B008DKAYYQ EBOK

by Joyce Lamb

  Cole’s heart flipped when she rested her head on his chest and curled the fingers of one hand into the front of his drenched shirt. She shuddered, and he tightened his embrace. “Hang on. He’ll be back in a minute.”

  “What—” Another fit of coughing cut her off.

  He held her through it, wishing there was something more he could do. When she settled down this time, she seemed to be breathing easier, as if she had gotten rid of more of the water in her lungs.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  The lack of strength in her voice tore at him. It had been so close. Too close. “My spidey sense was tingling.”

  Her laugh was feeble. “Thank God.”

  Through the glass, Cole spotted Kincaid returning with a thick blanket. “Think you can stand?”

  She nodded. “Sure.”

  He doubted it, but he made no comment as she shifted off of his lap. He got to his feet, his own legs rubbery, and reached down to help her up.

  The towel he’d wrapped her in shifted, and for the first time, he became aware that she wore a red, one-piece swimsuit that showed off miles of long, lean, tanned skin and dipped tantalizingly low in the front. His mouth went dry as his gaze zeroed in on the beading moisture on her toned arms then slid over to take in the way the thin, wet material hugged her breasts. Puckered nipples had him swallowing hard.

  She swayed and, feeling like a jerk for lusting when she was fragile, he eased an arm around her waist. She didn’t protest, and even leaned against him.

  Kincaid joined them, and without speaking, took the wet towel then draped the blanket around them both.

  “How’s my girl?” he asked, gently chucking Bailey under the chin. No sign of his earlier fury remained as his dark brown eyes peered into hers, shrewdly assessing.

  “She’s really shaking,” Cole said.

  “It’s probably shock,” Kincaid said.

  “No, it’s not. I’m fine.” Bailey’s teeth chattered. “I just need to get warm.”

  “Let’s get her upstairs, shall we?” Kincaid glanced at Cole. “Can you manage?”

  “Manage what?” Bailey somehow mustered a smidgeon of indignation. “I can walk.”

  Cole rolled his eyes at Kincaid. “Don’t worry. We’ve been through this before.”

  Kincaid drew the edges of the blanket more snuggly around them. “I’ve called the police. They should be here any minute. I’m going to go put on some hot tea while Mr. Goodman helps you up the stairs.”

  After Kincaid left them alone, Cole waited for Bailey to make the first move, not wanting to rush her.

  She pulled in a deep, raspy breath, as if to shore up her strength. “Let’s go.”

  Some twenty paces into the house, she paused at the foot of the staircase. “I need to sit down first,” she said.

  Cole eased her down onto one of the bottom steps and shrugged out from under the blanket to wrap it around her.

  She clasped the edges closed with one hand, her hair hanging in stringy, wet strands around her face. She looked small and vulnerable.

  He tried to put his hands in his pockets, but unyielding wet denim stopped him.

  “Aren’t you cold?” she asked. “You can get back under here with me.”

  As much as the idea of being so close to her appealed to him, he shook his head. “I’m fine. Thanks.”

  She rubbed at red, irritated eyes for a few moments before she met his gaze. “Your spidey sense?”

  He couldn’t help but smile at her one-track mind. “Kathleen asked me to come get you. Said they found something in Austin’s pictures.”

  The thought of what they’d found chilled him, especially considering how determined Bailey’s attacker was to get at her. It never would have occurred to him that anyone could get past Payne Kincaid’s iron gate. But apparently even state-of-the-art security was no match for this guy’s desperation.

  “What did they find?” she asked.

  “She didn’t say. She wants to see you.”

  “Oh.” She wrinkled her forehead as if trying to think of something she had forgotten.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “I recognized his voice.”

  He sat down beside her on the step, close enough so that their shoulders touched. “You can’t place it?”

  “No. He was trying to disguise it, but I know I’ve heard it before.” She turned her head to look at him, and the red rims of her eyes made her irises all the more green. Fear swam in their depths. “I think I know him.”

