THE RENEGADE AND THE HEIRESS

by Judith Duncan

  More annoyed by the minute by his response to that one little gesture, Finn silently berated himself. Not only was she the daughter of one of the richest men in North America, she was too young, and most of the time she drove him crazy. And she was pushy. And she fit perfectly beside him in bed.

  Whoa! Where in hell had that thought come from? Feeling as if he'd been poleaxed, Finn opened his eyes, his teeth clenched so hard his jaw ached, a hot-and-cold feeling breaking out all over his body. He was supposed to be getting a grip, not letting his mind wander. Somehow or another, he was going to have to get a damned grip. Feeling a whole lot like a cornered animal, he shoved his chair back, trying to scrape up the grit to thank her for breakfast. But she was so intent on what she was reading that she didn't even lift her head.

  Getting away while the getting was good, he all but bolted for the bathroom. A shower, a shave and a dose of common sense, and maybe he'd be able to get back in his own skin.

  Except in the bathroom he encountered a very lacy bra and equally lacy French-cut panties hanging over the shower door. His insides immediately clutched up into a hard little ball, and he had another panic attack. He should have never gone to bed last night. He'd been able to keep a lid on it when he'd been dead tired. She hadn't tempted him that much. He shook his head. God, now he was lying to himself.

  Swallowing hard, he reached out to snatch the garments off the door, but the silky sensation reminded him of her hair, and he jerked his hand back. Watching two pieces of very slinky, sensual underwear as if they were a pair of rattlesnakes, he let out a roar. "Can't you dry your damned dainties somewhere else? I want to have a shower!"

  He heard her slam something on the table—probably the book—then he heard her stomp across the great room and down the narrow hall. She pushed past him, snatching the garments off the glass door. "For heaven's sake—they aren't contaminated. And they wouldn't have lowered your testosterone level if you'd taken them down yourself." Finn wasn't worried at all about his testosterone level. At least not at the moment. All systems were fired and ready to go.

  But in spite of the state he was in, he was smart. He held the bathroom door so she couldn't slam it behind her.

  The long shower helped, and by the time he'd showered and shaved, he felt almost restored. And almost in control.

  Rolling back the sleeves of his clean shirt, he entered the great room, his insides going still when he spotted Mallory. She was standing in front of the windows, her arms tightly folded, and there was a pinched look on her face. It hit him that she'd pretty much been forced to remain inactive be cause of him. And he suspected that along with the worry, that inactivity must be driving her nuts. His expression turning sober, he finished rolling his sleeve. He realized that she hadn't complained once.

  Moving to the stove to pour himself another cup of coffee, he spoke, his voice quiet. "We're going to have to come up with a plan, Red," he said, his tone serious. "I think the longer you stay hidden, the more the odds go up."

  He saw her shoulders move as she heaved a big sigh. "I know."

  He could hear the dejection in her voice, and he decided that more than anything, she needed to get out. "But before we do anything, we've got to get you some clothes. If we want to maintain your anonymity, that means a trip to Calgary—"

  She turned to look at him, her eyes not quite so bleak, a tiny smile playing with the corner of her mouth. "Are you humoring me?"

  He grinned, indicating the shirt she had on. "No. That's my favorite shirt, and I want it back."

  Before they left, they made a half-decent effort to disguise her. She stuffed her hair under a cap and put on a pair of Finn's sunglasses. Mallory pointed out that it really wasn't necessary—no one would recognize her without, as she put it, her glamour face on. Finn had to agree with her.

  He was careful to get her out of the district without anyone seeing her. Granted the windows of his big SUV were tinted, but anyone who met them would have known he had a passenger with him. And it wasn't that often that Finn had someone in his vehicle. It wasn't until they were on the main highway leading into Calgary that he was able to really relax.

  It struck him again that she was very comfortable with silence, more interested in the passing scenery than talking. He didn't want to intrude on that space, but he had been doing a whole lot of thinking, and he needed to discuss his thoughts before they got to the city.

  Bracing one elbow on the ledge by the window, he shifted in his seat. "I assume that Ed Jackson has the capability to listen in on all your father's phone calls."

  She heaved a long sigh and looked at him, her face nearly obscured by the aviator glasses. "Pretty much."

  "Then would there be any way that you could get in touch with your father's personal bodyguard—"

  "You mean Malcolm?"

  "Yeah, Malcolm. Could you get in touch with him without going through the monitored phone lines?"

  Her expression brightened and she sat up straighter. "Yes, I could," she said, her tone full of hope. "He has a sister just outside of Chicago." Her expression brightened even more. "God, that's brilliant." Excitement bubbling from her, she looked at Finn and explained. "Malcolm always calls me Marigold when nobody is around. I could phone Joyce, his sister, and have her pass on a message to call Marigold. Malcolm would figure it out." She reached over and touched his arm, her smile energized. "Oh, Finn. If I could just find out my father was okay, that would make such a difference."

  He cast her a smile, then refocused on the road, his arm tingling from where she'd touched it. "Fine then. That's what we'll do. Do you want to do it now or later?"

  She looked at her watch. "Later. I know she works, and she won't be home yet. And I don't want to talk to anyone else." She looked at him again. "We'll go shopping first."

