by Cait London
“I ate at Margie’s apartment behind the office. She said the room was free of charge, so you’ll get full credit on your card. Any regrets about last night?”
Flip comments churned in her mind, but she wouldn’t cheapen herself—or him. Making love to Kyle was unique and something she knew she’d treasure, no matter what happened later. Rachel carefully placed the knife she’d been using to butter the big hot biscuit onto the tray. “Not one regret, and I pay my own way, Kyle.”
“You’re not paying mine. I tuned up Margie’s pickup some time ago, and through the years have helped her with a few chores. She’s busting to meet the one woman I’ve brought here.”
“No…way,” Rachel stated firmly as she sat with the plate on her lap, devouring her food. She angled a look at him. “So, I am special, am I?”
Kyle’s lips curved slightly. “I wouldn’t say that…just the first woman I’ve brought here. You’ve got a healthy appetite.”
From the few feet away, Kyle’s dark intent look was heating her body, making it hunger. “You’ve got butter on your lips,” he whispered rawly. “Hurry up and eat that, will you?”
“Why?” She licked a crumb from her lips and slowly moistened them with her tongue.
“You know why. You’re deliberately setting out to provoke me. That’s what you like to do, isn’t it? Provoke me? Trying to get that upper hand?”
“I think you had that last night, didn’t you?” Right now, sprawled back on his chair, Kyle looked like a whole lot of exciting challenge that she couldn’t wait to dive into. The words were flowing easily between them in this cheap room, the scent of coffee blending with that of their lovemaking. In comparison, her after-moments with Mark were cold and businesslike, a quick discussion of their daily to-do lists, each hurrying to dress, to get on with their business day, or running to the gym.
Deep inside her, Rachel knew that if she had been engaged to Kyle when the attack had occurred, he would have treated her gently, waiting until she wanted to make love—Kyle would have comforted her and would have kept her safe…. Rachel pushed away the ugly scenes that had occurred with Mark, a man who actually cared nothing for her—she’d been his vehicle to executive success, a utensil to provide the image he needed, nothing more.
Kyle sipped his coffee, cradled the mug in his hand, and tilted his head back against the wall. His eyes closed and Rachel sensed that he was going into himself, struggling to find the words apart from their banter. Then he spoke quietly, “Her name is Katrina…named after your mother. I helped bring her into the world, and back then, Mallory wasn’t taking drugs, drinking or smoking, not while she was pregnant. Katrina Rachel was a perfect seven-pound, one-ounce pink, beautiful baby. She’s nine years old now, and I see Mallory’s gentle heart in her.”
Rachel’s throat tightened and she set the plate back onto the tray. Mallory’s daughter, Katrina… “Who was the father?”
“John Jr. is now. He and Nola took care of Mallory for five months until Katrina was born. She’s legally theirs now. Then Mallory went back and opened Nine Balls.”
Kyle stood up abruptly, his hands rubbing his face as though to erase the past. “She was afraid for this baby, wanting to leave something of herself, I guess. She took a savage beating at four months, because whoever was doing her really lost it. But the baby wasn’t injured.”
Rachel thought back through the years…. “I was so busy with my own career then, but Mom said that Mallory had taken off those five months, wanting to find herself. She’d mailed postcards periodically—”
“I saw that they were mailed from different places.”
Kyle’s rage pounded at the room as he started to pace back and forth, the muscles of his arms tight as he slammed one fist into his palm. “If I ever find out who that bastard was, I’m going to—”
His vivid rage rocked the room and Rachel held her breath, uncertain how to help him, how to understand. But she wasn’t afraid, because she sensed that Kyle had held his anger for years, letting only her inside. “We’re going to find him, Kyle. I promise.”
He turned on her, his expression fierce. “Don’t you think I’ve tried? For years, I did what I could, trying to protect her, but Mallory made her own choices when it came to the men she knew. But this one…this one, the one who caused her to make the doll—”
“I said, we’ll find him.” Cold, hard fury gripped Rachel as she wrapped the sheet around her body. On her feet now, she walked past Kyle on her way to the bathroom.
He caught her arm. “How do you know that?”
