Shiver of Fear

by Roxanne St Claire

  He blew out a breath loaded with frustration and, no doubt, pain he was trying to act like he didn’t feel. Join the party, pal.

  “I don’t know what to think, Devyn.”

  “What I know is it doesn’t make sense to hole up in here all night when we have a place to go and try to find out,” she said. “Enniskillen. When do we leave?”

  He released his hand from her grip and cupped her face. “Impulsive and relentless is a very dangerous combination.”

  She shook out of his touch, standing for some measure of power to make her argument. “I am not being impulsive. I’ve followed every move you suggested for the last hour. Day. More. Now I want to go, which is exactly what your original goal was with me anyway. Why can’t we leave?”

  “I’m not sure we’d get through the lobby without being shot.”

  She closed her eyes and let him pull her back to the bed. He was right, and she hated that.

  “It’s true getting you out of Belfast was my original assignment,” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder to make her face him. “But everything’s changed. I need to protect you, first and foremost.” She opened her mouth to argue, and he placed a single finger on her lips. “And,” he added emphatically, “I promised you some answers about your mother. Let me do that. Please.”

  She saw something then in his eyes, something more than determination to get the job done. Could he be genuinely concerned for her? Just then her belly grumbled in protest, and hunger. “I don’t suppose you grabbed a minibar key when you got that room key.”

  He smiled. “No, but I’ll break the lock for you and we can dine on peanuts and candy.”

  “And Guinness.” They said it at the same time, and she smiled. “I’ll share one with you.”

  While he used muscle and a sharp tool on his keychain to break open the minibar, Devyn moved to the far corner of the window, squinting out a tiny crack to see outside. Night had fallen, but four stories down was the large balcony of the ballroom, where she saw wedding guests gathering.

  She turned at the pop of a bottle top, and the prospect of food and drink.

  There were no chairs in the room, just the extra dresser and bare bed, so she met him on the mattress and they settled next to each other, eating and drinking in silence.

  “So you think she’s been following you your whole life?” he asked, the question squeezing her heart because it was unexpected—and all she really wanted to talk about.

  “I have to wonder,” she admitted. “She had a picture of me on a bike at thirteen, and another almost five years later. Both taken from a distance. I wonder if she’s been visiting Boston and watching me.” The thought stabbed her with longing.

  Was that what she really wanted? For Sharon Greenberg to secretly care about her? To love her, even from afar?

  “Or if Finn has and sent her the pictures.”

  Oh, God. “I never thought of that.” Because she never wanted to think of that.

  “They could still be in touch, Devyn. For all we know, they could be close. Together, still.”

  No, it wasn’t possible. “I always imagined she had nothing to do with him. You know, like he was a one-night stand. A big mistake in an otherwise well-lived life. I mean, she has a legitimate job, and she was married, but only briefly.”

  “This is just making you want to find her more, isn’t it?”

  She handed him the rest of the beer, disinterested in the bitter ale. “Yes. So stop eating and do whatever it is you have to do to get the information you want.”

  He didn’t argue but moved away, silently taking out his laptop, firing it up, and clicking away.

  “I’ve sent a request to the Guardian Angelinos for assistance. Now let’s find out where Enniskillen is.”

  She watched him work, letting her thoughts roam to places she had been effectively refusing to go.

  She wanted to kiss him again.

  Or did she just want comfort and connection? Warmth. He made her warm, and not just in the obvious way. He made her feel so—

  “It’s a few hours’ drive, a straight shot on a few main highways.”

  “What kind of town is it?”

  “Small. An island in a lake, it appears. Historic. Nothing that screams ‘terrorism.’ ”

  She swallowed hard. “Is that what you think this is about?”

  He hesitated, considering his response. “I don’t think she’s making Botox to treat the wrinkled women of Northern Ireland.”

  His tone said it all. You can’t ignore the obvious anymore.