  It was almost as if a terrible weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She perked right up, and her mood turned almost festive. She teased him, telling him she was a monster shopper, and that all of New York would quiver and quake whenever she went shopping there. Finn didn't ask for a definition. He figured he was better off not knowing.

  She insisted that they take advantage of the accessibility and economy of shopping at one of the big, discount stores situated in the huge strip mall located on the southern outskirts. She wouldn't even consider going to one of the upscale malls.

  Although he felt obliged to argue with her, Finn had to agree that it was a smart choice. Even if Jackson and his crew were actively looking for her, they would never conceive of the idea that Patrick O'Brien's daughter would go shopping there. And with the getup she had on, he doubted if even her own father would recognize her.

  Finn thought he'd just hang out in the hardware section while she was getting what she needed. Wrong. Mallory had a different plan altogether. Suspecting that she was not all that keen on being on her own, he grudgingly gave in. He expected shopping with her would be the equivalent of getting his eyeballs scraped, but she charmed him right up front, worrying about how much money he was going to have to spend on her. Looking very earnest, she promised she would pay him back every penny.

  He stuck with her program, but he took an abrupt hike when she started down the personal hygiene aisle, and he kept his eyes forward as the purchases were being scanned. There were some things he just didn't want to know.

  An hour after they arrived, and several hundred dollars lighter, Finn stacked the bags of purchases in the back of his SUV, slightly bemused by how delighted she was over her good deals. It hit him again that she was not at all what he expected.

  And it was the same when they went for groceries. It took about ten minutes for him to realize that she knew her way around the produce department. And he said as much.

  She gave him a scathing look. "Honestly, Donovan. You have a very narrow opinion of me. My mother died when I was thirteen. Mildred—she's our head housekeeper—insisted that I learn to look after myself." She checked the price on the butternut squash, then reached for one. "An
d besides, I've been living on my own since I was eighteen. And I'm a damned fine cook." She followed him over to the grapefruit bin and took the piece of fruit he'd picked up out of his hands. "This is a lousy grapefruit, Donovan. Hasn't anyone ever taught you how to shop?" Suitably chastised, Finn stuck his hands in the pockets of his mackinaw, a flicker of humor surfacing. He wondered if she was so impossible to live with that her father had kicked her out when she was eighteen.

  The grocery shopping done, they loaded the bags in the back of the vehicle, and Finn looked at her. "Would you like to grab something to eat?"

  She shook her head, looking suddenly anxious again. "I think I'd like to call Malcolm's sister. But I need to leave a number where he can reach me, and I don't want to leave him yours."

  Finn reached into the inside breast pocket of his mackinaw, and handed her his cell phone. "I don't think anyone is going to connect the dots on that one, Red. They won't be watching his sister. And if he's as smart as you say, you can be darned sure he's going to go to an outside phone to call you."

  Suddenly nervous, she took a deep stabilizing breath and took the phone. "All right. Let's do it."

  She climbed in her side of the vehicle as he turned on the ignition. Mallory took off her new mittens, then dialed for Chicago information and asked for the sister's number. She wrote it on the back of one of the bills she'd stuck in her pocket. Taking another deep breath, she dialed the number, pressed Send and put the phone to her ear.

  Leaning back against the door, Finn draped his arm over the wheel and watched her. And he could tell by the way her expression altered that there was no answer.

  Her face was impassive when she lifted the phone away, pressing End. "No answer," she said softly. "And no answering machine or voice mail."

  Hating to see her like that, with the hope knocked out of her, he resisted the sharp urge to pull her onto his lap and hold her. Shedding that idea, he spoke, his voice gruff. "What if I were to try to call your father. It would be legitimate, seeing as I was team leader for the search."

  Picking at the cuff on one of the mittens, she shook her head. "They'd never put you through to him. Someone would field the call, and if we used one of his private lines, they'd make a darned good guess that I was alive. It would be the only logical explanation for your having those numbers." She lifted her head and looked at him. "And I think they're going to want to find out what happened to me before they make another move."

  Finn stared out the window, silently agreeing with her. Providing they had it figured out right.

  Clouds had moved in, turning the sky dull and overcast and filling the interior of the cab with gray light. Her profile to him, Mallory continued to pick at the mitten; then she lifted her head and looked at him, her face showing the effects of the strain she'd been under. "Let's go home," she said softly. "I don't want to stay here, waiting around."

  He nodded and shifted in his seat. He suspected that the reality of her situation was beginning to really get to her, igniting a whole new level of anxiety. And he could understand that. He also knew they could not remain in limbo much longer. They were going to have to make a move soon. That thought made his gut knot.

  Checking his rearview mirrors, he pulled out of the parking spot. "Then let's go home."

  Dusk was just beginning to settle in when they pulled into the yard, and Rooney trotted out to meet them, wagging his tail. Finn gave a small smile when the dog went to Mallory's side of the car before he came around to Finn. Smart dog. He knew what side his bread was buttered on.

  Finn got some of the bags out of the back, and handed a couple to Mallory when she came around, then got another bunch and followed her to the house.

