He sucked in a ragged breath, wondering if she felt the sudden acceleration of his heartbeat.
She slid her hand up to curve around the back of his neck, leaning into him, soft and yielding. Her hair flowed across her shoulders in silken waves. She smelled faintly of coconut. “Kiss me,” she said.
“Pretty bossy, aren’t you?”
“Occupational hazard. Executives get used to giving orders.” She rubbed against his body with an agonizing friction. She was soft and warm, and he wanted her. The question was, did she want him?
“Shea?”
“Kiss me,” she whispered, and, dragging his mouth down to meet hers, took him, body and soul. An outsider would only have seen a kiss, but Teague knew better. She branded him hers with the searing touch of her lips, sealing his fate with the stroke of her tongue.
This is crazy, he thought. For all he knew, she could be a con woman after the Rainey fortune. But at the moment he didn’t care. Nothing mattered except the hot, sweet taste of her on his tongue, the heavy warmth of her lush curves filling his hands.
“It’s been so long,” he whispered, and felt her stiffen.
She jerked away. “Kirsten,” she said. “You thought I was Kirsten, didn’t you?”
“No, I—”
“You said ‘It’s been so long.”’
“I meant it’s been so long since I felt this way about anyone. Dammit, I think I’m falling in love with you, Shea.”
She studied his face in the fading light, a look of infinite sadness shadowing her eyes. “I wish I could believe that.”
“Believe it.”
Sighing, she slipped her shoes back on. “Let’s walk a little farther. I need to clear my head.”
So did he. Had he confused her with Kirsten? He didn’t think so, but he wasn’t one hundred percent sure. Shea evoked the same heady mixture of emotions, the same overwhelming desire. He couldn’t think straight when he was touching her, couldn’t think at all when he was kissing her.
They followed the shore for a hundred yards or more in silence. Teague was half afraid to say anything for fear of putting his foot in his mouth again.
Shea was the first to break the uncomfortable silence. “I’m curious about something.”
“What?”
“You really seem to care about Jack Rainey, but I don’t understand why. Seven years ago the man did everything in his power to turn his daughter against you. Yet now you’re friends. What happened? When did things change?”
“When Kirsten was kidnapped, Jack and I discovered we had a lot in common.” Guilt, he thought, but didn’t say. “I had a hard time dealing with her sudden disappearance. I blamed everyone—Kirsten, Jack, and, most of all, myself. I drank, hoping to forget.”
Her eyes looked huge. “You must have loved her … Kirsten … very much.”
Teague kicked a piece of driftwood out of his path. “Yes, I did.” Right up until the day of the fight. “But that’s no excuse for my behavior. I was out of control. Self-destructive.” He stopped. He wasn’t proud of that chapter of his life. He didn’t like thinking about it, let alone talking about it.
“We all handle grief in different ways,” she said softly.
Teague met her gaze. “But some ways are a hell of a lot more effective than others.” He laughed sourly. “One night I picked a fight with the wrong guy and got myself busted up pretty bad, got tossed in the drunk tank with a couple of winos. Jack bailed me out.” A faint smile tilted the corners of his mouth at the memory, though it hadn’t been very funny at the time. “He cussed me up one side and down the other, asked me was this the kind of man Kirsten would want to come home to?”
“So you straightened up?”
“Not right away, but that was the beginning. I don’t have any family. I figured nobody gave a rip what happened to me. Only, for some reason, Jack did. He kept after me to clean up my act, and eventually I did. I went back to school, earned a degree, started the landscaping business.”
“I see.” She glanced back toward the house. “You owe him.”
“Big time.” He nodded. “If Jack Rainey hadn’t pestered the bejeezers out of me, by now I’d probably be dead or rotting in prison.”
Shea examined his face carefully. “Kirsten’s been gone a long time. Haven’t you ever …I mean, is there anyone …”
“Anyone I’m interested in? Another woman, you mean? No,” he said. Not until you walked into my life. “How about you? Do you have someone special you care about, Shea?”
