Lover in the Shadows

by Lindsay Longford

  “Ah, yes. That’s the spot, Ms. Harris. Fight or flight. Fear or pleasure. The body knows. And if you haven’t destroyed all your primitive instincts, you know when you’re in the presence of evil.”

  Molly couldn’t have moved if her life depended on it. Fear or pleasure. The dividing line was too fine. Her breathing went shallow as he moved his fingertip one inch, and a flush rose from her breasts to her face.

  His voice dropped lower, became huskier. “And you know when it’s pleasure.”

  “Yes,” she murmured, shifting, the tension in her crying for release. Even the air circulating from the fan sent buzzes over her skin. Pleasure. This was pleasure. She recognized it at last.

  He stood up, his hands dropping to his sides.

  She almost cried out. Her breathing hitched, stopped, began again, and she wanted him to touch her once more, wanted his touch more than she could have ever dreamed.

  Something must have shown in her face, because he reached out slowly, reluctantly, toward her mouth. Her lips parted under his weightless caress. As if he’d lowered a mask, she saw loneliness in his amber eyes in that unguarded instant, a loneliness so bleak and all-encompassing that it flooded her, drowning her, and she realized as he reached for his sunglasses and covered his eyes that he’d never touched her mouth after all.

  “This afternoon at the medical center, Ms. Harris, you were in the presence of something wicked.”

  Remembering her absolute need to bolt from the rain-swept, deserted corridor, Molly shivered. Her body had known, its visceral response sending her running as fast as she could back to light and safety before she could think. What had been at the end of the colonnade?

  The doorbell clanged, loudly, abruptly, and this time she did jump, her body in motion before her brain connected the synapses. She pitched to her knees. Harlan caught her, his arms sliding tightly around her waist, and knee-to-knee they knelt on the floor while the wild clanging pealed through the house.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The insistent ringing was shockingly invasive.

  Molly staggered to her feet, collapsed, and Harlan jerked as her mouth slid across his chest. The clamoring of the doorbell reverberated to the noisy beating of his heart under her mouth.

  Lifting her away from him, he steadied her as her knees bent once more. “Are you expecting company?”

  “No.” Her eyes were stretched wide, but she was controlling her fear.

  “All right, then. Wait here.”

  “No! Don’t go!” Her small fingers had a stranglehold on his shirt. One finger wound through his buttonhole and scalded his skin. “It could be anyone. Let me call the police.”

  “I am the police, remember?” He pried her fingers loose gently, but he wanted to unbutton his shirt and flatten her hand against him. “I’ll check the door. Theoretically, I know what I’m doing, okay?”

  “Okay,” she said, her voice catching shakily.

  He hadn’t heard a car, hadn’t been aware of anything except Molly and the grief in her face as he’d tried to convince her that she should regard even her friends with a wary eye until Camina’s killer was caught.

  He moved along the wall, staying clear of sight lines and windows. With every damn light in the house on, his silhouette would show against the shutters, and he saw in a quick scan of the hall and living room, of course, each light was a lamp controlled by a separate switch.

  “Stay!” he said in an undertone as Molly bumped against his back. Not looking at her, he repeated, “I mean it. Don’t leave this room until I give you the all-clear. And if you hear anything weird, run like hell out the back door and find someplace to hide. Do you hear me, Molly?” he demanded. “You have to do that.”

  “Yes. I’ll try.”

  “I know you don’t want to stay here by yourself, but we have to split up. It makes more sense.” He eased into the living room and reached under his jacket for his gun. Extending it stiff-armed, he circled the room against the walls until he was next to the door.

  He didn’t see Molly.

  With one hand, he thumbed the locks free, imperceptible movements against metal, his fingers wrapping around the front-door chain so that it wouldn’t rattle. He checked for Molly once more and threw open the door, leapt to one side and growled, “Freeze right there, you SOB! Don’t even think of breathing until I tell you to.”

  The screeching cat streaked between his legs toward the kitchen, the tall, brown-haired man blinked and said, “What the hell? Who the hell are you?” But he didn’t move, not even when Molly pelted down the hall toward him and threw herself against him.

  “Reid!”

