Stranger in my Arms

by Rochelle Alers

  Merrick finally found Rachel Singletary’s house without mishap. His vehicle’s navigational system had never failed him. He turned down a narrow street that made up Key West. He found a parking spot in what he termed an alley, and walked the short distance to a one-story stucco structure painted a soft salmon pink and fronted by a wrought-iron fence protecting a flower garden overflowing with frangipani and bougainvillea.

  Reaching over, he unlatched the gate at the same time the front door opened. Rachel stood in the doorway, an automatic handgun pressed to her jeans-covered thigh.

  Merrick held up both hands. “I come in peace.”

  The network of tiny lines around the woman’s dark eyes deepened when she recognized the tall man standing outside the gate. “Merrick! How the hell are you?”

  He gestured to the firearm. “I’d be a lot better if you put that thing away.”

  Rachel waved him in. “It’s all for show.”

  Merrick opened the gate as Rachel came forward to meet him. Looping an arm around her waist, he leaned over and kissed her cheek. “You look good, Rusty,” he said, using her nickname.

  “Not as good as you, Gray. To what do I owe the honor of you gracing me with your presence?” Rachel asked as she tucked the firearm into the waistband of her jeans under an oversize man-tailored shirt.

  “I did promise to come and visit.”

  “That was two years ago.” She moved aside as Merrick stepped into an expansive entryway.

  “Better late than never,” he quipped.

  She closed and locked the front door. “Go onto the back porch where it’s cooler.”

  He made his way through a living room filled with rattan pieces covered with colorful plush pillows and cushions in keeping with the tropical locale. A profusion of potted plants and palms brought the outdoors inside.

  He stood on an enclosed porch, staring through the screen at the ocean. The view was awesome, humbling and peaceful. Living in a landlocked state definitely had its disadvantages. A low table held a television, a radio and a stack of recent best-selling books. It was obvious Rachel spent most of her time at the rear of her house.

  “Sit down, Merrick.”

  He folded his length down to a cushioned love seat while Rachel sat on a chaise; he turned to stare at the middle-aged woman who at one time had been his supervisor in Langley, Virginia.

  Twenty-five years his senior, she’d become his older sister, counselor and confidante. Tall and sturdily built, with even features, she’d teased him, saying they probably were related because both had red hair. The years had darkened the bright orange strands and added a liberal sprinkling of gray while the Florida sun had tanned her face wherein the liberal sprinkling of freckles blended with the added color.

  Leaning to her right, she opened the door to a portable refrigerator and took out two bottles of beer. She offered one to Merrick. “I’m sorry I don’t have anything stronger.”

  He waved a hand. “No, thank you.”

  “Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft, Grayslake.”

  “A little,” he admitted. “Being away from the action can do that.”

  Rachel twisted the cap off the bottle, put it to her mouth and took a long swallow. “You still could’ve been in the action if you hadn’t cut and run like a candy-ass.”

  Merrick closed his eyes, shutting out the awesome sight of the sun setting over the ocean. “I didn’t join the Company to sit behind a desk.”

  Rachel stared at the tall, slender man. “Neither did I, Merrick.”

  “But you did,” he countered.

  “That’s something you wouldn’t understand.”

  He opened his eyes, meeting her pain-filled gaze. “Understand what, Rusty?”

  She shook her head. “Forget it.”

  Sitting up straighter, he rested his elbows on his knees. “What happened, Rachel?”

  She avoided his stare, took another sip from her beer and stared through the screen at the large ball of orange sinking lower beyond the horizon. “After…” Her voice trailed off. “After someone—another agent who was very close to me, was captured and executed in Somalia, I requested desk duty.”

  Merrick knew no amount of pressure would get Rachel to divulge the name of the other agent. Even in death, the Company never identified its agents by name.

  “You were in love with him.” The query was a statement.

  Rachel blinked back the tears. “My love for him knew no bounds. When I found out that he’d been killed I thought about taking my own life.”

  “Did he love you, Rachel?” Merrick asked in a hushed whisper. She nodded. “Why didn’t you marry him?”