  “Let’s stay here until I get some word from Boston on the town, and on Padraig Fallon. I’ve asked my sister, Chessie, to do some digging, and she’s a freak on the computer. There isn’t a database in the world she can’t hack, so let’s just wait for a while until we know more, okay?”

  “Then we’ll go?”

  He came back around to join her against the backboard. “I have to figure out a way to get us out of here safely.”

  She nodded as his weight shifted the mattress, making her roll a few inches closer.

  “In the meantime, you should rest.” He eased her head down to his chest. “I can be the pillow.”

  She let him comfort her and nestled under his arm. It felt good and right and warm.

  “Just rest, Dev.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Watch you rest.”

  She smiled against the cotton of his shirt, the hardness of his muscle pressing her cheek. “You’re doing it again,” she whispered.

  “Calling you Dev?”

  “Being sweet.”

  “Sorry.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  He chuckled, stroking her hair lightly. “We’ll figure it all out,” he said, his voice low and reassuring, his touch absolutely magical.

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” she said. “I’m not sure I want to know all about my mother.”

  “You’re going to pretty extreme lengths to find out something you don’t want to know, then.”

  She sighed. “I have to know, don’t I? And I can’t help if I harbor hopes of something… better than what I suspect she is.”

  “What she is doesn’t affect who you are,” he said.

  So easy for someone like him to say that. “Then you are discounting the power of DNA.”

  “If she’s a criminal, that doesn’t make you one.” His hand stroked her cheek and rested under her chin, lifting her face toward his. “You are obviously nothing like her.”

  But he didn’t know that. More important, she didn’t know that. But she didn’t want to argue or plant the seeds for him to think the things that had plagued her for so long. What was she? Who was she? Who could possibly want her with that bloodline?

  Joshua hadn’t.

  But Joshua was dead. And she was alive and in the arms of someone… someone kind of amazing.

  “What are you thinking, looking at me like that?” he asked, the hint of a smile pulling his lips.

  “I’m thinking…” That I never met anyone quite like you. “That you are very good at curbing my impulses.”

  “That’s a shame.” He glided his thumb along her lower lip. “Because I was kind of hoping you’d have the impulse to kiss me right now.”

  “I do,” she admitted. “And I think I should fight it.”

  He nodded slowly. “It’s a bad idea,” he said. “Complicated.”

  “Stupid.”

  “Rash.”

  “Impulsive.”

  She waited for his comeback, but he kissed her hair, pressing his lips to her forehead with restrained pressure, like it was all he could do, so it would have to be enough.

  But it wasn’t. Unable to stop herself, she lifted her face so that his mouth met her cheek. He kissed again, this time on her lips.

  Or she kissed him. It didn’t matter, because her eyes stayed closed and she just gave in to the bone-deep pleasure of connecting mouth to mouth, of sliding her hand over his chest to pull
him into her, of blocking out everything except the sweet, sweet sensation of…

  His tongue. He curled it against hers, eliciting a soft moan from her throat, easing her against him at the same time, scooting down so they were lined up on the mattress.

  “Marc,” she moaned into his mouth, knowing she had to stop.

  She would stop. In a minute.

  He answered by deepening the kiss, opening his mouth, and wrapping her in his arms so securely she felt like she could never fall.

  And that feeling gave way to something else, something sharper and needier. Like fire licking at her skin, burning, making her take her leg over his. He stroked her back, dragging his hand over her hip, over her backside, urging her onto him.

  Her thigh pressed against his erection, and she heard him suck in a breath, then release a soft moan and her name as he suckled her throat and collarbone, pulling her body over his, taking them to the most natural position.

  Natural. Thrilling. And wrong.

  But nothing felt wrong about this, Devyn rationalized, arching just enough for her hips to rock against him, for his hard-on to roll against her crotch, for everything in her to invite him to go further.

  With his hand behind her head, he pulled her into him for another kiss, rolling her over, changing their position in one fast move, taking the top, taking control.

