Texan Undercover (Romantic Suspense)

by Anne Marie Novark

  "You can't want to go," Claire said to Dillon. "You'll be bored to death."

  "With you? Not a chance." He turned to Natalie and chucked her under the chin. "Thanks, doll."

  "No problem," Natalie said with a smile.

  Claire wanted to wipe the satisfied smirk off her friend's face. Natalie was a dear, but sometimes she could be a tad bit pushy.

  Dillon nodded to Claire. "We'll continue this later."

  His eyes held promises she wasn't sure she wanted him to keep. Oh, her body didn't have a problem with it. But her mind told her she was heading for grief.

  Claire straightened her spine. "Maybe we will. Maybe we won't."

  Dillon smiled a slow sexy smile that melted away all of her determination. "No maybe about it." He was gone on the words.

  Natalie snatched a manila folder off Claire's desk and fanned herself. "That man actually sizzles when he looks at you. You are one lucky duck."

  Claire grabbed the folder. "Just what did you think you were doing? I'm mad at you, Nat."

  "You'll get over it. Especially if you relax and let Mr. Macho focus all that heat on you. Damn, he's a cutie."

  "Get out, Nat."

  "Aw, Claire. I was just trying to help."

  "I'd appreciate it if you'd leave my personal life alone."

  Natalie placed one hand over her heart and raised the other. "I promise never to do it again." She grinned and crossed her fingers.

  "Nat, please?"

  "Oh, all right," she said with a pout.

  "Good. Now, get out. I have work to do and so do you."

  "Yes ma'am." With a mock salute, Natalie left.

  Claire shook her head and smiled. It was impossible to stay angry with her friend. Walking around her desk, she sank down in her chair and fanned herself with the folder.

  Natalie was right. Dillon was hot. And he was slowly burning away her defenses one by one. Claire hoped and prayed she had the strength to survive the meltdown.

  ****

  On Thursday, Claire left the cafe early. A few errands to run, then she was going home to crash for the evening. It had been a stressful week so far, to say the least.

  Across the parking lot, Dillon leaned against her car, his arms folded. She couldn't stop the flip-flop in her tummy at the sight of him. Faded jeans hugged his hips. He had his shirt sleeves scrunched up above his elbows, revealing the dark hair on his arms. She swallowed hard. Was his chest smooth and slick or laced with similar dark hair? Her nipples tightened at the thought. Smooth or hairy, it didn't matter. Her hormones were screaming again.

  As she got closer, Claire saw that he was frowning.

  "Is something wrong?" She fished around in her purse for keys and tried to dispel the bad case of jitters roiling inside her.

  Dillon pushed away from the car door. "We need to talk."

  "Now's not a good time. I'm in a hurry." She needed to get away from Dillon, before she did something stupid, like beg him to kiss her again.

  "This won't take long."

  Claire found her keys. "All right. I'm all yours . . . ears . . ." She felt her cheeks heat up.

  Dillon's mouth curved in a smile. "What an interesting slip of the tongue. You've been thinking about us, haven't you?"

  Claire wanted to bite said tongue. "I told you I'm in a hurry. I don't have time for this."

  "Right." Dillon shoved his hands in his pockets. If Claire didn't know better, she'd think he was nervous about something. "I can't go to the banquet with you next Tuesday night."

  What was that empty feeling in the pit of her stomach? Relief? Disappointment?

  She took a deep breath. "Thought better of it, did you?"

  "Actually, I was looking forward to seeing you all dolled up. But I can't make it. I'm leaving for Dallas in an hour. Something's come up that needs my immediate attention."

  "Does it have to do with the hacker?" Claire wanted to see Dillon all dolled up, too. In a suit and tie, he'd probably be even harder to resist. Maybe it was better this way.

  "No, a different case altogether. I don't know if I'll be back in time. It might only take a couple of days, but could be as long as a week."

  "A week?"

  "Will you miss me?" He stepped closer, dragged his hands from his pockets and gripped her upper arms. "I'll miss you, Claire. I had plans for after the banquet. Just you and me."

