“Yes, but you aren’t the one swimming through a tidal wave of sexual distraction.”
“What about right now? Are you still distracted?”
Her eyes danced with merriment. “I’m sitting on your lap naked. Why wouldn’t I be distracted?”
She was pushing his limits, toying with him like a cat with cornered prey. And yet with her eyes all sparkling and her mouth edging into a grin, she was more desirable than anyone he’d ever known.
“You aren’t going to give me one word of encouragement, are you?”
“How can I? It wouldn’t be fair to either of us. Look,” she traced a path with her finger over his neck and chest, “if I were intoxicated, you—”
“I don’t take advantage of drunk women.”
She shook her head. “Nor would you attempt to have a serious discussion. I’m not sure my current condition is much different. I have no idea if I’m thinking clearly. So saying anything about my feelings,” she shrugged, “might be misleading at best, deceptive at worst.”
“You sound logical enough to me right now, and don’t forget, I’m not affected by the damn bottle.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, but you’re definitely affected by my actions which may all be induced by—”
“Okay. Okay. I get it.” He scowled at her, more frustrated than he’d thought possible, especially when she seemed perfectly clear headed to him. “But I want you to know my feelings. You are no longer just part of the mission. In fact, I’m not certain you ever were.”
“Huh?”
“I think if I’d met you under any circumstances, I’d have tried to hit on you.”
“You like the way I look.”
“Especially naked.” He chuckled. “But I also like the way you think, even when you frustrate the hell out of me.”
She gazed up at him, clearly trying not to laugh out loud, but he couldn’t miss the humor in her expression. “Now that’s a backhanded compliment I’ve never heard before.”
“I’m trying to have a serious conversation.”
“Really.”
“And it’s difficult enough without your sass.”
“Is that so?”
“I like you, Amanda.” He combed his fingers through his hair and stared at her. “I like you a lot.”
“Ditto.” She didn’t even hesitate, and his hopes for them rose. He knew her well enough by now to realize she didn’t say things lightly.
He kept his tone casual and upbeat. “We’re going to spend time together when this mission is over.”
She grinned. “That sounded like a demand.”
“Oh, it was. I can be very demanding.” He lifted her off his lap and set her onto her feet. “And right now we should continue searching this apartment. The sooner we find the bottle—”
“And figure out who murdered my sister.”
“—the sooner the mission will be over and we can move on with our lives.”
“Can’t we enjoy the moment?” Her tone was easy, but he glimpsed shadowed pain in her eyes before she turned away, giving him a hint that she may have kept the conversation on the surface, but her feelings ran deeper. And experience told him she had reservations, but whether they were about him, her, or their situation he couldn’t discern.
While she washed, collected her clothes and dressed, he did the same. Both of them continued their search, but he looked for hiding places automatically, his mind on Amanda.
Women were the more complicated of the sexes. He’d always known that. But comparing his sisters to Amanda was like equating a step into a rain puddle with plunging into a riptide. And he was having difficulty keeping his head above water, never mind swimming ashore to safety.
He wouldn’t have minded diving in—if he could be certain they were doing so together. But while the lovely Amanda was giving him his every sexual fantasy, he longed for the intimacy of knowing she was being washed away right alongside him.
Perhaps he should try harder to convince her that they belonged together, but he had too much pride for that. He wanted her to be with him due to her own desires, not his urging.
He’d had a few flings in his life but none of the other women had excited or intrigued him as Amanda had. They were good together and it irked him that she wouldn’t admit it. Almost as if she feared…
God, no. Please don’t let her be one of those women who couldn’t commit.
Surely, she was stronger than that?
Bolt recalled the pain in her eyes and wondered who or what had caused it. He liked knowing his opponent. He couldn’t fight a memory or an uncertainty—not unless he knew and understood exactly what it was.
