by Jill Shalvis
But trusting her, when she so clearly had not trusted him, went deeply against the grain. And it left him feeling like an even bigger jerk, because now that he knew her a little bit, he knew exactly how much she’d welcome the news of Terry’s baby.
“Rick?”
He’d tell her all when she told him all, and not a second before, and he’d just have to live with the guilt. “Maybe she was a good lay,” he said cavalierly, and bingo, temper flashed hard and fast in her eyes.
“I see.” Surging to her feet, she rubbed her wrist one more time, then turned away.
“Where are you going?”
“Why?” She stopped and looked at him over her shoulder. The very early morning sun glared in the windows, casting her beautifully glowing skin in a myriad of golds, and rendering her T-shirt absolutely sheer.
How many gorgeous women had he laid eyes on over the years? Plenty.
How many of those gorgeous women had made him hard enough to hammer nails? Plenty.
But how many of those gorgeous women made him want to drop to his knees and beg for forgiveness?
None.
“You going to handcuff me again if I do not tell you?” she asked.
“Just answer my question. Where are you going?”
“Back to Rio. I have work.”
“What about the car I saw following you up here last night?”
“You are the only one who followed me.”
“You don’t know that.”
Another shrug. “I know of no one who would care where I go or what I do. And as I have told you all I can about Terry, I no longer matter to you. Right?”
She was fishing, looking at him with a sort of half hope that made him hurt.
Did she want him to deny it? He couldn’t. And since he hated to hurt, he purposely, carefully shut that look out. “Right.”
The light in her eyes died, and he told himself he was glad, very glad.
And then she was gone, sequestered in her room, the lock firmly in place.
He got the message. Stay out.
Five minutes later she came back into the living room fully dressed in her Senhorita Nina Monteverde attire, hair firmly back, distant smile in place.
“You are still here,” she said coolly.
“I thought I would follow you back into Rio.”
“Sure. I would not want you to get lost.”
“I’m not in danger of getting lost,” he said through his teeth. “I—” What? Wanted to make sure she was safe?
He wasn’t protecting her!
Not like he’d been honor bound to protect Mary Jo. But damn it, that didn’t stop him from struggling uselessly against the need to see this woman safe.
“Do as you please,” she said, lifting her bag to her shoulder. “I am leaving.”
His gaze narrowed in on what stuck out of her bag, and he stepped close, putting his hand on her arm.
Impatience shimmered from her. “I am in a hurry.”
“I can see that.” He fingered past a file labeled “Financials” to the top of the yearbook she’d crammed in with her stuff. “Why are you taking this?”
“The financials are due today.”
“The yearbook, Nina.”
“No reason.”
“Nina.”
“Because I want to look at her again, all right?”
She was dead serious and in danger of crying. “All right.”
“Now either handcuff me again, or let me go.”
Tempting as the first thought was, he let her go.
But since she hadn’t yet told him all she knew, he followed her, because the truth was out there, and he was convinced Nina had it.
* * *
HOW DARE HE kiss her as if she were the most important woman in the entire world, and then, when they were no longer so close she couldn’t tell whose heartbeat was whose, look at her with those shuttered, cool eyes and act as if nothing had happened!
Something had happened, and Nina wasn’t likely to forget it.
It was a known fact that one could not drive through the glorious mountains in Brazil and remain furious, even when one had finally been coaxed into trusting, where one hadn’t trusted before.
The views were too stunning, too breathtaking for that.
She’d known, hadn’t she? Known Rick Singleton was trouble. She’d known to never trust a man with eyes so green and deep and full of secrets.
But while in his arms, so safe and secure, she’d forgotten.
She did her best to hold on to her foul mood, but the high coastal peaks, so wild and lush and green, did their job on her temper. So did the pure azure sky, without a single cloud marring its beauty.
Then her cell phone rang, jarring her. “Hello?”
“It’s Meg. You coming in today?”
Meg Turner had been Terry’s pity hire, or so Terry had claimed privately to Nina. And since Meg had followed Terry from their college days together at Northwestern, desperately in need of a job, Nina had gone along with it.
It had worked out, mostly because Meg was a quiet, dedicated worker who so rarely made a mistake that they all joked she was half human and half computer. Meg never bothered with Nina, never joked around, never started a conversation, and never came to her with anything, even work, so Nina wondered at the odd phone call. “I will be there in a little while,” she said slowly. “What is the matter?”
“Nothing...just wondering where you were. I’ll see you in a little while then.”
She clicked off before Nina could respond, leaving her to shrug and set the phone back down. She didn’t have time to worry about Meg. Or about John Henry’s attitude. Or how her father expected her to oversee all the business dealings when her heart had been given to the designing that she no longer had time for.
Because the sun was sharp, and the narrow, winding roads filled with crazy Brazilian drivers, Nina cranked up the music and forced her mind blank.
It worked for nearly the entire three-hour drive, until the very end, when in her rearview mirror, she caught sight of a motorcycle far back in her lane.