  He was turning her to mush again. "What kind of plans?" Her voice came out in a gasp, caused by Dillon nudging the insides of her breasts with his thumbs. In five seconds flat, she was aching and trembling with need.

  He pulled her against his chest. "Naked plans. God, I want you naked. You're driving me nuts."

  Claire fought for breath. She fought for sanity, too. It was broad daylight and they were standing in the parking lot for crying out loud.

  She pushed out of his embrace and found her breath and her voice. "Those were lofty plans. Were you so certain you'd be able to carry them through?"

  He shook his head. "Not certain, babe. Just hopeful." He smiled that slow, sexy smile of his. The one that curled her toes.

  She cleared her throat. "Well, have a good trip. Did you tell Natalie you'd be gone?"

  "Yeah. I told her I had a family emergency. My dad . . . I kept it vague."

  Claire stabbed the key in the lock on the door. She felt Dillon clasp her elbow, turning her to face him again. The imprint of his fingers burned through her sweater.

  "Keep an eye on things around here, okay?" he said. "My partner will be close by--"

  "In the cafe?"

  "Sometimes. Mostly in the surveillance van down the street."

  "How will I know who your partner is? Why haven't you introduced me to him?"

  From the consternation on Dillon's face, Claire knew why. He didn't trust her. Still. It shouldn't hurt, but it did.

  Dillon tightened his grip. "It was in the best interest of the investigation. Look, if something suspicious comes up, dial this number and you'll reach him." He shoved a scrap of paper into her palm and held her hand a moment, rubbing the soft underside of her wrist. "This thing between us . . ." His voice was rough, hoarse. "It's not going away."

  Claire nodded, keeping her eyes on his hand holding hers. He had strong hands, strong fingers. The tips blunt, the nails neatly trimmed. She wanted his hands on her body. The familiar heat kindled inside again.

  He stopped rubbing, but still held her hand. "I've never felt it like this before."

  That made two of them. She pulled her hand away and looked up into the hazel eyes regarding her almost tenderly. Oh man, she was in trouble. Big trouble.

  Dillon stepped back. "I'm sorry about the banquet, Claire."

  "No problem. Good luck in Dallas." She climbed in the car, started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot. One last look in the rearview mirror showed Dillon standing tall, watching her drive away. She would miss him, damn it. And she couldn't deny the sense of loss and regret or the frustration vaulting around her tummy because they wouldn't be able to fulfill his after-banquet plans.

  ****

  Dillon walked back to the cafe, entering by the rear door. He'd hated disappointing Claire, although he had the feeling she really hadn't wanted him to accompany her to the banquet. It would have been the perfect opportunity to further their acquaintance. Move the relationship to the next level. Get her in bed. His body tightened at the thought of Claire reaching for him, opening her beautiful body to him, letting him slip inside her heat. Damn.

  The kitchen was quiet after the noontime rush; the electric hum from the refrigerator and the swish of the dishwasher the only sounds. Richard was nowhere in sight. His two assistants sat in the corner playing cards. Dillon nodded in their direction, grabbed a pastry and a cup of black coffee on his way out. He'd use Claire's office to finish up the day's work, then meet with Brozek to compare notes, before heading to Dallas.

  He wished he could have sent his partner to take care of the crisis, but the matter warranted Dillon's exper
tise. It was damned inconvenient to leave Austin at this time. Like he'd told Claire--they were getting close to finding the hacker. Dillon felt it in his gut. Something was going down soon. And thank goodness. This case had taken longer than anyone had expected.

  Dillon bit into the flaky pastry crust, holding it between his teeth as he opened Claire's door. He almost spilled his coffee when he surprised Richard sitting at Claire's desk.

  "Monsieur! How you frightened me." Richard quickly exited the program he'd been using and stood to face Dillon. "What are you doing in mademoiselle's office?"

  "I was about to ask the same question." Dillon closed the door softly behind him. He set the pastry and coffee on the desk and frowned at the little man. Had he been wrong about him? Could the Frenchman be the hacker? "Why are you using Claire's computer?"

  "Mine, it has cracked, you see."

  "Cracked? You mean crashed?" If he weren't involved in the investigation, Dillon might find this amusing. But it wasn't funny at all. And he had a job to do.

