Nate Hunter was about to become Nate Jordan again.
‘Everything okay?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
God, who was she kidding?
‘No.’
He put down the clothes he was holding and came around the bed, taking hold of her upper arms and gazing into her eyes. ‘It’s natural to be scared, but you’ll be safe here with Dickson.’
She nodded and did her best to look brave, didn’t want him worrying about her when he was the one walking into trouble. ‘How come he’s your superior?’
‘He isn’t. Only the most experienced go undercover, Josie. Dickson’s job is to work the case from a distance, co-ordinate things if I need to be pulled out.’
‘Great, so now I’m stuck here with Boy Wonder.’
The corners of his mouth curved. ‘You seem to be getting along just fine.’
‘Yeah well he’s a bit of a jerk, and I just got used to Batman.’
His whiskey coloured eyes softened, and he cupped her chin in his hand, turning her head to one side and frowning at the scratch on her neck. ‘What happened here?’
‘It’s nothing, don’t fuss.’ She averted her face, forcing him to let go. ‘I took a walk on the wild side in your garden.’
She’d come here to tell him to be careful, and she needed to say those words before she chickened out. ‘Anyway…’
But he interrupted her before she could even start. ‘I swear to you, I’ll do everything in my power to finish this job — so you can get home to the people you love.’
The promise in his voice brought a lump to Josie’s throat and she nodded, opened her mouth to speak, but couldn’t. Nate Hunter was a good man, a dedicated detective with the heart of a lion, and suddenly she wished he’d never touched her, wished he hadn’t rubbed her shoulders, wished he hadn’t wrapped his arm around her in the garden tonight.
Because it made her want more.
Oh God! Not again.
What the hell was wrong with her?
She’d got over her thing for Nate Hunter years ago, yet in the space of twenty-four hours, they’d reverted to their old ways. At least in part.
Josie swallowed. It wouldn’t be smart to make a fool of herself a second time. She’d read about things happening when two people were thrown together.
Cabin fever.
Bonding through traumatic circumstance.
Stockholm Syndrome.
Gathering every scrap of her courage, she stood on tiptoe and brushed her lips against his cheek in the barest whisper of a kiss. ‘Come back safely.’
Face flaming, she turned away and hurried to the door, horribly aware she’d kissed Nate Hunter twice now, under very different circumstances.
‘Josie!’
She halted at the quiet insistence in his voice.
‘If I’m not back in twenty-four hours, you’re to go with Dickson to Police Headquarters. They’ll terminate the operation and arrange for your protection.’
A glacial freeze ran through her body, an invisible vice squeezing her heart. He was saying goodbye, preparing her, in case he didn’t make it back.
She turned around and walked back into the room, halting mere inches from him. She didn’t know how he prepared for these situations, didn’t know if he rang his own family in the event he didn’t survive the day. She only knew she wasn’t ready to say goodbye to Nate Hunter yet.
‘Oh no you don’t, detective. I had to fight my way through a veritable jungle to save that fancy bottle of Grange, so you just get your tight arse back here — so we can drink it — on my birthday.’
His eyes widened and he stared down at her, clearly stunned by her outburst.
Seconds ticked by, and then he nodded. ‘It’s a deal, provided you keep that potty mouth closed while I’m gone.’
Josie blinked. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You know what I mean.’ There was a rough edge to his voice. ‘Don’t go giving my associate the wrong impression.’
Had she given him the wrong impression at some point? Josie glanced down at the flannelette pyjamas she’d bought from Coles.
‘And what would that be, Nate? I have ladybeetles on my pyjamas.’
His lips curved, and he lifted a hand and tugged on one of the spiral curls lying against her neck. He straightened it out, cool fingertips brushing her throat as he gave it a gentle tug, before letting it bounce back into place.
‘You have really cool hair,’ he said softly.
Josie couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Everything about him beckoned her closer, but she wasn’t artificially fortified with alcohol this time, and she had no intention of making a fool of herself over him again.