  Harlan set the safety on his gun and slid it back into his holster. He leaned his shoulders against the wall and breathed deeply. Molly’s twin. She hadn’t expected him. So why had he shown up?

  “Hey, Sissy, who’s the cool dude in black?” He stepped free of Molly toward Harlan.

  “Detective Harlan.” Molly’s arm was tight around Reid’s waist, her hand gripping his belt for dear life.

  “I’m Molly’s younger brother.” Reid’s outstretched hand was thin and tanned. “All right, all right, old lady. By only four minutes,” he cut in swiftly, forestalling her comment and flashing a smile in her direction.

  Harlan glanced at Molly’s radiant face and ignored Reid’s outstretched hand.

  Life on the Costa Rican ranch had evidently been good for her brother. In his tanned face, white smile lines radiated from the corners of his light blue eyes. Reid was drop-dead gorgeous, and his vivid coloring made Harlan’s eyes hurt.

  But maybe that was only because Molly hadn’t left Reid’s side.

  “When did you get another cat, Sis? Look what your damned watch beast did to my boots while I was trying to get you to answer the door.” Reid extended a booted foot. Deep, ugly claw marks gouged the leather. Vertical rips made pinstripes on one leg of his jeans.

  “He’s a stray I’ve been feeding. I wondered where he’d gone to.” Molly again hugged Reid tightly.

  Watching, Harlan wondered if she saw Reid’s wince.

  Catching Harlan’s narrowed gaze, Reid lifted one shoulder tentatively. “Busted my rib a month ago falling off a horse.”

  “Are you all right now?” Molly stepped away from his side and touched his rib gingerly. The ready sympathy in her face gave Harlan a sour taste in his mouth.

  “Son-of-a-gun’s still sore. The rib,” he said with a wide smile. “Not the horse. But I’m fine. Think we might find a chair somewhere and one of you could fill me in on why a detective pulls his gun on me in my own home?” His genial face acquired a subtle edge that Harlan didn’t misinterpret for a minute. “That’s right unusual to my way of thinking, Detective.”

  Reid Harris was telling him to talk fast, make it good or hit the high road.

  “Molly?” Harlan inclined his head to her. It was her home, her show. She could fill her brother in on as many of the details as she wanted to. Harlan intended to listen until he was kicked out.

  Reid’s expression suggested Harlan might not have long to wait.

  “I was going to call you tomorrow,” Molly said, looking up at Reid. “We’ve had a problem. Camina.”

  “She’s taken off? What?” Reid strolled down the hall. “We’ll find someone else. No big deal.” He raised his hands and brushed the door trim as he passed from the hall to the kitchen.

  “Murdered, Reid. That’s why Detective Harlan is here.”

  Molly’s blunt statement halted Reid. He swung to face them. Harlan had positioned himself behind Molly and to her right. He had a clear view of Reid’s stunned expression.

  “What happened? She get killed in a brawl over at that dive where she hung out? What?”

  “Dive? Camina wasn’t that kind of person, Reid.”

  “Sure she was. Before the folks were killed, Camina and her sister hit Tommy’s Golden Gate most every Saturday night.” Assurance filled Reid’s voice. “What happened, Detective? Tommy overserve some
one?”

  Harlan touched Molly’s back, telling her to finish the story. Her spine curved infinitesimally to his touch. He doubted that she knew her body had responded to him that fractionally. To his dismay, though, he knew his own body had answered that small, feminine response. He folded his arms over his chest and nodded to her. “Go on, Molly. Tell your brother everything. He should know.”

  Molly’s recitation of the facts was concise, unadorned by whatever she must have felt at each stage of occurrences. Harlan sat at an angle where he could watch her and Reid both while they talked. Molly didn’t mention that her bracelet had been found under the pier, nor did she mention the incident at the medical center. Harlan found no fault in Reid’s reactions—interested, a little detached, but typical. And his detachment wasn’t surprising, considering he hadn’t been around except at the beginning of Camina’s employment.

  When Molly finished, Reid slumped in his chair, his elbows resting on the table. “Damn, Sissy. Hell of a thing. No wonder the detective met me with guns ablazing.” He glanced at Harlan. “I’m glad you were here, Detective. I’ve been trying to get Moll to move into town since the folks…” he drummed his fingers on the table. “I thought, what with one thing and the other, that Moll would be happier closer to town.”

