Lost in the memories, he swallowed and gripped Lizzy's hand more tightly. "I was the oldest. My siblings all looked at me as the one with answers. But I was drowning. I didn't know how to cope. So I ran away."
"Oh, Mac." Lizzy slid closer to him. "I'm sorry."
"At first it was great," he said quietly. "I knew my mother would be frantic, I knew every cop in the city was looking for me, but I was free. I wasn't the kid in school whose father had died. There were no pitying looks. No one telling me I had to man up and take care of everyone else.
"Then an older kid stole the fifty bucks I had, and I got hungry. I was stealing stuff from grocery stores, and of course I got caught. The manager called the police, and I panicked. When the guy saw the squad car and went out to meet them, I took off. Ran down the street, darted in and out of traffic, made it to the other side."
He closed his eyes. "The cop running after me wasn't so lucky. He got hit by a car. Broke his leg, got a concussion." The images spooled through his head, over and over, as if he could change the results if he concentrated hard enough. But the cop always ended up on the asphalt, his leg twisted, his head bloody.
Lizzy inched closer. "That must have been awful," she said quietly. "To have to deal with that on top of losing your father."
"I didn't even get punished," he said, and he knew she would hear the guilt and remorse in his voice. "Cops take care of their own."
Lizzy tensed and shrank back into the wall. He studied her for a minute, wondering why, but she didn't say a word. Didn't move.
Finally, knowing she wasn't going to respond, he said, "I got reamed out by every cop my parents knew and a few they didn't, but in the end, I wasn't charged with anything. The only person I had to answer to was my mother.
"That's the nightmare – that cop flying through the air. Landing. Not moving."
"You okay now?" she asked, untangling her fingers from his. Her hand was shaking.
Hoping she would share her secrets with him, he nodded. "Yeah. Thanks for listening. It helped."
She studied him for a moment, and he held his breath, waiting. Willing her to speak.
Her shoulders dropped and she relaxed against the wall. Not tonight, then. But soon, he hoped. Before the storm stopped and he had to take her back to Chicago.
"Go back to sleep," she murmured, drawing her legs into her chest. Her face was unreadable. She knew how to keep her thoughts to herself, to hide what she was thinking.
"You going to stay with me?" he finally asked.
"Go to sleep, Mac."
***
Mac startled awake as a blast of what sounded like shot gun pellets hit the window. He automatically reached for his gun, but found only a lamp and a paperback book on the table next to the bed.
He sat up, looked around, and let out a breath. Lizzy's house. Lizzy's room. Wind-driven hail battering the window.
He was alone in her bed. But he hadn't been alone earlier.
He'd had the dream. First time in a few years. His stupid, rigid conscience, the guilt nibbling at his soul, must have dredged the nightmare up from the depths of his brain.
Lizzy had held his hand. Let him talk. And he'd told her all about the dream, his past, hoping she'd share her secrets with him.
Sharing personal stuff led to other stuff. Like making love.
His cock twitched and hardened as the memories of lovemaking with Lizzy spooled through his mind.
No. They'd had sex. That was all it was.
And even though he wanted to do it again, he wouldn't. He was here to arrest her. To take her back to Chicago.
He wasn't here to fuck her.
He eased out of bed in his tee shirt and his boxers, then headed into the hall.
He peered into the other bedroom, saw a blanket-covered lump in the middle of the bed. Why had she left? They'd fallen asleep together after the lo...sex. She'd god-damned cuddled with him when he told her about the nightmare. And now she was in a different bed.
After he'd gone all Hallmark Channel on her, he'd fallen asleep with the weight of her body pressing into his side. Why had she left?
As he wondered what had happened, the dog lifted her head and stared at him. She'd been lying on the floor next to the bed, her dark fur hidden in the shadows.
He froze. But instead of growling at him, or barking, she stood up and stretched. Then padded toward him and bumped his hand with her head.
Seriously? She wanted him to pet her?
