Operation: Reunited

by Linda O. Johnston

  “I will explain them,” Ed said, taking her by the arm and leading her toward the front door, where the other guests were gathered.

  “Time to go, Alexa,” Vane said. “Sorry you won’t be with us, John,” he said to Cole. “We’re going to have a great time. Aren’t we, sweetheart?” He nudged Alexa, whose hand he held. Her left hand. The one on which she wore her engagement ring.

  “Absolutely,” she said. She sounded as if she meant it this time. But something in her look made him wonder what she was really thinking.

  Nothing he would like, Cole was certain. But he still felt a pang of being left out, as he watched Alexa and Vane usher their guests into two nearly matching SUVs. Minos was with them, and he got into the driver’s seat of one. Surprisingly, Alexa joined him. Vane got into the second vehicle.

  Once, they had toured Venice Beach together—Alexa, Vane and him. Several times, they had shopped along the Third Street Promenade in Santa Monica. They had been inseparable.

  Sure, he and Vane had had a job to do. Or at least Cole had. But he had been happier than he’d ever been before, and, certainly, since.

  He watched as the two vehicles drove away, feeling strangely, sadly alone.

  But he was always alone. He had to work alone. And his nostalgia for these two people and what had been…

  Remember who they are. What they did.

  They had betrayed him. They had been responsible for the explosion that had nearly killed him.

  And if he really wanted to make sure he retained only ill feelings toward them, he only had to remember the worst of all.

  The two of them were terrorists. And they were responsible for the murder of his father.

  Chapter Five

  Cole could have used the precious pocket of time alone at the inn to hack into the computer at the reception desk. But the computer was out in the open and therefore vulnerable. That suggested that nothing interesting was likely to be stored in it.

  In fact, he figured that the likelihood of his finding anything useful anywhere accessible at the inn was slim, if not nil. Otherwise, why would they have left him alone here?

  He had been using his cover as a home improvements salesman to good advantage, acting as if he were drumming up business by scouting out repairs and upgrades that needed to be done. Instead, he’d been looking for security devices such as hidden cameras. He’d found none.

  He had, however, located bugging devices in nearly all the phones, including the one in his room. That didn’t matter, since he had no intention of making any classified calls from here.

  He also figured that there was a chance that Vane’s arrogance would allow him to believe his plan so infallible that whether someone infiltrated his domain and gathered information didn’t matter. Consequently, Cole had to at least check out every inch of the inn he could, particularly those areas occupied by his primary suspects.

  He started with her room. Alexa’s.

  The lock was easy to pick. An amateur could have done it. And Cole was no amateur.

  Standing on the floral area rug that covered the center of the polished cherry-wood floor, he looked around.

  Her quarters were not much larger than his guest room, but the furnishings were not so impersonal. Her bed was made of plain, planked pine, swathed in a hand-sewn quilt in an intricate braid pattern. The matching rocker’s flounced seat cover picked up the same colors of pink, white and navy.

  On the wall were framed wildlife photographs, probably taken around this area: a bald eagle, perched majestically at the top of a white fir. A raccoon, washing its meal at the lakeshore.

  Her simple taste hadn’t changed. He had found it enchanting, once. He had found everything about her enchanting.

  He still did….

  No. Sure, she was still lovely. Appealing. Sexier than a centerfold. But he had to keep remembering exactly who, and what, she was…. Rather than remembering her vaguely citrus scent. It hadn’t changed either. It hung in the air—

  Damn! He was out of control.

  Cole exhaled slowly, gathering his resolve. He frowned, looking around. He walked deliberately to her pine desk. Atop it was a computer, which he turned on. Before checking its files, he rummaged through her drawers. Maybe here he would find some answers.

  But he suspected his search would lead him only to more questions.

  “Explain it all, Alexa,” he growled softly. No one would hear in the empty inn even if he yelled, but he was, after all, involved in a covert investigation. And being surreptitious was a hard habit to break.

