No, she wouldn't put her father in that position. She was the only one who understood how devastated he'd been after her mother's death from breast cancer. It was as though a part, a very important part of him had died with her. Michelle took an odd sort of comfort in knowing that only she was aware of this. She didn't want to cause him any more pain.
Besides, living with Jacqueline and her three brats was enough for any man to have to bear.
No, she would have to find her way on her own. And it was time she started. Now.
* * *
The car's tires spit up the spotty gravel as Jake pulled into the motel's parking lot. He put the gear in park, then shut off the engine. The sound of traffic zooming by on I-295 was deafening, making him wonder how anyone could sleep with all the racket. His apartment was located in Woodley Park, in the older section of D.C. Quiet, tree-lined. A bit of Norman Rockwell and old America in the middle of bustling downtown.
He stared at the closed door to Room Three. He couldn't begin to explain to anyone what he was doing there, much less come up with a rational explanation for himself. He'd tried already. It hadn't worked.
So what if Edgar was out of town until tomorrow, wrapping up a case in Georgia? Edgar was just as efficient as Jake was. And he had more years on the job. It didn't matter if he got the case today, tomorrow or the next day. Edgar would find Michelle quicker than she could blink those latte-colored eyes.
He shifted uneasily on the leather seat. The feeling was foreign to him. Very little made him uncomfortable. But not knowing what deeds lurked in the shadows of Michelle Lambert's past did.
At least that's what he told himself.
He shifted again, recognizing the statement for the lie it was.
He was drawn to this woman. It was as simple … as complicated as that. She ignited something within him impossible to ignore and equally foolish to pursue. But pursuing it he was.
He scrubbed his face with his hands. He realized part of the reason he was intrigued by her was that her reason for being in the country had nothing to do with finding a better job than she could back home. Or because she was in search of the American dream. She wasn't interested in any of that as many foreign nationals were. She hadn't applied for a green card. She'd merely wanted an extension on her visa. So she could find her daughter.
There. There it was again. That bottomless feeling in the pit of his stomach.
And the image of Michelle sitting in a rocking chair with a dark-haired child in her arms. Her thickly lashed eyes sparkling with warmth. Smiling.
He left out of that thought the possibility that he wouldn't see her again. Despite that her beat-up Ford was parked a few yards away from him, she could have already skipped town. And knowing what she'd told Brad, he was convinced she would live up to her threat. There was a strength about her. A determination he couldn't help but be fascinated with.
His hand automatically patted his empty jacket pocket. He sighed, then slipped his cell phone out of his other pocket. Within moments, his father answered his call.
"Yeah, Pops, David around?"
There was the sound of clinking silverware. Jake envisioned the kitchen of the house he'd grown up in, finding some comfort in the familiar. Of course, so many things had changed since Mitch's wife, Liz, had moved in, but he chose to concentrate on those that had stayed the same.
"Hey, yourself, Jake," Sean said with that ever-present smile that had been in his voice lately. "He is. But are you sure you want to talk to him? He's mad as hell that you're not here yet. Not that I can blame him." There was a heartbeat of a pause, then his father's voice lowered. "It's not like you to be late for anything. Everything all right?"
"Just running a little behind." Jake grimaced. There were some drawbacks to having a family who knew him so well. He didn't doubt that if he were face-to-face with Sean, he wouldn't have gotten away with such a vague statement. "Any luck finding my identification?"
"Nope. Turned the place upside down earlier. Not even a fiber. Wait. Here comes David now."
Movement outside the car caught Jake's attention Michelle was coming out of her room, a backpack slung over her shoulder.
"This better be good." David's voice filtered over the line. Jake pressed the disconnect button then opened the car door.
* * *
Michelle slung her pack onto the passenger's seat. This was it. All she had left was an address. Nothing more. And there were no guarantees that this address would be any better than the ones the detective had gotten before. She took one last look at the closed door to Room Three. But what choice did she have? She would not, could not go home without Lili.
"Going somewhere?"
Michelle turned at the sound of the familiar voice. Given how little he'd said to her earlier at the café, she didn't know why it should be familiar. It was more her body's reaction to the deep timbre than anything that told her Jake McCoy had followed her to her motel.
The funny thing was, she wasn't surprised by his appearance—maybe because she couldn't seem to get him out of her mind since bumping into him in the parking lot of the INS building.
She gripped the top of the door with her left hand. "Yes. I suppose I am."
He came to a stop before her. His back straight. His hair impeccably neat. His suit clean and pressed. She felt the sudden inexplicable desire to muss him all up.
"You wouldn't happen to be going to the airport now, would you?" he asked.
Her fingers tightened on the hard metal of the door. "Airport?"
"Yes. You know, for your flight home." He patted the breast of his jacket the same way he had at the café, then grimaced, as if not finding something that was usually there.
"No. No, I'm not going to the airport." She tucked her hair behind her ear. "What are you doing here?"
It occurred to her that he couldn't have followed her to the motel, because she hadn't gone directly there after they left the café. She'd stopped at the detective's office.
That meant he was either a stalker or else he'd known where to find her.
"Don't tell me. You work for the INS, don't you?"