He thought dogs could tell when a person was lying. When they were up to no good.
Apparently not this one.
He ran his hand over her head, lingered at her ear, and she leaned against his leg. He moved cautiously toward the kitchen and the telephone, and Franny followed, her stumpy tail wagging.
He'd call Parmenter's cell, make sure he'd gotten the message about Lizzy. He'd tell his boss that as soon as this damn storm stopped, they'd be on their way back to Chicago.
The phone was a dark shape beneath the cabinets in the kitchen, and he listened for any movement from Lizzy's room before he reached for it. It took a couple moments before he realized the cord was missing.
His fist curled around the handset. He wanted to slam it into its cradle on the wall, but instead he replaced it slowly, trying to make as little noise as possible.
Lizzy was a smart woman. She had to be, to avoid discovery for three months. He'd find another way to check in with the office.
She must have a computer with an internet connection. His research had found she'd been doing translation work for a drug company, and she had to have a way to communicate with them. He moved to the living room and stood there for a long moment, watching the storm through the floor to ceiling windows that faced the ocean. The fireplace was on the side wall, and windows bracketed the chimney.
The trees in the woods surrounding the house bent sideways in the wind. Even through the sheets of rain pouring down, he saw enormous whitecaps on the water.
He'd been damn lucky to survive.
Now it was time to do what he'd come here to do.
He spotted a desk in the corner of the room, where she could look at the water while she was working. It held a laptop and a bigger monitor. Bingo. An email to Parmenter would work, too.
He was walking toward it when he felt a disturbance in the air. He spun around, and Lizzy was standing in the hall, watching him.
"What are you doing?"
He shrugged. "Couldn't sleep. Thought I'd sit on the couch and enjoy what's left of the fire."
She studied him, her gaze sweeping down his body, then back up. Assessing. And not like earlier. There was no lust in her gaze. No need. No desire. All he saw was suspicion.
"You're in your underwear and you're going to sit out here? Where it's cold?"
"There's a blanket on the couch," he said. Remembering. "From this afternoon."
Even in the darkness, he thought she flushed. "You should build the fire up, then." Her gaze shifted to the dog. "Franny. You're with him?"
She might as well have said, 'Et tu, Brute?' "Maybe she had a bad dream, too," he said.
Her gaze narrowed at him. "Franny. Come."
The dog trotted over to her, and Lizzy pointed at a dog bed near the desk. "Bed."
Once the dog was lying down, Lizzy turned back to him. "Do you know how to build a fire?"
"Of course I do." He didn't have a fireplace, and neither had his parents. He'd gone camping with friends a few times, though, and watched other people make fires. How tough could it be?
Pretty tough, apparently. After three tries, he sat back on his haunches and glanced up at her. "Go ahead and make fun."
She brushed past him and knelt on the floor, grabbing pieces of newspaper and balling them up. After the fireplace was full of paper, she got three new logs and set them on top of the charred embers and papers. Then she struck a match and held it to the newspapers. He watched as blue flames licked at the edges and turned the paper black.
Lizz
y stepped back and curled up on the couch, grabbing one end of the blanket. Staring at the fire, she murmured, "Love to watch it burn."
He agreed. It was hypnotizing to see the flames leap and sway, to hear the crackle of the wood as it caught fire, to smell the wood smoke. But that wasn't why she was here.
He'd seen the way her gaze had shifted between him and the laptop. He'd known exactly what she'd been thinking – that he was going to pry. Try to learn her secrets. She was on the couch to make sure he didn't wander. To keep him away from her computer.
Lizzy inched a little closer to him, but he had no illusions it was because she wanted to touch him. No, it was to sense if he got off the couch.
He could stay awake until Lizzy fell asleep. He'd been on plenty of stake-outs. This was exactly the same, except the subject was a lot closer. And once she was asleep, he'd get to that computer and send an email to Parmenter.
