by Cara Summers
“Better safe than sorry,” Avery murmured.
“I can tell you that I’m thinking of calling in backup. I have a friend. Cody Marsh. He used to work as a field operative for the CIA. He left the agency a few years back and he’s working freelance on his own. He picks and chooses his cases, but this one will probably intrigue him. I could use him for research the way Dane has used me since we hooked up. I can’t be sitting at my laptop and keeping my eye on Jillian at the same time.”
“Go ahead,” Avery said. “You can add him to my tab. What else can I do?”
“While Jillian is in the hotel meeting with this Colonel Jenkins tomorrow, I figure that’s a good time for Jack Ryan to begin his research. I’ll interview the staff members, establish my persona. You might want to mention that Jack Ryan is here and what I’m doing to Jillian when you join her. We seem destined to run into each other. I think it’s best if she knows who I am—who I’m supposed to be.”
“You’re right. I’ll fill her in. Anything else?”
“What do you know about this Colonel Sam Jenkins?”
Avery frowned. “Just what Jillian’s told me. According to her, he’s made quite a reputation for himself in the hotel industry, mostly in the Southeast. Why?”
“Just curious. When I was tailing the ladies to the bookstore, I caught snatches of their conversation. According to Miss Pritchard, Colonel Jenkins might have been born right here on Belle Island. If it’s the same one she remembers, the colonel’s father died here tragically and the family moved away.”
“Jillian never mentioned that.”
“It might be a different Jenkins.”
Avery’s cell rang. “Yeah?” When he repocketed his cell, he said, “That was Jillian. The girls are ready for coffee.”
As he let Avery out of his room, Ian thought of what he hadn’t told the man. If Jillian decided to confront him, he had two problems to worry about. Number one was his rapidly escalating and so far uncontrollable response to her. The second was how long he could keep the Jack Ryan cover story going. The woman was no dummy.
5
“OKAY. SO WHAT YOU’RE working with are three disturbing incidents at the hotel and one occurrence of vandalism at a property Jillian Brightman has purchased in the village.”
“That would be correct.” The beats of silence on the other end of the line told Ian that his friend was scribbling ideas down. Cody was a copious note taker. Ian had always preferred to store things in his head.
While he waited, he moved to where he could see Jillian still seated at the table in the courtyard below with Molly and Avery. Though he didn’t step outside, he noticed the way her back stiffened slightly. The fact that her senses were as finely attuned to him as his were to her had his palms itching to touch her. What would happen when he finally did and when she touched him? How far would they take each other?
“Could the ghost be behind everything?” Cody asked.
Turning to walk into his room, Ian ruthlessly dragged his thoughts back to his conversation. And very nearly smiled. “I never mentioned a ghost.”
“No, you very carefully avoided that. One of the things I’ve always admired about you, MacFarland, is your subtlety. Dangling the hint of the paranormal in front of me would have been an obvious ploy to get me interested.”
Cody’s last assignment for the CIA had involved some paranormal goings-on and Ian suspected that it was that case that had triggered Cody’s decision to take an early retirement. Since then, several of the cases his friend had taken on had similar phenomena.
“You must know your brother’s capture of Michael Davenport got some fairly extensive coverage on the twenty-four-hour news channels,” Cody continued. “Hattie Haworth was even mentioned in the blurbs that run along the bottom of the screen. And Entertainment Tonight did a little retrospective on her film career.”
This time Ian didn’t bother to stifle a laugh. “You don’t watch Entertainment Tonight.”
“It’s actually become one of my guilty pleasures since I’ve retired from field work.”
“Liar.”
“Okay, okay. I did a quick Internet search while you were going over the possibly more salient points, and there’s a link to the clip of the Entertainment Tonight story. My question stands. Not that I’m an expert on ghosts.”
“You’re the closest thing I have to one.”
“Some of them do have the reputation of being a bit mischievous.”