He stood a little straighter, if that was at all possible, stretching that lean torso, drawing her gaze to his slim hips and legs that appeared muscular even through the light material of his slacks. "Yes, I do." He held out a business card. She took it, running her thumb over the raised lettering. Jake McCoy, Immigration Agent.
She closed her eyes and swore in French. "This day keeps getting better and better. Only I could meet a guy I'm attracted to for the first time in what seems like forever, kiss him, then find out his mission in life is to make mine miserable." She stared at him. "Does this mean you're taking me to the airport?"
He seemed to hesitate. "Do you want me to?"
She tucked the card into the waist of her skirt. "Do I have a choice?"
He glanced at a plain silver watch on his wrist. "Until midnight, you do."
She slid her hand from the door. "You have to be kidding." She regarded his clear, direct gaze and realized he wasn't.
"Have you eaten yet?" he asked.
"Eaten?"
"Yes. Supper."
She thought of the granola bar she had stashed in her backpack. With the meager amount of money she had left, she didn't have enough to splurge on little extras like food.
"Do you want to, you know, go catch a bite?"
"A bite?"
"Yes."
She crossed her arms under her breasts. On another woman, the move might have been provocative. Not with her. Like everything else about her, her breasts were small. Nonetheless, she watched his gaze skim the front of her shirt, the darkening of his eyes telling. Her nipples hardened beneath the thin, soft cotton, and a slow, arousing shiver tickled her spine. "Let me, um, get this straight. Isn't that how they say it? You're telling me you're with the INS. But you're not taking me to the airport. You can't. At least not until midnight. But you want to take me out to dinner. Is that right?"
<
br /> He cleared his throat. "Yes."
She glanced at her digital watch. "It's only seven. Where were you planning on taking me?"
A glimpse of a grin played around his full lips. "I know this nice place that serves great French food."
She raised a brow.
"In Baltimore."
Her burst of laughter surprised even her.
There was no playing with this guy. He was as straight as they came. If she asked him how many times a week he took his suits to the cleaners, he'd probably not only answer her, but answer her accurately, down to the time of day he took them in.
She wondered if those same painstaking characteristics would make him thorough in his lovemaking, as well. He'd take his time. Explore every crevice and hollow. Make sure he was giving more pleasure than he was taking.
She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. "Sorry, but I've already eaten." She grasped the door again. "Thank you, though."
She climbed into the car, half expecting him to stop her. He didn't.
She rolled down the window.
He leaned over, his hands tucked into his pants pockets. "Mind if I ask where you're going?"
"No, I don't mind. But even you'd have to agree I'd be stupid to tell you."
He nodded. Her gaze was riveted on his mouth. While everything else about him bespoke discipline and order, his lips hinted at a passion she didn't think even he knew the depths of. She remembered the firm, silky feel of them against hers. His initial hesitation. Then his soft groan, and the confident pressure of his mouth as he returned her instinctual kiss. She could almost still taste him there, on her tongue.
She started the car's engine. "You're not going to follow me, are you?" The thought both excited and scared her, but not for the reasons she would have thought. While Jake McCoy posed a threat to her freedom to find Lili, she got the distinct impression it was an altogether different autonomy he threatened.
Then again, one night with this man who looked at her in a mixture of wonder and desire might not be such a bad idea. "Probably," he answered.
She settled on excited.
"Okay. Guess I'll be seeing you on the road, then."
"Yeah. On the road."
* * *
Chapter 3
« ^ »
The nerve-grating chirp of the cell phone filled the otherwise quiet interior of the car. Jake fumbled in his jacket pocket then pulled it out. McCoy Place
, the display read. He reached over and chucked the phone into his glove box. Until he saw what was going to happen over the next few hours, there was no point in talking to David. Michelle Lambert and her intentions took priority over a hiking trip. He glanced into the back seat, where all his new gear was tucked neatly into an oversize blue nylon backpack. The manager of the sports equipment store had told him everything he'd bought was top of the line. A sleeping bag no thicker than his linen bedsheets was guaranteed to keep him warm when the temperatures dipped below freezing, and dry when it rained for days on end. He leaned forward and stared at the sky. It definitely looked like rain.
He put both hands on the steering wheel and zoomed in again on the rusted Ford two car lengths ahead of him in the right lane. He was sure there was a law against the amount of exhaust the tailpipe was spewing out. And the wire holding her back bumper in place looked ready to snap. His gaze trailed to the open driver's window. Every now and again, tendrils of Michelle's curly hair trailed out and whipped in the wind. Like now. He watched her run her fingers through the unruly mass, casually gathering it on the other side of her head.
Jake adjusted the car's interior temperature. It was the first time he'd ever turned it past the sixty-seven-degree point. But that didn't bother him. What did was the irrepressible urge he had to turn the damn air conditioner off and roll his windows down. To feel the early evening air skim through his short-cropped hair like a woman's fingers.
He smoothed the front of his jacket and focused on the overhead sign coming up. Welcome To Pennsylvania. He'd driven this route before many times. Up through Maryland to Penn State, then either west to Pittsburgh or Cleveland or east to New York or Boston. When possible, he preferred driving to flying, and often times he got there faster on these shorter routes. They had yet to make a business-class airplane seat with enough leg room to keep him happy.
