by Mallory Kane
He couldn’t help but wonder which Sophie was the real one. The sophisticated lady who’d just dismissed him, or the frightened young woman who’d responded so completely to him last night.
“You ready to be briefed?” Montoya asked him.
Sean didn’t look at him. “You know the incident with the car was no accident.”
Montoya didn’t speak.
“She’s in danger. They know where she lives.”
“I’ll protect her.”
Sean faced the other man. “I’d feel better if I were the one protecting her.”
Montoya laughed. “I’m sure you would.”
“Don’t underestimate me, Montoya. Like I told you, I make a better friend than enemy. Now, I want to see the crime-scene unit report on the evidence they found in Johnson’s room.”
JOSE FUENTES SAT in his car outside Sophie Brooks’s apartment building, waiting for her. He hummed a Latin tune and beat out a salsa rhythm on the steering wheel. He had all the time in the world.
It had only taken a few minutes to take care of his primary job. He’d thrown the breaker, traced the electrical wiring, pulled it out and dropped it into position. That had left him ample time to explore her apartment. He figured it was one of the perks of his job.
He settled deeper into the driver’s seat and closed his eyes as he relived the pleasure of running his rough fingers over her delicate underwear, of throwing back her bedclothes and smelling her scent on the sheets.
He loved getting that close to his female targets. Especially after the way she’d looked at him.
Man, that had pissed him off. She’d been suspicious of him, but her face had also reflected disgust and fear.
Still, she apparently didn’t scare easily, because even after they’d roughed up her car, she hadn’t hesitated to report his description to the authorities.
He and every other Hispanic male who worked at the hospital had been grilled all day today. And had scrapings taken from under their fingernails. It had been humiliating. Luckily, regular scrubbing was a hospital requirement. His nails might always appear dirty, but they’d get nothing from the scrapings.
He glanced at the dashboard clock. Eventually she would come home. She’d walk into her apartment, little suspecting that he’d been prowling through her things. Then slowly, she would realize that someone had been there, had touched her things, had violated her.
He planned to sit right there in his car and watch her windows as she walked through, turning on lights.
He looked forward to savoring each tiny sliver of doubt, each rising concern, that she’d feel as she began to realize that her things were not exactly as she’d left them.
She’d think she was wrong. Then she’d change her mind. He’d been very careful, very patient. He’d put everything back exactly as he’d found it.
He knew her type. He knew she’d notice. He also knew she’d doubt herself. If he’d judged her character correctly, she’d finally convince herself that she had no proof anyone had been in her apartment. She’d talk herself into believing it was her imagination, brought on by stress.
She’d feel uneasy, but she’d slowly relax. She’d make sure the apartment door was locked, and her windows were secure. She’d notice how tired she was. She’d try to unwind, maybe pour a glass of the wine he’d seen in her refrigerator.
And after the long, exciting day she’d had, she’d probably decide to take a shower.
Then she would die.
SOPHIE PARKED Rachel’s Prius in front of her apartment and sighed. Thank goodness she was finally home. Rachel had been kind enough to loan her one of her cars and take her out to dinner, but the conversation had never wavered from two subjects.
What else could she remember about the events of the day, and Rachel’s opinion of all the reasons Sean Majors was not the right man for Sophie.
She’d assured Rachel at least a dozen times that she wasn’t interested in Sean, but the supercharged intuition that made Rachel a brilliant investigator didn’t confine itself to criminals.
Sophie knew Rachel’s intense blue eyes saw right through her lies.
Thankful to be home at last, Sophie stepped out of the car, locked it and headed for her apartment. She wanted a shower.
Her blouse was half unbuttoned by the time she’d locked the door behind her. As she sighed in relief to finally be home, her cell phone rang.
“Sophie, I didn’t get to talk to you again. Are you okay?”
Sophie smiled as she set her purse down. It was Samantha. “I’m fine. Thanks for checking. Have you heard anything more about Johnson’s death?”
“The crime-scene unit went over everything in the room. There were no smudges or fingerprints on Johnson’s IV port, but Rafe said they found a pair of gloves with a faint smear on the inside. They were in the laundry chute, stuffed into a bag of towels and sheets.”
“That makes sense. I couldn’t figure out why the guy was dressed as a surgeon, but with no gloves. Were they able to lift a print or match the streak on my blouse?”
“I haven’t heard. I was going to ask you the same thing. I heard you went to dinner with Rachel.”
“She was sweet. Not her usual business persona.” Sophie didn’t want to tell Samantha about Rachel’s motherly warnings about Sean.
“She’s worried about you.”
Sophie switched the cell phone to her other hand as she finished unbuttoning her blouse. “About me?”
“Come on, Soph. It’s no secret that in the four years you’ve been here, you haven’t dated at all.”
“That’s not true. I’ve been out.”
“Right. Been out. Maybe twice. Everybody at Confidential worries about you.”
A warm, alien sensation wrapped itself around Sophie’s heart. It was the feeling of belonging. Her in-grained caution had kept her from becoming close to the other members of the Confidential Agency. But since she’d been shot at and nearly run down by the mysterious car, she’d experienced Rachel’s worry, Rafe’s protective attitude and now Samantha’s friendly concern.
