Hero in the Nick of Time

by Marie Ferrarella

  He lowered his mouth to hers. “Your spirit of altruism overwhelms me.”

  Her eyes began to close as anticipation reentered the picture again, this time its repertoire fully stocked. She knew exactly what she was anticipating, and she could hardly wait.

  “As long as you know.”

  Chapter 12

  “This isn’t going to work, you know.” Cade’s words were meant for himself as much as for her.

  Long after the euphoria from their night of lovemaking had settled into a peaceful haze, he’d wrestled with the righteous need to be honest with her.

  Cade had never been one to let things just drift, unspoken and unresolved, when it was his to fix, or set right.

  He kissed Mac’s forehead gently, his arm still wrapped around her shoulders, holding her to him as the haze of half-broken sleep hung around them like a tattered nylon curtain. A bittersweet sadness whispered through him even as he struggled to hold on.

  “ ‘Work’?” Mac asked, raising herself up on her elbow to look at him.

  Her hair, a flurry of auburn clouds, hung just over her breast, tempting his fingers and his soul. He gave in just a little, combing his fingertips through silky strands for just a moment. Lightly skimming her flesh and exciting himself even as he attempted to block the sensation.

  He smiled into her eyes and wished things were different. But they weren’t. He had to remember that, even though just the sight of her right now made his heart race.

  “Something happened here that shouldn’t have.”

  The simple sentence wrapped steel bands around Mac’s heart and squeezed hard. And hurt.

  “Regrets already? I thought I was the one who was supposed to have them, not you.” Like a knocked-down fighter springing to her feet and ready to go at it again, Mac raised her chin in a challenge. “Or is that too old-fashioned?”

  Cade couldn’t make himself stop touching her face, even though he knew he should. For his own sanity if not for hers. “The only regret I have, McKayla, is that I’ll hurt you.”

  Something softened inside her. The imaginary raised boxing gloves lowered. She believed him. “You’re mixing tenses.”

  The soft laugh was rooted in truth and sadness. “Tenses aren’t the only thing that’s being mixed.” Cade drew her to him even as he knew he should be moving her aside. The feel of her smooth body against his chest warmed him in a hundred ways he hadn’t been warmed for a very long time. “McKayla, the driving force in my life is finding my son.”

  Her eyes were wide and understanding as she looked at him. “I know that.”

  She heard the words, he thought, but she still didn’t understand. “Up until last night, there hasn’t been anything else in my life but that.”

  It was foolish to feel herself grow still, foolish for words to mean so much when their time together had been so infinitesimally short. And yet, Mac felt as if something huge was riding on what he said next. She held her breath. “And now?”

  “And now there still won’t be anything else,” he said, looking into her eyes for a sign that she understood. “There can’t be. It’s not fair to bring you into something like that. To make you stand in the background—”

  Mac had no intention of standing in the background. It wasn’t her way. She wanted to help him, just as he was helping her. That was what caring was all about. It always had been. And they both knew this wasn’t permanent. The fact that it wasn’t was what gave her the strength, the courage to press on.

  She brushed her lips over his. “Why don’t you let me decide what’s fair?”

  Cade shook his head. “I can’t decide anything if you’re going to do that.”

  She smiled at the compliment. It would have been an easy thing to get accustomed to, but the risks attached to it, for her, were far too great.

  “I’m not asking for first place, Cade. I’m not asking for anything at all, except maybe a little island of time.” She kissed him again. “Okay?”

  No demands, no strings. It seemed like the perfect arrangement to Cade. A slow grin emerged. “You drive a hell of an argument.”

  She pretended to toss her head proudly. “First in my debating team.”

  The grin turned into a laugh just as he was about to press a kiss to her shoulder. “Why doesn’t that surpnse me?”

  Nothing about this woman, Cade realized, would really surprise him. By her very existence, she was the definition of surprise. He’d thought of her as earthy, worldly, yet she was a virgin. She’d made it clear that being in charge was something she was accustomed to, yet she was apparently content to let this thing between them, whatever it was, just float.

