Undercover with the Enemy

by Christine Michels

  And, she’d be in a position to approach him the second the timing seemed right.

  “The lanai might be a bit cool tonight,” the hostess cautioned.

  Heather smiled. “I don’t mind.”

  After a moment’s consideration the woman smiled. “Why not? Follow me.”

  A minute later, Heather was seated exactly where she’d wanted to be. Unfortunately, the noise level was such that she only caught the occasional word of the exchange between Court and his companion. Still it was enough to keep her intrigued, and she leaned back in her chair to catch as much as possible.

  “…shipment…could arrive any time.”

  “Too soon…be ready…”

  “Can I take your order, miss?” Heather jumped, knocking her silverware off the table and almost spilling her glass of water in the process.

  She looked up at the waiter in consternation. She hadn’t even seen him approach. “I…yes.” Quickly scanning the menu, she ordered a Caesar salad with bread sticks, and then resumed her eavesdropping.

  She frowned. They weren’t saying anything. Risking a glance over her shoulder, she looked at Court’s table.

  Oh, no! They were gone!

  Without thinking, she sprang to her feet and began to scan the restaurant for any sign of Court or his companion.

  How could they have disappeared so quickly?

  “Lose someone?”

  Heather whirled at the sound of his voice. “Court!”

  “Hear anything interesting tonight?”

  For the first time, Heather noticed that he seemed absolutely furious. His topaz eyes were as hard as the stone whose color they mimicked. His lips had narrowed into a thin line of displeasure. And his features looked as though they’d been carved from granite. “No…I…it wasn’t like that,” she finally managed to say. “I needed to speak with you, but I didn’t want to ruin your date.”

  “Of course.” The sarcasm and disbelief was ob vious in his tone. Heather opened her mouth to reassure him, but he didn’t give her the chance. “Come on,” he said as he gripped her arm. “We’re leaving.”

  She tried to tug her arm from his grasp. “But…my salad.” It was a stupid thing to say, and she knew it the second the words were out of her mouth. But there was something about Court and the way he was manhandling her, as though she meant less than nothing to him, that terrified her. She hadn’t expected him to be overjoyed to see her, but she hadn’t expected him to look as though he wanted to kill her, either.

  “You can eat later.” Reaching into his pocket he withdrew some money and threw it on the table. And then proceeded to half lead, half drag her through the restaurant.

  Heather tried once more to pry his fingers from her arm. “Let me go, damn it!” she demanded in an undertone.

  “Not on your life!” He tugged her down the steps and out into the parking lot.

  “I have my own car!” Heather argued.

  “You won’t need it tonight.” Opening the door of the BMW he ushered her inside. “I’ll send somebody over to get it later.”

  “But…”

  He held up his hand to forestall her argument. “Stay,” he ordered as he walked around the car and got into the driver’s seat.

  “I’m not a damned dog.” Heather eyed him resentfully. “And where do you get off treating me this way?”

  He gave her an evil look that Heather interpreted to mean that she was lucky she was still alive.

  “Court—”

  “Look, just shut up, will you? I’ve got to think. We’ll talk later.”

  “I haven’t got time to—”

  The look he gave her was enough to give her pause.

  “I can wait a few minutes,” she said.

  His lips twisted briefly in a humorless smirk and then he seemed to forget her existence as he focused on the road ahead with frowning intensity. This was a side of Court that Heather hadn’t seen before, and it frightened her a bit. He seemed so intense, so hard.

  A few minutes later, they arrived back at his house. Not bothering to pull the car into the garage, Court brought the BMW to a lurching halt before the front doors and got out. Before she had a chance to open her own door, he came around the car, jerked the door open, and said, “Come on,” in a tone that brooked no refusal.

  Regardless of his mood, Heather decided to try again. “Court, I really need to speak with you.”

  He paused long enough to look at her. “I want to have a talk with you, too,” he said. “But not right now. I have some things to do.”