She lowered her lashes, hiding her eyes. “I dated a man last winter. A colleague. We had a lot in common, and for a while I thought it might lead somewhere, but …”
“But what?”
“He asked me to marry him.”
Teague tensed.
“I turned him down.”
“If you were so compatible, why?”
“No fireworks. Not even sparks.” She gave a gurgle of laughter, a deep throaty sound that sent a lightning bolt of desire zapping straight to his groin. “Pretty dumb, huh? Jason was rich, handsome, intelligent—in short, Mr. Perfect, and I turned him down because he didn’t give me goose bumps.”
“Shea?”
“Hmm?” She turned to face him, her hair swirling around her shoulders in a dark cloud.
He brushed a strand away from her cheek. “Do I give you goose bumps?”
She shivered slightly and shifted her gaze away from his. “I don’t know if it’s you or just the breeze off the lake. Maybe we should get moving.”
Teague didn’t argue. If she wasn’t ready, there was no point in pushing it.
They climbed a tumble of giant boulders, untidy debris left behind by the glacier that had gouged out Crescent Lake. The rocks formed an arm that jutted out into the lake to enclose the cove. “Watch your step,” Teague said, taking her arm.
The wind was stronger on the point than it had been in the protection of the cove. Shivering, Shea snuggled into his embrace.
The rocks of the point gave way to another, smaller cove, a tiny silvery arc of sand hemmed in by trees, huge old timbers that probably had been fully grown when Lewis and Clark first explored this part of the country.
Just beyond the cove on a rugged stretch of shoreline, where the trees yielded to slanting granite ledges, Shea felt the first tendrils of panic wrap themselves around her heart. “Did you hear something?” she asked Teague, surprised at how shaky she sounded.
“No.” He gave her a sharp look. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I guess.” She forced herself to proceed, though every instinct urged retreat. But as they approached the crevice, where a spring had cut a narrow channel through the rock, the nameless dread increased exponentially. She balked at the edge of the cleft, too terrified to move.
Teague glanced back at her. “Coming?”
She shook her head, gazing at him wide-eyed. “I can’t.”
“There’s nothing to be afraid of. Just step across. Here, let me help you.” Teague reached for her hand.
“No!” Shea backed away from the edge.
“Hey, it’s only about three feet deep. There’s no danger, Shea. Honest.”
She shook her head again. “I’m not worried about the crevice.” The source of her dread lay hidden on the other side of the stream, where the ledge dwindled to earth and the alders crowded claustrophobically close.
“Then what’s the problem?” He backtracked to where she stood.
“There’s something over there.” She pointed to the deep shadows behind him. “Something or someone. I can feel it.”
He inclined his head, as if he were listening. The silence was complete. “Probably just a porcupine.”
“Maybe,” she said, not believing it for a second.
Nearby, a twig broke with a sharp crack. The underbrush rustled a furtive warning.
Teague stiffened. “Beelzebub? Is that you, boy?”
More twigs snapped, even closer this time. Shea felt as if a hundred hostile ey
es were glaring at them from the shadows. “I don’t like this, Teague. Let’s go back,” she whispered. “Please.”
“I doubt it’s anything more sinister than a raccoon.”
“Please?”
His gaze held hers for an endless moment. Then he shrugged. “All right.”
Shea didn’t talk much on the trip back across the lake to Strawberry Point. She kept remembering the irrational fear she’d felt at the edge of the alder thicket. Had the danger been real? she wondered. Or another of Kirsten’s memories?
Teague glanced at his watch. “It’s early yet. Why don’t you come in for a cup of coffee?”
“I’m tired.” And confused. If she agreed to visit his apartment, that was like admitting she was interested in him. And okay, she was interested, but the problem was, she wasn’t sure who he was interested in—Shea McKenzie or Kirsten Rainey.
Teague pulled her into his arms, looking down into her face with such a tender, loving expression, she felt as if her heart were about to batter its way past her rib cage. “You don’t look tired to me. Please stay. Just for a few minutes.”