“You worry about me?” She gave a little laugh, feeling her cheeks burn. “Please tell me you guys don’t sit around talking about my pathetic life.”
Samantha laughed. “That’s just it. You are so far from pathetic. You’re gorgeous. You’re smart. You need a man. Speaking of which, you were going to tell me more about Sean Majors. He’s hot. You should latch on to him.”
Sophie’s face grew hotter. “Just because you’ve found your true love in Alex doesn’t mean you have to match up every single male and female you know. Next, you’ll be pairing up Isabelle and—and Rafe.”
“It could happen. And by the way, you could do way worse than Sean Majors. But seriously, Sophie. Are you okay? Where are you?”
“I’m home, and about to take a shower. I’ve been up since five.”
“I thought Rafe said the guy who smashed your car must have followed you from the hospital and knows where you live. You shouldn’t be there alone. Why don’t you stay at Weddings Your Way tonight?”
Sophie pushed aside the faint uneasiness caused by Samantha’s concern. She’d been on her own since she was seventeen. She’d taken care of herself all her life.
“I’ve got my weapon. I’ve got double dead bolts on the doors, and I’m sure not going to let anyone in. I’ll be fine.”
“Still—”
“Samantha, you were with the FBI. Do you have any doubt that you can handle yourself?”
“No, but—”
“Well, I was CIA. Trust me. I know how to take care of myself.”
“Okay, then. I guess I’ll see you in the morning.”
Sophie disconnected, a little surprised but relieved that Samantha had given in so quickly. She took her cell phone into the bathroom, then went into her bedroom to undress.
Opening her lingerie drawer, she reached for a pair of pink silk bikini panties. Her hand stilled. The three new pairs of panties she’d bought two w
eeks ago were under a bra.
She frowned. She’d been in a hurry this morning when she’d rushed home to shower and change after the excitement at the hospital—after spending the night with Sean. She’d probably moved the bra without realizing it.
She closed the drawer, then opened the one below it to retrieve her pajamas. They were folded neatly, just like she’d left them. When she picked them up, she spotted her peach silk camisole. It had several pulls in it.
She smoothed her hand over the delicate fabric. Had it been damaged in the wash? She certainly hadn’t noticed that.
“This is your fault, Samantha,” she muttered. “You’ve got me imagining things.”
She glanced around the bedroom, just to assure herself that everything was in its place. The uneasiness that Samantha had raised grew to a flutter of apprehension under her breastbone. She hadn’t felt so afraid since she was seventeen. She’d spent the past twelve years building a wall of invulnerability around herself. Nothing and no one would ever make her feel helpless and afraid again.
Closing her fist around the satin pj’s, she shoved the drawer shut. She was tired, and her emotions were in turmoil because of the events of the past two days.
Just to be on the safe side, she unlocked her bedside table and retrieved her Glock and slapped a clip into it. It would probably be a good idea to carry it for the duration of the case. Then she double-checked the dead bolt on the front door. It was locked.
Expelling her unease with a long breath, she laid the Glock on the back of the toilet with her cell phone and slipped out of her skirt and stockings.
She pushed the shower curtain aside enough to turn on the hot water, closing her eyes in anticipation as the quickly warming water flowed over her hand.
In no time she had shed the last of her clothes and the bathroom was getting steamy.
She adjusted the water temperature a bit and stepped into the shower—just as thunderous banging filled the air.
She shot out of the shower stall as if someone had pushed her. Water dripped onto the floor. She froze, listening.
The banging started again.
Grabbing her pajama bottoms and the tank top, she wrestled them on over her wet body, then picked up her cell phone and her Glock. She stuck the cell phone into the pocket of the pajama bottoms.
She swiped wet hair out of her face with her forearm as she cautiously approached the front door, her weapon at the ready.
“Sophie!”
Her heart thudded into her throat. It sounded like—
“Who is it?” she shouted, pressing her back against the wall near the door with her weapon clutched in both hands.
“Sophie, it’s Sean. Open up!”
Sean. Her breath caught. “What are you doing?”
“Open the damn door.”
Had something happened? She lowered her weapon and turned the key in the two dead bolts, then unlocked the door.
He burst in without waiting for her to swing the door open.
She had to scramble out of his way.
“Sean, what’s the matter? What are you doing here?”
His teal blue eyes quickly raked her from head to toe before he closed and locked the door.
“The question is what are you doing here?” His face was dark and contorted with rage.
Sophie took a step backward. “What’s the matter with you? I live here,” she shot back.
His gaze raked her again and stopped on the gun. A flicker of surprise lit his features.
She realized she was still holding it in both hands, the barrel pointed at the ceiling.
Then his gaze lowered to her breasts.
She glanced down. Her satin camisole was wet and plastered to her skin, outlining her nipples as plainly as if the hot pink had been painted on.
His gaze burned her skin, reminding her that he’d seen her breasts before, had touched them and kissed them and nipped and sucked them.
Her breasts and thighs tightened at the remembered feel of his mouth and hands, touching her in places she’d never allowed any man to touch.