  "Oui, very inopportun. I couldn't find you or mademoiselle to repair it. I have very important work to do and can't spare the time to wait. So, here I am." He shrugged.

  "What important work are you doing?" Dillon noted agitation and guilt cross the chef's face. What the hell was going on with him?

  "That I cannot tell." Richard clamped a fist to his chest and raised his chin. "Wild elephants could not drag it from me. It is, how you say . . . a secret."

  "I see." Dillon didn't see at all, but intended to find out. "Well, I'm here now. I'll take a look at your computer."

  "That will not be necessary," Richard said hurriedly. "I would rather mademoiselle to repair it. Now, I must return to my kitchen."

  Dillon caught the chef's sleeve as he passed around the desk. "Not so fast, Pierre."

  Again that Gallic chin raised. "I have told you before, monsieur. My name is not Pierre." He looked pointedly at Dillon's hand on his sleeve. "If you please to release me?"

  Dillon let go and stepped back. He picked up the pastry and took a bite. "These are very good." Maybe he'd try a different approach.

  Richard nodded and stood tall. "Naturellement! Me, I am a very good cook. We are through, no?" He didn't wait for an answer and walked out the door.

  Dillon shook his head. Yeah, this would be funny if he could make certain the little chef was innocent. Sitting in Claire's chair, he finished the pastry and sipped his coffee. He'd go over the keystrokes on this computer immediately. Find out what Richard was up to. He glanced at his watch. No, he didn't have time. He'd have to give a heads up to Brozek.

  They had studied the keystrokes on Natalie's computer after Winslowe had been on it. Nothing there. Not that it cleared Winslowe of any wrongdoing. Dillon was keeping his eye on the professor. He was keeping his eye on several of the customers. One misstep and they would have the hacker. One break and the investigation would be over. Then he'd go back to Dallas for good and leave Austin and Claire behind.

  Dillon ignored the empty feeling at that thought. He told himself it was because he hadn't got her in bed yet. He wouldn't really be finished here in Austin until he made love to Claire.

  He downloaded the data from the computer onto a disk to give to Brozek. While he waited, he sat back and drank his coffee. He could smell Claire here in her office. Everywhere he looked, he saw reminders of her. The neat desk, straight stacks of paper, every pen in place. He opened a drawer and smiled. Paper clips, rubber bands--everything organized.

  Claire left nothing to chance. She liked things planned out. Liked to play it safe. And she didn't feel safe with him. The strong attraction between them scared her. Hell, if he was honest with himself, it scared him, too.

  But he didn't want to play it safe. He wanted Claire. And he had it all planned out. Have a good time, then leave. All he had to do now was convince Claire.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  After a quick trip to Nacogdoches on Friday, Claire checked the other two cafes on Saturday, spent the night in Huntsville, then returned to Austin early Sunday afternoon. She jumped in and cleaned two closets and fell into bed exhausted late that night. But sleep wouldn't come. She had thought if she kept busy, she wouldn't have to acknowledge how much she missed Dillon.

  Wrong.

  Staring at the ceiling in the darkness of her bedroom, Claire couldn't deny it any longer. She did miss him. A lot. She missed the way he looked at her with hunger in his eyes. Missed the way he filled her office with his masculine presence. Missed his touch. How he smelled. How he tasted. Missed the sizzle. Missed the man.

  She was in over her head and knew it. She wanted Dillon like she'd never wanted anyone before. She wished he was here now. Beside her in bed. Or looming over her . . .

  With a groan, Claire punched her pillow and pulled the comforter more securely around her shoulders. Blanking her mind of all thought, she willed herself to sleep.

  Early the next morning, she was at e*Claire's before anyone else. She hadn't been in the office since Thursday afternoon. After her absence, Claire knew her in-boxes, both email and paper, would be full to overflowing. She sat down at her desk and that's when she saw it.

  A folded piece of paper with her name scrawled across the top. Claire set her coffee down and picked up the note. She knew before she opened it who it was from. With trembling fingers she unfolded the paper.

  You and me, babe. Together. When I get back.

  Claire stared at the words. Bold, to the point, cocky, arrogant. Just like the man.

