by Linda Turner
"And eliminated him," Grant finished for her in a hard, flat voice as he turned down her street and pulled up before her house. "Tomorrow night, history is going to repeat itself, but we're not going to make the same mistake Sam did. We're going in early, while it's still daylight, and we'll find ourselves a nice, safe place to hide before Gallegos and his thugs get there. All we need is one picture personally linking him to the drugs, and we'll have everything we need to shut him down for good."
And then it would all be over. Sam's memory would finally be laid to rest. The man responsible for his death would get everything he had coming to him.
She should have felt a small measure of satisfaction in knowing she had had a part in seeing justice done, but all she felt was emptiness. She had the story of the century, but she couldn't forget the prices she'd had to pay to get it. Sam. Her uncle. Grant.
Hot tears stung her eyes before she could blink them back furiously. Sam had never been hers, and the Uncle Mike she'd loved had been only a false front for the real man. But Grant was another story. In just a matter of days, he'd managed to infiltrate her life and her heart until she couldn't imagine getting through another day without him. Now that he was close to finishing what he'd come to Miami to do, it was only a matter of days before he'd be returning to Chicago. She'd never been more miserable in her life.
She felt the tears threaten to spill over her lashes and knew she was going to make a total fool of herself if she didn't get out of the car. She fumbled for the door handle and finally found it in the darkness. "Then we'd both better get some sleep," she whispered brokenly. "Tomorrow will be a rough day."
She scrambled out of the car and hurried up the walk before he could do more than frown at the hint of tears in her voice. "Katie, wait!"
"Good night, Grant."
Ryan, thankfully, had already gone to bed, so she didn't have to explain the tears streaming down her face as she hurried inside and up to her room. There, the tears only increased, infuriating her. She dashed them away impatiently, telling herself she would not cry, but still they flowed, running in a hot, silent river down her cheeks. She grabbed her nightgown and headed for the bathroom to drown her sorrows in the shower.
She didn't know how long she stayed in there, letting the water pound her, soothe her, draining her dry of tears. Steam swirled around her and gradually disappeared as the water temperature cooled, but still she stood there, trying not to think, to feel, to hurt.
It was only when her skin was chilled and she was starting to shiver that she was forced to admit that the pain wasn't going to go away. Not tonight, tomorrow, or anytime in the foreseeable future. She'd fallen in love with Grant in the span between one heartbeat and another, and nothing would ever change that. Now all she had to do was find a way to live without him.
A muffled sob rippled through her. She might just as well have told herself to live without air.
Turning off the water abruptly, she stepped from the shower and dried herself before pulling on a lacy white nightgown that fell to her ankles. Glancing in the mirror she grimaced at the pale, red-eyed woman who stared back at her. She looked like death warmed over. With a deliberate flick of her wrist, she cast the bathroom into blackness and stepped into her dark bedroom, wrapping her sodden hair in a towel. She was halfway across the room before she saw him.
He stood next to the window, his chestnut hair and beard gilded with moonbeams, his broad shoulders looking enormous in the blackness of the night, his face concealed by deep shadows. She knew he watched her. She could almost feel the caress of his eyes stroking her, warming her, rediscovering all her secrets. She stiffened. Could he tell she'd been crying?
"Are you all right?"
The quiet question was husky with a concern she didn't want and couldn't handle. She whirled toward her dresser mirror, finding her way unerringly in the darkness. With jerky movements, she began to towel dry her hair, struggling for control. "Of course," she said in a muffled voice. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"You sounded upset when you got out of the car." Moving from the window like a tiger stalking her in the night, he soundlessly crossed to stand directly behind her. "I wanted to check on you before I went to bed."
He was so close she could feel his heat penetrating the thin fabric of her gown. She had only to sway a fraction of an inch and she would be in his arms. Bracing herself against temptation, she determinedly dragged the towel from her head and reached for her comb. Her eyes met his in the mirror, their reflected images looking ghostly in the darkness. "You didn't have to bother," she said, forcing an easy smile. "I'm fine. The shower relaxed me. I'm so tired, I'll probably fall asleep the minute my head hits the pillow."