Don’t do it, warned her better judgment, but her better judgment couldn’t feel the warmth of his embrace or see the smoky promise in his eyes.
“Okay,” she agreed. “Just for a few minutes.”
He dropped a quick kiss on her forehead.
All of a sudden Shea’s legs felt wobbly. She was thankful for the support of his arm around her waist as he led her up the steep outside staircase. She leaned against the railing, gulping air, while he fought with the lock.
The tumblers clicked at last and he shouldered the door open, pulling her inside. “Hit the lights, would you?”
Shea fumbled along the wall until she found the switch. She flipped it, then gasped in surprise at the chaotic scene that met her eyes.
Teague swore nonstop for a full minute. “Sorry,” he apologized once he had himself under control.
“No problem.” She glanced around the room. “Either you’re the world’s messiest housekeeper or you’ve had a visit from the trash fairy.”
The room was a disaster. It looked as if a tornado had touched down inside, overturning furniture, ripping out drawers, and tumbling bookcases. The sugar and flour canisters spilled their contents over the counter and onto the floor, where they mingled with cornflakes and pasta. Some of the residue had been tracked across the wooden floor and ground into the colorful Chinese rug that defined the living area.
“What the hell were they looking for?” he demanded, surveying the ruin in disgust.
“Good question. Did you have any large sums of money on the premises?”
“No, though I see the TV and VCR are missing.”
“Yeah, but why pull out the drawers and dump the canisters if all they were after was electronic equipment? They must have been searching for something else.”
He shrugged his shoulders in a curiously helpless gesture. “But what? Drugs? Jewelry? A cache of guns? Who knows? All I can say for sure is that they didn’t find any thing worth spit. I keep my valuables in a safe-deposit box.”
Shea froze as another possibility occurred to her. “Could this be connected somehow with Kirsten?”
“What? You think a ghost trashed my apartment?”
“No, but maybe whoever’s responsible for her disappearance did. Maybe he thinks you have some evidence implicating him in her death.”
He shook his head. “Seems unlikely, but who knows? I guess we’ll have a better idea who’s responsible once we discover what’s missing. I’d better call the sheriff’s department and report this.”
He grabbed a dishtowel from a pile on the floor and used it to lift the telephone receiver from its cradle. He dialed by poking the buttons with the eraser end of a pencil. After explaining the situation in a few terse sentences, he hung up.
“They’re going to send someone right out to investigate,” he told her, “but I need to go into town to make a report.” His narrow-eyed gaze roved over the destruction, settling finally on her. “I want you to follow me to the sheriffs office in your car.”
Shea shifted her weight uneasily from one foot to the other. “You don’t need me. I’ll just be in the way. I think I’ll head back to the lodge.”
“No!” he all but shouted. In a quieter tone he said, “No. If you’re right about the Kirsten connection, whoever did this may have broken into your room too. They may still be there. I don’t want you going anywhere alone.”
His tone of voice made it clear there was no point in arguing with him. Not that Shea felt inclined to argue. The wanton destruction in his apartment made her feel sick to her stomach. The last thing she wanted right now was to be alone.
As she followed the glowing red of his taillights, her mind raced in circles. Even if someone suspected Teague had put her up to the Kirsten charade, why break into his apartment? What had they hoped to find? Proof linking the two of them? Something that showed she wasn’t Kirsten? Her head was aching with a dull throb by the time she pulled into the parking lot next to the Crescent County Sheriff’s Department.
She sat on a hard plastic chair opposite the main desk while Teague gave his statement. The room was chilly. She hugged herself, wishing she had worn a sweater.
What was taking Teague so long, anyway? She yawned. At this time of night, the place was virtually deserted. Since Teague and the deputy had disappeared into a warren of partitioned rooms, she’d seen only the dispatcher, a bulldog-faced woman who was glued to the switchboard. Since the first searching appraisal, the woman had steadfastly ignored her. Probably thinks I’m a hooker in this damn dress.