  A cynical smile twisted her mouth. “I couldn’t because he was already married. And in the twelve years we worked together I never asked that he leave his wife and children. I was willing to be his mistress and accept what little of himself he doled out to me.” She took another deep swallow of the cold brew.

  “My supervisor went ballistic when I requested desk duty, but there wasn’t much he could do once I spoke to the Agency’s psychiatrist and confessed to suicidal ideation. I’d been in the position as an intelligence research training specialist eight years when you enrolled in my class. I was the one who recommended you for my position once you returned from disability leave.”

  Merrick, hands sandwiched between his denim-covered knees, stared at the sisal rug covering the floor. “It wouldn’t have worked. Not at that time in my life.”

  Rachel focused her gaze on the coarse reddish-brown hair on Merrick’s well-shaped head. She’d always thought his looks incredible. The contrast of his gray eyes in a khaki-brown face was startling and hypnotic. It was obvious he was a man of color, but it was impossible to identify his racial or ethnic group.

  And not once during the time when she acted as facilitator for the intelligence training course had she ever seen him smile. She’d found it odd that he hadn’t bothered to jot down notes like the other agents-in-training; her fear that he would flunk out was belied when his tests came back with perfect scores.

  “What about now, Merrick?” she asked softly.

  A half smile parted his lips. “It’s something I could consider.”

  Her red eyebrows lifted with this disclosure. “Are you serious?”

  His smile widened. “Just say I’ve been thinking about it.”

  “What brought on this epiphany?”

  “I’ve been getting out more.”

  Rachel smiled. “Someone told me that you were holed up somewhere in West Virginia. Don’t tell me that you met someone who has melted that lump of ice you call a heart.”

  Merrick sobered. “No. It had nothing to do with a woman.” There was a moment of silence as the two regarded each other.

  “How old are you now?” Rachel asked.

  “Thirty-five.”

  “Are you married?”

  “No.”

  “Do you have a girlfriend?”

  “No.”

  “What about a lover?”

  There was a pause before Merrick said, “No.”

  Rachel went completely still, her eyes boring into Merrick’s. “Don’t you have urges? I’m sixty and I still do.”

  “Do you do anything about them?” he asked, his expression deadpan.

  “You better believe I do. I’m seeing somebody.”

  “Is it serious?”

  “If you’re asking whether I’ll ever get married, then the answer is no. He’s been divorced for fifteen years and has no intention of tying the knot again, and that’s fine with me. I’m enjoying retirement. I get up when I want, and come and go whenever the whim hits me. I’m glad I got out when I did because it took a year of therapy to rid myself of the dreams that I was reliving every mission.”

  Merrick wanted to tell Rachel that he never experienced the disturbing images of his missions because he’d managed to become totally detached whenever he went undercover. He wasn’t Merrick Grayslake but whoever and whatever his governm
ent wanted him to be.

  Reaching across the space separating them, he patted Rachel’s hand. “Would you mind sharing dinner with me tonight?”

  She gave him a saucy grin. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

  He winked at her. “Yes, I am, beautiful.”

  A rush of color darkened her face as she blushed like a young girl. “Keep talking like that and I’m going to tell my boyfriend.”

  Rising to his feet, Merrick offered her his hand, and pulled her up effortlessly. “Tell him,” he teased. “I bet he can’t beat me up.”

  Rachel smiled, tilting her head back to meet his teasing gaze. “He’s got at least forty pounds on you.”

  Merrick kissed her cheek. “The bigger they are the harder they fall.”

  She patted his shoulder. “You’re right about that. I know a little seafood place that’s within walking distance. It’s not fancy but the food is wonderful.”

  “That sounds great.”

  “How long do you plan to hang out in the Keys?”

  “No more than four days.”

  “Where are you staying?” Rachel asked over her shoulder as she led Merrick off the porch.

  “I’ve checked into the Marquesa.” The Marquesa Hotel was an elegant restored home that dated back to 1884.