But she wouldn’t talk to him about her feelings. Stubborn, proud, independent, Amanda certainly had gotten under his skin. And “like” wasn’t a strong enough word. He cared about her. He was beginning to think about living together. About taking her to meet the family. About how she’d fit in with his friends.
His friends would adore her. Every one of them liked strong women. His sisters and mom were another matter. He never could predict their reactions. But while he preferred that they adore Amanda as he did, he wouldn’t necessarily change his mind if they didn’t. Sure, approval would be great, but Bolt had a mind of his own. And he knew he wanted Amanda in his life. She felt right. End of story.
Now all he had to do was get her to agree. Right now, the task seemed impossible. She wasn’t going to budge until they finished the mission. And while he was eager to move on with his life, contradictorily, he didn’t want his search for the bottle to end. The more time he spent with Amanda, the more time he had to convince her that they were good for one another, meant for one another.
They still had several hours to search Hathaway’s private quarters. While the times when Hathaway’s staff were gone was rare, he didn’t rush. If necessary, the Shey Group could create other opportunities.
Amanda searched the bathroom while Bolt checked the giant closet. The space was larger than most living rooms. Hathaway had an entire rack filled with dozens of shoes—loafers, dress shoes and sneakers—in an assortment of colors and styles. All his shirts hung on one long wall, the colors sorted from light to dark, and he must have had a dozen shirts in various hues of purple alone. Another wall held suits, jackets and slacks, all made of the finest materials. Hathaway even had a rack for belts and ties.
Bolt pressed the button, and as the ties fluttered by, he glimpsed an anomaly in the wall paneling. He stopped the tie rack from rotating and carefully felt the wooden panels for a latch. Nothing. The wall felt as smooth as Amanda’s skin, though nowhere as soft.
There.
His fingers snagged on a crease in the wood. “Amanda. I’ve found something.”
“I’ll be right there.” Her voice rose in excitement. “Did you find the bottle?”
11
AMAZED THAT ANYONE required such an extensive wardrobe, Amanda hurried through the oversize walk-in closet past the suits, shirt, jackets and shoes. After the amazing late-afternoon delights she’d shared with Bolt, her steps were still a bit unsteady, her conflicting emotions a riot of wonder and wariness—and joy that Bolt wanted to continue their relationship. Perhaps because she was unaccustomed to following her own preferences without having to consider how they would affect Donna, or maybe because the splendid lovemaking had come before deeper feelings had surfaced, she’d never felt so free to explore what she wanted from a man.
Amanda could please herself. It was as if she were on a vacation, where whatever she did with Bolt wouldn’t affect her real life. She was excited about the prospect of extending their relationship and time together. And yet, her practical nature warned her that Bolt was too good to be true. And she feared that when the bottle stopped altering her and the danger ended, she might not find Bolt as terrific as she did right now.
Clearly he’d wanted answers from her. She didn’t want to encourage him and then go back on her word if she felt differently once she was away from Hath
away’s influence. Yet, she suspected that finishing the mission might come sooner than she’d expected, especially after hearing the elation in Bolt’s tone.
She rounded a corner in the L-shaped closet and his broad shoulders blocked most of her view. But from her vantage point she could see that he’d found and opened a secret compartment. And when he stepped back, she got her first look at the perfume bottle. Blue, delicate and trimmed with a silver filigree it appeared old, but ordinary. She’d expected an aura or supernatural light to surround it, but there was nothing obvious to indicate the bottle had extraordinary powers.
When Bolt didn’t reach for it, she frowned. “Is that the right bottle?”
“Yes.”
“So, now what? Do you call the police?” Amanda realized that his mission was over. Yet, once he reported that he’d found the stolen bottle in Hathaway’s quarters, Hathaway would blame her for suggesting he hire “Bob Timmins” and for bringing him here. He’d certainly fire her, ruining her cover and her investigation. And likely he’d claim he hadn’t known the bottle was stolen. She doubted he’d even be arrested for theft. Which meant he’d get off scot-free for both crimes.