“Not to mention downright mean. I still get the chills when I catch a rerun of Poltergeist.” Ian ran a hand through his hair. “You actually want to talk about the possibility of a ghost being the villain here?”
“Welcome to my world, MacFarland. And that’s part of what you wanted to do when you called. I know how your analytical mind works. Either your conscious or your subconscious wanted to cross the possibility of paranormal shenanigans off your list.”
Cody might be right, but he’d also just wanted to talk to someone. There’d always been a colleague at the CIA to bounce ideas off of. And in the past year, Dane had often used him as a sounding board.
“I don’t think the ghost is the villain in this case,” Ian said. “According to Dane, she’s been good to the sisters. She seems to want them here. Dane swears she helped Naomi save his life.”
“Did he actually see her?” Cody asked.
“No. But he believes that Michael Davenport did.”
“Interesting. So our ghost is selective about who she appears to. You’re probably right about her not being the villain here. According to the more scholarly research I’ve read, ghosts are usually tied down to a place. So if we buy into that, Hattie Haworth couldn’t have just skipped down to the village and thrown red paint at the walls of that store. And smuggling in bad mushrooms, cutting up the hoses in an air-conditioning system and tying a wire across a staircase are pretty physical activities, which argue against someone who’s limited to an incorporeal form.”
“You really have the lingo down,” Ian commented.
“You’re dealing with a pro. Sooooo…”
Ian could hear Cody’s pencil tapping on the notebook.
“I’m not a fan of coincidence, so I think we definitely have a villain here,” Cody mused. “Standard motivations for crimes are greed, love, survival. So far, the Brightman sisters have made a rather stellar success of their business venture. So who stands to benefit if they suddenly fail? Or who’s pissed off at their success?”
“According to Miss Emmy Lou Pritchard, no one. The hotel has been a boon to the local economy, so everyone is benefiting from their success.”
“And we should value Miss Emmy Lou’s opinion because?”
“I think she’s going to be my other research assistant on this one. She’s the town librarian and keeps her eyes open.”
“Tell me she’s as pretty as the Brightman sisters.”
Ian grinned. “I’d guess she was even prettier in her heyday.”
“Hey, I like older women.”
“You like ghosts better. Are you going to help me?”
“One condition.”
“What?”
“After I solve this thing for you, I get a free vacation at Haworth House. I’d like a chance to meet Hattie in person, so to speak.”
“I can arrange that.”
“I’ll start by researching all previous owners of Haworth House. Then I’m going to dig deeper into Hattie Haworth. The quick search I’ve done doesn’t mention anything about the time she spent on Belle Island. She built the place, lived there for years. Maybe our villain has some connection to either Hattie or the house.”
“One other thing I’d like you to check into. A Colonel Samuel Jenkins. He’s thinking of hiring Jillian as a consultant. There was a Samuel Jenkins here on the island who died tragically and he had a son, Sam Junior.”
“You’re thinking of the motivation I didn’t mention—revenge.”
“God, you’re good. Why do I keep forgetting that?”
“I’ll just have to keep reminding you.”
The moment Cody disconnected, Ian walked to the window again. When he saw the table was empty, he hurried out of his room.
JILLIAN WAVED AS MOLLY pulled away down the circular drive in front of the hotel. Just as soon as her friend’s car was out of sight, she whirled, raced back into the hotel and entered the nearest stairwell. She didn’t want to run into Avery right now so the lobby stairs were out. She’d managed to get through dinner, she’d even enjoyed it, but now she needed to think and get to the tower room.
She and Hattie were going to have a talk. Ever since she’d turned around and seen her stranger watching her from his balcony, she hadn’t been able to get the warning on the hatbox out of her mind. The one you draw out will come true, the one you draw out will come true—it had been playing and replaying in her head like an annoying tune she just couldn’t shake loose.
