“A thorough inspection could take hours, but if you’d like, I could do a quick check in about fifteen minutes and eliminate the most likely places someone would have put a bomb.”
“Maybe we should just call the police and—”
“We could leave the car here, call the police from the airport, and I could escort you home,” Dane suggested, but could tell by the look on Annie’s face that she wasn’t going to agree.
“I need to know for sure, before I make any decisions,” she said. “If there is a bomb, then you’re right about my needing a bodyguard.”
Dane sighed. Realizing there would be no use to argue with her, he reached inside his hip holster, pulled out his Ruger P95DC and handed it to her.
“I’m going to crawl underneath and take a look. You keep watch.” He winked at her, then bent and slid under the car. “And remember that Ruger has an ambidextrous decocker.”
Ambidextrous what? Oh, yes, she remembered now. He was talking about the safety mechanism on the gun. Why hadn’t he just used plain English? Showing off, like most men!
“Dane?” Annie held her breath.
“What?”
“Are you in any danger under there?” she asked.
“Why do you ask?”
“Because if you are, I don’t want you checking out anything. Do you hear me?”
“Look in my duffel bag and hand me my flashlight and mirror,” he called from beneath the car.
After placing the gun on the top of the car, she followed Dane’s instructions. She retrieved the flashlight and mirror, then knelt on one knee. “I’ve got them.”
Dane stuck out his hand for the objects. She laid the flashlight in his palm. Then he switched hands and motioned for her to give him the mirror.
Annie lifted the gun off the roof and began pacing back and forth along the side of her rental car. Although the weapon in her hand probably didn’t weigh two pounds and was less than eight inches long, it suddenly felt large and heavy. She’d never owned a gun. Didn’t even like guns. But she had to admit that if her life were threatened again, she didn’t think she’d hesitate to use Dane’s Ruger.
She couldn’t believe what had happened to her in the past twenty-four hours. Her well-organized, neat little life was suddenly completely out of control. And Annie prided herself on being able to control every aspect of her life, on a daily basis. Being her own person, making her own decisions and, yes, even making her own mistakes, were of the utmost importance to her. Control had been an issue in her relationships with her father and her husband. Both had wanted her to be docile and sweet and obedient.
Minutes seemed like hours to Annie. Every sound, be it children’s laughter from the nearby pool or the cry of gulls as they swooped down on the beach, was intensified by her nervousness. When a young couple entered the parking deck, she nearly jumped out of her skin. They didn’t even notice her. They got into a little red sports car and zipped out of the deck and onto the circular drive.
Finally Dane emerged from beneath the car. He stood, brushed his hands off on his gray cotton slacks and tossed the flashlight and mirror into the open duffel bag Annie had left lying near the car trunk.
“So?” She handed him the gun. “Did you find anything?”
After slipping the Ruger into his hip holster, he grasped Annie by the shoulders. She stared up at him, her big brown eyes wide as saucers. “Yeah, I found something.”
Closing her eyes for a split second, Annie bit down on her bottom lip and sucked in a deep breath. “A bomb?”
“Yes. And in one of the all-time favorite spots to put plastic explosives.”
“Where?”
“On top of the gasoline tank, between the tank and the car body. There’s hardly enough room there to even stick your finger.”
“So what do we do now?” She hated having to depend on anyone, especially a man—and in particular, a man like Dane Carmichael. But she had little choice at this point. Whether she liked it or not, he was her rescuer, her protector, her only safe harbor in the storm that threatened to destroy her.
“We don’t do anything.” He ran his hands down the length of her arms, stopping when he gripped her wrists. “Except call the police.”
Involuntarily, Annie began shaking from head to toe. Her breathing became erratic. Her heartbeat went wild.
Dane grabbed her face between his big hands. “Take some slow, deep breaths. Do you hear me? You’re starting to hyperventilate.”
