by Ginna Gray
The four men had split up, and one was coming their way stealthily, as though he knew they were there.
Gravel crunched right outside the door. Abigail's frightened eyes sought David. He laid a finger across his lips in silent warning, but even so, when the doorknob rattled, both she and Pepe started.
They tensed and waited. In the ominous quiet, all Abigail could hear was their labored breathing and her own thundering heartbeat, booming in her ears like a kettledrum. She was terrified the man outside could hear it through the door.
The quiet stretched out. Then, at last, the footsteps moved on.
Abigail started to sag with relief, but David gave her a warning look and again signaled for quiet. Minutes later the man returned, just as the other three entered the alley from the opposite direction.
They stopped to confer, and Abigail looked at David again, her eyes growing huge. They were standing right outside the door! Not more than three feet away!
They could hear every word. Unfortunately, the low-voiced discussion was in Russian. At least, that was what it sounded like to Abigail. They also sounded angry, their voices sharp. After a minute or two they moved on, and the voices faded as they turned the corner and walked away.
No one in the storeroom moved for several minutes—not until David heaved a sigh.
Abigail sagged in a heap on the floor. She released her own pent-up breath and closed her eyes. When she opened them, David was grinning at her, a cocky, triumphant grin. She couldn't help it. A giddy happiness filled her, and she grinned back. "We made it."
"Damn right, we did," he said with hard satisfaction, and before she realized his intent, he cupped his hand around the back of her neck, jerked her close and planted a firm kiss on her mouth.
The kiss was brief but powerful. Abigail felt its punch all the way to her toes. When David released her, he bounded to his feet, leaving her sitting dazed and disoriented, her heart doing a wild dance in her chest.
"C'mon, Legs. Let's get out of here," David said impatiently, and she realized that he was standing over her, his hand extended to help her up.
Once on her feet, she brushed off the back of her skirt and strove to appear unaffected. "What...uh...what do we do now?"
"Now? Now we're going to do some stalking of our own."
His voice carried a gritty edge. All thought of the kiss left Abigail as she caught the glitter in David's eyes. He looked granite tough. Savage.
"I'm damned tired of being hunted," he continued in the same dangerous tone. "From now on we're going to do the hunting."
***
Abigail shifted on the cracked vinyl seat, but still the broken spring poked her bottom. She sighed. Pepe's dilapidated pickup was not the ideal vehicle for a stakeout.
She glanced at the two men on either side of her and was struck by the contrast between them. Pepe leaned forward in the seat, chewing on his lower lip, making his thin mustache twitch. His dark eyes glittered, and his wiry body pulsed with eager excitement.
David sat motionless, one elbow hooked over the edge of the open window, his other arm straight out in front of him, his wrist draped over the top of the steering wheel. Between the first two fingers of his dangling hand hung a glowing cigarette. He stared straight ahead, his eyes fixed on the hotel entrance in the next block. He looked harsh, determined. Dangerous.
"How long are we going to wait," Abigail asked in a hushed voice.
"As long as it takes."
"But what if they don't leave?"
"They'll leave. Shovel-face and his pals aren't the brains behind this operation. They're just muscle. Sooner or later they're going to have to report that business at the hotel to whoever is in charge. They probably have a set rendezvous time."
Abigail fell silent, her thoughts again drifting back to that wild chase. She had been so terrified, and yet there was no denying that mingled with the fear, and later with the relief, had been a bubbly feeling of... exhilaration. Of excitement. Happiness almost. It was strange
Abigail's train of thought was lost when Pepe jerked to attention beside her. "Senor—"
"I see them," David said in a low rumble. Following the direction of his gaze, Abigail spotted the three men who had just emerged from the hotel. They conferred a moment, then one walked of f into the night and the other two climbed into a long black car at the curb.
"Abbey and I will take the two in the car. Pepe, you follow the one on foot. And for God's sake, don't try to play James Bond. Just stay out of sight, find out where he's going, then meet us back at the cantina."