  He found nothing useful in Alexa’s precisely organized drawers, not even any bookwork for the inn. Maybe it was all on the computer.

  He anticipated a password to get into its folders. None was requested.

  Discovering some of the B & B’s financial records in a spreadsheet file, he scanned them. Nothing untoward there…except that no records were more recent than five months ago. The inn had been doing well then. Alexa and Vane had, it seemed, scrupulously shared the net proceeds.

  Where were the records for the past few months?

  He shut down the computer and headed once more for the hall, locking her door behind him.

  He’d found it curious that Alexa and Vane did not share a bedroom. When Alexa and he had been all but engaged, they had spent every possible night together. Here she was, pledged to marry the man she’d conspired with for years. She lived under the same roof with him, but not in the same room.

  Why?

  “Why, indeed?” he whispered into the stillness of the knotty-pine paneled upstairs hallway. He wasn’t here to learn about their love life. He wasn’t even here to investigate what had happened two years ago, except as it related to today’s plot.

  If he could prove that his onetime friend and his onetime lover had conspired to kill his father, to kill him, so much the better. But that was insignificant in today’s larger picture.

  For there was something going on with much wider repercussions. Two years ago, there had been similar “guests” in Kenner Hotels all over the country. As now, rumors had begun circulating in the intelligence community that the “guests” were terrorist agents skilled with explosives and about to be planted underground in strategic locations throughout the U.S. Cole and Vane had gone there to investigate…or at least Cole had.

  He hadn’t counted on falling in love with the owners’ daughter. But he had been so sure she was naively unaware of what was going on.

  He’d been the naive one.

  The only light in the hallway now came through the sliding glass door at its end—the door to the balcony overlooking the lake, where he had stood with Alexa last evening. Where he had wanted to take her into his arms and kiss her until her head spun, until she begged him to take her inside and make fiery love with her all night long….

  The balcony where Vane had appeared.

  Ignoring the way his gut constricted, Cole studied his surroundings. There were numbers on some of the doors: the guest bedrooms. One day, he would go through each of their belongings. But not today. Today he would get into Vane’s room, at the end of the hall; he had seen Vane emerge from it earlier.

  And then he would look for the room occupied by that ugly piece of crud, Minos.

  Vane’s door appeared more substantial than the others. And, of course, it was locked.

  Cole started to pick the lock. It was more complicated than Alexa’s. This was going to take time.

  He knelt and withdrew his lock-pick set from his side pocket. As he unrolled it, he heard a whisper of noise from downstairs.

  Someone was here. That someone didn’t want anyone to know it.

  That could be another explanation for why he had been left alone here. He hadn’t—at least not for long.

  Silently, swiftly, Cole slipped his instruments back into his pocket and edged down the hall to his room. He had left the door ajar. He had also used a commercial spray to ensure that its hinges did not squeak. He slipped inside and, quiet
ly, traded his lock-picking tools for his Beretta—in a shoulder holster beneath the blue denim jacket he hastily donned.

  Then, he went back into the hall.

  No one was there.

  His back against the wall, he crept along it to the stairway. He looked down. No one. He waited.

  No more sounds. But someone was there. He had heard it before. He felt it now.

  If he were here as Cole Rappaport, he would sneak down, surprise whoever it was. But without knowing the identity of the intruder, such secrecy was unwarranted. It was better that he not break his cover—for now.

  And in his openness, he would maintain the element of surprise. Who would suspect genial John O’Rourke of covert activity?

  “Hello?” he yelled into the silence of the stairwell. “Is anyone there?”

  Nothing. Cole began tromping downstairs, making noise.

  His hand steadied on the gun hilt beneath his jacket.

  He heard another noise. “Hello?” he called again.

  Still no answer. Cole ignored the unease running in arpeggios up and down his spine. He allowed his training to take over: Cool. Alert.

  Ready.