‘Why do you do that?’
He raked a hand through his hair, as if unsure of the question, grey tee-shirt lifting at the hem exposing two inches of washboard stomach above the band of his Levis.
‘It’s like,’ Josie searched for the words that would convey her feelings. ‘It’s like you give me a tasting plate, with little bits of you on it, and then take it away.’
There was a hiss of air from between his teeth, and an audible change in his breathing pattern. He reached out and slid his fingers under her hair, cupping her nape, thumb stroking over the racing pulse in her neck.
‘You hungry for the main course, princess?’ His eyes glittered with anticipation. ‘You sure you can handle it — handle me?’
Josie’s legs almost buckled, a blistering desire heating her body. She was dying for him to kiss her, but her thoughts hadn’t gone much beyond that.
Doubts crowded her mind.
He was warning her.
Of what?
Everything he’d demand of her in bed?
Something else?
He towered over her, his athletic build leaving her in no doubt he deserved those trophies on the mantelpiece. But beneath the golden tan and dark haired good looks, lay a contained strength, and the ability to inhabit another persona.
Think you can handle me?
She could handle him dressed in denim shorts and tee-shirt and standing in line at the checkout. She could handle him when he wrapped his arm around her and pointed out the star constellation.
But what about the B side of Nate Hunter, the side capable of mixing with the worst of Sydney’s underworld, the side capable of deciding in a split second — who lived and who died.
Josie moistened her lips with her tongue. ‘What’s wrong with an entree?’
He jerked her to him, the sudden movement sending a surge of excitement powering through her body. Desire flashed in his eyes, and then warm hands cupped her face, his thumb a hypnotic stroke across her cheek as he lowered his head and kissed the sensitive corners of her mouth.
Josie closed her eyes, legs turning to liquid as he licked and tasted, feeding her every morsel of the love entree she’d ordered. He held her head steady between his palms, preventing her from crushing her lips against his, until, desperate to have him closer, she reached for him.
A growl escaped from low in his throat and he pulled her against the hard wall of his chest. His tongue flicked across the seam of her lips, and she opened for him, granting him permission to deepen the kiss. He took his time, stubble roughening her cheek, tongue tangling with hers in a languid dance as if he had a lifetime, not hours, to lap up and savour something long denied him.
Robbed of oxygen, Josie swayed, head spinning. Steadying herself, she hooked her thumbs through the loops on his jeans as warm hands slipped under her pyjama top and roamed the contours of her back. She arched closer, Nate’s confident hands sensitising her bare flesh with smooth gentle strokes.
‘Okay?’ he murmured when she broke the kiss, a feather light brush of his hand across her ribcage and the sensitive underside of her breasts.
Josie inhaled sharply, a piercing ache low in her belly as he trailed kisses along her cheek and moved to caress one heavy, unrestrained breast.
He groaned with pleasure, circling her nipple with
the pad of his thumb and teasing it into a hard little bud. ‘You’re so beautiful, princess. I don’t know what the hell you see in me.’
Drunk with pleasure at what he was doing to her body, Josie struggled to put the words together. ‘You’re one cool cat, detective, and if this is the entree, I’m good for the degustation dinner.’
He groaned again, arms closing around her like a vice so she couldn’t help crying out when he unintentionally squeezed the tender part of her side.
He froze, then immediately loosened his hold. ‘Did I hurt you?’
‘It’s nothing,’ she whispered.
But the moment was broken.
He set her at arm’s length, eyes full of concern as he lifted up her pyjama top.
‘Oh man!’ He raked a hand through his hair and gazed in horror at the darkened flesh around her middle. ‘I’m responsible for this.’
‘It’s just a bruise from the seatbelt, or maybe from where I fell into the car. Nothing’s broken.’
‘Thank Christ for that!’
‘Nate, please, don’t…’
‘Don’t tell me not to fuss,’ he snapped, clearly upset. ‘Where does it hurt?’
