by Sheryl Lynn
“You can always use the computer in my office.”
“We need to go someplace where no one will interrupt. Or object to what we’re doing.” She meant Max, but let it sound as if they hid out from the FBI.
“I don’t know if you should be interfering.” Janine shrugged. “But anything to help.” She walked down the hall to her office.
Armed with a laptop computer and a telephone cord McKennon and Frankie went upstairs to his room. While he set up the computer she wandered the room. It had a bath, a bed and a desk, no frills.
Now hot, she peeled off her coat. The room felt stuffy and too small. Only distance from McKennon’s compelling charm could save her from herself. She sat on the end of the bed and fingered the faded floral pattern on the bedspread. She caught herself sniffing, seeking his scent.
“Will this work?” she asked.
As if in reply the signature squeal of a modem making a connection to an answering computer blared out of the laptop’s tiny speaker. He typed rapidly. A menu filled the computer’s flat screen.
“Max keeps all of Belinda’s records on his computers?”
“I hope so. Here we go.”
Warmth encircled her heart. McKennon took a huge risk. She knew Max routinely audited his computerized files and examined them for access. He liked to know who was snooping around where and for what reason. He’d know, eventually, that McKennon had looked at the files despite having lost authorization.
“Is my file still in there?” She scooted across the bed so she could see the screen better.
He typed in commands. Despite the size of his hands, his fingers were agile and swift on the compact keyboard. The screen changed. “Here you are.” He whistled softly. “Graphology pays well.”
“Hmph. I think he was paying me to sleep with the boss.” Wishing she hadn’t said that, she clamped her mouth shut. To his credit, McKennon declined comment. “What does he say about my leaving?”
He scrolled through the lengthy file. “It says here you gave two weeks’ notice, received severance pay, and your health insurance remained active for three months.” He arched an eyebrow. “There’s a letter of recommendation attached. According to the log it’s been sent out to three companies.”
She rose to read over his shoulder. The letter of recommendation practically glowed with her praises. Words like, “best in her field” and “conscientious” leaped off the screen.
Not a single word about how she’d stormed out after Max had dumped her. Or how two security guards had overseen her clearing her desk. Or how she’d given Julius a punch in the nose and ended up being escorted out of the building with a security guard on each arm. She recognized the names of the companies to whom letters of recommendation had been sent. It astonished her. She’d been honest on her résumé, but she’d always assumed Max had done nothing more than confirm her employment.
“I wonder how many other employees he’s lied about.”
McKennon laughed. “You’re a cynic.”
“I’ve got plenty to be cynical about.” She returned to the bed. The file troubled her. She’d assumed Max hated her. The file said otherwise. Perhaps he’d put a good spin on it to prevent her from suing him for wrongful discharge or sexual harassment.
He typed new commands. The screen changed again. “Remember Robert Marshall?”
“Bobby? Sure. He couldn’t stay awake.”
“Which is exactly what it says here. No letter of recommendation. Just a memo saying he worked for Max.” He scrolled up and down through the file.
“So who else is Max sleeping with? Other than his wife, that is?”
“Not relevant,” he said dryly.
“How do you know? Maybe some woman is tired of him jerking her around.”
“I doubt it very much.”
“Why not? Deputy Downes said one set of tracks belonged to a woman.”
“He said maybe. Besides, women don’t mastermind kidnappings.”
“They aren’t smart enough? Evil enough? You’re saying a woman has never kidnapped anybody, ever?”
“Historically men are the force behind kidnappings. Women may be involved as accomplices, but rarely instigate the crime.”
Having read much of the same research and trade journals as he, she sniffed. “Kidnapping for ransom isn’t entirely a crime of greed. It can also be revenge.”
“True. But why a revenge that doesn’t hurt Caulfield? It isn’t his son who’s dead, his daughter-in-law who’s missing, or his money paying the ransom.” He turned on the chair so he could see her. “Besides, this is not a crime of passion.”