  He paused at the bottom of the stairs and listened again. His fingers flexed on his weapon, prepared to draw it—

  “Hello, Mr. O’Rourke.”

  He whirled.

  Minos Flaherty strode from the door to the kitchen, behind where the stairway rose. He stared evenly at Cole.

  “I thought you left with the tour group.” Cole managed a hearty John O’Rourke voice, even a John O’Rourke smile.

  Pretending to scratch an itch on his chest, he remained ready to draw his gun.

  “I went with them,” the man replied. “But I came back. I had other business to take care of…here.”

  Their eyes locked. Cole suddenly had the sense that he was Minos’s “other business.” And that it meant more than spying on him.

  Had his cover been blown?

  Cole crossed his arms nonchalantly, keeping his right hand poised over his gun. “Anything I can help you with?” he asked in his best salesman voice.

  Minos’s eyes narrowed without moving from Cole’s. Cole continued to smile, even as Minos’s hand began to move along his side, as if to find something hidden on him—

  “John!”

  Cole turned his head at the sound of his alter ego’s name. Jill Fuller stood just inside the inn’s front door.

  “What are you doing here?” Cole asked.

  She sashayed suggestively into the reception area. “I came back,” she said. “I knew you were here all alone, poor man, and—” Her brilliant smile sagged as her gaze lit on something over his shoulder. Someone. Minos.

  “I came because I do not feel good,” she muttered. The look she tossed at Minos was full of irritation.

  Cole, too, looked toward Minos. His expression was more enraged than irritated. Cole wondered if he should thank the flirtatious woman for the distraction.

  And he would definitely watch his butt more carefully from now on.

  TAKING THE GUESTS AROUND Skytop sightseeing had used up more time that day than Alexa had anticipated. She hadn’t wanted to go. Vane knew that, which was why he had insisted on it.

  After they reached Skytop Lake Village, she’d had to drive one of the cars, for Minos had disappeared. He was allowed to beg off. Alexa wasn’t. Another matter to add to her growing list of resentments about which she could do nothing but stew…for now.

  On her return, she had excused herself, telling Vane she had to get dinner ready. He could hardly argue with that. It was his guests she needed to feed.

  She had hurried to the kitchen. She didn’t take time to change clothes, but remained in her beige denim skirt and short-sleeved blouse, pausing to throw a frilled apron over them. Now, she leaned against her metal-topped center island, thinking.

  The menu she previously had decided on for dinner would take too long to prepare. Instead, she settled on a relatively simple meal: spinach salad plus a baked potato bar. As toppings for the potatoes, she would serve whipped garlic butter, tiny meatballs in a creamy Italian basil sauce, white sauce with capers, and crumbled feta cheese. Guests could take their pick.

  She had all the spices and other ingredients tucked away in pantry and refrigerator, for most were staples of her cooking.

  She washed the potatoes. Standing at the sink, she thought of John, who had helped with the dishes last night and again this morning after breakfast.

  He hadn’t gone sightseeing with them. Where was he now?

  Why did she care?

  She sighed. He wasn’t Cole. She knew that. He wasn’t at all like Cole, despite what she had thought at first—except for his sexiness. Who would have thought a salesman, especially one she’d just met, could play such havoc with her hormones?

  But more important, he did seem to be a very kind man. Someone who could be a friend.

  “I could use a friend,” she murmured.

  A bark sounded from the next room. Phantom frisked behind his gate, then barked again.

  “I know, I already have a friend,” she said laughingly. She wrapped the potatoes in foil, then popped them into the oven. They would bake as she prepared the rest.

  As she returned to the sink, she glanced out the window toward the lake. She drew in her breath. There was John, sitting cross-legged on the end of the dock, staring up toward the inn.

  His pose almost brought tears to Alexa’s eyes. Cole had liked to sit the same way. His back had been just as ramrod straight, and he had often gripped his ankles in the identical manner.

  The potatoes were cooking. Alexa could make time for a break, though she would need to bustle when she came back in.

