Connecting Rooms

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  He folded her close, hungry for the essence of her, frustrated by clothing, location, and a possible audience. Amy’s mouth was warm and moist and inviting. The gentle curves of her breasts were crushed against his chest. Her soft, muffled whimper of excitement threatened to make him lose control.

  The scrape of shoes on gravel, a mildly disapproving murmur, and a soft masculine chuckle brought Owen back to reality. Madeline and Raymond were passing directly behind him now. They had obviously seen the couple in the shadows. Owen hoped that the darkness and the manner in which he was enveloping Amy combined to provide effective concealment.

  “Some people have no sense of propriety,” Madeline said coolly.

  “Some people have all the luck,” Raymond drawled.

  The sound of footsteps on gravel receded into the distance. Owen waited until he was sure Madeline and Raymond were gone and then raised his head. He looked down at Amy, aware that his pulse was still beating heavily and his insides were clenched.

  Amy regarded him with eyes that were pools of unfathomable promise. Her lips were still slightly parted.

  Owen thought optimistically of the connecting rooms that awaited them back at the Inn. He took a deep breath and released Amy. “We’ll get back to this a little later.”

  “We will?” She sounded pleased.

  “First things first,” he said manfully. “I want to check out the library’s back door.”

  He took her hand and started around the building. There were no tall lamps in the drive behind the library. The only light was from the moon and a weak yellow bulb set above the library’s service entrance. A row of city utility trucks was lined up on the far side of the drive. The graveled area apparently served as a parking lot for Villantry’s service vehicles.

  “Why are we going to look at the back door of the library?” Amy asked.

  “Because I like to know all the entrances and exits in a situation such as this. I wouldn’t be surprised if the next blackmail note Crabshaw gets instructs him to make the payment tomorrow night.”

  “During the dedication festivities?” Amy glanced at him in surprise as she hurried to keep pace with him. “Why then?”

  “Think about it. The library will be swarming with people. That means there will be a steady stream of traffic in and out of the restrooms. Perfect cover for the blackmailer.”

  “I get it,” Amy said enthusiastically. “You’re going to stake out the men’s room, right?”

  “Right. I’ll bet you can see now why I became a big-time private eye.”

  “Because of the thrilling excitement?”

  “Just think about it. Staking out a men’s room. Got to be the fulfillment of every young man’s dreams of swashbuckling adventure.”

  “Yes, of course. I envy you.”

  “From what you’ve told me, real estate has its moments, too.”

  “Don’t remind me.” Amy smiled briefly. Then she frowned in the shadows. “But, Owen, I don’t see how you can be so certain that the note—” She broke off suddenly as one of the city trucks roared to life. “What in the world?”

  Across the drive, a set of headlights flashed on at full beam, blinding Owen. He realized that he and Amy were pinned in the glare. And to think he had accused Amy of looking like a deer caught in headlights. This was the real thing, Owen thought. He couldn’t see what was happening. But he could hear all too well.

  Tires screeched as the big vehicle shot forward. The truck bore down on Owen and Amy with deadly intent.

  Chapter 7

  Amy had barely registered the blinding light when she heard Owen suck in his breath.

  “Damn,” he whispered.

  In the next instant she felt his arm wrap around her waist with the force of a steel band. He lifted her off her feet and hauled her up the three steps that led to the library’s back entrance.

  The truck engine thundered.

  “Owen.”

  “In here. Move. He may have a gun.”

  Owen half-pulled, half-carried her into the shadows of the small alcove that concealed the doorway. Then he shoved her hard against the stone wall and held her there. She gasped for breath, dimly aware that he was shielding her with his body.

  The city truck came so close to the steps that Amy was almost convinced it would plow straight through the back door of the library.

  But at the last possible instant, it veered aside. With an angry howl it lumbered off into the night, a ravenous beast deprived of its prey.

  Owen did not move as the sound of the truck engine receded into the darkness. Amy was pressed so tightly against the cold stone she could feel the grit on her cheek.

