by Rebecca York
JACK ARRIVED at the villa and strode through the rooms. Two serving carts loaded with food stood in the dining area, but Maddy wasn’t there, and she wasn’t on the patio.
He choked back a wave of panic. She was at the spa. Reynard hadn’t scooped her up.
Impatiently, he waited for her to reappear, wondering what the hell he was going to do now. Should he tell her about Reynard’s proposition and have her insides twisting as badly as his? Or should he keep this morning’s meeting to himself and feel like a rat for not giving her all the facts?
Once, long ago, he’d given an agent a piece of very bad news, and she’d gone off the deep end. She hadn’t been able to handle the information—and her subsequent behavior had gotten her killed.
He didn’t think Maddy was going to crack under the strain. Hell, she’d been superb all the way through this nerve-wracking assignment. Yet the memory of that long-ago mission in Albania still had the power to turn his skin cold.
His mind flashed back to the narrow, one-lane road, winding along the crest of the mountains. Lisa hunched over the wheel, her face stark white as she fled the danger in the little village behind them.
He’d tried to get her to sit tight. She’d vetoed the idea and made a run for the car. And he’d had no choice but to go with her.
The mountain roads were dangerous under any circumstances. But there’d been no place to escape as the hulking Russian-made car had come toward them, speeding up as it plowed into their smaller vehicle.
He never knew if his door had come open, or if he’d managed to pull the handle. But somehow he’d been thrown free of the car as it started down the mountain side. Lisa had ended up trapped inside as the car hit the bottom of the ravine and burst into flames.
The horror of it closed his throat, stopped the breath in his lungs.
With a terrible effort, he pulled himself out of the past. This was another time. Another place. But the terror and the danger were all too real. He didn’t know that his hands were pressed over his eyes until he felt the pressure of his palms against his eyeballs.
A knock at the door made his body jerk. Deliberately he relaxed his muscles, tried to clear his mind of the old feelings of guilt.
After waiting several more seconds, he walked to the door and looked through the spy hole. He saw a man dressed in blue coveralls standing on the threshold, looking down.
When Jack heard a scraping noise, he jerked the door open.
The man looked startled. Quickly he pulled back the hand that had been inserting a key in the lock.
“Can I help you?” Jack asked evenly as he read the man’s name tag. It said, “Isley.”
The man struggled to wipe the look of surprise off his face. “Oh, I thought nobody was here,” he said.
“And you were coming in to do what?” Jack asked pointedly as he looked at the carry bag in Isley’s other hand.
“Make some repairs.”
“To what?”
He hesitated for a moment, then asked, “Didn’t you complain about the stopper in one of the sinks? The basin’s not holding water?”
“No,” Jack answered calmly. “You must have the wrong villa.”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry,” Isley answered, backing up.
Jack gave him points for sticking with his story. He turned and marched down the path like he really had made a mistake—and was going to correct it now.
Probably Isley had been from security—not from repairs. And probably Reynard had requested that the listening or viewing devices be reinstalled.
So did that mean they were presently not wired for sound here? Or was Reynard adding more equipment?
He didn’t know. And there was no way he could find out without coming across as hostile. Smashing the TV cameras he’d found when they arrived had been as much to make a point as anything else. Now his mission had changed. He’d established himself as a tough guy, and he was trying to act more cooperative.
Making a rapid decision, he started down the path after Isley, moving quickly and quietly. The man was standing just around the bend, his shoulders hunched, talking into a cell phone.
Jack faded behind the trunk of a palm tree, straining his ears as he tried to pick up the conversation.
“Yeah. I didn’t know he was home,” Isley was saying.
Someone on the other end of the line was evidently speaking because the “maintenance man” paused.
“Okay. Right. I hear you. I’ll do the installation while they’re at the party tonight.”
As Isley slipped the phone back into his pocket, Jack blended back into the jungle.
Quietly he retraced his steps, thinking his assumption had been confirmed—although he couldn’t be one hundred percent certain. Isley could be talking about a bathroom sink, but that would be a pretty big stretch.
He returned to the front entrance and stood staring at the lush tropical foliage and bright flowers, wondering if the bushes were wired for sound. So Reynard was increasing the surveillance here. Did that mean there were presently no bugs in the house? Maybe, but he’d better not make that assumption.
HE WAS STILL STANDING in the doorway when Maddy came around a curve in the path, walking quickly.
He saw at once that she was trying to control the expression on her face. But as he took in the tension splashed across her features, he knew what he had to do.
8
MADDY WAS BURSTING to tell Jack about the note. But the warning look in his eyes stopped her cold.
As she stood there staring at him, she took several slow deep breaths. “Did you miss me?” she finally asked.
“Of course,” he answered casually, leading her inside and into the dining room. “I found a marvelous lunch waiting for us. Isn’t that nice?” He laughed. “Well, maybe not so nice. If we’re not careful, we’re both going to put on weight while we’re here.”