  “It’s important, Court,” Heather argued, as he tugged her into the house.

  He nodded. “Yes. It would be, wouldn’t it?.”

  “What?” Heather stared at him in confusion.

  He shook his head, leading her through the house until they reached the bedroom she’d occupied up until that morning. Had it really be so few hours since she’d left? So much had happened, it seemed like a lifetime. “Make yourself at home,” he said as he ushered her into the room. “You’ll be staying the night.”

  “Staying the night! I can’t—”

  He looked at her, his gaze cold enough to freeze hell, and hard enough to still her tongue in midsentence. She didn’t think she’d ever seen a man so angry. Completely ignoring her protest, he said, “I’ll be with you as soon as I can.”

  Heather stared after him as he turned to leave the room, trying to think of something to say…anything, that would turn this around. But her brain refused to cooperate.

  Abruptly, he stopped, turning to face her. “Oh, and Heather, I wouldn’t recommend trying to leave. It won’t be possible.”

  Heather was too numbed by his hostility to grasp the meaning behind his words until it was too late. What was he saying? That she was a prisoner?

  The sound of a key turning in the lock was her answer. She stared at the door openmouthed. He’d actually locked her in the room!

  Why was he treating her this way? She hadn’t even told him anything yet. She stared at the closed door in consternation wondering what had changed in the few hours since she’d seen him last. He must have learned something from someone, but what?

  And would he still help her?

  She gazed around the room as though seeking answers, but none were forthcoming. Now what did she do? she wondered. Having returned all her be longings to her apartment that morning, she didn’t even have her things anymore.

  Frustrated, anxious and frightened—for Des and herself—Heather began to pace the room. A half hour passed and Court still didn’t return.

  Where was he?

  The longer she waited, the more tense she became. There had to be something she could do that would pass the time, and help her relax enough to be coherent when she faced Court. Maybe a quick shower, good and hot, to chase the knots from her muscles. Yes, that’s what she’d do. Who knew when Court would decide to let her out of her opulent prison? And when he did, she had to be ready to make him understand.

  Court clenched his fists as he moved down the corridor toward Heather’s room. He’d just spent a good hour updating Liz, Ernest and Dave on the situation. With the shipment due to arrive anytime within the next forty-eight to seventy-two hours, they had to be ready to move on a moment’s notice. And, their circumstances were complicated by the involvement of Heather Buchanan. Even being incredibly optimistic, going on the assumption that she knew no more than she could have overheard this evening, she could probably blow the whole thing. There was little doubt that she could jeopardize the lives of countless people who were just doing their jobs.

  “So what are we going to do about her?” Ernest had asked.

  “Let me talk to her first, then I’ll let you know,” had been Court’s response. He could still see the incredulity on Ernest’s face, even on Liz’s. And it had been then that he’d known for certain that he was acting out of character. He was jeopardizing their work for a woman. Unable to reverse course without providing them with more worry concerning his co
mpetence, he’d simply left it at that. But the knowledge grated that, for the first time, his partners didn’t fully trust him. And that awareness added fuel to the already seething fury in his gut.

  Because he didn’t fully trust himself, he realized. Because, despite everything he knew about her, he desired her—in his arms and in his life. Because he was ripe to believe whatever story she cooked up because he wanted to believe her. He wanted to be wrong about her. And that was why he couldn’t allow himself to be swayed by her.

  Pulling his anger around him like protective armor, he turned the key in the lock and entered her room. “All right, now what the hell—” He broke off when he realized that Heather was standing across the room from him wearing nothing but a towel. And not a particularly large towel at that. His heart gave a healthy thud before lumbering to a virtual standstill at the sight of long freckle-bronzed legs visible beneath the hem of the snow-white towel. His eyes traveled upward, skimming over the luscious package hinted at but concealed by the towel, to delicate bare shoulders, a long neck and a mass of auburn hair that had been pinned haphazardly atop her head. Corkscrew tendrils, still damp from her shower, escaped to trail sexily around her face. She looked absolutely delectable.