Pepe, his eyes glittering with excitement, nodded and slid from the cab of the truck.
Driving without lights and staying well behind, David followed the black car to the harbor. He coasted to a stop on the quayside road a block behind where the sedan parked, his gaze locking on the pair that climbed out.
Both men paused and looked around. When they were satisfied, they headed down Pier One.
"C'mon. We have to get closer," David commanded, and reached for the door handle.
Abigail swallowed hard, but she eased her door open and slid out, too.
Pier One ran along the curving arm of land that formed one side of the harbor. On the landward side it was lined with warehouses, bait and tackle shops and small storefront places that rented everything from boats and windsurfers to scuba gear. Staying a hundred yards or so behind and hugging the shadows cast by the buildings, David and Abigail trailed the two men.
Near the end of the pier, the men stopped and took another look around. David jerked Abigail into a recessed doorway. Pressed back against the wall, they stood motionless for several seconds, then David peered around the edge of the embrasure.
"They're going aboard that big yacht down near the end," he whispered. He squinted his eyes. "It looks like her name is... The Wanderer II. Yeah, that's it. Ah-ha, who's this?"
Abigail edged closer and peeked over his shoulder. The two they had followed were on the deck of the yacht, engaged in a serious discussion with a third man. From where they were standing, it was impossible to make out his face, only that he was tell and slender and had an air of command about him. He appeared to have dark hair, though what color was difficult to tell. The only thing certain was that the hair at his temples was completely gray. Even from a distance it gleamed like silver wings in the dim light on deck.
"I'd be willing to bet we've just found Ms. Johnson's contact," David murmured.
They were so intern on the three aboard the yacht they did not hear the man approaching from behind until he was almost on them. When the footsteps registered, David's head whipped around. "Holy shi—"
He bit off the whispered expletive, and before Abigail knew what was happening, he had her backed up into the doorway, locked in a passionate embrace, his broad back shielding her from view.
"David, wha—"
"Someone's coming. Just shut up and kiss me." His mouth closed over hers with commanding force, sealing off any further attempt at protest.
The use of brute strength, however, was unnecessary. Abigail was too stunned to utter a word. It was ail she could do to stand.
She felt the heat of the kiss in every cell of her body. Her toes curled in the skimpy sandals. Her stomach tightened. Her fingers clutched handfuls of his shirt and held on, while her heart thrummed and her head spun and her knees turned to mush.
After a moment David raised his head a few inches. Glittering hotly, his brown eyes probed her face. Surprise and wary fascination marked his expression. Stunned, Abigail could only stare back, her eyes wide and bewildered.
David's gaze dropped to her parted lips, still wet from his kiss, and after a moment he lowered his head again.
All the harshness was gone. This time he kissed her with greedy hunger, his mouth devouring hers. Abigail's lips quivered and parted. His tongue stabbed into her mouth. She thought she would die from the exquisite sensation that speared through her. Tremors began to dance along her nerve endings. She
touched his tongue with hers, caressed it, felt the shudder that ran through him.
Emboldened, she went up on tiptoe and twined her arms around his neck. His arms tightened, pulling her closer still. Her breasts flattened against his massive chest. One hand cupped her bottom. He pulled her up against him, and she felt the hardness of him pressing against that part of her that ached with need. Her knees went weak. She made a mewling sound into his mouth and melted against him like overheated caramel. Nothing in her life had ever felt so good.
His hips rocked against her, and Abigail moaned. David swallowed the sound and kissed her like a man dying of hunger.
She wasn't aware of the man passing by, or of his crude snicker when he saw them, or even of where they were. All that existed for her was David, the feel of his arms around her, the magic of his lips.
Even conditioned as he was by years of training, it took a moment or two for the sounds to register with David, and another moment of delayed reaction before he placed them. At last he broke off the kiss, pausing just long enough to give Abigail another penetrating look before peering around the edge of the door again.
"He's on board. C'mon." Grabbing Abigail's arm, David stepped out onto the pier and hauled her toward the quayside road. "Let's get the hell out of here while we can."