He ignored the hint, studying her shrewdly in the darkness. If she was fine, he was Gunga Din. He knew now that the cool poise she presented to the rest of the world was only a cover. Underneath all that self-confidence was a woman who felt things fiercely, passionately. She was tearing herself apart over Gallegos.
He wanted to touch her, but her stiff, unyielding back dared him to try. Before she could guess his intentions, he took the comb from her and began to untangle her hair.
Surprised, she grabbed at his hand, which was just out of reach. "Grant! Give that back! What do you think you're doing?"
"Just combing your hair," he replied, turning her back to face the mirror. "You look like you could use a little pampering."
"I'm fine," she lied stiffly. Just having him this close made her achingly conscious of her near nakedness and the inviting softness of the bed just steps away. Did he know how he was torturing her? Her eyes clung to their reflected images captured in the shadowed world of the mirror. He'd discarded his tie and opened his collar. He looked like a phantom lover who had slipped into her room with the moonlight to seduce her. She knew she had only to turn and slip her arms around him to lose herself in the taste and feel of him. Instead, she held herself rigidly still, desperately trying to close her mind to his tender ministrations as he eased the comb through her damp hair. She already had too many memories she would have to deal with when he was gone.
Grant saw that her unbending posture all but screamed don't touch me. He wouldn't have, if he'd had any choice in the matter. But from the moment Fate had taken a hand in his life and directed him to her for help, he'd had little free will where she was concerned. He couldn't stop touching her, wanting her, and he was tired of trying.
Resisting the urge to use his fingers, Grant rhythmically pulled the comb through her hair over and over again, all the while watching her in the mirror. "I'm sorry about Gallegos, Katie," he said quietly. "I know how much you loved him, but tearing yourself apart over him isn't going to change anything. Let it go, sweetheart. He isn't worth it."
Katie stared at him, fighting back the hysterical laugh threatening to choke her. She was breaking her heart over him, and he thought she was upset over Uncle Mike. How could he be so blind? She opened her mouth to correct him, but then her pride came to the rescue and she shut it with a snap. No, it was better this way. "It hurts to lose someone you love," she said huskily. "Tomorrow…"
"Don't think about tomorrow." Setting the comb on her dresser, he placed his hands on her shoulders, kneading her tight muscles. "You're too tense," he murmured against her hair. "Relax."
She closed her eyes against the intense pleasure of his touch. If she relaxed, she'd be lost. She swallowed. "I … I can't."
"Then I'll help you."
He took her hand and led her across the dark room. Before she could pull away he'd urged her to lie facedown on her bed. Kneeling on the floor, he lifted her foot, encompassing it in his hands. When she instinctively stiffened, he soothed her with long, smooth strokes, noting how her feet, like everything else about her, were slim and elegant. "Relax," he murmured again. "I'm just going to give you a massage."
Katie knew she should stop him, but the words just wouldn't come. His fingers moved over her foot magically, caressing, fondling, melting her protests
one by one. Her eyelids grew heavy, all her thoughts centered on where his skillful fingers played over her skin. Such wonderful hands, she thought drowsily. How had he known she just needed to be touched? When he'd covered every delicate inch of her foot, he pressed a kiss to her arch before giving the same attention to her other foot. Her soft, unconscious sigh of pleasure sent a rush of heat spilling into his veins, but his hands remained deliberately light as they trailed over her ankles to her calves and higher still, to the sensitive backs of her knees. He was brushing, kneading, enticing, stroking her with the sure, deft hands of a lover. The hem of her nightgown rested midway up her thighs, tempting him. Catching it between his thumb and finger, he tested its silkiness and found he preferred the honeyed smoothness of her skin. Leaning over her, he brushed a kiss on her shoulder and whispered, "Raise up, honey. You don't need this gown."
Her body pliant, Katie moaned softly and did as he asked, wanting nothing to interfere with the flow of his hands on her. But when she was naked and once again facedown on the bed, her skin grew cool, waiting for his touch. Struggling up from the soft, sensuous world his massage had taken her halfway to, she frowned. "You're not through, are you?" she murmured, too languid even to open her eyes.
