by Debra Webb
“How long have you lived here?” she asked as she lifted a forkful of eggs to her mouth. Her lips closed around the tines and she had to close her eyes at the ecstasy.
“Just over a year.”
She moaned, startling herself. The eggs were so, so good.
“Milk and butter are the keys,” he offered as he scooped up a forkful himself.
She was certain she’d never had eggs that tasted this good. Fluffy, buttery. “Wow.” She forgot all about the rest of her questions and focused on consuming the eggs and toast. She barely noticed the beer’s bitter tang.
When she’d taken the last bite, she sighed wistfully. As silly as it sounded, she could have eaten more.
The roar she’d come to recognize as the sound of his motorcycle radiated through the quiet house.
“Let me take care of this.” He stood. “You stay put.” He nodded to her bottle. “Finish your beer.”
She supposed one of his colleagues had delivered the motorcycle he’d left at her home. That was a good thing, considering they wouldn’t have any transportation otherwise. Not that she would be climbing astride that monstrous cycle. She shivered at the thought. She would need a rental until her car was repaired.
Fatigue swamped her again as she finished off her beer. How was she getting home? Right now she could lay her head down just about anywhere and sleep like a baby.
But first, someone had to do these dishes. She pushed back her chair and set to the task. Most everything except the skillet could be loaded into the dishwasher. Five minutes max. If he cooked, the least she could do was clean up.
She’d just finished wiping down the stove and drying the freshly washed skillet when Shane came back inside. The idea that she was calling him by his first name occurred to her. Somewhere amid the flying bullets or just prior to that event, she’d started thinking of him as Shane rather than Investigator Allen.
That was normal. A man who’d risked his life for hers was certainly one she could call by his first name.
“You didn’t have to clean up.”
She tossed the towel aside. “It was a breeze.” The questions she needed to ask filtered back into her mind. “Are we going to my house now?” She sure hoped he had a car out there in addition to his motorcycle. As much as she wanted to go home, she didn’t want to go that badly. She felt a little light-headed. The beer probably.
“We need to talk about that.” He indicated the living room. “Let’s take a load off and discuss our options.”
She followed him into the living room and made herself comfortable on one end of the oversized sectional sofa. After smoothing her skirt as best she could, she relaxed into the full cushions. She felt warm and content, even if she was in a strange place.
“I don’t think it’s safe to go back to your place,” he said right off the bat.
Some sort of plan to evade trouble was expected. But she couldn’t say she’d anticipated not being able to go back home.
“Are we going to a hotel or a safe house?” She’d heard about those in the movies.
He settled deeper into the cushions on the opposite end of the sofa. “We’ll be fine here for now.”
Okay, she was tired, that was true. But she really should have seen that one coming.
“Oh.” How did she feel about that? “Okay.” She’d seen the guest room…right across the hall from his bedroom. She could deal with that…couldn’t she?
“Tomorrow,” he began, but then amended, “today, actually, after we’ve had some rest, we’ll start looking into Jason Mackey and see if we can make a connection between him and Amanda Ferguson. We’ll also try and track down any family she may have had.”
Sounded like the best way to proceed. She closed her eyes and replayed the voice on the cell phone. Definitely her sister’s voice.
But what did that mean?
“I have a shirt you can sleep in.”
Mary Jane’s eyes fluttered open. The idea of sleeping in anything that belonged to him unsettled her. But the thought of sleeping in her clothes was far too unappealing to dismiss his suggestion.
“I think I’m ready to call it a night.” She had more questions, but she was just too tired to push for answers. And, frankly, she didn’t want to be alone in the same room with him anymore.
There was one question she really needed an answer to but she hated to ask. Yet, he was responsible for her safety. She had a right to know about the outburst outside the hospital.
“I’ll show you to the guest room.” He settled his hands on his knees and prepared to get up.
“I do have one question,” she said, waylaying his intention.
“What’s that?”
“What’s the story between you and Marshal Mitchell?” Whatever it was, it wasn’t pretty.
Any hint of the smiles she’d seen moments ago vanished. The somber expression that claimed his face made her regret having asked.
“He was my partner,” Shane told her. “He stole my wife and my career.” With that, he stood.
His posture as well as his expression warned that he wasn’t entertaining any more questions.
Mary Jane got to her feet and followed him into the hall. He left her in the guest room long enough to get one of his shirts.
“If you need anything I’ll be right across the hall.” He offered the shirt.
“Thank you.” Mary Jane accepted the shirt.
Her host walked out of the room. Instead of going into his room he went to the bedroom turned office. Since he didn’t bother with a good-night, she didn’t, either.
She could certainly understand his hesitation to talk about the past. What kind of partner stole another man’s wife? The part about his career wasn’t clear. Instinct told her it had something to do with his shooting. She hugged the shirt he’d given her close to her chest. All that made for a major chip to be carried around. She wondered if he still loved the woman he’d been married to at the time.
An automated voice echoed in the hall. “You have one new message.”
“Mr. Allen, this is Harry Rosen. I’m calling to inform you that the judge has declined your petition for a hearing on visitation rights. You’ll have no choice but to obtain counsel and proceed to court if you still want to pursue visitation rights. Think about it long and hard, Mr. Allen. It’s a battle you can’t possibly hope to win.”
