Baby, I'm Yours

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Baby, I'm Yours Page 5

by Susan Andersen


  “No, I’m Catherine, Kaylee’s sister. Who are you? Hey!” she protested when he shoved past her into the foyer. Oh, God, what would Catherine do in this situation? Kaylee headed straight for the phone and picked up the receiver. She managed to punch out 9-1 before he depressed the cutoff switch with two fingers.

  “Show me some proof you’re who you say you are,” he demanded.

  She didn’t even have to think twice, she knew what Catherine’s reaction to that would be. Her chin shot up in the exact manner her sister’s would. “In a pig’s eye I will,” she said frostily. “This is my home—I don’t have to prove my identity to you.” She thrust out an imperious arm, pointing at the door. “Get out of my house.”

  He pulled out a gun. He didn’t point the thing at her, but the threat was implicit. “Show me some proof.”

  On the other hand, her sister had never been inflexible to the point of stupidity. Chin in the air, Kaylee led the way into the living room, where she handed him two framed photographs from the bookshelves. One was a glamour shot of herself, in which she looked damn good, if she did say so herself. “Kaylee,” she said. The other was a framed photo of her sister at the ocean. The face was hauntingly similar to that in the glamour shot, but the differences were also apparent. “Me.” She held it up to her face, then picked up Catherine’s purse and extracted the driver’s license from the wallet within. She handed it to him and waved a hand down her body, indicating her clothes, which Bobby had good reason to know she wouldn’t be caught dead in under ordinary circumstances. “Also me.”

  He gave her a slow once-over, his gaze lingering on the smooth length of her legs. “Nice.”

  Oh, you no-good, lousy, two-timing sonofabitch. It was all Kaylee could do to stand still and return his look with a bland one of her own. If I weren’t so terrified you’re going to hurt me, I’d cut your black heart out for that.

  “Where’s Kaylee?” he demanded.

  “I wouldn’t know. Who are you?”

  “Bobby LaBon.” He paused. “Her boyfriend.”

  “Okay, I’ve heard of you.” Kaylee drew back. “But why are you here?” There could only be one reason, couldn’t there, given the gun. Oh, Bobby. “Did you two have a fight or something?”

  “Listen, don’t play dumb with me. I’ve been tracking her all day, and I know she’s been here. Now for the last time, where is she?” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Don’t make me pull my gun again.”

  “I don’t know where she is,” Kaylee said, and knew when his eyes suddenly narrowed on her that she had somehow made a mistake. Brain spinning, she thought back. Oh, shit. It was the voice. She’d reverted to the throaty voice she had worked so hard over the years to make second nature.

  He towered over her. “Okay, Kaylee, what’s the deal? I’d know that voice anywhere.”

  The part of her that wasn’t numb with terror was gratified to know he could tell her apart from her twin sister. She wasn’t, however, about to admit to anything. “Catherine,” she corrected him frostily. “My name is Catherine.”

  “Like hell. You had me goin’ for a minute there, but I know who you are now.” His tone softened. “Listen, baby, I’m not here representing Sanchez or Chains or anyone else. I didn’t come to hurt you. I came on my own as soon as I got your note, because I was worried about you.”

  Inside, she sagged with relief, but outwardly she maintained her composure. “Yes, of course you were. That’s why you pulled a gun on me.”

  “What, this?” Bobby looked at the pistol, and then tucked it away. “That was just to get your attention when I thought you were your sister. Hell, I didn’t even buy it until after I got back to Miami and read your note. I got it to protect you, baby, not hurt you.”

  “I’m certain that would be very reassuring, Mr. LaBon, if I were my sister. However, I am not. For the last time, my name is Catherine.”

  “Yeah?” The next thing she knew, he’d wrapped his hands around her upper arms and tugged her up against his chest. “Well, let’s just try a little experiment,” he suggested. Lowering his head, he kissed her.

  And kissed her. And continued to kiss her.

  To within an inch of her life.

  Kaylee gave it her best shot, but she was a sucker for a forceful man, and she had never been able to resist Bobby’s kisses in particular. By the time he raised his head, she was limp all over. If not for the support of his hands holding her upright, she was sure she’d slip right down his body and across the floor like one of those Slinky toys.