  Mallory kicked off her shoes and immediately took her purchases to her room. Gazing after her with a thoughtful expression, Finn watched her disappear into the shadows. She hadn't said one word since they'd left Calgary. Feeling uneasy about her, he went back outside to get the groceries. When he reentered, Mallory was by the kitchen sink, and she was just replacing the cell phone on the counter, her expression strained. She turned to stare out the kitchen window. He didn't even ask. He knew from her expression that she had tried to reach Malcolm's sister again, and there was still no answer.

  His arms full, he kicked the door shut behind him, his insides going cold when she turned and he saw her face. Setting his load down on the kitchen table, he continued to watch her as he peeled off his gloves.

  She stared at him across the dimly lit room, her eyes wide, her expression transfixed by anxiety. She drew a deep uneven breath, then made a nervous gesture with her hands, not a speck of color in her full lips. "I did nothing but think about this all the way home," she said, her voice breaking. "I'm going to have to go back. I have to find out about my father."

  His gut clenched at the thought of her leaving, and Finn broke eye contact as he stuffed his gloves in his pocket. Needing time to get his expression under control, he stripped off his mackinaw and hung it on a hook. Finally he turned to look at her, his own expression schooled. "Have you thought about trying to reach Malcolm directly?"

  She made another gesture with her hands, only this one was almost beseeching. "I can't do that," she whispered.

  "Why not?"

  Looking more distraught than he'd ever seen her, she abruptly stuffed her hands up the sleeves of her sweat top, then swallowed with great difficulty. "I can't call anyone directly," she said, the deepening twilight making her face indistinct. "They would be on your phone number so fast, it would make your head spin. And I don't want to drag you into the middle of this."

  Resting one hand on his hip, Finn stared at her, annoyance making his face hard. "For God's sake, I'm already in the middle of it. So a phone call isn't going to make much difference."

  She leaned back against the counter and looked at the ceiling; then she looked back at him. "I need you to listen to me, Finn," she said, her tone just a little stronger. "I need you to hear me out and see if this makes any sense."

  Resisting the need to slam something, Finn locked his jaw and stared at her. Finally he let his breath go on a long sigh. "Fine. I'm listening."

  "The public knows that I'm missing, right?"

  He nodded.

  "Which means they must have filed a flight plan, and they probably made sure that whoever they filed it with knew I was on board. That would substantiate my having gone to my father's hunting lodge. Right?"

  Resting his hip against the end of the cupboard, Finn folded his arms, continuing to watch her. "Right."

  She chewed her bottom lip, her expression intent. "Okay, but the crash screwed up that plan. And now the whole world knows I'm missing. And I think as long as they don't know for sure what happened to me, everything is on hold. They aren't going to make a move on my father until they know for certain. But the minute they suspect I'm alive—and they would certainly suspect something if strangers started calling highly classified phone numbers—they would try to go with the original plan. It would be even worse if I called Malcolm directly, and they were monitoring that call. So as long as they believe I'm dead, my father is probably safe. But if they find out I'm alive, I think he's in real danger."

  Considering what she'd said, Finn looked down at the floor, turning everything over in his mind, looking for holes in her theory. He couldn't see any. His arms still folded, he looked back at her. "Do you think your father would change his will if you were declared dead?"

  "Not a chance." She tried to smile, but she couldn't hold it, and Finn saw the first glimmer of tears in her eyes. "I am going to have to go," she whispered, then she abruptly turned away and pressed her hand to her mouth, and Finn saw her shoulders heave. He could stand a lot of things—but he could not stand to see her break down. A huge ache rose up in him. It was as if some invisible hand reached into his chest and squeezed his heart.

  His own expression tight with strain, he went over to her and grasped her shoulder. More than anything, he wanted to sweep her up and
hold her, to use his size and strength to protect and shelter her. But he couldn't do that—not after the way he'd dropped his guard last night. He didn't dare hold her—he couldn't trust himself to get that close to her right now. She made him want things he couldn't have, to feel things he shouldn't feel. And he couldn't cross that line—it would be too damned hard when she was gone out of his life. But he could deal with the loneliness just as long as he could keep her safe.

  Bracing himself, he hooked his knuckles under her chin and made her look at him, his heart giving another painful lurch when he saw the misery in her eyes. He forced a smile. "Just so you know. There is no damned way I'm going to let you leave here on your own, Red. Not a chance in hell."

  Her fingers were trembling when she tried to quickly wipe away her tears, her eyes bleak. "I would feel so awful if something happened to you because of me. I couldn't live with myself."

  It was as if the huskiness in her voice cut something loose in him, and he had to touch her face. His chest jammed with emotion, he gazed down at her, gently stroking one cheek with his thumb to dry away her tears. He could feel the heat of her, and he could feel her trembling, and God, but he wanted to hold her. The need was so intense it was almost more than he could control, and he knew he was going to be damned sorry later for getting even this close to her. But she looked so pathetic he just could not walk away. Unable to stop himself, he smoothed his thumb across her full bottom lip. "Hey," he said, his own voice very gruff. "We're in this together, Red. And if we're careful, nothing is going to happen."

  More tears spilled over and she tried to swallow. "I hate this—hate feeling scared," she whispered.