  “Check out tomorrow and come stay with me. I have an extra bedroom.”

  “I can’t do that, Rusty.”

  “Yes, you can.”

  “What about your boyfriend?”

  “He’s bound to be a little jealous, but he’ll get over it once I tell him you’re celibate.”

  Wrapping an arm around Rachel’s neck, Merrick pulled her close. “You should know you’re taking a risk inviting a sex-starved man to sleep under the same roof with you.”

  Rachel returned the hug, her arm going around his slim waist. “I made my reputation at the Company being a risk taker.”

  Merrick knew she was right. Rachel Singletary had become one of the best female agents in CIA history. But she’d lost her edge because she’d fallen in love with the wrong man while he’d almost lost his life because he’d trusted the wrong woman.

  Chapter 5

  Her head and body swathed in thick, thirsty towels, Alex walked out of the bathroom adjoining her bedroom suite to the ringing of her cell phone. Quickening her pace, she stubbed her toes on a leg of the nightstand as she reached for the tiny instrument.

  “Dammit!” she hissed between clenched teeth as she activated the Talk button.

  “I can always call back another time,” came what now had become a familiar male voice.

  Hopping on one foot, she sat down on the padded bench at the foot of her bed. The ColeDiz jet had touched down at Washington National Airport at three that morning, but it was close to dawn when she’d finally crawled into bed.

  “No! Please don’t, Merrick.” Her little toe throbbed like a raw nerve.

  “What’s the matter?”

  She registered genuine concern in the deep, drawling voice. “I just jammed my toe on a piece of furniture.”

  “Will you require medical attention?”

  She smiled for the first time. “I doubt it. I want to thank you, Merrick.”

  “For what, Ali?”

  “You said you’d call and you did. Most men I meet are such liars and dogs that I can’t stand them. Are we still on for tomorrow?” she asked without pausing to take a breath.

  “That depends on the weather. Have you looked out the window?”

  “No. What’s going on?”

  “It’s been snowing for hours.”

  Pushing off the bed and limping to the window, Alex opened the shutters covering the floor-to-ceiling windows. The roadway and cars parked along the street were covered with snow. Her mouth turned down in a frown. She didn’t know why, but she’d spent the week looking forward to seeing Merrick Grayslake again. And if he was stuck in the mountains, then there was the possibility he would be snowed in.

  “Is it snowing in West Virginia?”

  “I wouldn’t know because I’m in Arlington.”

  “When did you get here?”

  “Yesterday afternoon. I’m at the Hyatt.”

  “You’re within walking distance of my condo.” She gave him her address. “How would you like to share dinner with me?”

  “Is this a date, Ali?”

  “Yes. Does it bother you that a woman asked you before you could ask her?”

  “Not in the least. I like a woman who knows what she wants.”

  “It’s not about what I want. I just thought that we’d begin your lessons earlier than planned.” She didn’t want to give Merrick the impression that there would be more between them than friendship.

  “That sounds good to me. What time should I arrive?”

  Alex glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It was almost one o’clock. “Make it between five and six.”

  “What do you like to drink?”

  “Don’t worry about beverages. I have everything.” She had a Sub-Zero Refrigerator with a compartment for chilling wines. “Is there anything you don’t eat?”

  “No.”

  “If that’s the case, then I’ll see you later.” She ended the call without giving Merrick the opportunity to ring off.

  Alex knew she had to wipe away the dust from the floors and tables that had gathered during her absence and shop for groceries to replace those she’d thrown away before she left for Florida. Turning away from the window, she returned to the bathroom to complete her toilette.

  Merrick stomped on the thick straw mat outside the door to the three-story Federal-style building, shaking the snow off his boots as he rang the bell for Alex’s apartment.

  “Yes?” came her sultry voice through the building’s intercom.

  He leaned closer. “Merrick.”

  “Come on up.” A buzzing sound disengaged the lock to the outer door.

  He pushed it open with his shoulder, and heat enveloped him like a warm, comforting blanket. The mailbox in the vestibule bearing Alex’s name indicated she lived on the second floor. Cradling a bag to his sheepskin-lined leather bomber jacket, he climbed the staircase to her floor.

