by Linda Turner
"Or Leo could have lied about driving a sugar truck."
He shot her a sharp look. "Why would he do that?"
"Who knows?" she shrugged. "To cover his own tail, maybe. You know how informants are. You probably work with them all the time in Chicago. Some you can trust with your life and others you wouldn't turn your back on. And what, after all, do we know about Leo? He could be a compulsive liar."
"Sam trusted him enough to get himself killed over the lead he gave him," he reminded her grimly. "If we don't do the same thing, we might as well quit right now. There's nowhere else to go." His eyes narrowed speculatively on the large building behind the office. "We know the roller's buying cocaine from the Colombians in bulk, so he's got to be storing it someplace until it's distributed. Someplace where it wouldn't be noticed. I think we've found it." He turned to her abruptly, the hard lines of his bearded face set with determination. "We've got to get in there."
She'd been thinking the same thing. "There's only one small problem," she said, nodding toward a tough-looking man stationed at the entrance. "The guard. I've been watching him ever since we drove up. Every car that's been allowed inside has had a pass."
"Then we'll have to go in at night," Grant replied as lightly as if he were proposing a stroll in the park. "And we won't use the main entrance. We'll go over the wall."
Her sunglasses hid the shock she knew would be in her eyes, but not the sudden tension that tightened her mouth. So they would be alone together in the dark again. He could hear the thought as clearly as if she'd spoken it out loud. If he had any sense, he'd tell her he could take it from here alone. It would be the best for both of them. She didn't want a repeat of the scene on the porch, and he'd lain in bed until dawn, reliving it, cursing her, wanting her. He had a gut feeling the wanting was only going to get worse.
"You got a problem with that?" he challenged.
Stiffening, she arched a brow at his tone. "You're talking breaking and entering. When I agreed to work with you, I don't remember saying anything about being your partner in crime."
He shrugged. "We won't be breaking anything. Just entering."
"And if we get caught?"
"We won't."
She tilted her head, wondering how his confidence could both reassure and irritate her at the same time. "Are you always so cocky?"
A wicked grin curled his mouth. "I've been told it's one of my most endearing charms," he retorted solemnly, then chuckled at her snort of disdain as he started the car. "There's nothing more we can do here for now. We might as well go back to the house and wait for tonight."
But he hadn't even pulled away from the curb when Katie suddenly clutched his arm, her eyes on the truck that was just pulling out of the compound. "Wait I If the drugs are stored here, then they've got to be distributed from here. What better way to spread it around the city than camouflaged as sugar?"
"In plain sight," Grant muttered, appreciating the beauty of the plan. "They could deliver it right under the nose of every cop in town and no one would think a thing of it!" He threw the car in gear and made a quick U-turn as the truck headed down the street in the opposite direction. "We've got some time to kill. Let's see who some of Glade Sugar's customers are."
Hanging well back in the traffic, they followed the truck on its rounds and kept track of every stop. From a safe distance, they watched the driver unload twenty-five-pound sacks of sugar at restaurants, bakeries, and cafeterias throughout southwest Miami. Some of the deliveries were no doubt legitimate, but how many weren't?
When the truck stopped at a bakery just blocks away from Katie's house, she stiffened. "What is it?" Grant asked, noting the way she was staring at the notes she'd made. "Is there a pattern?"
She looked straight into his eyes. "Yeah, you might say that. Every one of the small bakeries the truck has stopped at is located in areas claimed by the Barracudas. How's that for coincidence?"
"Neat, very neat." Drumming his fingers on the dash, he watched the truck driver load six sacks of sugar on a dolly and roll it into the bakery. "The roller runs the refinery operation and gets the drugs delivered in twenty-five-pound sacks throughout the city, at which point Cantu and his boys take over." His eyes snapped back to hers. "I don't suppose you know who owns Glade Sugar?"
"No, but the owner's name will be on the tax rolls at the courthouse." She checked her watch. "If we hurry, we can get there before the office closes. Take the next right."