Damn. Anger at herself for being susceptible to his presence fed her resentment that he’d barged in on her.
He took a step toward her.
She retreated.
“Does it mean nothing to you that the men who ran your car into the guardrail know where you live? That they could have been here waiting for you? What stupid notion made you come back here tonight?”
“Stupid? Stupid?” Sophie set the gun on a side table, hoping he’d forget about it. “This is my home. It’s safe. Even if the car incident were connected with Johnson’s death, which I’m not sure it was, why would they be after me? I can’t identify the guy I saw.”
“Why else would someone try to wreck your car?”
“Maybe I cut him off in traffic. Who knows?”
Sean shook his head, obviously frustrated. “Well, we’re operating on the assumption that whoever the man was who you chased through the hospital considers you a threat. He had you followed, and the car incident was intended to scare you or kill you. So, no, you are not safe here. You need to stay somewhere else until this is over.”
“Wait a minute. Samantha called you, didn’t she?”
“No, why?”
Sophie propped her fists on her hips.
Sean rubbed his face. “Actually, it was Rachel Brennan. She’s worried for your safety.”
She thought about Rachel’s warnings. “Rachel called you instead of Rafe? I don’t believe it.”
He nodded. “Believe it.”
His gaze intensified until she thought it would burn a hole in her camisole. Her breasts ached to feel his warm fingers, his mouth. She swallowed a tiny moan.
He blinked, then lifted his eyes to hers. “Apparently Montoya is actually working with the police tonight. It’s nice to know that he can.”
“Rafe is very good at his job.”
“So you’ve said. The question is, just what is his job? For that matter, what’s yours?”
He was treading on dangerous ground. He’d been suspicious since the beginning. It was obvious Rachel hadn’t told him anything, so Sophie had to keep him from uncovering Confidential’s true identity and purpose.
She widened her eyes and ran her tongue along her lower lip, trying to appear excited at the prospect of someone spying on her. “Do you really think someone is out there, watching me?”
Sean’s eyes narrowed for an instant and his jaw tightened. He was probably disgusted with her.
Finally, he shook his head. “I took a look around outside. I didn’t see any suspicious vehicles, but that doesn’t mean there’s not someone out there. Did you notice anything odd when you got here? Anyone follow you? Anything out of place in your apartment?”
She hesitated for a fraction of a second, and he picked up on it as if he could read her mind.
“What is it? What happened?”
She shook her head, but he wrapped his hand around her elbow.
“Come on, Sophie. Stop acting so damned coy. You think I didn’t notice how you held that Glock? You think I believe you learned to duck and roll like you did from a self-defense course?”
For an instant, Sophie wanted to confide in him, to lean on him. But she couldn’t. If Rachel had wanted him to know about Confidential, she’d have told him herself.
“I don’t know what you’re hiding,” he went on. “God knows you have a right not to trust anyone. But I’m trying to protect you. I don’t—” He stopped and grimaced. “I don’t want anything to happen to you,” he muttered.
Sophie’s pulse hammered in her throat. She didn’t know how to respond to his reluctant admission. She felt the pull of their attraction increase each time they met.
Did he? And if he did, was he fighting it as hard as she was? She’d never fit into his world, and he knew it.
“Okay. I had a feeling someone had been in here. Nothing I can point to. Just a sense that things weren’t quite right.” To he
r dismay, her voice quivered. She hoped he hadn’t noticed.
But he had. He slid his hand up her arm to her neck and for the briefest instant, his fingers skimmed along her cheek like the caress of a lover.
For a second, she felt cherished, cared for.
“Are you sure? Nothing was out of place?” He took his hand away.
Sophie’s eyes followed it. He had good hands. Strong. Gentle. She loved his hands.
“Sophie?”
“It seemed like some of my underwear was out of place, but I’m not that neat. I could have moved them myself.”
“Show me.”
Sophie shrugged and turned toward her bedroom, then heard the water running. “Oh. I left the shower on.”
She headed toward the bathroom, acutely conscious of Sean behind her. Her pajama bottoms were as wet as her top, and she hadn’t taken time to put on panties. She felt the wet material clinging to her every curve. She didn’t dare reach back to peel it away from her skin.
In the steamy confines of her bathroom, Sean stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. He slid around her to turn off the shower.
The muscles of his back undulated beneath his white polo shirt. She’d felt those muscles move under her palms. She knew the skin covering them was hot and smooth, unlike her scarred back. It was all she could do not to spread her fingers over the ridge of his spine.
“What’s this?” His voice rang with alarm as the sound of the shower faded to silence.
“What’s what?”
“Stand back.” He turned his head toward her. “Get out of the bathroom.”
She opened her mouth.
“Go!”
As she obeyed him and stepped out into the hall, he flung back the shower curtain and dug a high-powered miniature flashlight out of his pocket. He shone the beam toward the ceiling and from her position at the bathroom door, Sophie saw what he’d seen.
“What is that?”
He traced the black wires hanging down behind her shower caddy with the flashlight’s beam. “Electrical wire. Hot.”
Fear paralyzed her. She’d stepped into the shower stall with the water running full blast. If she’d reached for the soap or the shampoo, she might have been electrocuted.