Heiress Under Fire

by Morey, Jennifer

  She wondered what Elam would think. Anticipation gave her a rush. He’d like it. A lot. A shiver gave her shoulders a tiny jolt. Clutching a small black purse, she left the bathroom and went to the cabin door. There, she breathed in and exhaled. Opening the door, she walked down the hall.

  She heard voices in the salon and stopped. Travis and Haley looked up and then Elam followed suit. She watched them all go still, but Elam most of all. His eyes flared with masculine interest. He made a stunning picture himself, tall and imposing in a black silk suit. The jacket made his shoulders look impossibly broad and fell straight over his flat stomach.

  He’d combed his hair but it still looked messy, stylishly so, devilishly. He’d shaved, too, but there was still that rugged shadow, accentuating those sensuous lips.

  She was the first to avert the connection, looking down at her ruby-red toes, curling then relaxing them.

  Travis cleared his throat.

  “Wow. You look beautiful,” Haley said.

  Farren raised her eyes, hearing the sincerity in her tone. She wondered if the woman ever wore dresses like this. Or any dresses for that matter.

  “Looks like I didn’t do too bad on that dress after all,” Haley added.

  “You should find a few of those for yourself,” Travis said, earning himself a sidelong glare.

  Elam smiled and moved toward Farren. He sauntered like a dark-haired Daniel Craig in a James Bond flick. He probably had a gun under that jacket, too.

  “Let’s go,” he said, opening his elbow for her to hook her arm.

  She slid her hand over his forearm and walked with him to the door. They separated as they climbed off the yacht, but once on the dock, she anchored to him again, the heels of her shoes too high for the lengthy walk to the congressman’s boat. She felt sinewy muscle beneath his jacket and shirt and couldn’t help looking down. His strong hand was relaxed in front of him, his thumb sloping to the curve of his long fingers. He’d saved her with those hands more than once. An image flashed of them touching her, running up her bare stomach from behind, rising higher. The occasional bump of their hips and brush of her breasts against his biceps added to the fantasy.

  “I heard this story once,” she said, and he turned with a grin. She ignored his wry expectancy of the chatter that would follow. “It was about a girl that worked at the same company where I used to work. She was a janitor, so I’d see her every once in a while. Everyone talked about her. She had this bleached-blond hair with a pink streak and wore this dark eyeliner and bright blue eye shadow and bright lipstick. But it was the way she dressed that got my attention, and everyone else’s. She always wore skirts. Mostly jean skirts, but they were always short, above the knee, and with that she’d wear tight T-shirts or tank tops with some weird bright-colored shirt over it. She looked like a rock star.

  “Anyway, somebody told me she lived with a guy who had five DUIs and had been to prison once and who couldn’t hold a job. He was a mechanic and had piercings and tattoos and green spiked hair. The girl grew up without a dad and her mother was a meth addict and couldn’t take care of her. That’s how she ended up living with the guy.

  “I used to think she looked so out of place the way she dressed. She had such pretty features and this petite little body. It was like she was fragile trying to appear tough.”

  “Okay, I give up. What’s the point of that story?” he asked.

  “There is no point.”

  “There’s always a point.”

  Really? She eyed him, searching his profile for signs of teasing. There were none. He was busy watching their surroundings.

  “I didn’t mean for there to be a point,” she said.

  He glanced at her, his gaze falling over her body. “Do you feel out of place in that dress?”

  “Well…” She looked down at the front of her, at the illusion of bare skin beneath the mesh of beaded silk. “Yeah, but…”

  He chuckled and resumed his proficient watchfulness. “It’s scary how well I’m getting to know you.”

  “You don’t know me that well.”

  “I know you start talking when you’re nervous or uncomfortable. But there’s usually a point.”

  “You think the point of that story is I feel uncomfortable in this dress?”

  “No. I think the point is you feel like that girl right now. You think you look good but people would have to look deeper to see it’s not the real you.”