They made it to the Dade County Courthouse in record time, but they might as well have saved themselves the trouble. Katie took one look at the owner's name and swore in disgust. "Triton Industries, Inc," she read. "It's owned by another corporation! Damn!"
At her side, Grant checked the owners of the bakeries she'd written down earlier and whistled softly in satisfaction. "Well, what do you know? They're all owned by Triton Industries, too. Somebody's got his fingers in a lot of pies."
"He's also covered his bases," she retorted. "There's no listing for Triton Industries. For all we know, it could be an out-of-state corporation and we'll never find out who owns it."
She looked so disgusted, Grant couldn't stop himself from throwing a friendly arm around her shoulders and giving her an encouraging squeeze. "Come on, don't be a crepe hanger," he teased as he ushered her out of the building into the sunshine. "While we're at the refinery tonight, we'll check out the offices, too. There's no telling what we'll find."
"That's what I was afraid of," Katie groaned, fighting back a smile. "I hope you know what you're doing."
"No guts, no glory," he retorted. "Sometimes you've got to bend the rules a little if you want to wm the game."
"And this is one you intend to win, isn't it?" she asked shrewdly. "No matter what."
His easy smile faded, leaving his expression dark and dangerous. "That's right," he said coolly, his blue eyes glinting with a fire that sent a shiver sliding down her spine. "No matter what."
* * *
There was nothing left to do but go home and wait. They had decided to leave for the refinery around eleven. Grant went upstairs to take a nap and advised Katie to do the same since it would be another long night, but she was too restless to sleep. Patience had never been her strong suit, and she knew she'd go quietly out of her mind if she had to spend the next five hours watching the clock. She headed for the kitchen instead.
An hour later, she had homemade spaghetti sauce simmering on the stove, while she sat at the table chopping onions for meatballs. Ryan had already left for work, the house was quiet, her hands were busy. Before she'd realized it, her thoughts had drifted to last night—and the evening to come.
Her fingers tightened around the wooden handle of the knife she held. She wasn't going to be able to do it, she realized in growing panic. She couldn't step back into the darkness with Grant, remembering what it was like to be held in his arms with his mouth hot on hers, and not want it again. Oh, God, she was in trouble!
What had he done to her? she wondered. And how? It wasn't like her to let anything distract her from her work, but he could make her forget the world. From the first touch of his strong hands on her, something—need, hunger, a longing she'd never known before—had welled in her blood and quietly intensified. It was only a matter of time before the storm in her soul raged out of control.
She stiffened, thrusting the heated images away. She wouldn't think of that now, she told herself, furiously chopping the onions. Not when it was only a matter of hours before she found herself alone again with him in a darkness that was altogether too intimate for her peace of mind.
"Something smells good."
She looked up with a start at his husky murmur and nearly cut herself with the knife. He stood in the doorway as if he'd been watching her for some time, his chestnut hair slightly disheveled, his blue eyes dark and slumberous. Katie felt their touch all the way to her toes.
Swearing under her breath, she laid the knife down with a clatter and rose to her feet. "Spaghetti and meatb
alls," she said as she moved to the counter to add the onions to the hamburger meat she'd thawed out in the microwave. "Hope you like Italian food."
His eyes narrowed at her edginess, but he made no comment about it as he strolled over to the table. "Yeah, it's one of my favorites. Can I help you with something?"
She would have given anything to refuse his offer. She was too aware of him as it was; the last thing she needed was the two of them working cozily together in the kitchen. But she had never been a coward, and she wouldn't start acting like one now. "You can make a salad. There's lettuce and tomato in the refrigerator, and you'll find a bowl in the cabinet next to the sink."
"Will Ryan be home for supper or does he eat at work?" he asked as he walked over to the refrigerator.
"Both." She chuckled at his look of surprise. "He does eat at work, but he usually raids the refrigerator when he gets home. I never have to worry about leftovers with Ryan around. The kid's a straight pipe."
He brought the vegetables over to the sink to wash. "You two have been on your own for a long time, haven't you? You're closer than most brothers and sisters."