  A complete surprise, through and through.

  He reached for her, wanting to pleasure her and himself again, before the dream was over.

  Like cold water suddenly falling from the sky, the shrill ring doused the rising flame between them, galvanizing their attention to the telephone immediately. Lovemaking took a back seat.

  Rolling over in the bed, Mac clamped her hand over the receiver first. Her heart was hammering hard as she pulled it to her. “Hello?”

  “Mrs. Sinclair?” The doctor’s rich, kindly voice filled her ear.

  Two hands now on the receiver, she scooted up on the bed. “Yes.” Her eyes meeting Cade’s, she nodded at the question she saw there.

  “This is Dr. Lambert,” the man said unnecessarily. “I think I might have some good news for you.”

  “What is it?” She didn’t have to fake the slight tremor in her voice. Mac felt on the verge of a bonanza.

  “My lawyer, Phillip Taylor, just informed me that he’s free this evening if you and your husband would still like to—”

  She had no idea if the doctor was being cautious or coy, or simply enjoying his role as benevolent benefactor. But it wasn’t her job to analyze him.

  Knowing Lambert expected a show of emotion, she didn’t disappoint him. The word yes tumbled out breathlessly. She placed a gentling hand on Cade’s as he gripped her shoulder in silent query. She didn’t even dare to look at him.

  “My husband and I would love to meet with you and Mr. Taylor. Anyplace, anytime. Oh, Doctor, you have no idea how long I’ve waited—” She paused, drawing in air as if her throat was closed off by emotion.

  “I know, my dear, I know,” Lambert assured her warmly. “And I understand. Believe me, the waiting may be over with very soon.”

  He said “may,” she thought. Not will, but may. The man was being very cautious. She pulled out the stops on her performance. “Just name the time and place.”

  Lambert began giving her the name of a restaurant. Mac looked around for something to write with.

  “Wait, wait—there’s never a pencil when you need one.” She yanked open the nightstand drawer and felt around inside. To her surprise, she came in contact with a pen and small yellow pad. Apparently the word furnished was carried out to the nth degree, she thought gratefully. “Got it!” She scribbled quickly. “The Blue Quail, eight o’clock.” She felt more than saw Cade looking over her shoulder at the pad. “Reservations will be in your name?”

  “No, my dear,” Lambert corrected her. “They’ll be in yours.”

  Why was there this uneasy feeling when he said that? “Wonderful.” Mac laid down the pen. “Just as long as we connect, it doesn’t matter whose name the reservations are under. We’ll see you then.”

  Agreeing, the doctor rang off.

  But it did matter, she thought, as she hung up. Lambert wouldn’t have made the reservations in their name if it didn’t. Why?

  Cade glanced at his watch. It was barely eight. The doctor apparently kept early hours. Or he was anxious to get rid of his latest acquisition. His guess was the latter.

  “Well?” he pressed, looking at Mac. “Is the meeting for tonight?”

  She nodded slowly. “The reservation is in our name. Is that rather strange?”

  “The less that points to him, the better. Men like Lambert don’t like loo
se ends, or fingers pointing at them. They clean up before and after themselves.”

  Pulling the light blanket up to cover herself, she studied Cade’s face thoughtfully. “You’ve dealt with people like Lambert before?”

  “You mean people who ran a black-market ring?” She nodded. “No, I haven’t, but I’m familiar with the type. A predator who preys on people’s emotional neediness.”

  “He sounds so sincere—” She shook her head. How many unsuspecting people had he duped? How many went to bed each night, blessing the fact that their paths had crossed the doctor’s? And how many more lives were going to be shattered by the time this was over?

  “Camouflage,” Cade assured her.

  Her mind was already moving forward to the next problem. “How do we get word to Redhawk?”