Bolt shook his head. “Our client wants the bottle returned to the rightful owner. Calling the law isn’t my job. But if I retrieve the bottle now, Hathaway’s going to know that we aren’t who we seem to be.”
“But your mission will be accomplished.”
“Yours won’t be.” To her astonishment, Bolt carefully closed and latched the sliding panel. “We’ll come back for the bottle after you nail him for Donna’s murder.”
“You’d delay your mission for me?” Stunned, Amanda shoved her hair out of her eyes to find Bolt smiling down at her. She hadn’t expected such a magnanimous gesture. The FBI didn’t work this way. With the Bureau, the mission objective always came first. “What if your boss finds out?”
“Kincaid won’t mind.”
“You’re going to tell him?” Her lower jaw dropped.
Bolt laughed. “It’s a perfume bottle, not a life and death decision. It’s not as though Hathaway’s planning to give it away or sell it.”
“But we don’t know that. And you’ve gone to so much trouble. Recruiting me. My cover. The expense of the suite and the surveillance equipment. Are you certain your boss won’t fire you?”
Bolt snapped open his phone and dialed. They waited as the encryption program rerouted through various countries and satellites took a minute or two, time she needed to collect her wits. Bolt seemed so confident his boss would go along with his change of plan, yet she knew he was taking a huge risk to help her. He was making the offer as if it was nothing. And unbelievably, he wasn’t asking her for anything in return.
“This is Bolt. I’m turning on the speaker phone so Amanda can listen. We’ve located the perfume bottle.”
“Good.” Logan Kincaid’s voice rang through as crisp and clear as though he was in the next room.
“I’m leaving the bottle in a hidden cubbyhole of Hathaway’s closet while we investigate Donna’s murder.”
“Understood.”
That’s it? Amanda would have had to answer a dozen questions from her boss, who would have then passed the request up the ladder. She’d have had a decision in days. Clearly the FBI and the Shey Group operated very differently. And she couldn’t have been more appreciative.
“Thank you, sir.” Amanda spoke into the speaker of the cell phone, but kept her message brief due to the lump in her throat. She felt as though she was an emotional bouncing ball—one moment sky high, the next plummeting. She’d certainly lucked out when it came to Bolt and the Shey Group, and her hope of solving Donna’s murder soared. As the two men cleared up a few details, she marveled over Bolt’s behavior. No one had ever done anything like this for her before.
She understood why Bolt gave Logan Kincaid his loyalty. And she was glad people like these men worked to keep their country safe. But even better, she was proud that Bolt had been chosen by such an exclusive organization. And that such a good man like Bolt wanted her made Amanda sigh. She had to be a fool to keep putting Bolt off in the emotional department. Okay, a complete idiot.
If Donna had been alive, she would have told Amanda that she was insane to hold back where Bolt was concerned. Yet, Amanda was of the mindset that first appearances could be deceiving. It was her nature to be cautious. Yet, she and Bolt were way beyond first appearances and the harder she looked at the man, the better he seemed.
He was gorgeous, hot, hunky. But he was also kind, playful and protective. And he liked her intelligence. She’d never had a true partner to work with before and she had to admit she was enjoying the experience on several levels. She respected his skills as an operative, but she liked the companionship, too.
For the first time, working with a partner seemed like a better idea than working alone. She could bounce ideas off of Bolt without wondering if he’d think less of her. He never put her down. And he always remained upbeat and on her side.
Her heart lighter than it had been in months, she supposed she’d better start making up for lost time. The moment he hung up with Kincaid, she flung her arms around his neck and kissed him. “Thanks.”
Bolt grinned. “You’re welcome.”
“I would never have asked you to put back the bottle.”
“I know.” He wrapped his arms around her. “That’s why it was so much fun to surprise you.”
“I’m glad you did.” She wriggled against him. “What other surprises have you got for me?”