Apparently it wasn’t enough to humiliate her in her mountain retreat—Rick had to follow her home to further the experience.
If he could catch her, that is. She was a native, and knew the roads intimately. She couldn’t imagine how long he’d been in Rio, or really why he’d even landed there in the first place, but she ruthlessly used her advantage, randomly turning here and there, wherever she could, just to throw him off.
Once in the city, she really got into the game, going through as many neighborhoods as she could, even several favelas, changing her direction at will, so that surely the irritating American who kissed like heaven and looked like sin was good and lost.
Satisfaction coursed through her at that, childish as it was, but it lasted all the way home and up the walk of her condo.
All the way, in fact, to the front door.
Which was ajar.
She hadn’t left her place unlocked, she knew it. But Terry had always made herself at home here, and with a surge of joy and hope, Nina charged in, expecting to find her sister sprawled out on the couch, drinking all Nina’s soft drinks and watching the television, as if nothing had ever happened, as if they hadn’t been separated by terrible circumstance for a year and a half.
That’s not what Nina found, not at all, and it took a moment for the ransacked state of her condo to sink in.
Her couches were turned over, the lining cut open and stuffing pulled out. Bookshelves had been emptied to the floor, as well as her hutch. Glass and broken treasures and books and pictures...everything lay on the floor in a broken, crumpled heap.
And she’d charged in without thinking, even now standing out in the open, both her jaw and her heart on the floor as well.
They could still be here.
Quickly, she took a step backward, then another. And then, when no one reached out to grab her, whirled for the door.
And plowed into a
solid wall with arms that reached up and hauled her close.
She fought like a madwoman, but it was all too much for her overtaxed brain; first the mad dash to Arraial do Cabo, then being frightened half to death by Rick, being held by him all night, then her flight back here. If she’d had time, she might have broken down, but somewhere over the past day she’d found an inner strength, a place in her brain where breaking down was not an option. She wasn’t going down without a fight, no way, and she kicked out hard, connecting with a shin.
“It’s me, damn it!”
Rick. “Meu Deus!” she whispered, sagging as adrenaline continued to course through her. “Someone—”
“Out,” he said, still gripping her arms. “Get out and call the police.”
She just looked at him blankly.
“Chame a polícia,” he demanded, switching to her native Portuguese to reach her. “Now.” He shoved her toward the door, and when he turned back to her living room, he was in full bounty hunter mode, all tough body stance, intense concentration on his face.
He had a gun in his hands.
She’d think about that later, she told herself, whipping out her cell phone, hitting her preprogrammed number for the police. Shaking, she brought the phone up to her ear and waited.
And waited.
Finally, a very long, tense moment later, she got through and gave her information, but all she could think was that she could no longer see Rick in the doorway. There was nothing, no sound, and she moved closer, trying to peek in.
She had one foot on the entry, one hand on the doorjamb, craning her neck, hoping, praying Rick was all right, when someone set a hand on her shoulder.
With a scream, she whirled around, already swinging her purse out as a weapon.
“Man, you are the fiercest little thing I’ve ever seen,” Rick said, ducking clear of the purse’s swing.
“You have a gun.”
“Yes.” He tucked it in the back of his jeans. “Why the hell were you coming in? I told you to wait outside. I have to be able to trust you.”
“Trust.” She let out a laugh that sounded far more like a sob, and put her fingers to her mouth. “I am not sure we share the meaning of that word.”
His mouth tightened, but he said nothing else.
“I do not like guns.”
“I do. Ah, hell.” He stepped closer and stared at her with accusation. “You’re shaking.” He was shaking, too; she could feel his hands, the ones that were back on her arms now, holding her steady.
But not against him, where she suddenly wanted to be.
“S-someone went through my things.”
He made a low, rough sound, and his hands tightened on her, but he still didn’t draw her close. She wanted to be held against that strong chest. She wanted to be stroked and told everything was going to be okay. “Rick,” she whispered, lifting a hand to his heart, clutching his shirt because, crazy as it seemed, he felt like her only anchor.
With another groan, he finally drew her close, and she pressed her face to his throat, closing her eyes. His arms came around her, slowly, as if he were resisting for all he was worth. “They’re gone,” he said.
“They?”
“It took more than one person to make this mess.” He nudged aside a fallen pot, the plant and its dirt scattered across the entrance beneath their feet.
Nina nodded as if she understood perfectly, but she didn’t. He was right. She was still shaking, and she couldn’t stop, couldn’t stop the fierce drumming of her head or heart.
Bending, she reached for a broken frame. The picture was of her and Terry, when they’d been very young, sitting in the surf and sun. Baba was in the background, beaming with pride at their sand castle.
“I still remember this,” she whispered. “I can still remember being that happy and free.”
“We need to talk.”
“Yes.” She looked around at the devastation and drew a deep breath. “But I think I am going to be a bit busy for a while.” Cradling the picture to her chest, she walked through the rooms, carefully picking her way through what looked like a national disaster zone.
“Damn it, Nina, I need the truth.”