So what if the fantasy that Naomi had drawn from the box on that day a little over a year ago had come true? That didn’t mean that hers had to. And it didn’t matter that maybe one small part of her—the impulsive risk taker—wanted it to. Because there was another part of her—the focused business person she’d become—who needed to concentrate on her new store and her meeting with Colonel Jenkins tomorrow. That part of her couldn’t and wouldn’t let herself be pulled into the fulfillment of an adolescent fantasy.
A door above her slammed. Her heart took several thuds, then skipped one beat entirely as she heard the footsteps thundering toward her. It wasn’t fear she felt. It was anticipation—because she sensed who it was even before he rounded the landing.
Even knowing he was approaching, she couldn’t stop her forward momentum. He caught her on the fly, and for a moment they teetered on the top step. Then he swiveled to brace both of them against the wall.
They were both breathing fast. The sound vibrated in the air around them. Seconds ticked by, but neither of them moved. She couldn’t. The hard planes and angles of his body trapped her, triggering a torrid river of heat that melted every part of her—muscle, sinew, blood and bone. If she’d had the power to raise her hands, she might have pushed him away. And perhaps he would have let her go. Or maybe he wouldn’t have.
She’d never know because as her mind clouded, any will she might have had to escape disappeared. Everything else faded but this moment. Nothing existed but this man.
She’d never known anything between two people to be so consuming. So necessary. She swore she could hear her own blood racing through her veins.
“If we keep running into one another like this, we could get hurt.”
“Then we should stop.” But her voice sounded thready even to her own ears.
“Is that what you want?” His hand moved to the side of her face, and she felt the pressure of each one of his fingers. “No.”
“Let’s try this instead.” His other hand gripped her hip, urging her up on her toes. Then his mouth lowered slowly toward hers until his breath warmed her lips. He was going to kiss her—and she wasn’t going to stop him. Why should she? It was what she wanted. What he obviously wanted. What would be the harm? They were strangers. The perfect fantasy.
But fantasy short-circuited into reality the moment his lips molded to hers. Because there was no way she could have imagined what it would be like. The man didn’t kiss the slow, leisurely way he moved. Hard and hot, his mouth took complete possession of hers. The scrape of his teeth sent a sharp arrow of pleasure through her, and she moaned when his tongue slid over hers.
Strength flowed into her and she finally moved her hands—not to push him away but to dig her fingers into his shoulders to draw him closer. Desperation filled her, new, terrifying, wonderful. She had to have more.
IAN HAD KNOWN HE WAS IN trouble the moment he’d caught her in his arms. He might have saved them both from a nasty tumble down the stairs. Chalk one up for hero-of-the-day. But he hadn’t been able to let her go. Oh, his mind had sent the release command. His body just wasn’t having it.
Not surprising. He’d wanted her from the first moment he’d seen her, and each time they ran into each other, his desire had escalated. So he could understand his reluctance, perhaps even his initial inability to draw away.
But he should have been able to prevent the kiss. Or at least postpone it. He had a logical mind, a cautious nature. There were so many reasons why he shouldn’t, couldn’t kiss her, but as he’d stood there with every soft curve of her body pressed to his, he simply couldn’t remember even one of them.
If she’d just pushed against him, offered even the slightest sign of resistance, he might have been able to keep even a slim grip on his rationality. But the instant his lips finally met hers, logic vanished. Senses ruled.
Taste. Her mouth was a feast, and the flavors astonished him—not delicate and sweet as he’d expected but wild and rich and exotic. Each time her tongue tangled with his, he discovered something new.
Sound. There was a hammering—as loud as an anvil. It was a wonder guests weren’t pouring into the stairwell to investigate the commotion. He was almost sure it was his blood pounding. When she formed a word against his mouth, he couldn’t hear it above the racket. But he felt it. More.
So he gave her more. His hands sought her, racing down her sides to grip her hips, lift her. She wrapped her legs around him and pressed against him, center against center. He felt something inside him snap.