He would have laughed if he hadn't been battling the need to take her then and there. She was so beautiful! He slipped out of his tuxedo jacket and reached for the studs of his silk shirt. "I'm just getting out of this monkey suit," he said thickly. "It's beginning to get a little warm in here, don't you think?"
"Sultry," she agreed huskily. "Wonderful."
So she liked the heat, did she? He'd have to see what he could do about setting her aflame. Shrugging out of his shirt, he clamped a lid on the desire burning in his gut and reached for her again.
Slowly, carefully, his fingers moved from her thighs to her hips to the small of her back and up to her shoulders, softening, lingering, seducing. Under his hands, he felt her skin heat, her breathing grow shallow, her body fluid. She was his for the claiming.
The knowledge went through him like quicksilver, weakening a control that was already strained to the breaking point. Turning her in his arms, he stared into eyes that were dark with passion. He thought he'd known desire before, explored all the ways a man could hunger for a woman, but every time he held this woman in his arms, she taught him another variation on a need that was as old as time. Groaning, he dragged her close and crushed his mouth to hers.
The languor weighting her limbs sharpened instantly to urgency. Fire. It was in her blood, singeing her from the inside out. Pulling him closer, her tongue answered his wildly, her hands racing over his back, his shoulders, down the hard breadth of his chest to the waistband of his trousers. Wrenching her mouth from his, she swore at the restriction as she tore at the fastenings.
"Katie, honey, wait." He laughed huskily, then groaned as her hands found him. His heart slammed against his ribs, desire clawing at him. Taking her mouth in a scorching kiss, he never knew how he got out of the rest of his clothes, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered but Katie and her wild, tormenting hands, her sweetly arching body, the mindlessness she pushed him to. Murmuring her name, he felt the last of his control shatter.
Exhilaration shot through her like hot lightning as his hands grew rough, his mouth desperate. She moaned, lost, hungry for more, for everything. Could she have known that first day they'd met that this was what it would be like between them? Violent, untamed, abandoned. And with every touch, every kiss, the wanting, the needing, only became fiercer. Gasping, she pressed against him, the pleasure too intense to bear. "Grant, please … now!"
Her plea was all that he was waiting for. Filling his hands with her hair, he brought her mouth to his at the same time he plunged into her, sending them both spinning into oblivion.
* * *
They left for the swamp the next afternoon. Still walking on air from Grant's lovemaking, Katie stared straight ahead at the seemingly endless road that stretched before them and fought the urge to ask Grant to turn back. He'd think she was crazy! From the day they'd met, they'd been working toward this end. Her fingers gripping her small camera, she watched as they raced toward the bridge Sam's car had gone off of. Within seconds, they were speeding across it, the hollow drumming of their tires echoing in her ears before they hurried onto solid ground. The rest area and turnoff her uncle had spoken of were only minutes ahead. Too late! her heart cried. It was too late to turn back now.
Grant shot her a quick look. She was dressed much as he was, in a khaki shirt, jeans, and tennis shoes, but her face was pale, her eyes tortured. Stubborn woman, he thought with a scowl. He'd have spared her this, but when he'd suggested she stay home and let him get this last evidence they needed against Gallegos to break the story, she'd turned him down flat. He'd expected no less of her, but it still irritated him that she wouldn't let him protect her. He cared, and she wouldn't be going through this hell if it weren't for him.
A sign announcing the rest area a half a mile ahead dragged Grant's attention back to the road. Tensing, he quickly glanced in the rearview mirror, but there was no one behind them to witness their entrance into the swamps. Easing off the accelerator as they passed the rest area, he said, "All right, this is it. Keep your eyes peeled."
Katie leaned forward and peered at the foliage, the thick greenery and dark shadows that lined the highway. She would have sworn there couldn't possibly be a break in the denseness large enough to drive a truck through, when she suddenly saw it. "There!" She gasped, pointing just a few feet in front of them. "Between those two palmettos."