  Without pondering the wisdom of what she was doing, she hung her apron on the hook beside the door, put Phantom on his leash and went outside. She didn’t return John’s wave, but hurried, with her pup, down the paved path toward the lake.

  She tied the excited Phantom on one of the dock’s posts, stepped out onto the planking, then halted.

  The late afternoon was gorgeous. The sky’s brilliant blue was reflected in the water, and so were the surrounding mountains and shoreline homes. The hum of motors broke the stillness, and a boat with a water-skier in tow traversed the middle of the lake.

  “Hi.” John greeted her, standing. He was dressed in tight jeans and a clinging T-shirt. Lord, the man managed to remind her of sex just by being here!

  “Hi,” she said, after clearing her throat. “Did you have fun exploring the lake today?”

  “Not as much as I would have liked. Mrs. Fuller came back. She wanted company.”

  If the shameless woman had been nearby, Alexa would probably have pulled her hair out, strand by strand by pretty, dark strand.

  Why did she feel so jealous? No matter what else Mrs. Fuller was, the woman was at least purporting to be married. Alexa was engaged. And even if she could extract herself—when she could extract herself—she had learned the hard way that involvement with a man, any man, wasn’t worth the pain.

  “I’m sure the two of you had fun,” Alexa said, forcing a sly smile. “Or at least Mrs. Fuller did.”

  “Are you implying that I’m easy, Ms. Kenner?” John’s tone pretended hurt. “You wound me.”

  “No,” she replied. “I’m not implying that you’re easy, only that Mrs. Fuller wishes you were.”

  “I think we both have Mrs. Fuller’s number.”

  Alexa joined him in laughter.

  “The thing is,” he continued, “I really do want to see the lake. Do you allow guests to borrow your boat?” He gestured toward the small motorboat tied alongside the dock.

  She would have. Vane didn’t.

  Of course, there was a solution…. “No, but I’d be glad to take you around the lake.”

  Damn! How could she be so impulsive? She opened her mouth to retract the invitation, but before she could, John stepped toward her. His expression radiated concern—and
his eyes bored into hers.

  Deep, dark, liquid-brown eyes. Smoldering eyes that seemed to see her worries, her fright, her loneliness.

  She froze, feeling her lower lip tremble. She bit down hard to stop it.

  “I’d like that, Alexa. But I don’t want to cause trouble for you.”

  “Trouble?” Her voice was an octave too high, and she pulled her gaze away from his.

  “I may be wrong, but it looks to me like your fiancé keeps you on a tight leash.”

  She chuckled grimly, then glanced back toward where she had left her pup. “Leashes are for beloved pets,” she said. “I’m hardly that.” She swallowed hard. She was beginning to reveal too much.

  “Alexa?”

  She swung back to face him, only to find that he had drawn even closer. Too close.

  Staring at him, she could see, through his snug white T-shirt, the outline of the tight muscles of his broad chest.

  She could reach out and grasp his hand. The hand of a would-be friend. The strong, substantial hand of a sensuous, too-attractive man.

  She was tempted to take her own step forward—right into his arms….

  What was she thinking? They were on the dock. In plain view of the neighbors. In plain view of the inn’s guests.

  Of Vane.

  She took several hasty steps backward. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, John, but I wish you’d stop.”

  “I can’t,” he said, so gently that she just had to look at him again.

  She saw sympathy in his expression, and something else. Determination? Resolve?

  Anger?

  “When will you take me on that boat tour?” he continued.

  Never, she thought. But her insubordinate mouth said, “As soon as I can get away.”

  “Without anyone knowing.” He nodded as if he understood the situation.

  How could he? “But—” she began.

  He held up his hand. “It’s okay. When the time comes, just let me know. I’ll be ready.”

  He edged past her on the dock, stooped to pat Phantom, then hurried up the walkway toward the inn.

  Alexa followed, but not right away. She had to catch her breath first.