  Cole shivered against the chill that raced up his spine. If she knew her attacker, that meant he most likely knew her friends, her family. That meant she’d been vulnerable all along. As it was, saving her just now had been no more than a matter of timing. If he’d arrived just a minute or two later, if he’d hit one more traffic light on the way over or taken a wrong turn, if Kincaid had insisted on questioning him further—

  Her shoulders suddenly stiffened. “Oh, God. I was talking to Jamie on the phone when—”

  “Bailey? Mr. Goodman?” Kincaid called from the top of the stairs. “The police are here.”

  Chapter 34

  James fumbled for the cell phone that he’d pitched into the passenger seat and flipped it open. “Bailey?”

  “Hello, James.”

  “Where’s Bailey? Damn it, Kincaid, you son of a bitch, I want to talk to her. Now.”

  Kincaid sighed on the other end. “She’s speaking with the police. She asked me to call to let you know that she’s all right.” He paused a beat. “Are you driving?”

  “I’m on my way over there.”

  “I recommend that you pull over and listen to me very carefully.”

  “You can tell me when I get there—”

  “Pull over, James. So you can listen without distractions.”

  James steered the Toyota into the parking lot of a bank and killed the engine. He took a deep breath to steady his voice, then said, “I’m parked.”

  “Your friend has made another appearance,” Kincaid said.

  James sucked in a sharp, painful breath. “Is she okay?”

  “ ‘Okay’ is relative, James.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean? Let me talk to her.”

  “Not right now. Right now, we’re going to do this my way.”

  James clenched his teeth, fighting the urge to hang up.

  “Are you listening?” Kincaid asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Give me a name, James, and I’ll have it taken care of.”

  “I don’t know a name!” James shouted. “Do you think I’m protecting the bastard who’s trying to kill my sister? I might be screwed up, but I’m not that screwed up.” He stopped, forcing himself to draw in a calming breath. “Look, we want the same thing here, Uncle Payne.”

  “Uncle Payne,” Kincaid repeated with derision. “You think you can soften me up with that bullshit?”

  “All I want is for my family to be safe. Please help me. I’ll do anything.”

  “You know what I want, James. I’ve made it very clear.”

  “Fine. I’ll go away. I’ll leave town. As soon as this is over—”

  “Now. I want you to leave now. Start your car, point it north and go.”

  “I’m not going without talking to Bailey.”

  “I’ll explain it to her.”

  “No,” James said.

  “You said you’d do anything.”

  “You have to give me this. If I don’t say goodbye, she’ll never understand.”

  “She’ll get over it.”

  “She’ll hate me.”

  “That’s not my problem.”

  “Damn it, Kincaid. Give me a break. Family is all I’ve got left.”

  “You’re all out of breaks.” Kincaid disconnected the call.

  James smashed the phone against the steering wheel so hard it broke into pieces.

  Chapter 35

  The safe house didn’t look anything like B
ailey thought an FBI safe house would.

  The décor was typical for a Florida beach house: wicker-framed sofa and chairs with cushions in pastel floral fabric, pink Berber carpet and rattan tables. In the adjacent kitchen, the sliding doors that led onto a large wooden deck were open. She could hear the lazy splash of gulf waves rolling onto shore a few yards from the deck’s edge.

  They’d arrived at the safe house a few minutes ago in massive black SUV that had taken all kinds of crazy twists and turns to ensure they weren’t being followed. During the trip, Bailey had called A.J. to let her know that she was going into hiding and not to worry.

  Kathleen had met them in the short gravel driveway of the house, looking decidedly less elegant than she had that afternoon. Her perfect makeup had been washed off, her hair tucked under a baseball cap. She’d directed Cole and Bailey to go into the house and stay put in the living room while she spoke to the agents who’d escorted them there.

  Bailey lowered herself to the sofa. The fabric was cool against the backs of her legs. She’d changed into dry clothes—khaki shorts and a white T-shirt—before leaving Payne’s, but a chill continued to envelop her. The FBI agents had arrived at Payne’s just minutes after the Kendall Falls police and had whisked her and Cole away, saying that Kathleen had insisted they be delivered to a safe house.