Knowing he wouldn’t be satisfied until she complied, Josie lifted her pyjama top with one hand and touched the tender spot with the other. ‘There.’
She concentrated on her breathing as he gently examined the area with his fingertips. Molten heat burned between her thighs as he lifted her breast out of the way and probed at her ribs.
‘Really, Nate, is this necessary?’
He straightened, and she let the pyjamas fall back into place.
‘Does it hurt when you move around normally?’
Josie shook her head. ‘Only when I press on it.’
‘It’s not rib cartilage then.’ He blew out a relieved breath and glanced at his unfinished packing. ‘We should — leave this.’
“This” wasn’t the packing, and judging by the inflexible set of his jaw, Josie knew it was pointless to argue.
And suddenly, she didn’t want to.
Nate would make an overwhelming lover. But could she satisfy him?
Doubts crowded her mind.
What if she disappointed him, or worse, bored him?
Oh God!
She glanced down at her ridiculous pyjamas, desperate to get away.
She wracked her brain for an exit line, but before she could think of anything plausible, he spoke again. ‘It’s hardly responsible, with me leaving tomorrow.’
And there it was. The perfect exit cue.
‘True.’
For long moments they stood looking at one another, and then he reached out and pulled the spiral curl again. ‘Not tonight, hey, Josephine?’
Josie rolled her eyes and turned away. ‘Like I haven’t heard that before.’
Chapter 11
Ten minutes past midnight: Tuesday
Allegra groped around on the bedside table for her ringing mobile. She forced her eyes open, conscious Luke’s side of the bed was cold. A few seconds passed before she remembered he was up late, doing paperwork in the living room.
She peered at the screen. ‘Hello, Simon?’
Simon Poole’s voice was so clear he could have been standing in the next room, not calling from Harvard University. ‘Sorry to wake you, Allegra. I know it’s late, but I wanted to check in before we take off to Utah for the weekend. They’ve had a huge dump of snow up there.’
Allegra smiled. A die-hard skier, Simon was taking advantage of his time in the States, determined to ski as much terrain as possible.
‘The signal can be a bit sketchy in the mountains,’ he was saying. ‘How’s everything going with you?’
Allegra frowned. Did he mean her cases or Josie? ‘Everything’s fine — considering.’
A pause. ‘Considering what?’
Allegra sat up in bed, appalled one of the firm’s principals was unaware of the situation back home. She quickly filled him in on the details of Josie’s disappearance, leaving out the bit about Nate Hunter.
Luke had sworn her to secrecy on that topic.
‘I’m sorry, Simon,’ she said when she’d finished. ‘I was going to call you, but Henry assured me he’d do it.’
There was silence from the other end and Allegra frowned as Luke opened the door and came into the bedroom. He raised his eyebrows over the rim of his coffee mug.
‘Simon,’ she mouthed the words.
He nodded his understanding and sat down on the bed.
‘Well, Henry must have his reasons,’ Simon mused, and from his tone Allegra had no way of determining his thoughts. But that was Simon. It was one of the things she admired about him most. He kept close counsel, and if he had a beef with anyone, he’d speak directly to the person involved.
In this case, Henry.
They talked a little more about Josie, and then Simon asked if she were alright.
‘Yes, I’m okay.’ Allegra turned to look at her husband. ‘Josie’s parents are home now, and the police are doing everything they can. Everyone here is hoping for good news.’
‘Can anyone at the Southern Cross shed light on why Mulvaney was trying to make contact?’
‘I’ll call Mrs. Mulvaney tomorrow, see what I can find out.’
‘Good.’ Simon gave a heavy sigh. ‘Give her my condolences, Allegra, and keep me in the loop.’
‘I will. Have fun skiing.’
‘Thanks,’ he said, but the enthusiasm had gone from his voice.
Allegra killed the call and turned to look at her husband, a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach.
‘What was all that about?’ Luke brushed her hair away from her face.