"We've been through a lot," she said simply, keeping her attention on her work as she rolled the meat mixture into balls and placed them in a baking pan. "Our mother died when I was fifteen and Ryan five. He barely remembers her."
Grant wondered if she realized the regret in her voice was all for her brother, with none for herself. "It must have been difficult for you losing your mother at that age."
Difficult didn't begin to describe it, but the smile she gave him was easy. "Believe me, it was just as hard for my father." She chuckled, remembering the tugs-of-war they'd had over her efforts to grow up and his need to hang on to his little girl. "If he'd have had his way, he'd have locked me in my room until I was forty."
Grant arched a brow and found himself wishing he'd seen her as a teenager. "You were wild?" Somehow he couldn't picture it, not when she always looked as if she'd just stepped out of a bandbox.
"As an Indian," she said smugly, her eyes sparkling with laughter. "I had this insatiable curiosity that absolutely horrified Dad. I got into all kinds of scrapes before I finally joined the school paper and found an outlet. And the rest, as they say, is history," she said with a grin as she slid the pan of meatballs into the oven to brown.
Finished with the salad, Grant pulled a chair out from the table and straddled it. "So all that excess energy and inquisitiveness was channeled into reporting," he murmured, propping his chin on his folded hands so he could watch her. She was obviously a woman who knew her way around a kitchen, not because of necessity, but because she really enjoyed cooking. She tasted the bubbling sauce, then added oregano and basil, her fair cheeks flushed from the heat. His gaze drawn inexorably to her mouth, he watched her tongue savor the last bit of sauce that dung to her lips and felt need punch him in the gut.
"What about dating?" he asked abruptly. "Surely all your time wasn't devoted to your career. Didn't you play any?"
Images of beach parties and spring breaks spent at Fort Lauderdale with thousands of other kids flashed before her eyes. "Yeah, I played," she said, her eyes soft with memories before they darkened suddenly. "But then my father died right after I graduated from college. I had Ryan to raise and a career to get off the ground. I didn't have time for a man in my life. It was too full already."
"And what about now?" he persisted even as he ordered himself to drop the subject. "Ryan's going off to college in the fall and your career is established. Is your career enough for you or are you going to start looking around for a husband?"
"I don't know," she said huskily. "I never met anyone I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Except maybe for Sam. There was something about him…" Her voice trailed off before she shrugged, shaking off what might have been, and turned to the oven to check the meatballs. "Anyway, I always thought the two of us were headed for something special," she continued. "But then he was killed and that was that. I guess that's what made his death so hard for me."
Grant became very still, his eyes narrowed on her slender back. "You were in love with Sam?" he asked tersely. "I thought you were just friends."
"We were, but I always felt there was something more between us than friendship. Who knows what could have developed if we'd have just had the time?"
No wonder she'd agreed so quickly to help with the investigation, Grant thought bemusedly. And he hadn't realized, hadn't even suspected…
Katie almost laughed at his blank expression. "Am I boring you to death?" she chuckled as she put a pot of water on the stove to boil for the spaghetti. "Sorry. I didn't mean to put you to sleep."
"You weren't," he denied. "I was just thinking. It looks like supper is almost ready. I'll set the table."
After that, the conversation was limited to less personal subjects, whether by chance or design Katie wasn't sure. Something had changed, and try as she might, she couldn't put her finger on it. Grant complimented her on the food and ate heartily. He even told her some things he'd done as a teenager that would have given her father heart failure. Katie laughed at his wild stories, then wondered at the tenseness that followed them. When she asked him if anything was wrong, he shrugged off her concern and offered to help her with the dishes. But even then, the enforced intimacy of standing side by side at the sink seemed to bother him. He rushed her through the task, then urged her upstairs to change into dark clothes. Before she was prepared, they were leaving for the refinery.
* * *
Glade Sugar was far more intimidating at night than in the daytime. The huge refinery towered in the darkness. The lights that illuminated the buildings gave it an eerie appearance. Silence echoed in the night breezes. The activity they'd witnessed earlier was now absent, the front gates locked tight.
