by Nina Bruhns
"I'm well aware of what your job is," she said quietly, opening the passenger door and getting out before he could stop her.
The tension between them was thicker than the mud oozing at the edge of the narrow road. He sat behind the wheel watching her for a moment as she wandered a few yards down the track, past the mailbox—tripping the silent alarm on the console of monitors in Dev's living room. Her short red skirt and bright white camisole top stood out in brilliant contrast to the muted greens and browns of the cypress swamp behind her. Just as she did among the drab bureaucrats and the shadowy criminals that populated his usual world. His body quickened at the mere sight of her, so luminous and tempting, reminding him of the unbelievable need he'd felt for this woman since the first time he'd laid eyes on her.
His mind reminded him that's all it was. Simple lust. Nothing more. Except he was beginning to understand that nothing about Muse Summerville and his relationship with her was simple and never would be.
Davies will have to get through me if he wants to hurt you.
Meaning what? That she intended to protect him?
Talk about unbelievable. Nobody'd ever protected him, or even tried, except on the rare occasions his cousin Beau had stalwartly defended him against some perfectly legitimate accusation of youthful infraction. But there was no one else on earth like Beau.
Remi must have misunderstood Muse's meaning.
He slid out of the car and caught up to her; he pointed up into the old oak tree the No Trespassing sign was nailed to. "There's a small camera up there in the branches," he said. "Smile and wave." He gave it a wave himself and a thumbs-up. She just stood staring.
"Now he knows we're coming and won't set off any of the unpleasant surprises awaiting unwanted visitors."
"My God, this guy's a psycho."
"I helped him set everything up," Remi informed her wryly. "Several years back."
She regarded him. "Figures. What now?"
"Now we go meet him."
"I can hardly wait."
He could hardly wait, either. Hopefully, he'd be able to contact Morris safely from Dev's place and find out what in blazes was going on with the case. With any luck Davies had been located and was already in custody. And Remi could turn the Porsche right on around and take the confounding woman back to the French Quarter of New Orleans where she belonged. Never to see her or think of her or touch her, ever again.
Not a minute too soon as far as he was concerned. He didn't like the confusion raging in his mind and body, tearing him apart.
He didn't apologize to anyone for doing his job the best way he knew how. And he certainly didn't apologize just because she had abandonment issues and obviously thought he was out to rid himself of her at the first possible convenient moment.
Because he wasn't.
Bien, all right, he was. But not for the reasons she thought.
She thought it was because she wouldn't sleep with him. Nothing could be further from the truth. The truth was, it was because he wanted to sleep with her so badly he was willing to go to just about any lengths to change her mind.
Big difference. One that could get them both killed if he didn't get his head screwed on right. Or something.
And that's why he had to rid himself of her at the first possible convenient moment.
Not because one more night with her might just kill him, before Davies ever got the chance.
* * *
Chapter 8
« ^ »
Muse glanced around as Remi brought the Porsche to a halt, parking next to a black Mercedes that sat in a soggy patch of sawgrass at the head of a stick-built jetty. Far out at the end of the crooked pier stood a tiny shack perched on a deck on stilts right above the surface of the motionless bayou. It looked like something straight out of Deliverance.
Muse suppressed a groan. Swell. This should be comfy.
"Comment ça va, you ol' bastard! How the hell are you?" The man who must be Guy de Valein shouted the greeting as he emerged from the shack and came toward them.
Remi answered in kind and went to meet him, going through the usual male bonding rituals, with a French twist to the lingo. She followed behind, dragging her feet. Why men couldn't just hug and say "Good to see you" like normal people, she'd never understand. Any second now would come the comments about her.
"Your taste in women is improving, Beaulieux. Aren't you going to introduce me to your jolie femme?"
"Muse Summerville," she said, sticking out her hand. She plastered a curve on her mouth but was surprised into a genuine smile when Dev bent over her hand and brought it to his lips.
"Guy de Valein."