Annie nodded that she understood and sucked in a deep breath, filling her lungs with air. Then she exhaled—a long, slow release. She repeated the procedure again and again, until a sense of calm prevailed. When her breathing and heartbeat returned to normal, she suddenly felt light-headed.
“I’m all right now. I… The reality of my situation just hit me,” she said. “Someone is trying to kill me and they’re not going to stop until they succeed.”
“They’re not going to succeed. I promise you.” He took her hands in his. Lifting her clasped hands to his lips, he kissed first one and then the other. “We’re going to find out who’s behind Halley’s disappearance and these attempts on your life.”
“I can’t believe all of this has happened because of some story Halley unearthed.” Annie clung to Dane’s big, strong hands, as if they were her lifeline. “Today’s Alabama isn’t the type of magazine that’s ever dug up dirt or exposed scandals. We cover the human interest stories. What information could have been in that package Halley received that was so horrible she lost her life and put mine in danger? And how—”
“Let’s take this one step at a time.” Dane picked up her suitcase and his duffel bag in one hand, wrapped his arm around her waist and tugged her close to his side. “Come on. We’ll go over to the Sweet Savannah. You can sit down or even lie down for a while and I’ll put a call in to Lieutenant McCullough.”
Annie nodded, then allowed Dane to take charge—of her and her life. She hated to admit, even to herself, how very glad she was to have Dane around at a time like this.
“Here, drink this.” Dane shoved a shot glass into her hands.
She wrapped her fingers around the small crystal container and stared down at the strong-smelling bourbon. She wasn’t much of a drinker. Wine occasionally. A Marguerita when she felt like celebrating. She wasn’t surprised that Dane’s drink of choice was bourbon. Good old Kentucky rye whiskey. A Southern gentleman’s drink. It had been her father’s favorite.
“You need something to settle your nerves and relax you,” Dane told her. “It’s not going to hurt you and it just might do you some good.”
“Regardless of what you think, I’m not a nervous wreck. I am not falling apart!”
Huffing in exasperation, Dane speared his fingers through his hair. “Dammit, woman, do you have to make everything a battle of wills?”
“All right, all right! I’ll drink the blessed bourbon!” She downed the liquor in one swallow. The smooth whiskey burned a path from her throat to her belly, where it ignited a raging fire. She coughed uncontrollably for a couple of minutes, then blew out a hot breath. Tilting her chin haughtily, she cast a quick go-to-hell glance his way. “Now, are you satisfied?”
He nixed the first reply that came to mind. A highly inappropriate sexual response. Instead he said, “When you’re ready to get off your high horse and discuss the situation reasonably, you can find me topside.”
Annie turned her back on him, but she heard his heavy footsteps when he left her alone in the Sweet Savannah’s saloon. She crossed her arms over her chest, then winced when a twinge of pain rippled through her side.
He was treating her as if she were a child or, worse yet, a woman incapable of thinking or acting rationally, simply because she didn’t want to follow his orders. From the time she’d been old enough to have an independent thought, she and her father had fought over her constant unruly behavior, her rudeness and her disobedience.
She had tried. God knows she had tried to please him, but
in pleasing him, she’d had to go against her basic nature. He had loved her best when she’d agreed to marry Preston. The son he’d always wanted. A carbon copy of himself. And he had hated her the most when she had gotten a divorce. She didn’t think he ever forgave her for that one major act of treason.
And Dane Carmichael was cut from the same cloth. He was a man who believed in taking care of his womenfolk and in making their decisions for them. He so obviously prided himself on his Southern chivalry.
Ever since Lieutenant McCullough had left, she and Dane had been arguing about the best course of action to take. From the time Dane had called the local authorities until the lieutenant had departed from the Sweet Savannah, Annie had been caught up in a whirlwind of emotions unlike anything she’d ever known. The lieutenant and Dane had agreed that Annie needed protection, that her life was in danger and another attempt on her life could come at any time. What they couldn’t understand was how difficult it was for her to absorb and comprehend the nightmare proportions of the situation. In twenty-four hours, her world had made a hundred-and-eighty-degree shift—from safe, secure and sane to crazy, dangerous and unreal.