Grant drove past the front entrance without slowing down and parked on a dark and deserted side street. At the end of the street, they could see the eight-foot pink wall of the refinery. "Ready?" he asked quietly.
Ignoring her thumping heart, Katie slipped a small camera she'd brought into one pocket and a pin flashlight into the other. She reached for her door handle. "Let's do it."
But as they soundlessly approached the wall, her palms grew damp at the realization of what she was about to do. She'd done a lot of things to get a story, but never anything quite like this.
Grant pulled her into the deep shadows of an oak tree. It grew inside the wall, but shaded a corner with its spreading branches. Dressed in black jeans and a T-shirt, with the lower half of his face concealed by his beard, Grant looked like a man who belonged to the night. Katie shivered and suddenly found herself in his arms. "I'm going to boost you up to the top of the wall," he whispered in her ear, "and then I'll follow you. Don't worry, the security guard won't be able to see us as long as we stay hidden in the tree limbs. We're going to wait and see how often he makes his rounds before we make our move."
She nodded, her heart in her throat.
Katie thought she'd hidden her nervousness well, but she didn't know her cheeks were as pale as magnolia blossoms in the darkness, her blue eyes wide. Grant stared down at her, torn by her vulnerability. Unconsciously, his hands tightened on her, keeping her in his arms when she would have moved to the wall.
At her look of surprise, he said, "You trust me, don't you, Katie?"
She could have given him a sassy retort and a pert grin, but his probing eyes demanded the truth. Surprisingly, since she wasn't one to give her trust lightly, she realized she didn't have to search the corners of her heart for the answer he wanted. She trusted him. Totally. Irrevocably. If he'd asked her to sneak into hell with him to get a peek at the devil, she wouldn't have been able to refuse his request.
Her eyes locked with his. "Yes."
A single word shouldn't have had the power to move him, yet it did. With a murmur, he drew her closer. "I won't let anything happen to you," he promised huskily, and sealed the vow with a kiss.
Expe
cting heat and the unyielding hardness of his mouth, Katie found herself surrounded instead by … tenderness. Her breath escaped through her parted lips in a sigh of surprise. Gentleness. She had no defense against such soul-destroying sweetness. His tongue skimmed her lower lip as if she were a treat to be savored, and her blood seemed to thicken and slow in her veins. She never noticed the world slip out of focus. Whispering Grant's name, she clung to him, lost to everything but the unhurried urgings of his mouth.
Grant groaned at the feel of her body pliant against his, her breasts soft against his chest, her hips snug against his. His arms tightened, need spiraling through him until his thoughts were clouded with it. Only the wall at his back reminded him that he couldn't take her now, as he was aching to do. Wrenching his mouth from hers, he buried his face in her hair and waited for the mad racing of his heart to settle. But it would never do that as long as he held her in his arms.
He stepped back, a muscle rippling along his jaw at the effort it took to release her. Even then, he couldn't stop his hands from settling on her shoulders to steady her. "Come on," he whispered roughly. "I'll boost you up to the top of the wall."
The wall. Katie stared at the pink stucco for several long seconds before her mind suddenly sharpened. The refinery. She dragged in a deep breath to clear her head, but it did little good when the taste of him was still on her tongue.
His linked fingers formed a step for her. Placing her foot in his hands, she rested her hand against his shoulder to balance herself. Katie almost gasped when Grant lifted her up as if she weighed no more than a feather. Her head and shoulders were concealed by the thick branches of the tree, and she grasped the limbs on either side of her and scrambled up onto the wall. In a matter of seconds, Grant joined her by grabbing hold of the lowest branches and hauling himself up beside her.
They sat there for over an hour, silently watching the security guard make his rounds. With a flashlight in his hand, he stepped out of the refinery and inspected the grounds, then moved to the main offices. There, he checked the front door to make sure it was securely locked, then the back, where he was out of sight. Before heading back to the refinery, where he no doubt had a small office, he walked through the rows of trucks at the rear of the large lot. In the two inspections he made while they watched, he never once deviated from his route.