  And here they were.

  Everything was so surreal. It didn’t seem possible that a little more than two hours ago, a man had tried to drown her. If Cole hadn’t arrived when he had, she would be dead. Because of a picture that evidently was worth more than a piddly thousand words.

  She tried again, for what must have been the hundredth time, to determine what had been familiar about her attacker’s voice. But whatever had struck a chord in her memory remained stubbornly out of reach.

  She began to wonder if she had imagined the recognition. She’d been terrified, certain she was about to die. Plus, she’d heard his voice during his previous attacks. So perhaps that’s why it had sounded familiar.

  But, no, she thought. He’d made an effort to disguise his voice the other times he’d cornered her. And why would he do that if not to keep her from recognizing it?

  She must know him.

  “How’re you doing?”

  She focused on Cole, who hadn’t left the square of vinyl tile that marked the front entryway. He was either impatient for Kathleen to come inside or he was guarding the door. Which struck her as kind of sweet, considering anyone who tried to come in that way would have had to go through three FBI agents to even get there.

  “I’m okay,” she said, and tried to smile to reassure him.

  He didn’t look convinced but didn’t call her on it.

  He was wearing clothing that Payne had given him to replace his own sodden attire. The jeans were somewhat baggy on him, but the navy polo hugged his chest and arms. Dark hair fell across his forehead as if he hadn’t used a comb since he’d pulled her out of the pool.

  He’d saved her life. She couldn’t even grasp that her life had needed saving, let alone the fact that he had saved it.

  And she was going to have to leave him behind. The thought made her chest ache, as though a brutal fist squeezed her heart into a small, spongy ball and wouldn’t let go so it could spring back to normal.

  She swallowed against the raw pain of her bruised throat. “This is some safe house. I was expecting a hole-in-the-wall rat trap out in the Everglades.”

  “Maybe that’s what makes it safe. No one would suspect it isn’t just someone’s vacation home.”

  Kathleen walked in from outside, and her smile was strained. “How’s it going in here?”

  “We’re tense,” Cole said.

  Kathleen’s lips relaxed some. “Still the master of understatement, I see.”

  Cole’s face didn’t mirror her friendly expression. “Want to tell us what’s going on?”

  “Yes. I, uh, do you guys need anything before we get started? Some coffee? Hot tea? We’ll have to stock the pantry, but we have the basics.”

  “I’m fine,” Bailey said.

  “You know what I want.”

  Cole’s tone was so flat that Bailey shot a glance at him. She’d never seen him so angry, and yet he’d kept it all tightly bottled until he’d seen Kathleen.

  The recipient of his anger gestured toward the other room. “Let’s go into the kitchen. I need some coffee. Another agent will be with us in a moment, and he’ll explain everything.”

  Bailey rose slowly, conscious of every sore muscle, every protesting bruise. She felt as if she’d been through a round with a prizefighter. At least she hadn’t ripped out any stitches during the encounter in the pool. A miracle.

  The kitchen was all white, from the floor, which sparkled as if it had been recently sterilized, to the cabinets, countertops and center island. The Florida theme had been continued here, with pictures of pink shells and starfish on the walls and white curtains that depicted a palm-tree-dotted beach scene on the window above the sink.

  Kathleen sat at the white butcher block table for four and waited while Bailey and Cole had joined her before she looked at Bailey. “We found something in the pictures you gave us.”

  “I already told her that part,” Cole said. “Why don’t you just cut to the chase?”

  Kathleen’s cheeks pinkened. “I don’t appreciate your tone.”

  “I don’t appreciate your beating around the fucking bush.”

  Bailey stared at him in shock. “Would someone please tell me what’s going on here?”

  Cole’s gaze swung to hers. “Something in the photos sent up a red flag, and instead of sending agents to Payne Kincaid’s to get you, Kathleen sent me.”