  Walking the four blocks had become a challenge. The falling snow had increased in intensity, and meteorologists were predicting more than a foot before tapering off later that night. A district-wide snow emergency was in full effect wherein government office buildings had closed at two and all nonessential vehicles were ordered to stay off major thoroughfares.

  Merrick smiled as he stepped off the last stair. The unique voice of Tina Turner greeted him as the door to Alex’s apartment opened and she stood there, an inviting smile tilting the corners of her mouth. Her curly hair fell around her face in sensual disarray, raven strands grazing her delicate jaw and the nape of her neck.

  She looked younger and more fragile than she had a week ago. Today she hadn’t bothered to put on any makeup, and in a long-sleeved cotton tee, body-hugging jeans and sock-covered feet she appeared barely out of her teens.

  He handed her the bag filled with a bouquet of colorful calla lilies. “I decided to bring a little something to brighten up the table.”

  Alex met his gaze. The moisture from melting snow coated the strands of his close-cropped hair, and she wondered why he hadn’t worn a hat. “They’re beautiful, Merrick. Thank you so much. Please come in,” she urged as he took off his gloves, shoving them into his jacket pocket, then bent over to untie his Timberland boots.

  “I don’t want to track snow over your floors.”

  An exquisite oriental runner in the foyer covered a highly-polished wood floor. Leaning against the door frame, he removed his boots, leaving them on the mat outside the door. Then he took off the waist-length jacket and hung it on a mahogany coat tree. Despite the frigid, snowy weather, the inviting space was imbued with a tropical mood, with a stunning French-Regency console table with Martinique-style carvings and a gilded Louis XV–inspired mirror. The table cradled
a vase of fresh white roses and peonies and two hardcover books about the Mayans and ancient African art.

  Alex pretended interest in the exquisite flowers wrapped in cellophane rather than stare at the man who’d unknowingly occupied her waking thoughts the past week. Why, she mused, hadn’t she remembered Merrick’s towering height or broad shoulders? A charcoal-gray crewneck sweater and black corduroy slacks made him appear larger, more formidable.

  “You must be freezing. Come and sit by the fire.”

  She turned and retraced her steps to the living room, Merrick following, where a fire blazed behind a decorative screen. The fire and the pair of candles on the mantel were the only sources of illumination. Pressing a wall switch, she turned on two table lamps.

  Moving closer to the fireplace, Merrick held his hands near the heat. The light from candles under chimneys on either end of the marble mantel flickered over the photographs of Alex’s many relatives. And judging from the various group and individual family photos the Coles were definitely prolific.

  Alex watched Merrick as he studied the framed photos of her relatives. “I’ll be back as soon as I put the flowers in water.” Seemingly as if in a trance, he turned and stared at her. “Can I get you something hot to drink?”

  “I’d like that, thank you.”

  “Would you like chocolate or a hot toddy?”

  “I prefer the toddy.”

  Alex smiled. “Good. I just brewed a pitcher before you got here.”

  Feeling as gauche as a schoolgirl on her first date, she left the living room as Tina Turner’s “I Can’t Stand the Rain” flowed from wireless speakers concealed throughout her condo. How was she going to maintain a friendship with Merrick Grayslake when everything about him radiated unabashed male sensuality?

  Walking into her gourmet kitchen, she opened a cabinet and reached for a vase. She arranged the lilies in the vase, filled it with water, then removed a glass pitcher of cider brewed with mulling spices from the refrigerator. Pouring a generous amount into a saucepan, she put it on a stovetop burner to heat.

  Merrick’s sock-covered feet were silent as he made his way out of the living room with mahogany furniture reminiscent of pieces he’d seen in West Indian homes that had once belonged to wealthy European merchants and planters. Rich motifs of stylized carved pineapples and palm fronds decorated the legs of tables and chairs. A gleaming black concert piano was positioned in an alcove with a vaulted ceiling.