“I’m a highly trained professional,” Dane had explained. “Believe me, Annie, if anyone can keep you safe and help you discover the truth, I can.”
She didn’t doubt for a minute that he was right. Didn’t think he was exaggerating his skills as a bodyguard and an investigator, or that he was bragging when he told her about the high success rate the Dundee agency had had in similar cases. She wasn’t an idiot. And she’d told him so—loudly and vehemently.
She was well aware of the fact that she needed both a bodyguard and an investigator. And she knew that if she couldn’t afford the fee of a professional, her mother could. That was one thing a Southern gentleman always did—left his widow well provided for.
The problem wasn’t that she disagreed with Dane’s assessment of the situation or his solution. The problem was that she didn’t want Dane Carmichael spending twenty-four hours a day with her, for God knew how long. But how could she make him understand, without admitting to him that she was afraid of him? Afraid of her attraction to him. Afraid of the way he made her feel. Afraid that she would succumb to the heady aphrodisiac of his protection.
Standing, Annie combed her fingers through her hair, adjusted her red blouse so that the buttons lined up in a straight row down the center of her chest and ran her hands over her hips to smooth the wrinkles in her white slacks. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she squared her shoulders and climbed the stairs up onto the deck.
She found Dane resting in the center of the wraparound seating on the flying bridge. He didn’t stand when she approached, nor did he speak. In fact, he didn’t acknowledge her presence in any way.
“May we talk?” she asked.
“Talk or argue?” He crossed his arms over his chest.
“Talk.” She sat beside him and surveyed the hundred-square-foot deck. “This is a beautiful cruiser. My parents had one when I was growing up. My father was quite a fisherman.”
“If your father were around now, he’d make sure you were safe.”
Annie balled her hands into fists, then relaxed her fingers. “You’re right about that,” she said. “Earl Harden would have locked me in a golden cage, if he believed that was what was necessary to keep me safe.”
Dane stared at her. Feeling the scrutiny in his hard gaze, she turned to face him. “But my father’s dead and my ex-husband is out of my life and remarried, so I don’t have a man to decide what’s best for me.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did.”
“I thought you said we weren’t going to argue.”
“We aren’t,” she said. “I came up here to apologize for being so bitchy and acting ungrateful. You can’t help treating me the way you do. Hell, you were raised to be a gentleman.”
“You say the word as if being a gentleman was a bad thing.” Dane’s voiced was tinged with just the slightest bit of aggravation.
“Sorry.” Annie forced a smile. “I tried to apologize and wound up saying something bitchy again.”
Dane stared at her. His look plainly said that the ball was in her court. The next move was hers.
“I need a bodyguard and an investigator.” She paused, but when he didn’t respond, she went on. “The only way to save my life is to find out what Halley discovered and who is afraid that information will become front-page news.”
“Are you asking me to take the job?” Dane studied her face. Beautiful, in an exotic way. Dark. Earthy. Like a Gypsy.
The light springtime breeze blew her ebony hair across her face and into her eyes. When she brushed back the flyaway strands, their soft, natural waves fell behind her ear. Small gold hoops glistened in her earlobes.
“Yes and no,” Annie said. “I’d like to hire someone from your agency.”
“But not me.”
“No, not you.”
“I can call and have someone fly down tonight or first thing in the morning, at the latest. But until then, I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”
“Thanks. I appreciate this so much, Dane. And I hope you understand that not wanting you isn’t anything personal, it’s—”
He grabbed her so quickly that she cried out, startled by his actions. “Oh, it’s personal, all right, and we both know it. You’ve got some bee in your bonnet about me being a Southern gentleman, which in your book must rank up there somewhere between being Jack the Ripper and Attila the Hun.