  “I had no way of knowing that Bailey was in imminent danger,” Kathleen said.

  “You had an idea,” Cole retorted. “You said there was no time and that I had to play it cool. You knew there was a chance that something was going to go down.”

  “But it turned out all right,” Kathleen said. “I don’t know why you have—”

  “It turned out all right?” Cole shoved back from the table and stood, his face going red with rage. “Bailey wasn’t breathing when I got to her. I had to do CPR to bring her back. That is not anything close to turning out all right.”

  “Cole, I don’t know what you want me to do—”

  “Do your fucking job. That’s why I came to you—”

  “Excuse me.” Bailey made a timeout gesture, ignoring the flip-flopping of her stomach at how angry Cole was on her behalf. “Can we talk about the photos?”

  He sat back down without a word, but then surprised her by reaching over and taking her hand. Bailey grasped his fingers in response, even more grateful for his presence.

  Kathleen’s gaze followed the gesture, and her lips thinned into a frown.

  Before anyone could say anything more, Kathleen’s cell phone rang. She sat back to pull it off her belt.

  “Quinn.” She listened a moment. “Yes, send him in. Thanks.” She clicked off the phone and rose. “Agent Brett Sark of the CBP is here. I’ll let him in.”

  As the agent left the room, Bailey said, “CBP? What’s that?”

  “Customs and Border Protection.”

  Her stomach jittered all over again. “What’s going on, Cole?”

  “I think we’re about to find out.”

  When Kathleen returned, a tall, thin, black man in an expensive-looking suit followed a pace behind. “Cole Goodman, Bailey Chase, this is Agent Brett Sark of the U.S. Customs and Border Protection.”

  They shook hands all around, and Bailey noticed that his eyes were the lightest, prettiest brown she’d ever seen. His suit was impeccably pressed, and a pleasant scent of cologne clung to him. He carried a light blue folder that he set on the table as he gestured for them to sit.

  After they were all seated, he flipped open the folder, and Bailey saw that it contained photographs. Sark slid the top photo and the one beneath it so that they were in fro
nt of her. “Do you recognize either of the men in these pictures?”

  As soon as she saw his face, his voice clicked in her head. Dixon Ramsey.

  In the first photo, Payne’s second in command and another man, who wore a black suit, sunglasses and shiny black shoes, stood among a gathering of pine trees. They were in the middle of exchanging a three-inch-thick, legal-size envelope and shaking hands at the same time. Austin had snapped the second photo just after Ramsey had turned to walk away. He was looking right at the camera.

  “Bailey?” Cole said.

  She realized they were waiting for her response and swallowed. “Yes, I know them both.”

  “From where?” Sark asked.

  “They work for Payne Kincaid. The one who looks like Secret Service oversees Payne’s security. I don’t know his name. And the bald one … his name is Dixon Ramsey. He’s Payne’s second in command. He’s also the man who attacked me. I’d heard his voice before, but I couldn’t place it.”

  “And how do you know Payne Kincaid?” Sark asked.

  “He was my father’s best friend.” She paused. “He’s my friend.” She couldn’t help sounding a bit defensive. Was Sark implying that Payne was somehow involved in what had happened to her?

  Sark’s face remained impassive, and Bailey wondered whether the muscles in it ever moved.

  Cole shifted. “Were these photos taken at the park, too?”

  Bailey shook her head. “Austin and I spent part of the day at Payne’s before we went to the park. Austin wanted to go swimming, and Payne—” She stopped to take a calming breath. How long before she would be able to go near a swimming pool again?

  “Has a pool,” Cole quietly finished for her, his fingers tightening around hers.

  “Right.” She took a calming breath. “That’s where I first showed my nephew how to use the camera. I got a call on my cell, and he was all over the pool area, snapping photos. He must have gotten an angle around the side of the house that I couldn’t see from where I was. We went to the park after that.” She paused. “He likes to climb on the monkey bars.” Somehow, it helped to remember that, to remember Austin’s sweet face and infectious laugh.