  “I like it here. Most of the time.” She stood up, filled a coffeepot with water, spooned in grounds. “Are you hungry, Reid?”

  “Hell, yeah. I could eat a cow.”

  “Will spaghetti do?”

  “If that’s the best you can do, Sissy,” Reid groaned, making a face. “You and that damn vegetarian stuff. Men need meat, Sissy. Red meat.” He thumped his chest. “Lots and lots of thick, juicy red meat.”

  “Ugh.” She grimaced. “Not for me, thanks.”

  “Hell, Sis, I’m a rancher. What else would I eat? Right, Detective?” Reid shrugged and glanced at Harlan.

  “I wouldn’t know.” Gaze lowered, noncommittal, Harlan studied Reid’s scarred boots. The cat had really done a number on that leather. Suppressing a smile, he looked up as Molly slapped her hand on the coffeepot lid.

  She plugged in the pot and turned to Reid, smiling. “Oh, Reid, you don’t know how glad I am you’re home. You couldn’t have come at a better time. I’ve missed you so much. And here you are.”

  Her smile was incandescent, and for the first time, Harlan could see how she’d been before tragedy had dimmed her. Like a translucent candle with its light shining from inside, Molly’s wide smile transformed her. With happiness, her silvery eyes turned pewter blue and her soft mouth curved up at the ends.

  Her love for her brother glowed within her, making her terribly vulnerable and completely beautiful.

  Impassively, Harlan watched her innocent, glowing eyes. She could be the best actress in the world, but she couldn’t fake what he saw revealed on her face and by her body language. She loved her brother. She was friends with her ex. She’d been friends with her maid. She took in stray cats. The woman was a walking, talking advertisement for “nice.”

  As if lightning had sizzled through him, Harlan straightened, his back sliding right up the wall near the pantry.

  Sometime during the hours after he’d left the medical center, his instinct had sifted through everything he knew about the case and reached the conclusion that, perhaps, Ms. Molly was as innocent as she looked.

  He’d left the center believing only that something had threatened her. His sense that she was in danger hadn’t absolved her of guilt—he knew better than that. Conspirators fell on each other like jackals all the time, ripping each other apart.

  Watching Molly’s face soften as she talked with Reid, Harlan grasped the exact moment his subconscious had believed her. He’d told her that the smashed windows had been recently cleaned. That insignificant detail had pinched her mouth with grief and turned her skin ashen. Loss and bewildered pain had stared at him from her eyes.

  His cynical soul hadn’t recognized those emotions until now.

  “Detective Harlan? Would you like some spaghetti?” Grains of cereal clung stickily to her faded jeans along the long line of her curved thigh.

  His palm would fit—just so—over that delicate curve. His hand flexed, unconsciously shaping itself to her. Harlan clenched his fist tight against the sensation of satin skin beneath his palm. He’d figured he was in command of his thoughts, but images of Molly had been bombarding him uncontrollably since he’d first shown up at her kitchen door.

  “Detective Harlan?”

  “Excuse me?” He tilted his head to her. She would have had a sweet, milky taste if he’d kissed her as he’d wanted to. Instead, he’d wiped the milk off her mouth, her lips turning pink as he’d rubbed them.

  “Spaghetti?” She had to be exhausted, yet, with the appearance of her brother, she looked as if she’d been shot full of a mysterious rejuvenating elixir.

  Her lips were rosy, her cheeks flushed, and the sharp desire that cramped through his veins caught Harlan off guard. The need to swoop her up and sprint out the door with her stunned him. Twisting through him, the intensity of his hunger confused him. It must be the effect of adrenaline, that was all. Nothing more.

  Leave. Now. The words crackled in his brain. Harlan cocked his head. Go. The order counterpointed Reid’s slightly impatient tone.

  “Oh, come on, Sissy. It’s close to midnight. I’m sure Harlan has better things to do at this time of the night, right, Detective?” Reid’s expression was ruefully understanding, an us-guys-got-to-stick-together, male-bonding look.

  “No. I’m free.” Perversely, in the face of Reid’s camaraderie, Harlan found he wasn’t interested in any male bonding. “I like spaghetti,” he said politely to Molly, once again ignoring Reid.