Heat from the fire cocooned him in warmth, soothing his aching muscles. But his eyes grew heavy. He shook himself awake and shifted to watch Lizzy sleep. To remind himself what was at stake.
He shook himself awake three more times. The fourth time, he told himself he'd take a quick nap. Twenty minutes. Then he'd get to that computer and send his email.
***
Lizzy woke slowly to gloomy gray light. The wind didn't sound quite as fierce, but rain still beat against the window.
She looked around and frowned. What was she doing on the couch? With her head on Mac's shoulder.
She jerked upright.
Then yesterday came flooding back – making love with Mac. The first time might have happened because she was groggy and half out of it. But the second and third times, she'd been wide awake. She'd known exactly what she'd been doing.
What she wanted to do again.
His golden skin had been smooth and hot, his muscles hard. His boxer shorts had hugged his very impressive package, just before she'd peeled them off his hips. His hands had done delicious, wicked things to her body. His bedroom eyes had made her shiver. Want.
Take.
Then he'd told her about his nightmare, shared very personal memories from his childhood, and made her want to share some of her own memories.
She'd been tempted to tell him her story, for God's sake. She'd been so close to blurting out the whole ugly, terrifying mess.
How could she have been so foolish? She'd caught him prowling the house after she'd fallen asleep. With Franny. Her dog. The dog who was supposed to be protecting her.
Franny was lying on the floor next to the couch, head on her paws, watching Lizzy. "Traitor," she muttered at the dog. Then she eased herself off the couch and stood up.
She'd sat on the couch with him last night to make sure he didn't get up and prowl around again, and she'd fallen asleep. Woken up too close to him. But at least he hadn't been able to search the house.
And what had he been doing the night before? He'd been walking toward her computer. Why?
Maybe he'd wanted to let someone know he was okay. A girlfriend in Seattle, or his boss. She shook her head. If he wanted to use the computer for an innocent reason, he could have asked. Instead, he'd gotten up in the middle of the night.
As if he knew she was thinking about him, he opened his eyes. He looked around in confusion until he spotted her. Then his eyes cleared.
"Beth. What are you doing here?"
"Getting ready to let Franny out."
"Dressed like that?" His gaze scanned her from head to toe, pausing at her tee-shirt covered breasts, at her skimpy panties.
"No one here to see me."
"Except me."
"Yeah, I'll go take care of that."
She turned to go, and he said behind her. "Don't bother for my sake. I like the view. And Beth?"
She glanced over her shoulder. "Yes?"
"Pink? Really?" he said with a grin. She tugged her shirt over her hips. "I would have taken you for a black lace kind of woman. Or red." He tilted his head and studied her. "Yeah, definitely red."
"Shut up." She felt her face flame. "I like pink."
"Interesting. I'll make a note. Beth likes pink."
Lizzy likes pink. She opened her mouth and caught herself just in time. "Don't bother. It's not like you're going to see my underwear again any time soon."
"That's okay. I'll look at them when I'm taking them off you." His voice was the same low, sexy growl he'd used yesterday, when she'd been thinking all kinds of inappropriate things and he was thinking them right back.
"Better keep looking now, then," she said over her shoulder as she disappeared around the corner. "Last you're going to see of them."
"That's a disappointment," he said, his low voice sliding against her skin like velvet.
"Life is full of them," she said over her shoulder as she disappeared around the corner into the hall.
When she emerged from her room ten minutes later, dressed in jeans and a warm sweater, he was standing in the kitchen, looking at the coffee maker. "Yesterday, you said the mess hall had coffee. Is it within walking distance? Can I go get some?" His voice was brisk. Business-like. The sexy, alluring stranger from yesterday had disappeared.
She was relieved. That's what she wanted. But disappointment made her voice tighter than she intended. "We'll go together. It's easier to take you there than tell you where it is." She wasn't letting him out of her sight today. Not here, and certainly not in the kitchen and mess hall.
"I could stay here and watch Franny for you."