“Because I’m good,” she stated flatly, leveling a hard, determined look at him.
The lines beside his eyes crinkled briefly. “You are, huh?”
“Damn good. And I think he’s still around. He’s the jerk who’s calling and hanging up on me. He wants me out of Nine Balls, and I’m not leaving—”
Kyle leaned down, his expression fierce again, his other hand locking onto her, turning her fully to him. “I saw Mallory go down that road.”
“I’m not her.” Rachel tried to stop the tears burning her eyes. “Oh, Kyle. Ten years ago, when Mallory needed me most, I was just starting my career. I was so determined to succeed that I didn’t see what was happening to her—”
Kyle cupped the back of her head and pressed her face to his throat. “Don’t. I don’t know why Mallory didn’t choose to just move away. She’d had enough about three years ago and I was going to help her get a new start. She was going to set up a place, get a good job, far away from Neptune’s Landing, and make a life for herself—”
Rachel’s arms locked around his shoulders. In the storm of their emotions, Kyle was big, strong, and safe, holding her tightly. “I think the man with Mallory on that tape, the one the doll represents, was using my family as blackmail. Three years ago, I was attacked in New York, in the park, coming home after a game of pool. I think it was the same man, and I was the way he kept her in line. He—”
Kyle caught her hair, drawing her head back. “He raped you?” he asked fiercely.
“No, but close to it. I think that doll worked.” Rachel laughed shakily. “He was impotent—”
“Three years ago…that’s when Mallory went to New York. It figures. She never traveled and all of a sudden she needs money to fly to you. She was terrified of flying, had to borrow luggage and was gone the next day.” Kyle picked up Rachel and moved to the bed, sitting with her on his lap, rocking her in the shady room, the bed creaking softly beneath their weight. “Mallory was the only one who knew, wasn’t she?”
Rachel nodded against his shoulder. “The only one. I didn’t want Mom or Jada worrying about me. Jada had just gotten married and Mom was settling into her own life, her chicks all grown. I’m just putting everything together, the doll and tape, and what happened to me…and that’s my guess—he threatened her with me, the attack. I think they’re linked.”
Kyle drew her head back again, momentarily stopping her from drowning in guilt. “Got any ideas?”
“A few. He has brown hair—fine texture. We know that much. That shirt and button could belong to anyone.”
“You’ve been setting yourself up, haven’t you?”
“Maybe. I thought I’d branch out a bit. I’m giving a program on personnel development and human resources to the Neptune’s Landing Businessmen’s Association luncheon tomorrow. I should start back now.”
Kyle stood so quickly that she tumbled onto the bed. She scrambled to gather the sheet around her as he stood over her, legs braced apart, his hands on his hips. “The hell you are.”
Rachel slid her legs over the side of the bed, preparing to stand up and Kyle clamped a hand on her shoulder and pushed her down. “Sit.”
“I don’t think I like your tone. I’ve never liked orders, Kyle.”
“Too bad. You’re going to see Katrina, aren’t you?”
“It’s only logical that I would want to see a piece of Mallory alive. I’m her aunt.”
He sh
ook his head. “Don’t do it, Rachel. Katrina is safe and in the home that Mallory had always dreamed of for herself. Katrina is happy and so are John and Nola. You want to know why Mallory never came to see her daughter, why she burned the pictures of Katrina that I brought to her? Because she didn’t want anything touching her beautiful daughter that wasn’t good—and she wasn’t good. Mallory gave me that four hundred a month because she was proud that she was able to put it into Katrina’s support and college account—so she could be smart and independent like you.”
Those words hit Rachel like a blow—she leaned back against the headboard and absorbed what Kyle had said. “And she was afraid he’d find out about Katrina—Katrina,” she repeated, tasting the name on her lips, Mallory’s daughter….
“I would have done it—put away money for Katrina. There’s just something about bringing a baby into the world—in the back seat of an Edsel—that you don’t forget. I might never have kids of my own, but Katrina comes close to that. She calls me Uncle Kyle,” Kyle said more softly as he sat on the edge of the bed. “Mallory didn’t want me to build an account for Katrina—she wanted to do it, giving her daughter something. That monthly payment was on time and in full, no matter how much she had to scrimp. She was proud of that…. That was the agreement with Nola and John, that Mallory would help with Katrina’s expenses, anonymously.”