  She felt the burn down to her center core. Her tummy did a funny little twirly thing. Maybe she should be offended, except she wasn't. As far as love letters went, it wasn't very romantic, but it was real. Dillon wanted her. And God help her, she wanted him, too.

  Claire folded the note and tucked it in her pocket. She decided to stop by the drugstore on the way home tonight. If she was going to engage in sex, she wanted to be prepared. Planning ahead was her middle name. She just hoped she could plan far enough ahead so she wouldn't get hurt when the fire fizzled out.

  She wouldn't think about that. When Dillon returned, she would try her darnedest to enjoy what they had together for however long it lasted. She reminded herself she wasn't looking for a real relationship. She wasn't looking for love or commitment. She'd done that and failed miserably. Some things, even well planned, didn't work out.

  With a long drawn out sigh, she turned to her computer and opened her email. After dealing with the correspondence, she snatched a yellow legal pad from her desk and jotted down a list of everything that needed to be done before the anniversary celebration. Glancing at the calendar, Claire realized it was less than two weeks away.

  Lots to do before then. Advertisements in the local paper and a few spots on the radio. Signs all over campus. Promises of free food should bring in more of those hungry college students. Balloons and banners needed to be ordered. And she would consult Richard about the food. Natalie would take care of most of the preparations, but Claire wanted to be involved, too. Five years was a milestone and she intended to celebrate.

  Claire went online and ordered the computer components for the upgrade. No matter what Dillon thought about it, she was determined to do the upgrade before the celebration.

  Feeling like she'd just done something naughty, Claire hit the order confirmation button and closed the browser. Turning to her desk, she picked up the stack of mail that had accumulated during her absence. She sorted it into piles until she came to the last letter in the stack.

  It was addressed to her, not the cafe, with no return address. A plain white envelope, computer generated label.

  Claire reached for the letter opener, slit the top and slid out the single sheet of nondescript white paper. There was no date, no heading, no salutation. Four lines and nothing else:

  I was wrong about you.

  I thought you were on my side.

  I don't appreciate being watched and monitored.

  There will be
repercussions.

  She dropped the letter and stared at it. Someone had sneaked into her office and left it on her desk. The hacker had found out about the surveillance. Dillon had been wrong. The guy was potentially dangerous. He was threatening her, wasn't he?

  Claire grabbed her purse and pulled out the slip of paper Dillon had given her. She wished he'd left a number where he could be contacted. She desperately needed to hear his deep voice. Needed his reassurance that everything would be okay. What had happened to her hard won independence?

  She punched the numbers on the phone and waited. Dillon's partner answered on the second ring.

  "This is Brozek." The man sounded like he'd been asleep. Claire swallowed the lump in her throat.

  "Hello?" The voice was deep and commanding.

  "My name's Claire Maxwell. Dillon gave me your number."

  "Right. How can I help you? Is something wrong?"

  Claire glanced at the letter. "I've been contacted by the hacker."

  "Are you all right? Are you in any danger?"

  "I'm okay." Liar. How could this be happening?

  "What kind of contact, Ms. Maxwell?"

  "A letter. He sent me a letter." Claire felt sick to her stomach. A delayed reaction.

  "Where are you?" Brozek asked.

  "The cafe." Alone in the cafe. Her palms felt sweaty.

  "Give me ten minutes. I'll come to the back door. Don't touch the letter any more than necessary." He disconnected.

  Claire hung up the phone. The Mission Impossible theme played in her head again. But this time, it wasn't the least bit amusing. Up until now, the whole hacker thing hadn't seemed real. The not-so-innocent letter on her desk made it very real.

  A dark-haired man appeared at the back door exactly ten minutes later. Claire let him in.

  "Ms. Maxwell? Stan Brozek." He stuck out his hand and gave hers a brief shake.

  "I've seen you before in the cafe," Claire said.

  "Yes, assisting my partner."

  Claire couldn't help staring at the man. He was tall with broad shoulders. Olive skin, black brows and deep brackets where other people had dimples--all emphasized his strong Slavic features. He was bad boy personified in a leather jacket, brass belt buckle, white t-shirt, and faded jeans.