  Why did that blanket look so enticing wrapped around her? And what was wrong with him? He was the most single-minded man he knew, able to keep his mind focused no matter what.

  Obviously, McKayla Dellaventura was a completely new type of “what.”

  Because he needed to focus, he answered her question. “We go out to buy a bottle of champagne to celebrate the possible expansion of our family by one. And while I’m paying for the purchase, and hopefully keeping Lambert’s paid flunky occupied, you excuse yourself to use the nearby ladies’ room—and a public telephone.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” She was already scrambling off the bed, ready to get ready.

  “One that isn’t going to go into action for at least a couple of hours.” He caught her hand before she got very far.

  “Why?” She turned to look at him. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Liquor stores don’t open until ten,” he pointed out.

  Mac nodded, taking this information in. She hadn’t thought of that. That gave them some time to kill. She didn’t like the idea of the minutes dragging by. “In the mood for breakfast?”

  Heaven help him, Cade hardly recognized himself as he drew her back to the bed. “No, not breakfast.” He watched her raise an eyebrow he suddenly found delectable. “Let me show you what I am in the mood for.”

  The mission, when they finally got themselves out of Cade’s bedroom and to the store, was executed with great success. While Cade engaged the store clerk in a lengthy debate over the merits of several bottles of champagne, Mac slipped out to call Redhawk. She quickly informed him of the meeting. Pleased with herself and the feeling that they had managed to put one over on the man tailing their every move, Mac continued to mentally rehearse the meeting to come.

  It wasn’t until after several hours of torturous, inert waiting, with a for-the-most-part unwatched movie flickering on one of the television’s cable channels, that Mac realized that she had overlooked something very basic.

  Swinging around to look at Cade, she cried, “Oh, God.”

  Instantly alert, his eyes swept over the immediate area as he took her hand. “What?”

  She groaned, then looked at the clock. There was no time to rush out and remedy this. The doctor was expecting them soon. “I have nothing to wear.”

  She looked so serious, it was all Cade could do not to choke on his laughter. “Now you’re getting typical on me?”

  Frustrated, she doubled her fist and punched his arm for lack of any other handy target. “I’m serious. I came prepared for shadowing, grabbing and running, not for slinking.”

  Though he was looking at her now, he was thinking of the way she’d looked just a few short hours ago. “You do that pretty well without the trappings of any special clothing.”

  Or any clothing at all, he added silently.

  Mac stopped in her tracks and cocked her head to one side, studying him. “Is that a compliment?”

  The smile that took over was a tad lopsided. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

  “Well, then thank you.” Mac pressed a kiss to his temple. And found herself wanting to continue and to give him more. She silently upbraided herself for her lack of control. That had never happened before. She was always the soul of control. Over herself and others. “And what do you mean, now I’m getting typical on you?” she asked. “Just when was I atypical?”

  “Right up until now. Everything about you is different from the kind of woman I’m used to.”

  Coy was something she had no patience with. So were games. So it was with complete surprise that she heard herself asking, “Good different or bad different?”

  Cade winked mysteriously as he walked into the kitchen, but she could have sworn there was a smile tugging on his lips. “Let’s just leave it at different.”

  Opening the refrigerator, he looked in and debated uncorking the bottle they’d bought. She looked as if she could use a little something to help steady her nerves. But it might make things worse, he decided. Cade let the door close and focused on her initial lament. “By the way, have you looked in the closet?”

  The question struck Mac as odd. But she’d already picked up the fact that Cade didn’t ask questions without a reason. “Why? Should I?”

  He nodded. “Redhawk’s very thorough, even unofficially. There’s an entire wardrobe in there. I’m sure you’ll find something suitable to wear for dinner.”

  “An entire wardrobe?” She sincerely doubted that. Most men had no concept what that meant. To them, an entire wardrobe was two matching outfits. Three on the outside. “Whose?”