She remembered too well how she’d felt after Max dumped her. She’d been so hurt and so angry she’d obsessed about getting even. Dark, nasty fantasies had plagued her—vandalize Max’s car or house; confront Belinda with every detail of their love affair; fake a pregnancy just to see him sweat. No matter how wild or twisted the fantasy, all of them involved somehow seeing his reaction to whatever she’d done. She’d wanted to hit him where it hurt the most.
“You absolutely will not consider Max the prime suspect?”
“Not until we find evidence that says otherwise.” He returned his attention to the screen.
Muttering about his stubbornness—and receiving no reaction—she watched him scroll through files. On occasion he jotted notes on a sheet of Elk River stationery. His dogged work took her back to the good old days. Max’s corporation office had an open floor plan, with private conference rooms for meeting with clients, but all the employee desks had been in one large room. McKennon’s desk hadn’t been far from hers. What fun it had been to fantasize about the real man beneath the dark, formal suits.
“Hmm.”
Frankie perked up. “What did you find?”
“Mrs. Caulfield’s driver was hired eleven months ago. I can’t find a file on the person he replaced.”
“Really? Do you have access to archived files?”
The keyboard clicking softly with the speed of his typed commands. “Let me check under another directory.”
“Do you know the other driver?”
“Before my time.” He loosed a frustrated noise.
“What’s the matter?”
“Not on file. The only former employees in the database are those fired or replaced since Mr. Caulfield came on board. Which is two.”
Frankie chewed her lower lip. “Is Belinda hard on employees? I bet she’s hell to work for.”
“She’s neurotic and demanding, but she doesn’t keep what she wants a secret. No head games or inconsistencies. Most of her people have been with her for years.”
“What about the two employees who quit?”
“No leads there. One was the cook’s nephew who worked the summer until he left for college. Another was a groundskeeper who retired. The only way to research her former employees would be to get into her hard-copy files.”
She flopped back with her arms outspread, staring at the ceiling. “I bet Belinda did it,” she muttered.
J.T. pushed away from the desk and swiveled on the chair to face her. Stretched out, with those long legs dangling over the bed, her sweatshirt hiked to reveal a few inches of creamy, smooth belly, she looked impossibly tall and incredibly beautiful. He scowled at the direction of his thoughts. Getting involved with her could only hurt both of them—in more ways than one.
Except, damn it, he wanted involvement. Her presence shook up his world. He felt his loneliness. He ached for a woman’s touch—for Frankie’s touch.
“First rule for a sleuth,” he said. “Settle on a lead and follow it. When that fizzles then go on to the next. Don’t keep bouncing around.”
She lifted her head enough to glare at him. She hooked her hands behind her neck in an I’m-not-listening-to-you-and-you-can’t-make-me posture. Stubborn. His hands itched to hold her.
“Then, who do you think is behind it?”
“I don’t have enough information.” He lifted a shoulder. “But I haven’t eliminated anybody, e
ither.”
“You’re trying to drive me crazy.”
“Why would I do that?” He wished she’d stop looking so beautiful, so fiery yet vulnerable. Kissing her was an act of madness. Holding her flayed his reserve and tattered the edges of his self-control. He wanted more than a mere kiss.
Her eyes narrowed and now burned with a speculative light. “You think it’s Max, too, don’t you? Only you won’t tell me because you think I’ll do something stupid. Is that it?”
He noticed her eyes were different colors. Her right eye was bluer than the left. A subtle difference, but intriguing.
She propped herself on her elbows. The sweatshirt molded around her breasts. “You’re protecting me from myself.”
At the moment she needed protection from him. An ache formed in his hands and spread to his wrists and forearms and shoulders. Her knees were inches from his. He could touch them if he chose. Touch those long legs. Lift her sweatshirt and examine her soft belly.
Her glare faded. Her mouth softened. “Why are you staring at me?”
Years of martial arts training had taught him discipline and self-control. He could count on one hand the number of times in the past twenty years in which he’d lost his temper. He controlled his appetite, his body language and his speech. He took great pride in his high tolerance for cold, heat and pain. He had little respect for men who couldn’t control their impulses and animal desires. His mind was the master, and his body was the tool.