Rachel sat for a moment, pulling her thoughts together. Then she poured another cup of coffee and sipped it leisurely as Kyle lay down beside her, his hand stroking her bare leg. “Don’t do that talk, Rachel,” he said quietly.
“I’m scheduled. It’s good for business if I want the upscale crowd to come back to Nine Balls.”
“You’re hunting, not promoting a pool hall.”
“I’m not arguing over this, Kyle. A. I’m going to find this guy and make him pay, and then…then, B. I’m going to meet my niece.”
Kyle took the coffee mug from her and placed it on the tray. He tugged Rachel beneath him, and looking down at her, toying with her hair, he asked, “You expect me to stand by and watch you get hurt, too?”
“No, I expect you to help me.”
The telephone rang beside the bed and Kyle reached to retrieve it. “This better be an emergency.”
He stilled, his body tense as he slowly eased up and away from Rachel. She sat up beside him, putting her arm around him. From Kyle’s grim expression, she knew that something had happened…. “What’s wrong?”
But Kyle was intent on dialing. “Margie? Do you know who that was—the call you just put through?”
He nodded briefly and replaced the telephone. “Well, honey. It looks like someone knows where you are. And now he knows you’re with me.”
“I didn’t tell anyone where I would be staying—I didn’t know.”
“You used a credit card. Margie already put the charge through when I asked her to cancel it this morning. He’s probably tapped into your accounts.”
“Then I’d better get started—”
“Oh, no, you’re not.”
Kyle recognized Rachel’s look, those eyes dark with anger, the tilt of her head, that stubborn set of her jaw. It was just his luck to be half in love with this hardheaded woman, whose single-minded determination could just kill her—and maybe endanger others.
He didn’t want to point out that she could have endangered Mallory’s daughter. He needed time to access Margie’s telephone records, to question her and to try to identify the caller—and Rachel was impatient and determined, a reckless volatile commodity all wrapped up in one curved, feminine package that he couldn’t keep his hands from touching.
Kyle smiled and forced himself to back up from a head-on confrontation with Rachel—it would only lock her more into a dangerous position. “Look, honey. Why don’t we talk about this? Take some time and—”
Rachel shoved past him and on her way to the bathroom, she said, “I’m not wasting any more time with this. Apparently I’ve gotten to this guy, enough for him to trace me, and I’m going to push his buttons until he comes out of the woodwork.”
The bathroom door lock clicked, echoing loudly in the room.
Kyle looked up at the ceiling and shook his head. With a sigh, he stood, walked to the door, tested it, and then put his shoulder to it until the lock broke. He’d fix it later, but right now, he focused on the naked furious woman facing him. “Get out.”
“This is not good for my ego, honey. I’d like to think we had somewhat of a relationship now. You know, one of those give and take things. Yin and yang. Let’s talk this over and come up with a plan.” Kyle decided that he was being very logical and patient, while Rachel wasn’t. “Let’s get married. Now. That will give me some rights and make it easy to keep track of you.”
“You think I need someone keeping track of me? You think that little old me can’t take care of myself? Out!”
Kyle folded his arms across his chest and leaned his shoulder against the doorframe. “This isn’t going well, dear. I’m only saying that you jump into this thing too soon and you could get hurt.”
And your mother, and Jada, and Katrina…
“Don’t worry about me, dear. Just stay out of my way.”
Kyle’s forced patience was slipping, but he smiled anyway. “You could screw this up.”
“I won’t.”
Then he did something he’d promised that he wouldn’t—reached for Rachel, held that squirming naked curved softness against him and kissed her hard. It was a possessive kiss and one that rocked the tiny bathroom, that shot down his body and bolted it into rock-hard need. He needed to be locked with her, to feel her as a part of him, keeping her safe, all emotions mixed with his sexual need of her—whatever happened between them when they made love, that fierce truth, male and female.