  “You okay?” Owen finally asked. His voice was curiously flat.

  “Yes. I think so.”

  He slowly stepped back, releasing her. “Son of a bitch.” There was no emotion in the phrase. “He was aiming for us. You could have been hurt. Killed.”

  Amy hugged herself. The unnaturally even tone in Owen’s voice was somehow more frightening than the near miss. This was a whole new side to the man. A dangerous side.

  “An accident,” she said, grasping for a more reasonable explanation than the one Owen had concocted. “Some kid taking a joyride in a city truck.”

  “Maybe, but I doubt it. I have a hunch that it was attempted murder.”

  Amy was dazed. “You think that the blackmailer was behind the wheel?”

  “I think there’s a very high probability of that, yes.”

  “But how could he know that you’re a threat to him? As far as everyone in town is concerned, you’re just my fiancé.”

  “My guess is that he doesn’t know I’m out to trap him,” Owen said quietly. “It’s more likely that he’s figured out that I took Crabshaw’s money before he could get to it. I told you that I thought he was in the library yesterday, watching the payoff. He saw me go into the restroom after Crabshaw left. And when he went to make the pickup there was no envelope.”

  “So he leaped to the conclusion that you had gotten to it ahead of him. But following that logic, how does he think you learned of the payoffs and where they were made?”

  Owen frowned. “Maybe he figures that I accidentally discovered the envelope. Or he may think that Crabshaw confided in me. Who knows? He probably believes that you and I are in this together.”

  “Perhaps he was simply trying to frighten us away from Villantry,” Amy suggested slowly.

  “It’s possible that was his goal.” Owen took her hand.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To wake the local chief of police.”

  Amy instantly dug in her heels. “But, Owen, if you tell him about this, you’ll have to tell him everything. I don’t want to betray Arthur’s confidence unless we must.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m a professional, remember? I know how to talk to a cop.”

  Amy looked at him. “What does that mean?”

  “Don’t ask. It’s a trade secret.”

  • • •

  “Some joyridin’ kid, no doubt.” George P. Hawkins, chief of police of Villantry, poured himself a cup of coffee.

  Amy smiled weakly. “That’s what I said.”

  “Or a drunken transient.” Hawkins carried the cup back to his desk and lowered his considerable bulk into the chair. “Happens once in a while. Come mornin’ we’ll find the truck abandoned outside of town or in a ditch. You’ll see.”

  Owen lounged against the wall near the office window and studied Hawkins with brooding speculation. “Whoever was behind the wheel aimed directly for us. If we hadn’t made it up the steps and into the alcove, we wouldn’t be here talking to you now.”

  Hawkins squinted at Owen. “Which brings up an interestin’ point. Mind tellin’ me just what you two were doin’ out there behind the library at this hour of the night?”

  Amy caught Owen’s eye and held her breath. She could hardly blame him if he told Hawkins the whole story, but a part of her still wanted to protect Arthur Crabshaw
.

  Owen shrugged. “Amy and I took a walk in the park after the band concert.”

  “The park I can understand,” Hawkins said. “But what the hell were you doin’ behind the library buildin’?”

  “Looking for privacy,” Owen said smoothly. “We got there just as some meeting was ending. We went around the corner to avoid the crowd.”

  Hawkins gave him a man-to-man look. “You two want privacy, you better leave Villantry. This is a small town. Everyone knows everyone else’s business here.”

  “Is that a fact?” Owen asked politely.

  “It’s a fact, all right.”

  Owen straightened away from the wall. “Then it shouldn’t take too long to find out who was behind the wheel of that city truck, should it? If and when you do find out who nearly ran us down tonight you can reach us at the Villantry Inn.”

  Hawkins glowered at him. “I know where you’re stayin’.”

  Owen smiled coldly. “Right. This is a small town. You know everything.”

  “Yep. I also know you two got connectin’ rooms at the Villantry Inn. Try usin’ them next time, instead of takin’ a walk in the park.”