This was the computer geek hermit?
The man looked disreputable as hell. Too-long black hair, a day's worth of stubble covering his jaw, a sinful sparkle in his eyes as he watched her reaction to him. He was just the kind of man that usually got her in the mood to dance the night away.
"Forget it, Dev," Remi interrupted with a glare, cutting short their mutual assessment. "She's a Bureau witness. Under my protection."
Dev chuckled richly. "I understand. Well, mademoiselle, would you care for a sweet tea while my friend tells me how I can be of service in your protection?"
"That would be lovely," she answered, gratified by the deep scowl that affixed itself to Remi's forehead, hopefully permanently, when Dev ignored him, offered her his arm and escorted her down the uneven jetty toward his home. She was feeling more cheerful already.
Dev casually quizzed her about the events that had led them to his doorstep. She figured if Remi trusted the man with his life, it was all right to trust him with the details of the case and their flight. So she did. With hardly any embellishments or evasions at all.
Remi stalked along behind them, wordlessly for the most part, but occasionally tossing out a short addition to her narration. Dev opened the front door and ushered them into the cool interior. For all its rundown exterior, it was amazingly clean and comfortable inside. A huge bed covered in designer linens dominated one corner, and various simple but elegant pieces of furniture were grouped around the room so it was naturally divided into kitchen, living and sleeping areas.
Dev handed them glasses filled with chilly amber tea, his grin getting wider and wider as she related how she'd managed to distract the police officer from checking their IDs at the plantation. Remi remained stoically closemouthed during the whole story.
"Mais, sacré bleu, mon ami. Ça va brute, non?" Dev said to Remi with a laugh, whose scowl just got deeper. Dev clicked her glass with his. "My friend here, he likes havin' things his way. But it sounds to me like you handled the situation jus' fine. Be extra sweet to him tonight, he'll get over it." He winked.
Muse felt heat rise in her cheeks. "Miracles do happen," she muttered and headed for the front door. "You two probably have things to discuss, so I'll just make myself scarce."
She got no argument, so she walked back out onto the deck that circled the small house. To hide from Remi's scowl.
And to figure out just what the hell she would do now.
It was obvious he regretted his actions last night and had decided to pull back in a big way from any closeness they'd formed by sharing secrets and a bed.
Of course, it had only been her secrets. He hadn't confessed things he'd never told another living soul. It had been all her.
Inwardly she cringed. She didn't blame him for withdrawing. What normal man would want a woman with her problems? Certainly not one who could have his pick of friends and lovers, as Remi undoubtedly could.
She sighed. It was a blessing in disguise, really. He was saving her a heartache of major proportions by putting an end to things now, before she got even more emotionally involved. Because, whether it came today or next month, whether he was the one to leave or she was, she knew very well the end would be the same.
She'd be alone again. As always.
* * *
Remi watched Muse's retreating figure and the door closing behind her with a s
trange mix of emotions. Relief to be rid of the woman and the confusion within him that always accompanied her nearness. Dread at the inevitable ribbing he was in for from Dev—his friend knew him too well to miss the symptoms. Worry that his personal involvement with Muse could lead to her being harmed or worse. An instant craving for her immediate return.
"So, mon ami, you've finally met your match," Dev said with a chuckle.
"More like opposite," he answered, choosing to address the less uncomfortable of the phrase's two possible meanings. "The woman is driving me insane."
"I can see that. Très sympathique."
Again with the double meanings. "I appreciate your sympathy," he said, knowing full well Dev had meant to say he'd seen their attraction. And approved. Like he hadn't noticed. "Feel like taking her off my hands?"
Dev let out a bark of laughter. "No way, man. I have no desire to be hunted down by a lovesick federal agent. Besides, you know how I feel about women."
Sidestepping the lovesick crack, Remi remarked, "Didn't seem to have any trouble being friendly to this one," sounding like a petulant teenager even to his own ears. "I could have sworn you were flirting."