“Message deleted.”
“End of messages.”
Before she had the presence of mind to close her door, he had stepped from the office and headed to his own room across the hall.
Their gazes collided.
“Sorry,” she muttered. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.” Good heavens. What had she been thinking?
“Just something else I have to thank Mitchell for,” he said coldly before going into his room.
No wonder he was bitter. Somehow, his ex-wife was preventing him from seeing his child. That had to be terribly painful.
She blinked when she realized he was shedding his clothes. The pullover sweater hit the floor first. Then the T-shirt.
He looked lean with his clothes on, but bare, there were plenty of rippling muscles. The white bandage was stark against his darker skin. When he sat down on the edge of the bed to remove his boots, their gazes connected across the hall.
She jumped.
He stared.
“Is there something else you want to know, Ms. Brooks?”
No. She told herself to say no.
Before the message penetrated her brain she was standing at his door. “You have a child?”
He tossed aside the first boot, then pulled off the other. “A stepson.”
“Did you adopt him?” The scent of him was invading her lungs and making her feel light-headed again. Or maybe it was the beer or the exhaustion.
“Not legally.” He stood, reached for his belt. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t love him.”
Leather hissing against denim drew her attention to the belt sliding free of his jeans. An
d then her gaze traveled upward, to that ribbed abdomen. Her throat went dry.
“I’m…sorry.” She met his eyes once more. “That must be hard.” She’d given up on the idea of ever having any children. Loving one and then losing him had to be a nightmare.
He took a step toward her. “So am I.”
Another step disappeared between them.
“I’m taking the issue to court.”
“Oh.”
He stood directly in front of her now.
“I’m not giving up without a fight.”
She moistened her lips, tried to swallow. There was something about the way he towered over her, that dark silky hair touching his broad shoulders. The essence of hot male skin drifting into her nostrils. Her head was spinning.
“Good for you.”
“You should go to bed now, Ms. Brooks.”
There was nothing in his words that should have had heat stirring inside her, but the fire ignited deep in her belly from the intensity in his eyes. He was warning her…and inviting her at the same time.
“I shouldn’t be in danger,” she offered, unable to just turn away. “I don’t know anything. This is all a mistake…or something…”
“You are in danger, Ms. Brooks,” he cautioned, his voice lower now. As she watched, his gaze dropped to her mouth but only for a moment. “I’ll get to the bottom of the reason why, but right now we both need sleep.”
She nodded. “I’m not afraid.” She wasn’t. Not really. She’d been afraid in the car going more than a hundred miles per hour and bullets flying. But she wasn’t afraid now. She wanted the truth. Whatever it took to find it, she wanted it.
He searched her eyes as if he were looking for something in particular that he wasn’t finding. The tension inched up her spine with every passing second, sending heat outward, along her limbs, beyond her belly into her deepest feminine recesses. She didn’t remember the last time she’d had a reaction like this to a man. Years.
“Good night, Ms. Brooks.”
He turned and walked back into his room. Still wearing his jeans, he climbed into his bed. She didn’t move away from the door until he’d turned out the lamp next to his bed.
She didn’t bother with the light in her room. She stripped off her clothes and pulled on his shirt. The smell of him immediately enveloped her. She pulled back the covers of the bed and climbed beneath them. One deep breath after the other. She wanted to fill her lungs with the courage his scent offered.
For the first time in a long time she felt as if she wasn’t so alone.
Chapter Nine
At 8:00 a.m. sharp the knock came at Shane’s door.
Simon Ruhl had arrived with a dossier on Jason Mackey and a bag of essential items from Mary Jane’s home.
“Coffee?” Shane asked as he accepted the file.
“No, thanks.” Ruhl set the overnight bag on the floor and glanced around the living room. “How is Ms. Brooks this morning?”
Shane glanced toward the hall. “Still asleep. Yesterday wasn’t exactly a normal day in her life.” Not by any stretch of the imagination. Mary Jane Brooks was a quiet, conservative school teacher who took care of the ill and needy. A regular Florence Nightingale. The kind of woman who represented wholesome living and selfless giving. And still, she’d kept him from sleeping last night. Not a single thing about the ideas that churned in his brain had been wholesome or selfless. Mostly they’d been about getting so deep inside her that their bodies would be like one.
Ruhl gestured to the bag at his feet. “Nicole assembled the essentials as well as changes of clothes and the cell phone charger she found on the kitchen counter at Ms. Brooks’s home.”
Nicole was Ian Michaels’s wife and a fellow Colby Agency investigator.
“Sounds like everything we’ll need.”
“Ben has tied a link to her cell number. Any calls that come in will be traced and recorded on our end without interruption to her. Ben has a friend who can do a voice analysis in the event she receives another call she believes to be from her sister.”
“Excellent.” Shane gestured to the sofa before heading that way. “She’s convinced the voice was Rebecca’s,” he said as he sat down and opened the file on Jason Mackey.
“It could very well have been her sister’s voice,” Ruhl agreed. “We both know that with today’s technology most anything is possible, especially if one has access to recordings of a person’s voice.”