Yeah. Franny would probably help him find all her secrets. "No, Franny needs the walk. She'll come with us."
"Great. I'll get dressed."
He was standing in front of her in just his boxer briefs, and after one glance at the bulge they cupped, she forced herself to look only at his face. "Take your time." She smirked. "I'm in no hurry for coffee."
Chapter 10
Lizzy glanced at Mac as they walked through the trees toward the main part of the camp. He moved stiffly, and she wondered if his body ached as much as hers did. Shoulders, arms, legs. Even her damn feet. Everything was sore.
Mac must be worse. He'd been tossed around in the water, pounded into the rocks. She shouldn't have made him walk in the rain. A kinder woman would have gone for the coffee herself.
She couldn't afford to be kind. Her job was to protect herself.
Rain slid off the leaves and hit their ponchos with a hollow sound. Franny danced between the trees, apparently oblivious to the rain, deliriously happy to be outside. She dashed ahead of Lizzy, checked out a suspicious tree, bounded back. Mac picked up a stick and tossed it, and Franny raced to catch it, then hurried back to them. A fanciful person would swear she was grinning.
Anyone watching them would assume they were a couple, walking through the woods with their dog. The thought made Lizzy frown. Why the hell was she thinking 'couple' when she looked at Mac?
The hormones flooding her brain were making her stupid. And she couldn't afford stupid, not after yesterday. She'd had sex with a stranger. She'd used up her stupid quotient.
This morning, she'd flirted with him about the color of her underwear.
She'd lost her mind.
She needed to find it again. Fast.
The rain was no longer falling in torrents, and the wind had eased a little. The whitecaps were smaller, but the thought of boating on them made her hands shake. She wasn't an experienced boater. Even on the best of days, navigating the Sound made her nervous. She'd have to be desperate to get into a boat today. Tomorrow? Maybe.
One day. Twenty-four hours. She could handle this ridiculous need for that long. Handle the memories that played on a loop in her brain. Once Mac was safely off the island, she could do something about her needs. Make a date with the shower head in the bathroom. Or maybe...
"I thought you said this mess hall wasn't far." Mac interrupted her little fantasy of both of them in the shower and made her stumble over a fallen log. Mac reached to steady her and winced when
he slipped in the mud.
"We're almost there," she muttered, closing her eyes to block out the mental picture of Mac in a shower with her. She tossed Franny's stick far ahead of them, making it disappear into the brush. "Another minute."
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, the clearing appeared in front of them. Water rushed down the path, turning the area into a sea of mud. The rows of empty platforms that held the tents in the summer squatted above the mud like a field of square, flat mushrooms.
Mac paused to stare at the sight, and flashes of stormy water in the harbor were visible through the trees. God, she hoped the boats were still there. What if the storm had swamped them? Broken them free of their moorings?
If they'd disappeared, she'd get Jerry to haul Mac off the island. He'd been boating in the San Juans for longer than she was alive. A few waves wouldn't bother him. The longer Mac was here, the more chances for disaster.
"What are those?" Mac asked, nodding at the platforms.
"There are tents on them in the summer. Big white tepees. It's where the campers sleep."
"Yeah?" He shifted to look past her toward the roiling gray water of the Sound. "And that's where your boats are?"
"Yeah." She clenched her teeth together and glanced at the water again. "If they survived the storm."
"They might have sunk?" He frowned, peering toward the harbor.
"You were out in the storm. You felt the wind, saw those monster waves." She shoved her hands in her pockets, curling her fingers into desperate fists. "It's possible."
He turned to stare at her. "What would happen then?"
"I'd hire someone to pull them up."
"I mean about me. Getting me off the island."
"I'd get Jerry to pick you up."
"Jerry?"
"The guy who delivers my groceries."
"That could take a long time." He frowned.
So he wanted to leave as much as she wanted him gone. She ignored the tiny stab of disappointment. "Another day or two."
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