She stared at the two buffet carts as though the salads, fruit and main dishes had materialized from outer space. Her throat was too clogged to swallow, but Jack acted like the meal was the only thing on his mind as he sauntered over to the closest cart, picked up a slice of pineapple, and began to eat.
“Come on. This stuff is great.”
After a few seconds’ hesitation, she followed his example, piling a plate with shrimp salad, smoked salmon and marinated vegetables.
“It’s too nice a day to stay inside,” he commented, as he opened the sliding glass door.
“You’re always right, sweetie,” she purred.
He shot her a look that hovered between annoyance and amusement. Then, with a shrug, he picked up his plate and stepped outside.
She followed him onto the patio and joined him at the wrought-iron table—where they both worked at looking hungry. At least she knew it was an effort for her.
As they ate, she watched Jack from under lowered lashes. He was acting like nothing was wrong—at least on the surface. But the message written on his face wasn’t “nothing.” He was worried about something, although she could hardly expect him to level with her here, where hidden microphones might pick up their every word.
And he confirmed that line of speculation with his next words. “Right after I got back, a repairman showed up with a bag of tools. He said there was a complaint from this villa about the stopper in one of the sinks not working. Did you turn in a complaint, honey bunch?”
“No,” she answered quickly.
“Neither did I. I guess he made a mistake. No harm done this time. But he did have a key to the front door, and when I didn’t answer his knock right away, he started to come in. I’d hate for him to have walked in on us in the bedroom or something.”
He held her gaze for a long moment.
“That would certainly have been embarrassing,” she answered. She understood Jack’s words had nothing to do with his real message here. The guy had come to the villa with a story about the sink—but he’d been on another mission entirely. Probably to work on the surveillance equipment.
; She tried to ease her clenched muscles. Jack was reminding her to be careful. Maybe he’d taken her outside because he thought there was less chance of being videotaped—which meant they still had to watch what they said.
So maybe those were the negative vibes she’d sensed when she’d first come back here—his frustration with their inability to speak frankly.
She clung to that explanation as she leaned back in her chair, considering how to clue him in to her own morning’s activities. Maybe there was a way to talk—and act on the message she’d read a few minutes ago.
After working her way through some of the food on her plate, she slid him a seductive smile from her side of the glass-topped table. “You know, I was having this fantasy while I was lying there with my eyes closed, getting a facial treatment back at the spa. I was thinking, wow, it would be fun to make love with Jack outside in this tropical paradise.” She lifted one shoulder. “What do you think? Shall we go for it?”
He waited a beat. Then his face broke into a lecherous grin as he pushed his own plate back and climbed to his feet.
“Yeah. Come here and let me show you how much I missed you, baby.”
Taking the suggestion, she stood, moved toward him, swaying slightly on unsteady legs as she reached into her pocket and pulled out the note and cupped it in her palm. Her shakiness wasn’t an act, exactly. She was feeling jittery. About the note. About Jack. About their relationship.
Did they have a real relationship? she wondered. What would happen when they got back to the outside world? Would Jack Connors make sure he stayed as far away from Maddy Guthrie as possible?
She knew there was no point in dwelling on those thoughts. She and Jack had a job to do. And they’d better make it look good.
When she was within reach, he slipped his arm around her shoulder, ran his fingers up and down her back as he pulled her close.
It was so easy to let her body melt against his. She knew his words and the gestures were for the cameras that might be watching and for the microphones that might be planted out here. But as always when Jack took her in his arms, she couldn’t prevent herself from reacting to him.
In her hypersensitive state, his touch was instantly erotic. And when he began to hum a slow tune, the melting process accelerated. Eyes closed, she swayed against him as he twirled her slowly around in an impromptu dance step.
Still, she’d had enough practice by now to keep her mind on business—at least if she concentrated hard. She brought her lips to his ear, murmuring nonsense as she shifted her hand in his grip, pressing her palm against his. She knew at once that he’d felt the folded piece of paper wedged between his heated flesh and hers.
“What’s this?” he asked, keeping his voice light and playful as he danced her slowly around the patio bordered by lush foliage and bright flowers. A tropical paradise, she thought—where you never know which plants had thorns. So you had to be wary of them all.
Putting that image out of her mind, she purred. “I read you so well. I know you love it when I make sexy suggestions.”
“Yeah.” He kept up the swaying motion, bent to skim his lips against the top of her hair. “You smell so good, baby. Good enough to eat.”
The words sent a little quiver through her. “So are you going to take me up on my offer of a picnic?”
“Um-hum.” He continued to move her around the patio as if it were a dance floor.
“Where should we go?” she purred.
“Down one of the paths we haven’t taken. Maybe we’ll find a nice private spot where we can have some fun. A little cabana or something—for the convenience of guests.”
She made a mock pouty face. “I want to do it outside, where we’ve got the blue sky overhead. And the swaying palms. That sounds so romantic.”
“Hmm. Maybe we should take a blanket.”