That was the thing. Shane leveled his gaze on Ruhl. “We also know that every interview conducted with her Bureau contacts and with the marshals who would oversee her transfer into Witness Security would have been recorded.” Shane would be the first to admit that he would like nothing better than to pin this on his former partner, the bastard. But even he realized that was a long shot. Just because the guy was a complete jerk didn’t mean he was a killer or dirty.
“Conference calls, meetings, any number of activities at Horizon Software may have been recorded as well,” Ruhl offered. “This may be someone from that side of this ugly game. If she left behind something that could incriminate them, they would certainly want to find it.”
“But why wait all this time?” Shane returned, playing devil’s advocate. “Why not months ago? Horizon Software snubbed its nose at the feds after she disappeared. From what I’ve read, the CEO has carried on as if the whole investigation never happened. Now, suddenly, with the announcement that her remains have been identified, her only living relative is being shot at and receiving warnings from beyond the grave. What changed other than official confirmation, as far as anyone else knows, that Rebecca Brooks is dead?”
“That’s the million-dollar question,” Ruhl agreed. “Victoria has Ian monitoring Horizon Software activities, particularly Anthony Chambers, the CEO. Ann Martin is keeping an eye on Ms. Brooks’s apartment. Ben is monitoring the landline there, as well.”
“Sounds like we have everything covered.” That was one of the things Shane enjoyed about working at the Colby Agency. Nothing was ever left to chance. The Colby Agency was the best and employed only the best. Like Ben Haygood and Ann Martin. Ann was fairly new, like Shane. She had been an electronic banking specialist before coming on board as a Colby Agency investigator.
Ruhl pointed to the file Shane had spread out before him. “I’ve read over his dossier,” he said. “Mackey doesn’t sound like such a bad guy, but he had friends who were the worst of the worst. Not to mention he was a distant cousin to Anthony Chambers. Be careful treading into that territory.”
Shane appreciated the advice, but he knew how to handle himself in the field. “Do we know anything else on Amanda Ferguson?”
“Nicole is working with an FBI contact on the lists that Ben discovered. I’ll keep you posted on her progress.” Ruhl stood. “Check in regularly and don’t hesitate to request backup.”
Shane followed him to the door. “I’ll call in every three to four hours.” Unless he was being shot at. But he knew Ruhl’s reminder wasn’t about that. When an investigator got deep into a case, sometimes he forgot to check in, leaving himself vulnerable and with no starting place for his backup to pick up his trail in the event of trouble.
Ruhl reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a set of keys. “Martinez said not to get a scratch on his new car.”
Ric Martinez was another Colby Agency alumni and Shane would have much preferred a rental to Martinez’s new Mustang.
“A rental might have been a better idea,” Shane suggested even as he took the keys to the hot rod Martinez’s wife had bought him for his birthday.
Ruhl laughed. “I think he just wants to prove to you that his Mustang is every bit as cool as your Harley.”
“Yeah, right.” Something else that wasn’t going to happen in this lifetime.
When Ruhl was on his way, Shane put on a fresh pot of coffee and decided to check on Mary Jane. He’d figured Ruhl’s visit would rouse her.
She’d left the door to her room open, indicating she’d
been pretty shaken up last night. Or maybe she’d been afraid to shut herself off from his line of vision. As he reached the open doorway the first thing that snagged his attention was the waves of silky red hair splayed across the white sheet. His gut clenched and his fingers itched to touch that shiny mane.
Idiot.
Her eyelids fluttered and that wide blue gaze locked on his. The tightness in his chest had to be related to how vulnerable she’d been last night. How easily she could have been hurt…this sweet woman who had never hurt anyone. He’d always had a soft spot for people like her.
But he feared it wasn’t as simple as that.
The tightness in other parts of his body warned that his conclusion was far too accurate for his comfort and at the same time completely unrelated to his need to protect.
She pushed the hair out of her face as she sat up, then stretched.
The faded blue shirt he’d given her to sleep in made her deeper blue eyes even more vivid and looked good against her pale skin.
“What time is it?” She picked up her cell from the bedside table. “My phone’s dead.”
“About eight-thirty.” His voice sounded rusty, prompting him to clear his throat. “There’s coffee.”
She inhaled deeply and smiled. “I smell it.” She drew the covers up around her. “I guess I should get dressed.”
That was when his heart stumbled. He’d never seen anyone look quite so beautiful as she did at that moment. All rumpled and sexy despite the fact that she was covered completely. It was about the most sensual image he’d ever laid eyes on.
“Nicole—” he looked away “—one of our female investigators—brought over some things from your house that she thought you might need.”
“Clothes, I hope.”
“Yeah.” He swallowed the crazy emotion swelling in his throat. “I’ll be right back.”
Shane went to get the bag Ruhl had left, cursing himself every step of the way. What the hell was wrong with him? He clenched and unclenched the fingers of his left hand. His arm was as sore as hell. He was sleep deprived. Evidently, his brain had gone into hibernation. He wasn’t getting involved with anyone else. One-night stands, occasional dates, that was his social life now. No more relationships. No more commitments.