Dev grinned. "I knew I was safe. She only has eyes for you."
Remi snorted. "Yeah. Listen," he said, downing the last of his iced tea and deciding it was time to change the subject. "I need to phone the field office. Securely. Any chance your computers can route me through Outer Slobovia via the Antarctic so my call's untraceable?"
Dev shook his head. "Not a hundred percent. E-mail's safe, though, if that works for you."
He'd known he could rely on Dev. They trooped over to the built-ins that lined one entire wall and flipped up the garage-style door of a long console cupboard, revealing the bank of computer monitors Remi had helped install when his friend had decided to give up the high-society life of New Orleans for this quieter venue. Something about a series of bad love affairs, as he recalled. At the time Remi'd thought the never-shy Dev would last maybe six months, tops, way out here in the back of beyond. That had been over four years ago. He shouldn't be surprised, though. Remi, of all people, understood the devastating power of crushed emotions.
Another good reminder of his present foolishness.
As Dev booted up an impressively nondescript desktop computer which Remi knew damn well had to rival the capabilities of the best Pentagon hardware, he glanced along the line of security monitors, several of which showed split views of the shack and surrounding deck, the jetty and the road in. He zeroed in on the one that showed the object of his protection.
Muse was sitting in a patch of shade, lounging in one of several Adirondack chairs that littered the deck. Her legs were slung over one chair arm, her red miniskirt riding dangerously high on her thighs. She'd undone one of the few remaining buttons on her camisole so her breasts were in imminent danger of spilling out of the flimsy garment. Her head rested on the chair back, face tipped up, eyes drinking in the surrounding swampland like she didn't have a care in the world.
Every time she moved, the camera adjusted its angle on her, seeming to zoom in closer and closer each time. Remi had to fight the urge to leap up, charge out there and wrap a blanket around the woman. He growled with frustration, then deliberately turned away from the monitor. Peripheral vision was just fine to keep tabs on her.
Dev did a pretty good job of hiding his knowing smirk as he set things up for the secure e-mail, but Remi swore he'd flatten the guy if he made a single comment—or so much as glanced at the monitor. Luckily he didn't.
After several minutes Dev finally gave him the go-ahead on the e-mail. Remi marshaled his concentration and typed in an oblique message to Morris asking for news on Davies and clicked Send.
"How long before he gets it?" Remi asked.
"The rerouting really slows things down," Dev answered with a puckered brow. "Might take as long as forty-five seconds."
Remi chuckled. "Jeez, as long as that?"
Dev looked up and threw a pencil at him. "Smart-ass. Want a beer while you wait for the answer?"
"Sure, why not?"
"I assume you guys need a place to stay for a while." Dev said as he fetched a couple bottles from the fridge.
"Depends on the reply to my e-mail," Remi said with a sigh, praying Morris had good news. "Hopefully Davies is in custody."
"Don't get your hopes up. I keep on top of breaking news, and there's been nothing about an arrest that I've heard from any source."
Remi had noticed one of the monitors was tuned in to CNN, and another seemed to be tapped into a highly classified government site with a running ticker of intelligence from around the world.
He jerked his chin at it. "Is that legal?"
Dev smiled. "Doubtful."
God knew what other government secrets his friend had ready access to. Not that he was worried. Dev was one of the good guys.
A chime pinged and Dev's fingers flew over the keyboard. "Mail's in. It's for you."
Another chime pinged. Dev turned to the bank of monitors. "Excuse me."
Remi read the short message from Morris.
Our friend is still on vacation, so why don't you extend yours for a little while. Watch your back in.
He uttered a succinct oath.
"Anywhere in particular you have in mind for your little love nest?" Dev asked, ambling back from whatever had attracted his attention.
"It's not a love nest. I'm protecting her," Remi insisted. "We'll need two separate bedrooms."
Dev's lip curved. "If you say so."
"Preferably a place with security and countermeasures installed," Remi went on. "If you've got something available."