  She smiled. “That’s awfully sensitive and insightful of you, Elam. Does this mean you’re in touch with your feminine side?”

  He shook his head. “Like I said, scary.”

  She laughed lightly. “Who would have thought?”

  “It’s just an observation.”

  Anyone looking at him now would never know he was uncomfortable. He exuded such confidence and his physical form was so imposing. But she knew he was uncomfortable. “An endearing one.”

  He didn’t acknowledge her, but she wasn’t ready to abandon this topic. “Want me to tell you something I know about you?”

  “I’m not sure. Do I?” He sounded wary but game for playing along.

  “You always have to be in control. I think that’s the real reason you do what you do.” Okay, so this was a lot more serious than he’d made it, but she couldn’t resist.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Like now. The way you keep watching around us. As if you need to be ready for anything that jumps out at us.”

  “I do.”

  “Yeah, but you never let your feelings get away from you.”

  “Farren—”

  “Wait. Let me finish. When you’re on an assignment, you have to be in control. Loss of control could mean a mistake and that could mean your life or the life of one of your teammates. And since you’re always on assignment somewhere, you never have to face losing control of your emotions in a relationship. I’m sure relationships don’t even have a chance to develop into something that would threaten you that way.”

  “Is this some kind of therapy session? I thought you were an engineer.”

  She ignored his defensive tone. It only confirmed she was right.

  “I’ve seen you lose control.” At the bazaar when she’d seen him through the rear window of her abductors’ car. He’d been frightened. The stoic TES operative had lost his focus, his certainty. She’d seen the same after he’d saved her—the urgency on his face, the worry. Fear.

  He stopped and faced her. “You like it when I lose control?”

  “It’s not that. It’s just an observation,” she echoed his words, and watched the tension ease a little from around his eyes.

  “You should do that more often,” she said, smiling.

  “Lose control?”

  “Some things you just can’t control, Elam. Recognize that. Accept it. Let whatever is holding you back go.” Meaning his tragic past.

  He stared into her eyes, directly and powerfully. Nothing intimidated this man. Yet her assessment had triggered his defenses.

  “I can’t stop doing what I do,” he finally said.

  “You don’t have to deny yourself things you need and want in order to fight for a good cause.”

  “I realize that.”

  “I don’t think you do.”

  His eyes narrowed a fraction.

  “Not every woman would feel the way your wife did.”

  “Are you saying you don’t?” he challenged.

  Their conversation came to a halt as they approached the congressman’s yacht. People stood on every visible deck and music filtered through the air. She didn’t know how she felt. She thought she knew, but now she wasn’t sure. What would it be like to be with a man like Elam?

  She turned and met his now very cynical gaze. Once again, she’d confirmed his theory. Her silence and uncertainty spoke for her. And his emotions would remain closed until he saw how narrow his view was. It didn’t have to be a military woman who matched him. It could be anyone who loved him.

  �
�Come on.” He put his hand on her lower back and guided her toward the yacht. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Chapter 9

  L et’s get this over with.

  Farren stepped inside the elegant yacht, pondering the emotion behind that statement. Elam’s irritation convinced her she’d nailed the truth. But what did she want to do with it? Have sex with him? Would it mean too much? What if he was right for her? What if, for the first time ever, she’d gotten it right?

  She glanced over at him. His face was a mask now. He searched the crowd on the yacht, all business, all mission. The soft tones of a piano wafted through the air. Women in long and short, sparkly and smooth cocktail gowns mingled among men in dark suits. Some held champagne flutes. Some held cocktail glasses. One man held a bottle of beer.

  “Excuse me.”

  Farren turned with Elam to see a security guard behind them.

  “I don’t believe you were invited.”

  “We were just passing by,” Elam said.

  The security guard’s gaze drifted over them both in disdain. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

  “Why, Elam and Farren,” a staged feminine voice cooed. “How good of you to come.” Farren saw Bev approach, glass of champagne in hand. “Go away, Edward. I told them they could come.” She shooed the man with her hand.