Frankie’s warmth carried the scent of soap and female to his nose. A stirring in his groin pulsated echoes throughout his entire body.
She pushed upright and drew her head aside. Thick eyelashes lowered, and he was undone. “Say something,” she whispered.
Her throaty words rippled through his soul. He struggled for control, but felt himself losing. “You better leave.”
She picked idly at the bedspread. She peeked from the corner of her eyes. His chest filled with hot wax, and blood pulsed against his ears. She shifted on the bed. Her knee brushed his and electric sparks leaped up his leg.
“Why?” she asked.
“I’m about to do something stupid.”
She walked her fingers over his kneecap. “How stupid?”
He captured her hand within his own and felt the fineness of her bones. A great, aching tenderness filled him. The tip of her tongue appeared and she licked her lips, catlike and alluring. Compelled by forces more powerful than himself, he leaned closer to her beautiful mouth, her fascinating mouth, the mouth he’d been fantasizing about ever since he met her. She canted her head ever so slightly and met him halfway.
He was lost.
She broke the kiss abruptly and placed both hands against his chest. “You and I together are pretty stupid.”
His back muscles tensed and bunched. It took every ounce of self-control he possessed to keep from pouncing on her and squashing her into the mattress beneath him. “Probably.”
“I mean...” She lifted a hand as hesitantly as a shy bird and touched one finger to his cheek. “A guy like you can have any woman you want. A nice woman. Cute. Cuddly. Sweet.” She looked away. “Pretty.”
“You’re beautiful.”
Her eyelids quivered, and her lips parted. A breathy sigh escaped her exquisite lips.
“You’re driving me crazy. I want you too much.” He shifted on the hard chair, but his jeans seemed to have shrunk a few sizes. “Now is not the right time.”
She swallowed hard. “You’re right This is crazy. I—I better go.” She lunged to her feet.
A roar of protest built in his chest, and he jumped off the chair. The chair tipped and struck the desk with a clunk. He wrapped an arm around her waist and hugged her close. He was hard and wanting, burning for her. “Don’t go.”
“But you said—”
“We aren’t stupid together. You’re perfect, wonderful. The timing is bad right now, that’s all.” Let her go, his rational mind commanded, but it was a weak and faraway command.
“You said—”
“I don’t know what I’m saying. I look at you and...” At a loss for words, he kissed her instead. Soft lips, warm and moist and when they parted, offering entry for his questing tongue, he groaned deep in his chest. He wanted to ravish her mouth; restraint pained him. He kissed her slowly, deeply, treasuring the silky thrusts of her tongue and the freshness of her taste and her sensuous scent swirling through his brain.
When they broke the kiss, he stood rigidly, holding her, aching for her. Eyes closed he slid his tongue over his lips and savored the sweet lingering taste of her.
“McKennon?”
He opened his eyes.
“I...need you. Even if it is crazy. Or stupid.”
Logic made one final grasp at control. “We better not. I don’t have any protection.”
“I’ve got that covered. Honest.” Frankie hurt as if something inside had broken. It hurt to breathe. The glorious sight of him pained her eyes. Only he could repair her. She curled her fingers into his soft flannel shirt. This was crazy, and it was stupid, and the timing was awful, but she couldn’t leave. An earthquake rending the room asunder and lightning strikes and a howling tornado could not have torn her from his arms.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
His deep voice, the Southern accent now pronounced and incredibly sexy, was sweet agony against her ears. “Positive.”
He guided her down onto the bed. The soft mattress embraced her, enfolded her. She felt his heart pounding against her breast. His kisses against her mouth, chin, cheeks and eyelids inflamed her. She kissed him feverishly in return.
He nibbled her earlobe. “I’m going nuts.”
So was she. She tugged his shirt free and roamed her hands freely ever his back. Taut muscles delighted her. She explored his ribs and shoulder blades and spine. He lifted his head enough for her to see his eyes. Those smoky green depths shone with desire and heat and glorious madness.