***
The putt-putt of the outboard engine on Pepe's skiff floated across the dark water. The only other sounds were, the occasional slap of a wave against the side of the boat and the distant crash of breakers against the cliffs to their right.
The boat had a spotlight attached to the side, but David didn't want to risk being seen, so he guided the small craft through the darkness unaided, hugging the shoreline just beyond the breaking surf. Gripping the steering arm, he stared straight ahead, his face set.
Abigail sat on the bow seat, facing him. She held on to the side with one hand and stroked Chelsea with the other. Gnawing the inside of her lower lip, she watched him covertly.
She knew he was disturbed that he'd been unable to reach his cousin. When they'd returned to the cantina he had placed a call to Travis, but all he'd gotten was the answering machine. They'd hung around for more than an hour and he'd tried several more times but the result was always the same, even though by then it had been almost dawn in Washington, D.C. Still, Abigail knew that the awkward silence between them was due to more than concern over his cousin or his need to concentrate.
He hadn't said a dozen words to her since they had stepped out of that doorway at the harbor. On the drive back to the cantina his expression had been so remote she hadn't dared utter a sound.
Abigail sighed and looked over her shoulder when David altered course and began to steer the skiff toward the narrow inlet.
She sneaked another quick peek his way to find that he was staring at her. The instant their gazes collided, both looked away. The dark intensity she had glimpsed in David's eyes vanished, and he focused straight ahead, his face expressionless.
Abigail strove to appear unaffected as well, but her heart began to pound, and she could feel heat spreading over her face and neck and across her chest above the low-cut blouse. She gave silent thanks for the concealing darkness.
Was it possible that David had been as moved by that kiss as she had? The question had been hovering at the back of Abigail's consciousness for the past hour, but the minute her mind voiced it she panicked.
No. Of course not. Don't be foolish, Abigail. You're acting like the love-starved old maid he accused you of being. Though perhaps a bit rough around the edges, David was a man of the world. He had probably kissed hundreds of women. Thousands. Probably many in the line of duty.
Anyway, he's made it clear more than once that you aren't his type.
That kiss had just been an expedient action. A sham. It had meant nothing. No doubt if he knew what havoc it had wreaked on her system he'd bust a gut laughing, the clod. She pressed her lips together and looked out across the ocean and reminded herself that she detested David Blaine.
A whine from Chelsea caught her attention, and with a guilty start Abigail realized that she had been scratching the dog's tiny head so hard she'd created a tender spot.
She lifted her pet in her arms and crooned an apology. David gave a disgusted snort, earning himself a withering look as he guided their little craft through the narrow passageway into the cove.
Once on board the Freewind, they moved around each other in stiff silence, each taking great pains to keep a distance between them and not to look at the other.
While David secured the skiff and unloaded the engine parts, Abigail went below. Feeling hurt and irritable, she marched into the forward stateroom, deposited her purse and Chelsea on the bed and shook out the sack of clothing that Constanza had provided.
To Pepe's profound disappointment, the man he had followed had merely walked around the corner to an all-night pharmacy for a bottle of aspirin and returned to the hotel. Pepe had been back at the cantina for almost an hour when she and David arrived, and by then Constanza had gotten the whole story out of her husband. On learning that all of Abigail's things had been taken, she had sent one of her daughters out to acquire a few essential replacements.
"Aiyi, do not fret, senorita," she'd said when Abigail expressed amazement that she had managed the purchases at that late hour. "It was no trouble. Tia Lupe, my aunt, she owns a dress shop. She lives above it. When Louisa woke her and told her of your problems, she was happy to open the shop."
It had been a thoughtful gesture, and Abigail was touched and grateful. The only problem, she thought, gazing at the pile of ultra feminine clothes, was that seventeen-year-old Louisa had stars in her eyes.