  Bobby’s own eyes were heavy-lidded as he stared down at her. “Hey, baby,” he greeted her huskily, and licked his bottom lip. “I missed ya.”

  That snapped her back to reality with a vengeance. Shoving back, she linked her fingers together and swung for his head as if it were a ball she intended to send into the stands.

  Bobby dodged, and her clubbed fists glanced off the side of his head. Had his reflexes been the slightest bit slower, the blow would have knocked him off his feet. “Jesus, Kaylee.” He rubbed at his temple. “You coulda killed me.”

  “I was arrested! You told me it was your car, and I was arrested!”

  “Yeah, I’m sorry about that. I don’t know what happened.”

  “I know what happened—you stole the damn car and I took the rap!”

  “Hey, I didn’t steal it. It was just there, baby, singin’ a siren song, and I knew Babette was out of town, so I sorta…borrowed it for a while, that’s all. I meant to bring it back, but when that trip came up I got to thinking how cute you’d look driving it around, and I guess it kinda slipped my mind that it wasn’t actually mine. It was an honest mistake, Kaylee.”

  “Honest mistake, my butt. And exactly who the hell is this Babette bimbo to you, anyway? When she came down to the station after I was arrested, I got the distinct impression she knew you.”

  “Yeah, well—” Bobby eyed her warily. “She does in a way. She’s kind of an old, uh, girlfriend.”

  “An old girlfriend?” Kaylee was furious. “An old girlfriend? I don’t believe you, Bobby! Good God, I don’t believe me—I don’t believe I’ve been sleeping with a guy who’d date a woman named Babette.”

  “It was a long time ago, baby.”

  “I don’t care if it was the last century—your taste sucks. What’s her problem, anyhow?”

  “Dog in the manger, babe. The fact that we broke up didn’t bother her at all. But when she saw what a fine woman I replaced her with, she couldn’t handle it. She probably took one look at you and knew she couldn’t come close to matching you for looks and style, and it made her green with envy.”

  “Oh, stuff it, Bobby. I’m in big trouble because of you. I need help here, not flattery.”

  “We’ll get it straightened out, babe.”

  “And just how will we do that? Didn’t you read the note I left you? I overheard Sanchez and Chains discussing murder! I can’t go back to Florida, and you aren’t exactly Mr. Upstanding Citizen yourself.” A sudden thought occurred to her, and she studied him with speculative interest through narrowed eyes. “So, you’re here strictly because you want my forgiveness, huh? That’s the only reason—you want to kiss and make up?”

  “More than anything.” Bobby moved in, crouching a little to bring their faces to an equitable level, surrounding Kaylee with his heat and scent, running his hands up and down her arms.

  She felt her knees start to go weak and braced herself against his effect. “Well, I’ll consider it,” she agreed smoothly. “Just as soon as you help me rescue Catherine.”

  Bobby straightened up, his hands dropping to his sides. “Rescue Catherine from what?”

  She briefly explained. “I shouldn’t have let him take her, Bobby, but I wasn’t thinking beyond not letting him get me. Now we’ve got to get her back.”

  “Are you crazy?”

  Her eyebrow elevated. “So much for kiss and make up, I guess.”

  Bobby rammed his fingers through his hair. “I don’t see
what one thing has to do with the other!”

  “You don’t have to see—those are my terms. Cat said that just once she’d like to see me take responsibility for one of my messes. Well, Bobby, I’m in this one because of you, so make up your mind. Either you’re going to help me or you’re not. What’s it gonna be?”

  “Yeah, sure, whatever. What’s the bounty hunter’s name?”

  “How should I know?”

  “Whatta ya mean you don’t know? How do you expect me to—never mind. Let me think a minute.” They were both silent for several moments. Bobby began absentmindedly to crack his knuckles, making Kaylee shudder.

  “Bobby, do you mind!”

  “Quiet! I’m trying to think.”

  She rolled her eyes but kept silent.