Grant saw it, too. A path of crushed ferns nearly concealed by saw grass and the Spanish moss dripping from the low-hanging trees. If they hadn't known to look for it, they would have driven right past. "Good girl. Now we've just got to find a place to stash the car."
About a hundred yards away on the opposite side of the road they found a clump of palmettos and cabbage palms that could have safely hidden a tank. Disregarding the rental car's paint job, Grant eased through the sharp-tipped fronds and cut the engine. Seconds later, they were walking into a world that seemed a thousand miles away from Miami, armed with nothing but a camera.
The swamp. It appeared untouched by time and the hand of man, standing just as wild and untamed as it had for thousands of years. Silence engulfed them and was broken only by the faintest whisper of the wind through the pine flatwoods, the eerie, persistent tap ping of an unseen woodpecker, and the surprisingly loud call of a pigfrog that to Katie sounded too much like the grunt of an alligator. Katie shivered despite the heat that had her clothes clinging to her. If they wanted to get out of here alive, they couldn't afford to forget the dangers lying in wait: snakes, alligators, her uncle and his men.
Ignoring her damp palms and suddenly dry throat, she carefully stayed clear of the beaten path where they might be easily detected and followed Grant into the undergrowth, where their camouflaging clothes would allow them to blend in with their surroundings. The going was rough here, progress slow. Saw grass, with its three rows of fine saw teeth, slashed at any unprotected skin. Underfoot, water soaked their shoes and muck tried to trap them. But they forged ahead.
From the wet prairie, they emerged into a stand of bald cypress trees that stretched for miles. Here, the sun was only a memory, the shadows were deep. Saw grass gave way to ferns and shrubs and the water climbed to their ankles. Off to their right, the path clung to the only dry ground and wound deeper and deeper into the swamp.
Katie judged that it had taken them over an hour to go a mile. She was hot and sweaty and her pants were soaked nearly to her knees. She had opened her mouth to suggest they find some dry ground and take a short break when she heard the voices. Faint, hardly more than a deep murmur on the breeze that managed to penetrate the trees, the sound shivered over her skin. She froze, her eyes flying to Grant's.
He held his finger to his mouth and cocked his head to listen. Sounds carried easily in the silence of the swamp,
but the voices that drifted back to them were still too indistinct to be very near. "Let's get closer," he told Katie in a voice so low she had to strain to catch it.
She nodded, her heart in her throat, and moved to follow him. They made hardly a ripple in the low-lying water, but with every step, her nerves tightened unbearably. She knew they were virtually invisible in the shrubs and wild hibiscus that surrounded them, but that did nothing to still the wild pounding of her heart. Edging closer to Grant, she was like a shadow at his back, following every move he made.
When he stopped suddenly, she almost ran into him. Swallowing a cry of surprise, she peered around his broad shoulders and caught her breath at the sight that met her eyes. Fifty yards ahead of them, the underbrush at the feet of the towering cypress trees had been cleared away to create a small camp. Scattered under the trees were several tough-hewn buildings that looked as though they had been there for some time. Out of their sight, several men could be heard talking and laughing on the opposite side of the largest building.
Grant turned and placed his mouth next to Katie's ear. "You stay here," he whispered. "I'm going to see if I can find out how many of them there are."
No! Katie silently protested by grabbing at his arm to stop him, but it was too late. He was already slipping soundlessly through the shrubs.
Grant was almost even with the building when he heard the distant rumble of a truck making its way down the path toward the camp. Suddenly, from the brush near where he'd left Katie, the wild barking of dogs shattered the quiet. He whirled, fear clutching his heart. He saw her in the bushes, her eyes huge in her pale face as they locked with his. Before he could start toward her, a young hoodlum dressed in black appeared behind her and brought a thick stick down hard on the back of her head. She crumbled without a sound.
"No!" Grant bellowed, enraged. He sprinted toward her, but he'd taken only two steps when the back of his head exploded with pain. In the next instant, the ground was racing up to meet him.