The girl, and all the other females in the Morales family, thought that David was one muy macho hombre, and that the two of them being thrust together was exciting and romantic. Earlier, when Louisa had gathered up the mud-splattered clothes Abigail had worn on the hike through the woods, she had been vocal in her disapproval of Abigail's plain undies. Evidently she had used the shopping spree to remedy that deficiency.
Dismayed, Abigail looked at the shorty nightgown and matching panties on top of the pile of clothes. The garment was low cut and frothy and just skimmed the tops of her thighs. The pink cotton was opaque, at least, but that was the only good thing she could say about the gown.
Abigail sighed and snatched up the skimpy garment, along with her toothbrush, and started for what David called the head. "Silly name for a bathroom," she mumbled to herself, stepping into the molded compartment that was not only a shower stall but housed the toilet and washbasin as well.
David came below a few minutes later, just as she emerged from the tiny cubicle with the clothes she'd borrowed from Louisa draped over her arm. She halted at the sight of him and tugged at the hem of the short nightgown, but he barely spared her a glance before sliding past her.
After eyeing the two humans, Chelsea curled up on the banquette bench with her toy puppy and stayed out of their way.
Abigail was relieved when David disappeared into the head. When he returned a few moments later, she was hanging a sundress in the closet. If he noticed her anger at all, it didn't show. His face was as remote and unreadable as stone. Except for giving her a hard, "I dare you to say a word" look as he lit a cigarette, he didn't so much as glance her way.
He sidestepped around her to the built-in bureau and pulled open a drawer. Her eyes narrowed on his back. With a sniff, she lifted her chin and made a show of giving him a wide berth, moving past him to sit down on the end of the bed. While she folded the frilly panties and bras Louisa had , purchased, David pawed through the open drawer like a badger digging a hole. One of the very drawers that she had straightened and organized just that morning, Abigail thought, grinding her teeth.
He withdrew a scrap of cloth and tossed it onto the bed. He toed off his sneakers, bent and peeled off his socks and tossed them aside. Nonchalantly, as though she weren't even there, he jerked his shirt free of his jeans an
d began working the buttons open. Abigail didn't notice. She stared, transfixed, at the pair of scanty leopard-print silk briefs that lay on the bed. My stars! Didn't the man own anything but X-rated underwear?
At the rasp of a zipper her head whipped around. Her jaw dropped as David hooked his thumbs under the waistband of his jeans and shoved them down. At eye level, not three feet from her face, her gaze encountered a narrow strip of red-and-white polka-dot knit stretched across lean hips. Helplessly she stared at the impressive bulge at the front of the minuscule briefs, and the straining placket that covered it. Her mouth went dry.
"Wh-what do you think you're doing?" she sputtered.
He paused with his jeans around his knees and shot her a puzzled glare. "What the hell does it look like? I'm getting ready to hit the sack. But first I'm going to change my underwear. The ones I have on got wet when waves splashed over the stern of the skiff.''
"You could at least have the decency to change in the bathroom."
"Forget it. I can't strip down in there. I bang my knees and elbows against the walls just trying to shower."
"Well, you could have warned me sol could turn my back or go up on deck. Which I'm going to do right now." She shot him a scornful glare as she stomped past. "Pervert."
"Oh, yeah!" He turned to follow, but the jeans around his ankles acted as hobbles and he almost fell flat on his face. Cursing a blue streak, he hopped after her on one foot while tugging and yanking at the denim pant leg covering the other. "Well, I'd rather be a pervert than an uptight old maid!"
"That is an antiquated expression. And for your information I am single by choice," she retorted over her shoulder.
"Ha! You know what your problem is? You're a prude. I'll bet you've never had a boyfriend in your life. No man in his right mind would want to get lashed up with a hoity-toity, introverted, prissy, little puritan."
That hit a nerve. Abigail sucked in her breath and spun around. She was sensitive about her meager experience with the opposite sex. Not that she was plain or ugly. She was attractive, in a quiet way. Even Aunt Harriet had grudgingly conceded that. She just didn't have the knack for attracting men. Or for holding their interest. Her one excursion into romantic waters had been a disaster.