  Edward hesitated but finally wandered off.

  Bev leaned closer to Farren and said in a low voice, “He’s a pushover for a security guard. I met him at the door.”

  Farren smiled. “Is that why he believed you? You lie so well.”

  Bev laughed. “No one will care. It’s nothing.”

  If only she knew. Farren glanced over the crowd, looking for Congressman Shay.

  “How did you manage to get an invitation?” Elam asked Bev.

  “I didn’t.” She laughed again. “Like you, I invited myself.” She turned and saw the redhead, Sara. With a wave, she glided off. “I’ll catch up to you two later.”

  Farren caught sight of Shay through the crowd. He stood next to Edward, who must have just finished telling him they were here. Shay looked at her with a grim set to his jaw. A tall brunette passed her and Elam, sending Elam a flirtatious glance. Her neckline rivaled Farren’s and did a fine job of catching his attention.

  She elbowed him. He looked at her, then in the direction she indicated.

  Shay started toward them. Was it her imagination, or was he more interested in her than Elam? Maybe that wasn’t surprising, since it was her mother who wrote the name of his yacht on her itinerary.

  “I’d say welcome aboard, but I’m not sure if I should,” Shay said to Elam.

  “We heard about your party and couldn’t stay away. The rave of the marina and all.”

  “I’m sure.” He turned to Farren. “Ms. Gage, you look radiant.”

  “Thank you.” She resisted the urge to cover her cleavage.

  “I trust you are enjoying Marmaris while you’re here?” he asked. Then to Elam, “I hope it isn’t just business that brought you here.”

  “We’re getting around,” Elam said. “In fact, just yesterday Farren was accosted outside the bazaar by some of Imaad’s men.”

  Though he was using it to goad Shay, the reminder of how close she’d come to being raped dimmed her mood.

  Shay’s eyes sobered and he looked at her. “Accosted? What happened?”

  “Nothing,” she said, too quickly. She didn’t feel like talking about it. She sent Elam a narrow look. He ignored her.

  “She left the bazaar ahead of me and some of Imaad’s men forced her into a car.”

  “They kidnapped you?” He sounded outraged.

  “Elam was never far behind,” she said.

  Shay moved his gaze to Elam, silently comprehending what must have taken place. “Why did they do it?”

  “I bet you could explain that better than me.”

  With a frustrated smirk, he turned to Farren. He studied her closely. “You look all right…are you?”

  She nodded, wondering if he actually cared.

  “What did they want? Do you know?”

  She didn’t think she misread the concern she heard.

  “Imaad al Rasoon is threatening her for three million,” Elam said for her. “But you probably already know that.”

  The congressman only sent him an impatient glance but his attention came back to Farren. “I didn’t know.”

  “I wonder.”

  “Ms. Gage, I fail to see how you think I can help you.”

  “Spoken like a true politician,” she retorted, not believing for a second that he was being straight with them.

  “What do you know about Imaad?” Elam asked.

  “What makes you think I know anything?”

  “You make it a priority to know all terrorists who pose a threat to honest, God-loving Catholics.”

  Shay let out a long breath. “I don’t know much. But I do know he’s spent some time expanding a camp along Turkey’s border with Iraq. He’s one to watch, if not more.” The pointed look he sent Elam made Farren wonder what he meant by more.

  “Could Carolyn have discovered her husband’s dealings with him?” Elam asked, not appearing to have noticed the look, though she didn’t doubt he had. Elam had a way of appearing oblivious even though his mind never stopped working.

  Shay nodded. “If her husband was dealing with him, I suppose it’s possible.”

  “Would she have had a reason to come to you for help?” Farren asked.

  This time the congressman couldn’t hide his reaction. Not completely. Farren caught the fleeting look of regret in his eyes before he covered it.

  “I wouldn’t know the answer to that.”

  “I think you do,” Farren said. “What are you hiding, Mr. Shay? And why?”