All at once Allegra was consumed with a terrible sadness. At the time Josie was taken, her only family were in Singapore, Henry hadn’t even bothered to inform Simon Poole about it, and she and Luke were flying home from Lord Howe Island, their phones off when Josie called.
She gazed into Luke’s steady eyes, and it was all she could do to get the words out. ‘I don’t understand. It’s not the kind of thing that slips your mind.’
Luke frowned. ‘What is? Come on, baby, talk to me.’
‘Simon had no idea about Josie, Luke. Henry never called him.’
Henry Grace loosened the paisley tie from around his neck and took the call in his office at Grace and Poole. He couldn’t speak about this at home, couldn’t risk his wife overhearing anything.
‘Yes?’
‘It’s me,’ the man said.
The man usually said very little, but that was the nature of their relationship.
‘I’m sorry this has happened,’ said Henry.
A pause, then. ‘The arrangement can stay in place.’
Henry took a deep breath and closed his eyes. ‘As you wish.’
The line went dead.
Chapter 12
4:00 a.m. Tuesday
Nate drove the WRX, choosing to leave Katoomba in the blackest part of early morning. As it turned out, luck was on his side, a thick fog blanketing the region and reducing visibility to a few feet.
Out on the highway, he switched on the fog lights, passing mostly semi-trailers and B-doubles on the steep descent into Sydney. At Wallacia, a small rural town situated on the banks of the Nepean River, he pulled into a deserted rest area. Within minutes, he’d changed into his bikie apparel and shrugged on the long black overcoat he usually wore over his suit in winter. If he were caught on camera, there’d be little chance he’d be recognised as the bare-chested guy with shoulder length hair driving a ute the night Josie went missing.
Josie.
She was as he remembered, and more. Was it possible she’d grown up so much in the space of two years, or had she always been perceptive and sensible at heart, and he just hadn’t looked hard enough?
He’d labelled her, and put her in a box he was comfortable with.
And that was Josie.
Except it wasn’t.
She’d enquir
ed about the photograph in his wallet, and told him he’d make a good father. He’d almost spilled his guts right there and told her it was definitely part of his plan, that he had no desire to be an old father, or risk missing out entirely. But he’d refrained. There was no surer way of sending a twenty-year-old female, unlikely to start a family for at least ten years, running for the hills.
And he didn’t want Josie to run.
Nate rolled up his civilian clothes and stowed them underneath the spare tyre. He couldn’t deny there was some kind of pull/push dynamic going on with him and Josie, but it was nuts to get any ideas about the two of them. She was just shy of twenty-one, barely old enough to know her own mind. And they were from different worlds.
Before Josie had crashed into his world again, he’d been thinking of finding a woman his own age and settling down after all this was finished. He missed being a father to Jonathan, and while women worried about their biological clock, he’d seen too many detectives leave it too late. By the time they had kids, they were browned off, tired and overweight. And those who were childless routinely drank too much.
He could just imagine his mother clicking her tongue and pointing out it didn’t happen that way, that he couldn’t orchestrate a time to meet the woman of his dreams. That it just happened.
But he wasn’t sure about that either.
He only knew Josie was getting under his skin, distracting him a little, no, distracting him a lot from the job at hand, like now, when he couldn’t stop thinking about her asleep in the house with Dickson in the next room.
Nate scowled. His partner hadn’t missed the white skin, the golden halo of curls framing her face or the serious curves.
He opened the driver’s door and slid in behind the wheel, grateful she hadn’t unleashed her potty mouth on Dickson yet. Insane as it was, he found it hot when she let fly in that clipped, cultivated tone, and he liked to think she reserved it for him.
He smiled, a pleasant buzz humming through his body as he recalled her order to get his tight arse back to the house so they could drink the Grange.
Tight arse hey?
Nice that she’d noticed.
And that kiss!
He hadn’t meant to kiss her like that. He’d been going to return her peck on the cheek, but the way she’d looked at him, eyes all confused as she pointed out he’d been teasing her with a taste of him. It was so hot, he hadn’t been able to resist.
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