  Because hers was gone. Above her, he intensified everything. The pressure, the kisses, the touching.

  Each breath was more shallow, more impossible as he cupped her breast, then caressed, slow and sure, her nipple instantly hardening to the insane pleasure of his touch.

  She had to end this. And she would… as soon as she took one more kiss, let one more wave of sheer dizziness roll over her as their tongues played and his fingers traveled and their bodies moved with an ancient rhythm.

  He slipped his hand under her sweater to get closer to flesh. Her stomach muscles tensed as he seared her skin with his palm, breaking the kiss long enough to absolutely slay her with a look of hunger and longing.

  “Devyn,” he whispered. “I’m not going to stop until you tell me to.”

  She tried to breathe, but it came out as a ragged sigh. “I want you…” She couldn’t finish the sentence.

  What did she want? Sex. Him. Comfort. Closeness. Sex.

  She just moaned, and he took it exactly how she meant it, a plea for more. His hand delved under her bra as he kissed her again, keeping his eyes open, adding pressure between her legs.

  Sweet, sweet pressure that made her wet with need and physically incapable of not moving to meet every roll of his hips.

  “Your hands are so warm,” she whispered.

  “It’s your body.” He pushed her top up, out of the way, unsnapping her bra in front and admiring her as he did.

  “I’m never warm.”

  “This is way past warm, honey.” He thumbed her nipple, teasing, torturing, taking his time to make her crazy.

  Possessed, she pressed just enough on his shoulder to tell him what she wanted.

  He closed his mouth over her breast, sending sparks over her skin, squeezing between her legs, bringing her to the shocking edge of an orgasm.

  It controlled her. He controlled her, his hands everywhere, on her stomach, on her jeans, on her zipper. With one more kiss, slow and sexy, rich with meaning and intent, he pushed her jeans over her hips and dipped down to trail kisses on her exposed body.

  He kissed over the silk of her panties, slipping his tongue along the lace, sliding his fingers into the tiny strips of satin that held them on her hips.

  “Oh my God.” Her voice quivered with the feeling, the raw pleasure when his finger touched her.

  She threaded her fingers through his hair, added some pressure on his head, and spread her legs enough to draw him closer. With one finger, he pushed the silk aside and drew his tongue along the exposed center, like a hot, wet stroke of fire that made her want to scream.

  Blood pulsed and throbbed everywhere. Under his tongue, through every vein, in her head like a drumbeat, keeping the rhythm of his licks. Harder, faster, deeper as he curled inside her and—

  Froze, lifting his head.

  “What?”

  “That’s your phone.” He gave her a questioning look, ready to ignore the text, but then she remembered Padraig.

  “It could be her,” she said, easing him off her.

  He assisted by reaching over and grabbing her bag and her phone. Hope surged when the screen said Unknown Caller.

  Please, please be Sharon.

  She sat up, her nakedness forgotten as she pressed the button and read.

  Rose, please go. I need you

  “It’s from Sharon.” The words whooshed out in one breath.

  Over her shoulder, he read the screen. “How do you know?”

  “No one else would call me Rose. That was the name on my birth papers, and no one knows it but her.” She started to get off the bed, but he grabbed her arm.

  “How would she know you would know it?”

  She considered that for a moment, shaking her head. “Marc, I don’t know, but I do know what I’m doing next and you cannot stop me. I’m going to Enniskillen.”

  He blinked as if his head were exploding in frustration. “It could be a trap, Devyn. You don’t know what it means by ‘go.’ Go anywhere. It doesn’t say go to Enniskillen. There are a lot of ways to interpret that.”

  “Well, this is how I’m interpreting it. She sent me a private message and she says she needs me. Add to that the fact that a man who knows a lot more about me than anyone else took great pains to find me today and tell me to go to Enniskillen. If I go there and she’s not there, I haven’t lost anything.”