  Which undoubtedly had been her plan.

  Chapter 14

  DiMona’s coaching? Court wondered.

  His anger coalesced into a cold hard knot in the pit of his stomach. Damn her! “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.

  Her eyes widened with an innocence so real he would have believed it if he didn’t already know better. “What am I doing?” she echoed. “What are you doing just barging in here? Don’t you know how to knock?”

  Ignoring her feigned outrage, he stalked into the bathroom, opened the linen closet and grabbed the terry cloth bathrobe that he knew was there. Emerging again, he tossed it to her. “Here. Put this on. Then, we’ll talk.”

  Giving him a fulminating look, Heather turned her back, slipped into the robe and belted it securely. Then, swinging to face him, she threw the towel she’d been wearing onto a nearby chair. “Better?” she asked acerbicly.

  Court ignored the question. Just as he ignored the fact that she was naked beneath the concealing folds of the robe, and that his body was reacting to the idea. “Okay. Now I want to know exactly why you were sneaking around the restaurant tonight? Did you honestly think I wouldn’t see you?”

  He was infuriated by the memory of just how he had reacted when he had seen her. His first instinct had been to protect her. Protect her! He still couldn’t believe it. Yet, he’d concealed her presence from Rachel, hurrying his contact out of the restaurant on the pretext that he had to get moving—all just so that he could shield Heather. Why? But he didn’t want to examine that question too closely.

  “I wasn’t trying to hide from you, just from your date,” Heather said. “I was there to see you.”

  He studied her, seeking the evidence of perfidity he knew he could find if he looked hard enough. “Uh-huh,” he drawled. “Listen to me, Heather. I want to know the truth about everything. And I want to know now. Do you understand?”

  She shrugged, allowing the neckline of the robe to gape distractingly. “Where do you want me to start?”

  Determined to ignore her blatant attempt at seduction, to remain indifferent to her beauty and the gaping bathrobe, he stalked toward her, perfectly willing to use his size and proximity to intimidate her into providing a candid response. “Start with DiMona. Who is he to you?”

  Damn! He’d made a mistake in getting too close to her. He was close enough for the essence of her to fill his senses. Close enough to be seduced, against his will, by her aura of innocence. Close enough to see the expression in her eyes.

  Heather stared up at the big, intractable male facing her. She didn’t know how he’d discovered that she had a relationship with DiMona, but it no longer mattered. She’d already decided that she would have to trust Court, trust that her instincts were correct when they told her he was a good man.

  As she sought the words she needed to make him understand, all the weeks of carrying her fears and worries alone suddenly caught up with her. “DiMona—” She stopped as her voice broke and, to her shame, tears filled her eyes for the second time that day. She swallowed the lump in her throat, and forced words past the stricture. “Dimona is nothing to me. He is the devil incarnate, and I wish he’d go back to whatever hell spawned him and leave me in peace.”

  She lifted her gaze to meet Court’s, wishing for nothing more than him to sweep her up in his arms and tell her everything was going to be all right. Just for a while, she wanted to lean on someone. Was that too much to ask?

  But the expression in Court’s eyes remained remote. “Well,” he said. “That was certainly vehement. Hell, it was even believable. Except that I saw you two together today in the park, Heather. I saw him holding you.”

  For an instant, incomprehension kept Heather mute. And then as understanding dawned, her eyes widened in horror. “Good Lord! You think that I…that he… I would never let him touch me that way. I couldn’t!”

  “If you’re trying to tell me that I didn’t see you together, I have to inform you that that tactic is doomed to failure.”

  Heather dashed the tears from her eyes as anger coursed through her. “Oh, you saw us together, you dolt. But you didn’t see what you think you saw. I almost fainted. He caught me, supported me until I stopped swaying. That’s all! And even that was too long to be held by him. I would rather have fainted.”