She turned and faced him, and was surprised to see his cool facade fall away, revealing his fear and concern.
For her.
Oh, yes, she wanted to trust him, with all her heart she wanted that, but old habits died hard. She needed to get to Baba, needed to talk to her, needed to see if any news had come from her sister.
If Baba still hadn’t heard from Terry, then maybe, just maybe, Nina could put her trust in this man who wanted to care for her but held himself back.
CHAPTER EIGHT
RICK FELT an urgency he didn’t wholly understand but wouldn’t ignore. A great part of that had to do with the last time he’d allowed a beautiful, innocent woman to distract him from his job.
She’d died.
He hoped he’d started to forgive himself for that, but he knew one thing. It wouldn’t happen again. He wouldn’t let any sort of lust or attraction blind him from danger, because he would simply not feel lust or attraction.
Not for Nina.
It was nearly evening before the police were finished. Rick put Nina into her car and told her to wait. He didn’t go far, only to the rear of the car. Leaning against it, he pulled out his cell phone.
Mitch answered on the first ring. “Tell me you found her, Singleton. That’s all I want to hear from you.”
“Not yet,” Rick told him, hearing the fear behind the temper. “But the sister’s in trouble. Someone’s been watching her. Her place has been ransacked.”
“Was she hurt?”
“No, just shaken.” So was he. His legs were still a bit weak, and if he thought about what might have happened to Nina if she’d gone home sooner, or if she’d managed to lose him in the streets of Rio as she’d so desperately tried to do, they got even weaker. “The key to finding Terry is through Nina. I’m sure of it.”
“Okay. I’ll come down—”
“No.” Rick didn’t like the panic that went through him at that. He wanted Nina to himself, a bad sign, a very bad sign. “No need, not yet. I’m going to stay with her until I get a solid lead. Did you know Terry went to school in the States for a while?”
“No, but her English is impeccable.”
“I saw a picture of her and a friend in a year-book. We should look up that friend.”
“Get me her name,” Mitch said. “I’ll find her.”
“Will do.” Rick clicked off and looked through the window at Nina, who was sitting rigidly, staring ahead.
At her destroyed condo.
With a sigh, Rick locked his motorcycle in her garage and got into her car. Dark was impending now, and he drove, dividing his time between watching the road and the horribly withdrawn expression on Nina’s face as she stared blindly out the window. She was so still she was scaring him.
“Nina.”
Nothing, no flinch, no darkening of the eyes, absolutely nothing. She was in shock, and he cursed his decision to play big, bad hero. He should have called a friend for her, a co-worker, anyone at all, anyone but him, and she’d have been fine.
But one look into her sweet, vulnerable face and he had taken over with a driving need to see her safe.
But he wasn’t attracted to her.
Yeah, right.
“I’m taking you to my place,” he said, turning out of the exclusive area of Ipanema and heading toward a far more modest part of town where he rented an inexpensive flat.
AKA hole in the wall.
“My place,” he said again, but even that didn’t get a reaction, and he began to worry she was in need of medical attention. He should take her to a doctor, he thought, and wondered where the hell one found a reputable doctor in Rio. He’d half decided to go hunt down one of his informants to ask exactly that when she slowly turned her head toward him.
“I do not need you to take care of me.”
&n
bsp; “Could have fooled me. What the hell were you thinking, walking into your place after it had been ransacked?”
“Back to that again, are we?”
“What if you’d walked in on them?”
“Then I would have been able to identify them for the police.”
He snorted, but inside he was quaking at the thought of her facing the guys who’d torn her place apart. “What are they looking for, Nina?”
She lifted a delicate shoulder, and he wanted to shake her.
“Want to know what I think?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“I think someone else is looking for Terry, too.”
She flinched, the reaction he’d been waiting for, but what he felt was a deeply rooted fear. “You’re going to have to tell me all of it,” he said. “If for nothing else but to save your own pretty little hide.”
That got her attention as well, and she shot him a look of daggers.
“Yeah,” he said. “Wake up call. You’re in danger. That’s my gut instinct, and believe me, my gut is always right.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, the protective gesture tugging at him when he didn’t want to be tugged at.
His cool distance was failing him. “Nina.”
“Why do you care?”
Why did he care? Well, there was a can of worms.
“All that matters to you, all that has ever mattered, is finding my sister. So why do you care what happens to me?”
Because you get to me when no one else has in a very long time. “Because I’m human, all right?”
“Humph.”
“How about, I won’t walk away from you simply because you’re being stubborn and stupid—”
“Stupid? Stupid?” She sputtered at that, then glared out the windshield. “You have some nerve. You are either totally blind or...or...”
“Or what?”
She looked at him then. “Or something has happened before. With your work. You feel guilty.”
That pretty much blindsided him, and he took his eyes off the road to stare at her.
She looked right back, steadily. “I am right, of course.”
He turned back to the road.
“Rick?”
“I’m driving.”
“Was it while you were a bounty hunter?” she pressed.