  • • •

  “What a rude man,” Amy said as they walked into the Inn lobby a short while later.

  “Hawkins is a cop,” Owen said with a surprisingly philosophical air. “Rudeness is a job requirement.”

  “I fail to see why.”

  “You wouldn’t if you ever took a job as a cop.”

  The front desk clerk, a thin young man with thick glasses, smiled tentatively at Owen. “Mr. Sweet, there’s a message for you. From Arthur Crabshaw. He wants you to call him.”

  “Thanks.” Owen paused at the front desk to collect the slip of paper.

  Amy was aware of the tension in his hand as he guided her toward the stairs. She said nothing as they walked up the one flight to their rooms. When they started down the hall, she slanted a questioning glance at Owen’s set face.

  “What is it?”

  “I won’t know for sure until I return Crabshaw’s call. But I can make a guess.”

  “Oh, my God, you don’t think—”

  “Shush.” Owen opened the door of her room and ushered her inside.

  Amy turned, expecting him to go next door to his own room. Instead, he stepped through her door and closed it behind him. She raised her brows.

  Owen smiled faintly as he switched on a light. “No point being coy, is there? We’re supposed to be engaged. Hell, even the local chief of police knows we’ve got connecting rooms.”

  Amy flushed. “Yes, I know, but—”

  “When you go undercover, you’ve got to make it look real or it won’t work.”

  “I keep forgetting you’re the professional here,” Amy muttered.

  “I’ve noticed.” He went to the table, picked up the phone, and dialed the number on the slip of paper.

  “Arthur? This is Owen Sweet. Yeah, I got your message. What’s up?” Owen fell silent, listening for a moment. “I hear you. Calm down.”

  Amy watched anxiously.

  “Right. Tomorrow night,” Owen said. “Just as I thought. Follow instructions exactly. We’re going to nail the bastard this time. I’m not in the mood to give him any more rope. He just tried to run us down. No, I’m not joking. Amy could have been killed.” Owen paused. “Yes, I’m sure it was him. A kid? That’s what Amy thinks, too, but I’m not a great believer in coincidences.”

  Amy waited until he had hung up the phone. “Another blackmail note?”

  Owen nodded. “Arthur says it arrived earlier this evening. He’s to leave the money in the library restroom tomorrow night.”

  “Just as you suspected.” Amy was impressed. “But why would the blackmailer use the same location over and over again?”

  “He probably can’t think of a safer place. The restroom is still the one spot where any man in town can be seen with no questions asked. And as I told you, it will be busier than usual tomorrow night because of the crowd.”

  Amy nibbled thoughtfully on her lower lip. “If the blackmailer suspects that you know about the payoffs, he’ll be nervous when he sees you at the dedication ceremonies tomorrow evening.”

  “Not necessarily. He realizes that although he knows who I am, I don’t know who he is. He can go in and out of the men’s room just as freely as I or any other man in the crowd can. But he won’t take any chances this time. He’ll make it a point to get in there right after Crabshaw. He won’t know that I know about the drop-off. He’ll think it’s safe to go in as soon as he can.”

  “Before you have a chance to grab the money?”

  “Right.”

  • • •

  Amy listened to the silence from the adjoining room for a long time before she couldn’t stand it any longer. She could almost hear Owen’s brain grinding away in solitude.

  It struck her that he had probably spent a lot of his life alone. The very nature of his chosen profession indicated that he was accustomed to relying solely on himself. There was a core of strength in Owen Sweet that rarely developed in those who relied on other people.

  He possessed an old-fashioned, Wild West sort of character, she thought. He was the kind of man who, a century earlier, would have ridden into town alone, cleaned out the bad guys, and then left without a backward glance.

  She pushed aside the covers, got out of bed, and padded to the closed door that linked the two rooms. She put her ear against the wooden panel and listened. Still no sound. But she was certain that he was not asleep.