* * *
FINDING FRANCES TURNED out to be easy. The arrogant model was in Boston for a photo shoot. But when even getting her on the phone to ask her about the diary Melanie had told them about proved to be impossible, Amanda and Bolt turned their attention to searching for Melanie Carter. Since Bolt’s computer program hadn’t yet given them any leads, they began with the return address on the envelope of the letter Melanie had written to Hathaway.
Although they’d learned more about Melanie’s background since their initial conversation, after finding her letter to Hathaway, Amanda had a lot more questions. Had Melanie been jealous of Donna’s relationship with Hathaway? Jealous enough to kill? Or did Melanie also suspect Hathaway, was afraid of him, and wanted to make him pay for what he’d done to Donna?
They discovered that right after Melanie’s accident and her return from the two months she’d spent in the hospital recuperating, Melanie had moved on but left a forwarding address. A Shey agent had traced the ex-model to a seedy apartment in the Bronx, which they immediately set off for. When they knocked on the door, she opened it and didn’t seem especially surprised to see them. But Amanda wasn’t taking anything for granted. As a model, the woman could control her expressions.
“Did you find Hathaway’s diary?” Melanie asked as she gestured for them to enter.
Amanda shook her head and stepped inside with Bolt just behind her. The apartment was small, but surprisingly comfortable and homey, with potted plants, a homemade afghan thrown over a leather sofa and the scent of hot soup coming from the kitchen. Cheerful curtains hung over the windows, their honey color set off by the burnished, aged wooden walls and the glow of several art deco style lamps. The old building even boasted a fireplace. Melanie had a framed picture of herself and Hathaway above the mantel.
Seeing her glance, Melanie sighed and rubbed her neck. “Those were happier times.”
“We found a letter you wrote to Hathaway asking him for money.” Amanda took the lead in the conversation as she and Bolt had previously agreed. They didn’t want the woman to feel as though the two of them were ganging up on her.
Melanie perched on the edge of her chair as if she was going to stand and flee at any moment. “After I was injured, Hathaway conveniently forgot he owed me money from a month’s work I’d done for the agency.”
“So you were trying to collect what he owed you?” While Amanda didn’t fully trust the woman, she sounded sincere and her
story fit the known facts, so Amanda was inclined to believe her. She now suspected Melanie hadn’t been strong-arming Hathaway, and her sympathy for the woman escalated. For Hathaway to treat an injured ex-employee so badly infuriated her, for him to do so to his ex-lover was incredibly cold and cruel.
Melanie nodded, twisting her fingers together in her lap and avoiding Amanda’s gaze. Amanda proceeded as gently as possible. “Did you ever collect?”
Melanie hesitated, the look in her eyes turning dreamy. “Hathaway told me he’d pay me what he owed and a large bonus if I did one more job for him.”
“You agreed?” Amanda guessed.
“That was when I foolishly had hopes that Hathaway could overlook my injury and we could get back together.”
“You loved him. Any woman might have done the same,” Amanda said softly, sympathetically.
“At one of his parties, Hathaway heard about a priceless perfume bottle that he absolutely had to own. After I…offered to acquire it for him, he was very pleased to take my phone calls again.” In contrast to her words, Melanie’s face saddened and a tear escaped her eye. Angrily she wiped it away. “I can’t believe I was so stupid. He didn’t want me. He was using me and my contacts.”
“Your contacts?”
“I grew up poor. In the Bronx. But then I made a name for myself with my modeling. I was a success, in love, on top of the world. I thought the money would never end and I never kept track of it as I should have.” She raised her head and stared out the window. “Who would have thought I’d end up back here in the old neighborhood?”
“But what did you mean by contacts?”
“This neighborhood has criminal elements. It wasn’t too difficult to hook up with a few guys.” She sniffed. “I knew better. I never should have helped him.”
“So you stole the bottle and then Hathaway paid you?”
“Yes. I’d never done anything criminal before—but I was desperate to get the bill collectors off my back. And I hoped I could prove that I was still useful to Hathaway.”
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