“Somebody…maybe your father…maybe your ex-husband…or maybe both of them did a number on you, honey.” He emphasized the word and smiled when she flinched. “But I’ll be damned if I’ll take the wrap for them or apologize for being the kind of man I am.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off. “Strange thing is,” he said, “until I met you, I had no idea that being a gentleman was such a terrible thing. Believe it or not, most women seem to like that about me.” Dane released her as abruptly as he’d taken hold of her.
Annie closed her mouth. She could make a smart-ass comeback. She could give him her opinion of gentlemen. And she could tell him that her past relationships with her husband and her father were none of his business. Or she could try apologizing again.
As if reading her mind, Dane said, “Don’t bother apologizing again. You have as much right to your opinion of Southern gentleman as I do of mule-headed feminists.”
“I’m not a… What is your opinion of mule-headed feminists?”
“Let’s just say they’re not my type.”
“What is your type?”
“A lady who enjoys being a woman and wants her man to act like a man. A lady who is gentle and caring and loving and—”
“Submissive and obedient.” Annie finished his sentence.
“Now, Miss Annie, you’re putting words in my mouth.”
“You and I mix like oil and water,” Annie told him. “If we spent a lot of time together, as we’d have to do if I hired you, we’d drive each other crazy.”
Dane made a leisurely inspection of Annie, from head to toe, then focused his gaze on her face. “The reason we’d drive each other crazy is because we’re attracted to each other. You’re afraid of me, of the way I make you feel. And to be honest, I’m a little bit afraid of you, too.”
Annie stared at him, her eyes wide, her mouth slightly agape. Warmth spread through her body like daybreak across the sky. Her nipples tightened. Her femininity clenched and unclenched, sending a tingling sensation radiating through her nerve endings. She wanted to make a vehement denial. But she couldn’t. There was one thing Annie Harden didn’t do—she didn’t lie to herself.
“All right, so I’m afraid of this attraction thing we have going on between us,” she admitted. “And being the smart woman that I am, I know better than to keep temptation within arm’s reach twenty-four hours a day.”
Dane leaned toward her, just enough to bring them closer
without actually touching. “Just how much of a temptation am I, Brown Eyes?”
Annie felt herself swaying toward him. No! Mentally, she put on the brakes and came to a screeching halt. “I’m not going to scratch your itch, Mr. Carmichael. Not now. Not ever.”
Dane traced the lines of her lips with his index finger. She didn’t move. Barely breathed. He circled her chin—twice—then slid his finger down her neck and into the exposed vee of her blouse. She sucked in her breath. He delved his finger deeper inside her blouse and discovered the perspiration between her full breasts. She quivered as desire sped the blood through her veins, pounding her heart and quickening her breath. Then he lifted his finger to his mouth and licked her musky sweat off the tip.
Annie moaned, the sound low and soft and just barely audible.
Dane stood. “I’ll go put in a call to the office to see who’s available to fly down tonight or in the morning.” He turned and walked away.
Annie sat there for several minutes, completely unnerved by the intimacies Dane had taken. She could resist him, she told herself. Even if he were around all the time, she wouldn’t let him bend her to his will.
But what’s the point of taking any unnecessary chances? the voice of reason within her asked.
No point whatsoever, she conceded.
Annie sat on the flying bridge and waited for Dane to make his phone call in private. Besides, she needed a little time to cool off. The man was as lethal to her as poison. Taking a whiff of it might only make her a little dizzy, but consuming it would destroy her.
Dane emerged from below within five minutes. “Matt O’Brien can be here first thing in the morning. He’s the only agent available, but Matt’s a good man.”
“Thank you for making the arrangements,” Annie said, wondering if Dane was going to stay on the deck and not join her on the bridge.
“So, do we stay aboard the Sweet Savannah until morning, or do we see if the hotel has a vacancy?”
“Oh, that’s right, you’ll have to act as my temporary bodyguard, won’t you?”
“I’m afraid so.”
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