  She knocked once, very softly. Owen opened the door immediately.

  Almost as if he had been waiting for her.

  She smiled tremulously up at him. “You’re not in bed.”

  “I’m thinking.”

  “I know.” She shivered. “I can’t sleep, either. I keep seeing those headlights coming straight toward us.”

  “Amy.” He drew her into his arms. “I’m sorry.”

  Amy felt something inside her begin to relax. She rested her head on his shoulder. “It’s all my fault. I’m the one who should be sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “For getting you into this mess. I swear, I never had any idea that this would get so complicated.”

  He framed her face in his powerful hands. His eyes gleamed in the shadows. “You don’t have a clue just how complicated things have gotten, do you?”

  Before she could answer, his mouth was on hers.

  His kiss was different this time. Instead of reckless eagerness and hot passion, there was gentleness and a tender warmth. Amy gave herself up to the sweet persuasion without a single qualm.

  “Amy?” His voice was ragged but under control.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, yes, yes.”

  “Thank God.” Owen whispered against her throat. “I thought I was going to go crazy.”

  He picked her up and carried her through the doorway into his room, then set her down amid the turned-back sheets of his bed. She looked up at him with dawning wonder as he stripped off his shirt and jeans.

  She loved him.

  The realization came with quiet certainty, not as a bolt out of the blue. Amy knew that she had recognized the truth deep inside weeks ago. She reached up to take him into her arms.

  Owen came to her then.

  His body was heavy with desire. Amy felt him shudder at her touch. His hands trembled slightly as he eased aside her quilted robe.

  “I’ve never wanted anything so much in my life,” he said against her mouth.

  He kissed her throat as he undressed her. And then he lowered his mouth to her breasts. Heat flooded Amy’s body. Owen’s hand slid upward along her leg, squeezing gently. His fingers moved to the inside of her thigh. Amy gasped.

  Owen covered her mouth once more, drinking in the small sound she made. He cupped her softness and then probed, opening her to his intimate touch. She gave another muffled cry and clutched at his shoulders. A frantic sense of urgen
cy stormed through her.

  Owen continued the tender torment, stoking the flames within Amy until she could not stand it any longer. She twisted on the sheets.

  “Owen, please.” She parted her legs and fought to pull him to her. “Please.”

  “I think I’ve been waiting for this forever.” Owen leaned across Amy to open a drawer in the bedside table.

  The movement brought his broad, strong chest directly over Amy’s face. She kissed one flat, male nipple and ran her fingers through the curling hair that surrounded it. Then she reached down between their damp bodies to stroke him. It was like touching warm steel. Owen was utterly rigid with his need. Hard and hot and throbbing. When her fingertips moved on him he shuddered. Amy’s body responded with another tidal wave of heat.

  A moment later Owen was ready. He moved between her thighs, braced himself on his elbows, and looked down at her with burning eyes. He held her gaze as he pushed slowly, carefully, deliberately into her. Amy drew in a sharp breath as her small muscles stretched to accommodate him.

  And then he was inside, filling her completely.

  “Amy.” There was a world of wonder and need in the single word.

  Owen began to move. Amy took flight. Mindlessly, she gave herself up to the delicious, spiraling tension. It was unlike anything she had ever experienced. She heard her own voice calling Owen’s name over and over again.

  And then, without warning, her climax exploded in a series of rippling vibrations that sent pleasure to every nerve in her body. Amy was breathless. All she could do was cling to Owen as the world whirled around her.

  She was vaguely aware of his fierce, hoarse shout of masculine satisfaction. He surged into her one last time. She felt every muscle in him tighten.

  After a long, long moment, Owen shuddered and collapsed along the length of her. Together they drifted in the darkness, locked in each other’s arms.

  • • •

  A long while later, she stirred beside Owen. She stretched languidly, aware of a sense of joyous satisfaction. Before she could even begin to savor her newfound love, a thought struck her. She sat bolt upright in bed.

  “Good grief. Owen.”