"I've always got something available. I think I know just the house. Two separate bedrooms, huh?"
Remi nodded, trying not to appear grim or frustrated or any of the other 150 things he was feeling at the news he'd indeed have to spend at least one more night with the exasperating Muse Summerville.
"Definitely two separate bedrooms."
If he lived to see morning without being seriously unmanned, it would be a pure damn miracle.
He glanced back at the monitor with the Adirondack chair. And frowned.
She was gone.
* * *
"What the hell!" Remi leaped to his feet, searching the other screens for any sign of her. Nothing. "Where is she?"
Dev looked over. "She got up a few minutes ago. I assumed she was going for a walk."
"And you didn't tell me?" he demanded, drawing his weapon from its holster and sprinting for the door. "Davies's men could have found us and taken her."
"If anyone comes within ten miles of here I know about it," Dev called after him as Remi hit the dock running. "Nobody's taken her! Check the—"
But the rest of his words were muffled by the sound of Remi's footsteps pounding down the wooden planks. He had to find her. If anything happened to her, he'd never forgive himself. He should have been watching that monitor like a hawk, not ignoring her just because he couldn't keep his own unruly hormones in check.
He burst onto the path through the sawgrass at the end of the jetty just as the Porsche door opened. Skidding to a halt, he saw Muse crawl backward out of the back seat.
"What in blazes are you doing?" he demanded.
She turned to him, her camera dangling from her fingers. "Getting the Hasselblad. I thought I'd take a few pictures. Why?"
He grasped her arms, barely resisting giving her a shake. "Don't you ever do that again!"
"What?"
"Run off like that. I need you in my sight every second."
She tugged on her arms. "I've been out of your sight for the past hour, and you didn't seem too concerned."
"No," he corrected hotly. "There are security cameras. I've been watching you the whole time."
She glared up at him, but behind the irritation a spark of vulnerability flared in her eyes, deflating his anger. "We've been through this before. You have to do as I say so I can protect
you."
Suddenly he didn't want to fight but to hold her.
"Ah, Muse," he murmured, and pulled her stiff body into his arms. "What am I going to do with you?"
She sighed and he felt her soften against him. "I'm sorry. I'm used to making my own decisions. I guess I don't take direction well."
"And I'm being an overbearing bastard."
"Yes, you are," she agreed, and he smiled into her hair. "Come on, let's go see Dev. He's got a place for us to stay."
"Did you contact Morris?" she asked as they walked back toward the house.
Remi nodded and gave her the bad news. "They still haven't picked up Davies. Morris wants us to lay low for a while longer."
"What about the out-of-state transfer?"
"Still working on it," he fibbed.
The fact was, neither Morris nor he had mentioned the transfer. Frankly, the more Remi thought about it, the less be liked the idea. If Davies really was paying someone from the field office to tip him off, Remi didn't want anyone there having a single clue as to Muse's whereabouts.
"What about Grace?"
"Grace?"
"Was he able to contact her, to let her know I'm all right?"
Damn. He'd forgotten about that complication. "He didn't say. But I'm sure he's gotten in touch with her. Today was your calling day, right?"
She nodded.
"Don' worry. I'll e-mail him a reminder."
Dev was waiting for them, lounging against the door-frame with a crooked smile on his face. "Found her, I see."
No doubt he'd witnessed their embrace and read a multitude of misinformation into it. Never mind. In a perfect world, all his assumptions would be correct—all except that part about being lovesick, of course.
"I need to send one more e-mail, then we should be going."
Dev talked them into staying for lunch, a spontaneous feast of shrimp gumbo and home-baked bread, after which he handed them a key and told them how to find the cottage he was letting them use. He also gave Remi a rundown of the security measures he'd installed there: motion sensors around the perimeter of the property; silent alarms at all points of entry; security cameras strategically placed; and all the doors, including the garage door, were specially built and maintained to open and close noiselessly.