buttoning it, a deep blush rising in his face.

  Whitney pulled her knees up to her chin to hide her smile, but Hampton saw it and his lips twitched at the corners. Whitney shook a finger at him, then held out her hand for the plaid satchel he carried.

  “My clothes?” she asked.

  “Yes. I didn’t know what you’d want to wear, so I selected a pair of jeans, a shirt, and—some personal items.” Hampton turned back to Shadow who was tucking in the tails of his shirt. “When you’ve finished dressing yourself, Detective Tallwalker, I think a cup of hot tea would be in order. How kind of you to offer.” Hampton sat beside Whitney and examined the candle in the Chianti bottle at his side. “Original,” he quipped with dry sarcasm.