The minutes ticked slowly by. Shea shifted in her chair, trying to find a comfortable position. She yawned again. A cup of coffee might help.
“Is there a coffee machine around here?” she asked.
Either the dispatcher was ignoring her or the headset she was wearing interfered with her hearing.
Shea stood and stretched, then walked over to the desk and waited until the woman acknowledged her.
Bulldog removed her headpiece. “Yeah?”
“Is there a coffee—”
The front door burst open to admit a noisy crowd that eventually resolved itself into one harassed-looking deputy, an obstreperous drunk, a clean-cut Ivy League type, and a pale, weepy redhead who clung to Joe College like a cocklebur.
Of the four, Shea recognized only one. “Kevin?”
“Kirsten?”
“What are you doing here?” they asked in chorus.
“Son of a bitch blocked my Caddie, that’s what!” bellowed the drunk. “Young snots think they own the whole damn world.”
“We’ll take your statement in a minute, Mr. Walsh,” the deputy told him, then turned to Kevin. “Why don’t you and Miss Ames have a seat, Mr. Rainey? I’ll take your statements after Mr. Walsh has made his.”
“Damn right you will,” said the fuming drunk. “Ask the little punk what he was doing blocking my Caddie that way. Damn kids think they can do whatever the hell they want.”
The officer, his studied courtesy severely strained, ushered the loudmouthed Mr. Walsh toward one of the partitioned cubicles.
Shea raised her eyebrows. “What’s going on?”
Kevin glanced meaningfully at the dispatcher. “Let’s sit down and I’ll fill you in.”
Shea returned to her seat, and Kevin dragged a pair of chairs from the line against the wall, turning them to face Shea.
“I don’t like this, Kevin, and my parents aren’t going to like it, either.” The redhead looked as if she were about to burst into tears.
“Don’t worry, Chelsea. It’s going to be all right.”
“What happened?” Shea asked.
“It was awful!” Chelsea broke into noisy sobs.
Kevin calmed her down, then turned to Shea. “What brings you here?”
“Somebody broke into Teague’s apartment. We came in to report it. Now quit trying to change the sub
ject. Tell me about your accident.”
He shrugged. “Not much to tell. Old man Walsh got a snootful, then decided to play bumper cars in the parking lot at the club. He claims I was blocking him, but the truth is, he was too drunk to maneuver. It’s a tight lot, and I was parked close, but he should have been able to get out without damaging anything. This probably isn’t going to do my insurance premiums any good. They won’t care whether it was my fault or not.”
“What’s the story, Kevin? Wreck your car again?” Teague had slipped up on them unnoticed.
Kevin seemed to shrink in stature as the older man’s biting tone ripped away his thin veneer of sophistication; the boy suddenly looked younger than his nineteen years. He hesitated for a second or two, evidently trying to gauge Teague’s mood.
“It wasn’t his fault.” The redhead spoke up. “Taggart Walsh bashed Kevin’s Fiat in the parking lot at the club. On purpose, if you ask me.” Her voice shook. “Look, is there someplace I can call my parents? It’s getting late. They’ll be worried.”
“There’s a pay phone down the hall by the rest-rooms,” Kevin said.
“I don’t have any money.” She looked as if she was going to start bawling again.
Shea, Kevin, and Teague all whipped out quarters. The girl accepted Kevin’s money and hurried off.
“Your father’s not going to be a happy camper when he hears what happened,” Teague said. “What is this? Your third accident so far this year?”
“Yeah,” Kevin agreed glumly. “And he’s never gonna believe it wasn’t my fault. He’ll probably throw those gambling debts back in my face too.”
“Gambling debts?” Shea echoed.
Kevin gave her a shamefaced look. “I got a little carried away betting on football last fall. My allowance wouldn’t cover my losses, and I had to ask Dad for help. He was not pleased.”
“To put it mildly,” Teague said. He turned to Shea. “I’m finished here for the time being. Why don’t I take you back to the lodge?”
“I have my own car,” Shea reminded him.
“So I’ll follow you. I want to make sure your room is secure.”
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