In the recesses of his mind, Kyle knew that taking her now was the rawest, least civilized action he could have taken—but somehow that didn’t matter as heat poured out of her and she dug in to hold him, those hungry noises deep in her throat curling around him, her hands busy with his jeans, stroking him over the denim.
He was rough and disliked himself for the savageness of the taking, pushing down his jeans and shorts, pushing himself up into Rachel’s damp, hot body. She moved against him, pushing him to the limits and Kyle lost himself in a haze of passion, aware of her nails digging into his back, clawing at him as they drove higher.
At the summit, Rachel stared blankly into his eyes, her body clenching his as he came, pounding into her—
Even as he calmed, Kyle was furious with himself for losing control, for handling her roughly, quickly. “I didn’t use—”
“I know.” When he withdrew, Rachel was leaning against him, her hands locked to his shoulders.
He glanced in the mirror to find them—her naked and flushed, the curve of her breast showing against his dirty shirt, his shorts just below his butt. Her look at him was perceptive. “You’re worrying, aren’t you?”
“I’ve never taken a woman like this. Yes, I’m worrying. I was rough and you could get pregnant. That would make me no better than—”
Her fingertip rested on his lips, stopping him. “I’m not complaining.”
He looked down to the red marks of his hand on her pale bottom. He released her and stepped back. “Dammit, Rachel. You’re going to have bruises. I didn’t mean to—”
“I did.” That edgy, cocky look was back; Rachel was flushed and smiling up at him as she moved up close and personal. She ran her hands over his chest, then slid them up under the T-shirt, rummaging in the hair there, tugging at it gently. “Stop complaining.”
Kyle let himself touch her, trying to replace his earlier raw hunger. He smoothed her back and up her sides, then his thumbs caressed her outer breasts. “So did I make enough points to settle this? You’ll cancel that program and stop pushing so hard? You’ll marry me first thing—”
She frowned slightly and the fences were up. “What is this marrying-thing with you? We’re nowhe
re near that point.”
He looked down their bodies, where hers flowed softly into his. “I am.”
“Let’s stay on the subject here. You offered to marry Mallory—”
“Because she was pregnant and I wanted to take care of her. Later, when she was in such bad shape, I wanted to marry her to take guardianship, to dry her out—”
“But dear, I can take care of myself,” Rachel stated too patiently.
“This whole relationship-whatever, is going to be one of arguing, isn’t it?” he asked warily.
She patted his bare butt. “Only if you don’t see things my way, chum.”
“Dammit, Rachel—”
Then she turned and bent to adjust the shower’s faucets and Kyle stopped thinking….
Fourteen
“RACHEL…I’M SO GLAD THAT YOU CALLED,” SHANE Templeton said as he opened the door of his home and extended his hand to her. He slowly took in her tight red sweater, tighter short skirt and high strappy heels; his eyes glittered momentarily before his reserved smile concealed that brief lust.
She’d dressed to kill, to see how Shane responded to the flashy, sexy clothes that Mallory had preferred. From his quick hungry look down Rachel’s body, she’d definitely scored a hit. If he was the man who had hurt Mallory, Rachel would soon know.
“Nine o’clock is much too late for a call, but my hours start and end late, I’m afraid. I thought you would want to have this back, the picture you gave Mallory.” If Shane were the anonymous caller, Rachel wanted to push him into a corner and tear him apart. After a furious argument with Kyle that morning—he’d wanted her to back off until he could warn the Scanlons and come to protect her—irritating one more male wouldn’t matter.
She let Shane take the framed picture and draw her into his home. The exterior of the home the church had provided for Shane looked like a warm cottage, set amid well-tended shrubs and trees, with a winding stone walkway to the front door. Inside, it was as neat and sterile as Jada had described, but the colors were heavy with browns and maroons, just as Mallory’s apartment had been, and the temperature seemed too warm. As Rachel looked around the room, Shane closed the door; in his white dress shirt and black slacks, he stood too close and towered over her. Shane was freshly shaven, scented of soap and aftershave, his fine brown hair neatly combed—Was that his hair on Mallory’s voodoo doll?