  He didn’t respond right away. But finally he said, “I worry about your safety, Ms. Gage, but I don’t think I can do any better than Mr. Rhule, here, in helping you.” He looked directly at Elam. “Your background with the army is quite impressive.”

  “Did some reading, I see.” Elam didn’t seem the least bit ruffled.

  “I found it particularly interesting that your career seems to have suddenly ended about two years ago. You didn’t retire and you didn’t go to work for anyone else…at least…not overtly.”

  “I don’t share my resume with just anyone.”

  The congressman’s sly smile said he wasn’t falling for it. “With good reason, I’m sure.”

  Just then, his wife appeared at his side, sliding her gaze from Farren, to Elam, to Shay. “Is everything all right?”

  Shay’s smile smoothed. “Fine, darling.”

  Facing Elam and Farren again, he swept his arm to his left, indicating the table full of appetizers. “Please, make yourselves comfortable. I should attend to my other guests.”

  Farren sent him a look that would let him know she wasn’t fooled.

  The congressman guided his wife away with him.

  “Now we know what’s keeping him from talking,” Farren said. “His wife.”

  “It sure seems that way.”

  “You think there’s more?”

  “He’s afraid of something.”

  “Like his wife finding out he was having an affair?”

  “Maybe. But that doesn’t explain why Carolyn would come all the way to Turkey to be with him.” Taking her hand in his, he led her up the stairs to the sundeck and then to the aft rail, away from the handful of other people mingling there.

  She leaned her backside against the rail. Boat lights sparkled everywhere in the marina. It was a beautiful, still night. He stood before her. For a second she got lost in the pool-water blue of his eyes.

  “I still think my mother was afraid of Jared and that’s why she came to Bodrum,” Farren said.

  “It’s looking more and more that way. If she knew about his deal with Imaad, she had plenty of reason to be afraid. But why come all the way to Bodrum?”
/>   “It’s far away. And Turkey is the last place he’d expect her to go.”

  “Especially if she knew Imaad was here.”

  “Jared probably knew, too. All she had to do was make it to Marmaris. If they were lovers, Shay would have protected her once she got here even if he didn’t know she was coming.”

  “She could have gone to a hotel in Marmaris if that’s all she wanted.”

  “Jared could’ve found her a lot easier that way. A hotel would’ve placed her somewhere. In a yacht, she would’ve been mobile. And since she flew into Bodrum, he wouldn’t have known she planned to go to Marmaris. Maybe Shay was going to help her disappear.”

  His eyebrows rose in consideration and he nodded with a slight smile. “You’re pretty good at this.”

  She gave him a feigned coy look. “And I’m not even military.”

  “You’d have all the men tripping over themselves if you were. Trying to protect you instead of doing their duty.”

  “Just because I like dresses doesn’t mean I can’t take care of myself.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Men are instinctively protective creatures when it comes to the softer sex.”

  She laughed as he took her hand and tugged her off the rail to sweep her into a dance. Sliding her arm over his shoulder, she moved with him to a Frank Sinatra song. “This Town.” She could see just over his shoulder. A couple sat at the bar, forward and toward the flybridge. Another sat at a small table near there. It seemed this was the place to go for quiet time alone. Time alone with him.

  Farren let herself enjoy the dance. But she was very aware of his hand on the small of her back, holding her close as they moved.

  “I always liked Sinatra,” he said.

  She dipped her head back a little more so she wouldn’t have to strain her eyes so much to see him. “A big tough guy like you listens to Frank Sinatra?”

  He just grinned down at her.

  “Oh…wait a minute,” she teased. “You mean you actually like something?”

  “I told you I like lots of things.”

  “You never mentioned anything specific.”

  “It never came up until now.”

  They were beginning to sound like a couple who’d just started dating. She stopped smiling so dreamily up at him. It was too easy to like him. He saw the change in her and the silly infatuation left his face, too. He stopped dancing and so did she.