“The room is too hot,” she gasped.
He needed no other invitation. With excruciating deliberation he tugged off her boots and socks then touched the button on her jeans. He paused, watching her face. His knuckles seared her belly. She began unbuttoning his shirt. His smile melted her joints, and she fumbled with the buttons as if she’d never accomplished such a simple action before. He showed far more expertise in unbuttoning and unzipping her jeans. He pushed and pulled the heavy denim off her hips and legs.
“You have incredible legs.” He lifted her right leg and kissed her behind the knee.
A firestorm of sensation shot up her leg. She gasped and wriggled.
“Like? Don’t like?” he asked politely.
A moan bubbled in her throat. She liked it very much. He kissed her inner thigh. And again. He kissed her leg thoroughly, taking his time, rendering her incoherent with desire. When he touched his mouth to her silk panties, she cried out and grabbed his hair with both hands.
Drowning in joyous sensuality, she squirmed as his kisses traveled her belly then up and around the arch of her rib cage. Impatiently she jerked her sweatshirt over her head. He deftly slipped a hand beneath her back and unhooked her bra.
“You’ve been practicing,” she said.
“Uh-uh. It’s like riding a bike. Never forget.” His pupils had swelled so only a thin ring of green showed. On his knees, straddling her belly, he cupped her breasts in his hands.
“You’re killing me.” She was so wet and hot and turgid she knew she was going to explode. “Get naked.”
He grinned wickedly. “Say please.”
She cupped her hand boldly over his crotch and squeezed his erection. He jerked.
“You say please.”
He disrobed in record time. She couldn’t look enough to satisfy her greedy soul. The chiseled lines of his shoulders and chest. The dark patches of hair on his chest and the way it narrowed down his belly and widened in his groin. Hungry and needy and in no mood for teasing games, she pulled him to her, frantic in h
er efforts to touch him everywhere at once.
And his hands. Those big hands so clever and tender and strong, aroused nerves she didn’t know she possessed. She entwined her legs with his, thrusting against him, wanting him within. When he did come within, the fire was so intense it stole her breath.
She didn’t need air. She didn’t need anything except him, moving faster, lost in the rhythm, lost in the fire.
“Got...to...slow...”
“No!” she cried, holding him tighter, wanting to draw him in deeper, harder. She bucked against him, urging him to greater speed.
Release came in shattering waves. She cried out, but barely recognized herself. She caught his hair in both hands, riding the crest.
“Frankie.” He thrust so deeply he moved her across the mattress and he trembled and every muscle in his body went taut against her body. A long, shuddering sigh whispered against her ear and aftershocks gripped her limbs, stripping her of strength and any desire or ability to move.
She stroked both hands down his back, feeling his sweat and filled with a fierce, prideful pleasure in knowing what she’d done to him. He breathed hard.
He shifted as if to leave her, but she held him tighter, loath to release him. She wanted him close. She wanted this feeling of being cherished and safe and warm.
To hell with the world.
Chapter Nine
Cradled in McKennon’s arms, Frankie stared into the darkness. She didn’t worry that she’d overslept because at some time in the night he’d shut off the computer and set the alarm clock. Pleasant achiness suffused her limbs. Her thighs tingled with sexy soreness.
McKennon put off tremendous body heat. Sweat prickled her breasts where his arm lay. His even breathing soothed her. She wanted to awaken him for another bout, but laziness held her still.
The man sure knew how to make love.
Love... She frowned, uncomfortable with the notion of falling in love. She thought she’d loved Max, but look where that had landed her. It’s lust, she told herself. A culmination of all the fantasies she’d woven.
Actually being with him was better than any fantasy. For all his size and strength he was so tender he’d nearly reduced her to tears. When he touched her and kissed her, he showed no sign of cool reserve or detachment. She’d never in her life felt so completely present in the moment. So completely merged with another human being. With him she found peace.