  For the first time, she saw a slight relenting in Court’s expression. The light of speculation that told her he was no longer as certain of his position as he had been. But when he spoke, it was obvious he wasn’t ready to give up yet. “Right,” he drawled. “I suppose it was heat stroke. In case you hadn’t noticed, it was raining today.”

  Heather squeezed her eyes shut, praying for the means to convince him to help. But as the memory of the picture of Des pierced her mind again, eloquent words escaped her. She opened her eyes to meet his accusing gaze. “He’s got my brother!” As fresh tears poured from her eyes, she whirled, preferring to stare blindly out the window than to allow Court to see her so weak, so needy. “He showed me a—” she choked on the word “—a picture. Des was tied up in a chair with duct tape over his mouth. He was trying to be brave. I could see that. But there was so much fear in his eyes.” She caught a sob between her teeth, swallowing it. “That’s why I almost fainted. And that’s why I was coming to see you. I need your help.”

  There was only silence behind her. He didn’t believe her! If she hadn’t been so desperate for his help, Heather would have stalked from the room in fury. But she had nowhere else to turn. “Look, you said you wanted the truth. Maybe you should give me a chance to tell it, from the beginning.”

  “All right.” Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, he indicated that Heather should sit in the chair. “Be my guest.”

  Self-consciously, Heather sat, adjusting the robe over her legs for maximum concealment. Now that he was giving her the chance to proceed, she wasn’t quite certain how to begin. She studied Court’s face. It was virtually expressionless, and yet she had come to know him well enough to decipher him somewhat. His countenance was no longer as uncompromising as it had been, but neither was it particularly receptive. Guarded was the word that came to mind.

  She cleared her throat. Then, unable to bear the thought of, perhaps, reading disbelief in his eyes, she fixed her gaze over his right shoulder and began.

  After she’d told him about the money Des owed, Court asked, “How did you get involved with this?”

  Heather shrugged. “I did the only thing I could think of to do. I knew the bank wouldn’t lend me any more money, so, since Des assured me that there was no way the police could protect him, I went to see Herrera.”

  Court swore. “Are you crazy?”

  Heather smiled slightly. “No, just desperate. I took every cent I had
—close to six-hundred dollars, and asked Herrera if he’d agree to some kind of a repayment plan.”

  “And instead, he came up with this. Placing you here.”

  Heather shook her head. “No, that was DiMona’s plan. He was in Herrera’s office.” Rising, she moved to the window to stare out at the night. Somewhere out there her brother needed her help.

  “What kind of deal did DiMona make with you?”

  “I was to come here, spy on you, engage you in conversation, do whatever it took to find out the truth about who and what you were. In exchange they would forget about Des’s debt and we could go back to our lives. Only…” Remembering DiMona’s face that day, his enjoyment of her pain, she strangled on the words that would voice her fear.

  “Only what?”

  For a moment, just a moment, doubts assailed her, and Heather hesitated. What if she was wrong about Court? What if, despite everything, he was on the same side as DiMona. What if…? But, there was no help for it. She would have to trust her intuition. Trust Court.

  Taking a deep breath, she marshaled her resources. “I don’t think he intends to keep his end of the bargain even if I deliver what he wants. Not anymore, if he ever did. I think he means to kill us both. That’s why I need your help. I can’t save Des by myself.” She swallowed. “I might not even be able to save myself.”

  Court considered her silently. He believed her. Everything he’d learned about her and Des backed up her story.

  Did that make him a fool?

  Maybe. “You know that DiMona is my associate. What makes you think that I can protect you, or your brother?”

  She studied him in silence for a long moment. “I don’t know,” she said finally, quietly. “I just trust you.”

  Trust. It was a hard thing to come by. But something told Court, too, that he had to operate on the premise that she was telling the truth. And that meant he had to help her. Somehow. It wouldn’t be easy. And he wouldn’t be able to do it alone. Which meant convincing his people that she was on the level.