He relaxed a bit. The Pennsylvania turnpike was the only direct route through the mountainous state this far south. Not even he would attempt navigating off the four-lane thruway.
Off to the west, the sun was sinking toward the horizon, thin summer clouds throwing off shades of pink and purple. The vibrant colors made him think of the woman in the car ahead of him. Of her provocative nature. Of her small, round breasts. Her great legs. Her chattiness. His mind wandered, and he let it. As his doctor told him last week, there was no safer sex than mental sex. No one ever got pregnant or contracted an STD by indulging in fantasy. And sex with Michelle Lambert was—and would stay—nothing more than a harmless fantasy.
Images of rumpled bedsheets, an empty wine bottle and a Do Not Disturb sign on the door conjured a scene that made him squirm in his seat. She would be a talker in bed, that one. Pleading with him to touch her just so. Knowing instinctively just where to touch him. She would be insatiable…
Whoa.
Jake made a quick steering correction, then stared at his lap. The last time he'd gotten a woody just thinking about a woman was when he was a teen. And he'd never indulged in fantasies about an overtly sexy, attainable female. While Farrah Fawcett had been his brother Marc's angel of choice, Kate Jackson always had been his favorite. Trim, neat, ordinary. Watching her in her high collars and conservative slacks had really flicked his switch.
Why, then, was he lusting after a woman who was a puzzling combination of Sophia Loren, Audrey Hepburn and va-va-voom Raquel Welch? One that went in for plunging necklines and short, short skirts? Didn't make any sense at all.
The wind caught Michelle's dark curls again, jerking Jake's mind to those bedsheets. They would be white and crisp, a contrast against all that inky black…
Tearing his gaze from the car in front of him, he pushed the button to turn off the air, then rolled the windows down.
* * *
Just knowing Jake McCoy was behind her made Michelle feel erotically appealing. She'd never had a man literally pursue her before. Okay, his reasons weren't exactly what she'd like, but she'd bet his job wasn't the only thing on his mind.
She turned down the radio station cranking out rock and roll oldies, then gazed into her rearview mirror. She spotted Jake and his dark Caprice immediately. He never let more than two cars separate them and stayed for the most part in the left-hand lane, except to let others pass. How charitable of him. She caught herself smiling, then cleared her throat. She should be thinking of what lay ahead of her in Akron, Ohio, south of Cleveland. Instead she watched Jake. Noticing the way he held his hands on the steering wheel in the traditional three o'clock position. His correct, upright posture explained part of the reason his suit appeared barely wrinkled.
One hand on her own wheel, she reached down and plucked off her shoes, then slid them under her seat. Her speed let up a bit, and she instantly compensated. Jake did the same behind her.
The radio announcer told her it was eleven. Would Jake do as he'd said and take her into custody at midnight? He appeared to be a man of his word. Then again, if he'd thought her a real threat, he'd have stopped her from leaving D.C.
She focused more prudently on the road. It was completely dark. The only lights were her headbeams, which illuminated the monotonous, seemingly endless white lines that separated her lane from the next.
If Lili were with her right now, she'd be giddily trying to count those lines.
Michelle bit into the flesh of her bottom lip. It often seemed that everywhere she looked, everything she did, she imagined what her nearly four-year-old daughter would see or do in the same situation. Her absence was like a colossal hole, always pres
ent, forever threatening to swallow her up, bogging her down in the details.
What was Lili doing right now? Had she had her bath? Had she eaten? Did Gerald know that a certain name brand of baby care products irritated her sensitive skin? Or that he had to comb her hair just so to get out the tangles? Was she scared?
Michelle dragged in a deep breath. While she was fluent in English, Lili only knew a few basic words, and then only when used in conjunction with French. Would constantly being surrounded by the foreign tongue confuse her?
Oh, how she missed her daughter. Missed tasting her skin when she kissed her temple. Tickling her round, hard belly. Smiling, at her rambunctious laugh. Missed playing hide-and-seek with her and Julianne, her frazzled stuffed pet elephant and constant companion.
She reached out and took Julianne from her backpack, running her thumb along her nubbed belly, then lifting the toy to her nose. After nearly eight weeks of sleeping with the animal, it smelled more like her than Lili. But every now and again she swore she could make out her daughter's sweet, little-girl scent.
The sign ahead was blurry. She blinked, realizing that fog wasn't to blame for the haziness, but tears.
Stuffing Julianne in her temporary home, Michelle pressed her foot down on the pedal, watching as Jake dropped farther and farther back. Indulging in a bit of escapist flirtation was one thing. Allowing it to derail her plans was another entirely.
* * *
Okay, she was finally making her move.
Jake flicked off the cruise control and eased his foot onto the gas pedal. He was mildly surprised she hadn't tried to shake him before. Then again, she might think being so far away from D.C. put them at the same disadvantage. Smart woman.
He easily caught up with her Ford, pulling parallel with her in the left lane. She flashed him a wide smile, making that peculiar weightless sensation more acute. He saluted her. But before he could put his hand back on the wheel, she slammed on the brakes then turned off the exit ramp to her right
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