  A moment went by before he looked over at her. “Okay, what’s the bailsman’s name?” She told him, and he asked, “Where’s the phone?”

  “There’s one in the kitchen. Why? What are you going to do?”

  “Call Scott Bell in Miami. Guy’s a wizard with the computer. With the bailsman’s name he can find out who your bounty hunter is. Once he knows that, he can tap into the airline records and find out what flight the guy and your sister are on.”

  “Oh. Good thinking.” Kaylee picked up Catherine’s purse and riffled through the wallet. She was pleased to see it contained one of her favorite items in the whole world, a gold card. “You start on that, and I’ll be back in a while.”

  Bobby, on his way to the kitchen, stopped dead in his tracks. He turned and stared at her. “Where the hell you going?”

  “Shopping. Look at me, Bobby.” She spread her arms wide and stared down at the little bronze blouse in distaste. “I have got to pick up some decent clothes.”

  5

  CATHERINE AWOKE TO find that sometime during the night, she’d gravitated in Sam’s direction. She was partly curled against him, her cheek resting on the hard curve of his biceps. His arm then stretched down across the divider between their seats and culminated in his big hand cupping her thigh. Long, callused fingers spread heat where they curled lightly around her inner knee. And his thumb, she realized as she came more fully awake, was lazily rubbing back and forth on her bare skin.

  Her eyes snapped open and she found herself staring up into his face. It was rough with dark stubble and there was a blatantly sexual droop to his full bottom lip. Opening her mouth to demand just who the hell did he think he was, she realized his eyes were barely slitted open, and they were focused with drowsy concentration on the sight of his own weathered thumb moving in slow, measured strokes against her pale skin. Clearly he wasn’t fully conscious.

  She knew the moment he was. His thumb stilled, and the arm beneath her cheek tensed. She could sense him lowering his chin to look down at her, and she hastily closed her eyes, feigning sleep. It was sheer impulse, and a childish one at that, but once she’d made the decision she was stuck with it. And if pretending to be asleep might save her an awkward moment or two, that worked for her.

  He slid his hand free and eased her off his arm. A moment later he rose from his seat and pulled his duffel bag from the baggage rack overhead. Then he was gone, presumably to the rest room at the back of the bus.

  Catherine opened her eyes and sat up. Stiff and groggy, she stretched in place in an attempt to work out the worst of the kinks. Sitting as tall as possible, she braced her fingers in the small of her back, thrust back her shoulders, and arched her back to stretch out her spine, angling her chin up and to the left. When she swiveled her head to the right, she found herself looking directly at the man across the aisle. He, in return, was staring with glazed eyes at her breasts.

  Her first inclination was to hunch in her shoulders to disguise their fullness as best she could. But a kernel of something—irritation? defiance?—stopped her. She immediately amended her provocative posture, but there was no use hoping for concealment in her sister’s skintight top. So she did the next best thing. She continued to regard the man levelly until his gaze unglued from her chest. When he noticed her watching him with unsmiling eyes and a raised eyebrow, he flushed deep red and quickly looked away.

  It afforded her a small surge of empowerment.

  She turned back to stare out the window, although the scenery that streamed past went largely unnoticed. Last night’s panic-induced numbness was gone, and she had decisions to make. One option was simply to allow herself to be hauled cross-country like a good little soldier. She could remain inviolate within the walls of her hard-won good manners, play by McKade’s rules, and straighten everything out once they reached Miami. It’s what she most likely would have done yesterday.

  She didn’t like that option today.

  McKade had turned her world upside down, all for the sake of a lousy buck, and she saw no reason to facilitate his job for him. He was obviously in a great burning hurry to get her to Miami and collect his fee, although for the life of her she couldn’t quite figure where Greyhound fit into the scenario. But their mode of transportation was an accomplished fact, and she needed to stay focused on the point. And the point was, if McKade was in such a huge rush, then her object should clearly be to do whatever it took to slow the journey down. She knew only one way to accomplish that.

  The idea of behaving as she knew Kaylee would in the same situation made Catherine cringe. She’d spent her entire adult life developing a respectable niche for herself that was worlds removed from the exhibitionist milieu that was her twin’s.