As though sex were the only thing on his mind, he strode back into the bedroom and reappeared a few moments later with the light blanket that was folded on the top shelf of one of the closets.
“Won’t we get it dirty?” she asked.
He laughed. “Better than getting your pretty little butt dirty, honey. You did say you wanted to look up at the sky, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
He slung the blanket over one arm and took her hand on the opposite side—the paper between their palms again. It had gotten damp from the contact, and she wondered if the words would still be readable.
“SIR, THIS IS HAMILTON.”
“Go ahead,” Reynard invited.
“You asked to be informed if Jack Craig and his girlfriend left their villa.”
“And?” Reynard snapped.
“They’re on the move.”
“Keep them in sight. I want to know where they go and what they do.”
Tension buzzed through his body. Deliberately he ordered his muscles to relax. Craig’s background had checked out. On paper he was exactly what he seemed to be—a powerful crime boss who wanted to open up more avenues for illegal profits.
But Oliver had stopped believing that the information he’d gathered on the man told the whole story, because Jack Craig wasn’t behaving like the ruthless criminal he was supposed to be: a man bent on achieving his own goals at any cost.
Don Fowler was pushing the theory that Craig was an impostor. He’d never heard of the man, he said. And that automatically made him suspect.
But then Fowler had his own ax to grind. He wanted Craig out of the way—at all costs.
And Craig had passed a little test on his way back from the main house. One of the security operatives had stopped him, pretending to be selling his services. Craig had declined the offer, which might only prove that he was smart—smart enough to know it might be a trap.
Oliver leaned back in his comfortable chair and stroked his chin. Of course, there was one interesting explanation for Jack Craig’s odd behavior regarding their business dealings: He really was in love with Maddy Griffin. Or at least besotted with the woman. And he was letting his feelings for her overrule his better judgment.
It was a plausible theory. But there was another one just as reasonable. Jack Craig and Maddy Griffin were here to accomplish some hidden purpose.
Well, Oliver had the resources to find out which was true. And if he discovered that Craig was a spy or an operative, then he was going to have the man executed. Probably he’d have his fiancée executed, too. But not before he did all the things he’d been wanting to do with her.
AS THEY STARTED down the path, Maddy caught a flash of movement. Two of the gardeners were checking them out.
She looked away from the men as though they were simply part of the scenery, beneath her notice, really.
They came to a branch in the path they hadn’t tried before, heading toward the interior of the island. As Jack led her down the new trail, he transferred the piece of paper from her palm to his. Then he brought his hand up to casually scratch his chest through the knit fabric of his shirt. She watched him look down to read the words she’d already seen:
“The girl is in the Dark Tower.”
He slipped his hand into the pocket of his slacks, taking the paper along with it, then gave her a questioning look.
They’d been speaking words and phrases with hidden meanings for so long that she didn’t miss a beat. “You like my hair? They do a good job at the spa, don’t they?”
“Um-hum.”
“And the facial was really neat. I was lying there with my eyes closed, and goop all over my face when it happened—that inspiration that we come out here and have some fun.”
“Um-hum,” he answered again, and she was pretty sure that he’d followed the gist of her carefully crafted remarks.
He was silent for several seconds. Then he said, “You know, this island might be a paradise, but there are too darn many people around. What do you think the chances are of finding some privacy?”
“I don’t know. Maybe this is our lucky trail—since we haven’t tried it before.”
“Exactly what I was thinking. Let’s find a spot where we can be alone.”
She nodded, sure they were in agreement to concentrate their search in one of the more isolated sections of Reynard’s kingdom.
They’d both studied the aerial maps of the island. And she remembered a building off by itself that might be the Dark Tower mentioned in the note. Jack was definitely heading in that direction.
But they certainly couldn’t march right up to the place. They had to make this look good. Like the other night when they’d searched Reynard’s house.
Jack was undoubtedly thinking the same thing, she decided as he pulled her close, shifting the blanket so that it was behind her body.
Then his mouth lowered to hers, rubbed back and forth so seductively that she had to grab his shoulders to stay on her feet.
Her eyes drifted closed as his mouth moved expertly over hers.
“That’s nice,” she breathed, business completely fleeing her mind.
He brought her back to earth with the barely audible question she’d been half-expecting earlier. “Who gave you the note?”
Tipping her head to the side, she spoke softly. “My eyes were closed from that facial thing. I couldn’t see.”
“Um-hum.” He nibbled at her lips, and she was lost again, struggling to keep her mind on business.
Maybe he was having the same problem. “Let’s not get carried away right here,” he muttered. Breaking away from her, he took her hand and moved farther down the path, his hip bumping seductively against hers as they strolled deeper into the interior, the manicured greenery of the inhabited areas giving way to wilder jungle. The vegetation on either side of them was thick, and she was glad of the path.
A bird screeched overhead, and a rustling of movement in the branches of a nearby tree had her glancing quickly up to see if the guard were following them with some kind of James Bond mechanical spy satellite. But it was only a trio of monkeys swinging through the trees.