  “If you go there and get killed, you’ve lost everything.”

  She met his gaze in a long, silent, visual showdown that she would not lose.

  “How do you propose to get out of this hotel without being shot at or followed?” he demanded.

  During the silence of her inability to respond, the strains of the wedding music played outside the window. And gave her the answer.

  “Did you bring any nice clothes?”

  He just frowned, then his expression changed from confusion to a mix of admiration and resignation. “Yeah.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Nothing about Oak Ridge Drive was remarkable. Middle America tucked into the hills and woods. A touch of Southern comfort here and there in the form of red brick and white columns. Expansive manicured lawns, cookie-cutter houses, a bicycle in one driveway, a gardener finishing up a day’s work at another.

  So, was some lug nut waiting around the corner to attack?

  It sure seemed unlikely to Vivi.

  This place was Raleigh’s version of the Boston suburbs, where she’d landed at the age of ten, after the dark days of being orphaned in Italy. Sudbury had seemed a little like a fairy tale at the time, not as wrenchingly beautiful as her homeland, but it was… home.

  Still, the suburbs had their dark side, and that’s what had made Vivi itch to run like a city rat. She’d never live in a place like Oak Ridge Drive in Raleigh, North Carolina.

  She drove the rental to the end of the cul-de-sac, following the detailed directions Marc had e-mailed her. They included everything, except how to get in, and a warning that the last time Devyn Sterling had visited, the house hadn’t been empty.

  But the brick ranch house looked deserted today. According to the one person she could find at the university, Dr. Greenberg was on an extended sabbatical, traveling through Europe on a speaking circuit. She had no classes this semester, and her lab was closed.

  Vivi parked on the street and headed straight to the front door, not at all sure what she was looking for—just the unusual. After her years as a reporter, she had a pretty good nose for finding unusual when it didn’t want to be found.

  Around the yard, dead autumn leaves formed a brown blanket under the ubiquitous oak trees that gave the street its name. There was no sign of
any life at all. No mail, no papers, all the windows closed, blinds drawn in the front, no sign of life.

  She rang the doorbell, waited, and after a few minutes and another ring, she rounded the house to the back, inspecting what she could on the way. The last time she broke into an empty house, she nearly ended up dead.

  But this time she’d been warned and was armed, so she powered on. The back door was locked, but not dead bolted. It didn’t take five minutes to pick the simple latch, making as little noise as possible. Before she went inside, she took out her Glock, racked the slide, then stepped into the kitchen.

  After standing perfectly still for five minutes, she felt relatively sure she was alone and dead bolted the door to make sure no one followed her in, then she waited again for any response to the echo of the latch. Nothing.

  Setting her tote bag on the floor, she started a slow and quiet search. With each room, she grew more confident she was alone. As she combed every inch of Sharon Greenberg’s life, she found nothing too extraordinary. The woman might have had a green thumb, but all the plants were now dead, and she had no obvious family ties, since there wasn’t a personal photo in the whole house. A workaholic, Vivi surmised, as most of the household activity seemed to take place in her office.

  The room looked the way Marc told her it had when Devyn was last there: laden with files, magazines, and paperwork.

  She finished in a spacious master bedroom, clearly added on after the house was built, with a more modern, crisp feel, an oversized fireplace, a luxurious bathroom. And a jewelry safe hidden behind an innocuous door in that luxurious bathroom.

  She touched the knob and the safe popped right open. So it was probably a freebie from the builder, or someone had beaten Vivi to the punch, because the velvet posts and hooks for jewelry were all empty.

  Maybe Devyn was wrong and the intruder had been a garden-variety thief who’d taken what jewelry he could find and left everything else.

  She slid her hands down the sides of the unit, poking into the velvet for a false opening that she knew these things sometimes had. And found one.

  With a little “Oh!” of delight at the discovery, she pushed the ledge that ran across the bottom, and it flipped up on an invisible hinge, revealing another compartment.