  A teasing glow in her eyes, secondhand though it might be, warmed Harlan for a second. “Such manners. But I’ll bet you hate vegetables, too, Detective.”

  “No, actually, I don’t.” He shot a glance at Reid, whose boots were tapping rhythmically under the table. “I’ve been known to eat cauliflower.”

  Laughter bubbled up from Molly. “You’re joking, right? I can’t see you eating cauliflower, Detective Harlan. You’ve blown your big, bad image.”

  “Has he been giving you trouble, Moll?” Reid frowned and turned to Harlan. “Why don’t you fill me in on the rest of the details, Detective? Is my sister in some kind of trouble?”

  Tension crackled between them.

  “Why would she be in trouble, Mr. Harris?” Harlan tilted his head, sorting out impressions.

  “Because of Camina’s murder, of course.” Reid bristled. “I don’t want you hassling her. She’s been through enough. She almost had a nervous breakdown after finding our—”

  “Reid. Stop it.” Anger swept over Molly’s face. “I’ve been fine.”

  “Paul prescribed those sleeping—”

  “I said ‘enough,’ Reid. Detective Harlan knows about the sleeping pills. I did not have a nervous breakdown.” Her bottom lip trembled. “I was stressed out, that’s all. Nothing more.”

  “Okay, Sissy. Sorry. It’s in the past, anyway. No problem. You’re fine. Relax.”

  “I’m okay. There was never a problem.” The more soothing Reid became, the more agitated Molly grew.

  “I know you’re okay now.”

  Harlan wondered why Reid didn’t drop the subject as Molly had asked.

  “Listen, Reid, you can either be quiet or eat. Which is it going to be?” Molly plopped a cup in front of him. “Younger brothers. Think they know everything,” she chided, affection underscoring the annoyance. “I can take care of myself, you know.” She squeezed Reid’s shoulders. “I know you worry about me, but don’t, okay?”

  “Sure, Sis.” Reid’s expression showed he wasn’t convinced, but he patted her hand.

  “Give me fifteen or twenty minutes for the spaghetti.” She stood with her hand on the partially open pantry door. “Okay? Alone?”

  “Sure,” Reid said.

  Harlan nodd
ed.

  Molly swung the door open and the large black cat leapt onto the kitchen table in front of Reid and slashed out with its claws.

  “Hell!” Reid jumped back from the table. The chair tilted, rocked and clattered to the floor.

  Leaning against the wall, Harlan smiled.

  Hissing and spitting, the cat arched its back. Front claws extended, it rose on its back legs like a bear and its fur stood straight out from its body as if it were electrified.

  “Hey, puss. Easy does it,” Molly said, walking over to the cat and picking it up. “Reid’s not all that bad, even if he doesn’t like cats,” she cooed, laughing over at her brother. “Shame on you, Reid, scaring a poor little helpless animal.” The cat butted Molly as she went to the refrigerator and pulled out the milk carton.

  “Right.” Reid’s mouth formed a sulky line. “Keep him away from me, Moll. Damn thing’s already ruined my jeans and my boots, and you’re going to feed it?” He sucked on the scratch along his wrist.

  “Relax, Reid, you’re bigger than he is. One on one, you’d have a chance. Maybe,” Molly tossed over her shoulder as she filled a saucer of milk and placed it along the far wall, away from Reid.

  The cat padded around the saucer, his gold eyes with their black centers alert. Settling himself on all fours facing Reid, the cat curled his tail around his body and watched them. When no one moved, he lowered his head and lapped the milk. He looked up, his ears swiveling as Harlan straightened from his spot against the wall.

  “Come on, Detective. Let’s wait in the living room. This room’s not big enough for the two of us,” Reid muttered, edging cautiously toward the living room.

  Looking at Reid, the cat let out a low growl.

  Molly laughed and Reid glared.

  Harlan unhooked his sunglasses from his pocket and put them on. His eyes were hurting. “When did you arrive from Costa Rica, Mr. Harris?”

  “Call me Reid,” Molly’s brother said as he looked absently around the room.

  “When did you arrive, Reid?” Harlan sat down on the sofa where he’d covered Molly with her quilt.

  “I flew in.”