There’d been heat before, but nothing that could come even close to the fiery explosion that sparked from her to him, from him to her. His blood burned, and he knew a need so sharp, so jagged that it seemed to slice right through him.
His hands ran over her in a greedy sprint, taking, touching, possessing. He wanted her now. Needed her now. With as much desperation as a man might crave food or drink in order to survive. He braced her more firmly against the wall, tore his mouth from hers to sample her throat. “I want you.”
“Yes.” She arched against him.
“Not here—” But her hands had found enough space between them to pull at the snap of his jeans. The sound echoed erotically in the silence of the stairwell. Here was where he’d take her. Right against the wall where they were standing—
Then there was a louder sound as a door slammed.
Ian froze as the sensible part of his mind snapped on again. A footstep sounded on the stairs below. Then another.
Jillian stiffened, and he saw by the look in her eyes that she knew they were no longer alone in the stairwell. He pressed a finger against her lips, then unwound her legs and settled her feet on the floor.
“You okay?” He mouthed the words.
Two seconds passed and two more steps sounded before she nodded. Ian took a careful step back, testing his legs. They held. Wrapping his arm around Jillian, Ian drew her with him and they managed to descend three steps before a man rounded the corner and spotted them. Ian nodded.
The man nodded back as he passed them. By the time they reached the first landing, a door slammed overhead, leaving them alone again. Ian glanced down at Jillian. Her hair was still mussed from his hands, her lips still swollen, parted. For one moment, he was sorely tempted to throw aside caution, reason, everything, and finish what they’d started. It would be wild and crazy. Wonderful. And not like him at all.
It was that realization that gave him the strength to release her and step back. He’d very nearly made love to Jillian Brightman in the stairwell of her hotel. Without any thought to how that might jeopardize his ability to find out what was going on and—more important—to protect her.
When she met his eyes, he expected to see anger, recriminations, embarrassment, or at the very least questions. What he saw was laughter.
“We very nearly—” she managed before the laugh escaped.
“And he very nearly,” Ian said before he chuckled.
“Not really funny,” she said as she slapped a hand against the wall to keep her balance.
“No. I agree w
ith you there.” But they were laughing all the same. And Ian felt something move through him. Not the fire and passion she’d made him feel before…something he couldn’t quite identify. Something even more intimate.
Jillian glanced up the stairs. “I’ve never done anything like that before. Not in a stairwell, at least.”
“This is a new venue for me, too.”
For a moment the temptation to finish what they’d started shimmered in the air around them.
He could persuade her very easily, Ian thought. Or vice versa. But it wouldn’t be wise. Still, against all reason, all logic, he felt a keen disappointment when he saw that she agreed.
“Well,” she said. “I was going up, and you were going down.”
Right, he thought as he watched her start up the stairs. He waited on the landing until she’d reached the one above. His grip on the railing was so tight that he wondered the wood didn’t crumble beneath his hand. As she turned to climb the next flight, he called up to her, “I’m taking a rain check.”
She didn’t look back at him. And it wasn’t until the door closed behind her that he realized that in spite of the shared laughter and the almost sex, she hadn’t asked for his name.
JILLIAN MADE IT THROUGH the door to the second floor. Then she had to stop and lean against the wall. The promise in his last words had weakened her knees. Rain check. For a moment she had to struggle against the temptation to go back into the stairwell and deliver his rain check right then.
But she’d originally raced up the stairs with a goal in mind. She wanted to talk to Hattie. Before she decided what to do about…
She closed her eyes. She still didn’t know the man’s name.
Worse still, she wasn’t sure she wanted to. Because Molly had been right on the money. No one had ever affected her the way this man did, and part of the intense attraction between them had to be because he was a stranger.
Trapped in an elevator with a passionate hunk, kidnapped by a rakish pirate—how many times had she read those stories? Dreamed of those very scenarios? That had to be why she’d had such a visceral response to him from the first time she’d seen him.