  Still, sometimes being the nice, well-behaved woman didn’t pay off. Just look where it had gotten her so far. McKade was so damn smug, so almighty cocksure he knew just who it was he had on his hands. That being the case, she really shouldn’t disappoint the man, should she? He insisted she was Kaylee; then, Kaylee he would get.

  In spades.

  Sam made his way carefully back up the aisle. You are not to touch the merchandise, he warned himself for the umpteenth time since he’d left Red sleeping and escaped to the rest room. You got that, McKade? You’ve got a job to do, and you are not going to screw it up. He snorted softly. Appropriate word, that, given the red-hot urge the feel of her skin had raised in him and the temptation to follow that urge to its natural conclusion.

  But he hadn’t followed it, and it wouldn’t get to the point where his urges turned into a problem—he’d see to that. Hell, he’d just been half-asleep, that was all, and she’d been there. It was a knee-jerk reaction to having awakened with his hand on a woman’s long, firm, incredibly soft-skinned leg; the result would have been the same with any woman. He’d been a long time without sex and was sure as hell gonna remedy the situation once this job was complete. Meanwhile, he’d just be grateful that Red had slept through it. Keep her quiet and keep a low profile, that was the ticket.

  He saw his prisoner step into the aisle and reach for the overhead luggage rack, displaying her spectacular body from her fingertips right down to the tiptoes she balanced on as she stretched for her bag. Three men tripped over themselves to be first in line to lend her a hand.

  She didn’t even look at them, which surprised Sam. It didn’t cajole him from the flash of temper that surged through him, however, and in a few giant strides he arrived at the cluster of passengers blocking the aisle. He elbowed two of the men out of his way and reached over the head of the third for Catherine’s bag. “I’ve got it,” he growled in the face of the man’s persistence, and his tone was such that Red’s little helper finally got smart and backed off.

  The angle for lifting was an awkward one, and Sam felt a twinge in his back as he lowered the suitcase. “What the hell have you got in here?” he demanded, setting it on her seat. He’d bet the lodge it wasn’t books.

  “More interesting stuff than the pitiful heap of belongings in your bag, you can bet.” She unsnapped the locks and flipped open the top.

  Sam’s heart sank. He only caught a glimpse, but the contents all seemed to either glitter, shine, or be about the size of his wallet
. It was the latter that really worried him, since it meant serious expansion would be necessary to cover those killer curves of hers, and you could bet the fit would therefore be the next best thing to spray paint. She bent over to paw through the case, and he growled in frustration to notice the man across the aisle and the guy behind him, too, craning their necks to get a better look at the sweet, full, inverted-heart shape of her butt. He moved to block their view.

  “Ah,” she murmured in satisfaction, and Sam watched her wrestle free a case from within the case. She unzipped it and he realized that this was most likely the source of the added weight. It sure as hell wasn’t her clothing—she probably didn’t have a single piece in there that weighed in at more than three ounces. That left either the several pairs of skyscraper heels or the bag of cosmetics and toiletries. While he watched, she assembled a washcloth, one of those mysterious bottles of girly lotion that women swear by, a toothbrush, and toothpaste. She juggled her booty for a few moments, then gave up and tossed everything back into the cosmetic case. Lifting it, she straightened and turned her head to look up at him.

  “Rest room’s in the back, right?”

  He grunted.

  Watching her stroll down the aisle, he scowled to see the number of men who stared at her with avid eyes as she approached, and then twisted around to observe her from the back as she passed by. Friggin’ wonderful. He could kiss the low profile good-bye.

  At least she’d only used a fraction of the ten pounds of cosmetics in her case, he noted with relief when she returned. She’d applied lipstick and mascara, but that appeared to be all. And she hadn’t reverted to the big hair she’d worn yesterday at the airport, thank God. But Sam knew he was grasping at straws. She’d brushed her hair and put it up in a conservative little knot on the crown of her head. It should have been demure, dammit. Already, however, it had tilted to one side, and bright strands had slid free down the curve of her nape and along her long white throat, and it made her look instead as if she’d just rolled out of some guy’s bed.

 

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