  “Caitlin’s.” Cade had checked it out himself earlier. To his eye, it appeared that Caitlin and McKayla were about the same size. “Redhawk’s wife,” he elaborated when McKayla still looked confused.

  “I’d better hustle if we want to make this place on time.” With that, she hurried up the small, winding staircase to the room she’d taken over as her own.

  Cade followed her up, enjoying the view, telling himself he had no right to let his mind wander this way. He needed to be sharp, to focus. To look for possible slipups on their part as well as on the doctor’s or Taylor’s.

  Entering his room, Cade went straight to the closet. Luckily, he was around the same build as the detective. Something else they had in common, he mused, beyond their Native American heritage. Of course, he was only one-quarter Cherokee while Gray was onehalf Navajo, on his mother’s side.

  He took out the light gray suit and found a shirt in the bureau. Hunter green. The man thought of everything, he thought in admiration.

  Cade was even more convinced of Redhawk’s foresight when he walked out of his bedroom a few minutes later. Mac was already in the living room, ready. He was no longer surprised by her speed. What caught him off guard was what she was wearing. A long-sleeved hunter green dress that hugged all her curves like a familiar lover.

  They matched, he noted, the thought telegraphing itself to him in a delayed relay.

  “Nice,” he managed to murmur.

  The next moment he almost swallowed his tongue as Mac turned around for him in a full circle. It was obvious that the designer had chosen to cut a few corners, specifically that portion of her dress that went from her neck to her waist. Her back was completely bare and completely enticing.

  He couldn’t find his voice without clearing his throat. “Isn’t that a little drafty?”

  The understatement amused her. “I thought that, too, but I figure I can always find something to drape over me.” Turning around to face him, she smiled invitingly. But just as Cade moved to slip his arm around her shoulders, Mac threw a white cashmere wrap over them. Her eyes teased him as she realized that she was flirting with him. It was an entirely new experience for her. “Isn’t it gorgeous?” She slid her fingers along the material. “I almost feel sinful, wearing this.”

  He tried not to picture her wearing only that and succeeded marginally.

  “It looks like something his mother might have made,” he commented. “She’s a full-blooded Navajo.”

  Mac held out one arm to inspect the work more closely. The wrap was heavily fringed and exquisitely embroidered just along the ends. “Well, she
certainly does beautiful work.”

  “Yes, it is beautiful,” he agreed, slipping his arm around her and escorting her out the door. Almost as beautiful as the woman wearing it.

  They had little trouble finding the restaurant. Located on a long boulevard that was home to a number of restaurants on both sides, the Blue Quail, with its rich history and fine tradition dating back over a hundred years, stood out like a regal dowager looking out benevolently on younger upstarts that were destined to come and go without leaving a mark.

  A parking attendant strode toward them before Cade had a chance to shut off the engine. He was driving a Mercedes now, having traded in the less-expensive model he’d rented in order to perpetuate the aura of money to burn.

  Mac slid out on her side as the attendant held her door open for her. She could get used to this, she thought. More than that, she could get used to being with Cade.

  Warning signals went off in her head. It was dangerous to let herself even speculate along those lines.

  As Cade took her arm to enter the restaurant, she inclined her head toward his. “Lambert certainly knows how to live.”

  “Yeah.” Cade’s mouth was grim. “The baby-selling business must be very lucrative.”

  The maître d’ raised a brow ever so slightly at their entrance, guarding a red velvet rope and the passage into the dining hall solicitously.

  “Sinclair, party of four,” Cade told him.

  “Ah, yes, I believe the other two gentlemen have already arrived.” With a subdued movement, the slender man lifted the rope, picked up two menus and led them to a secluded table for four.

  Had this been England, Mac thought, at first sight the two dignified-looking men sitting at their table would have been thought to belong to the aristocracy of old. They both had the air of refined respectability about them. Mac couldn’t help wondering if there’d been some kind of a mix-up. Maybe they weren’t really involved.