Stranded with the Suspect

by Cindi Myers

“Always.”

  He finished dressing, then tucked his pistol in the waistband of his pants and covered it with a loose shirt. Only a pale glow guided him as he descended the stairs. The kitchen and dining areas, as well as the check-in counter, were dark and there was no sign of Mike. A fire blazed in the hearth, and a lone man sat on one of the sofas facing the fire. He turned to look at Simon.

  “I didn’t expect to find anyone else up,” Simon said.

  The man rose from his seat, the light from the fire throwing his face half in shadow, giving it a sinister cast. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  Simon moved closer to the man he had confronted in the Ship Tavern bar—was it really only last night? It felt like ages had passed. “I’m spending the night here out of the snow,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

  “The same.” He couldn’t see the man’s face well enough to read his expression in the dim light. “The manager is allowing me to stay down here tonight,” he said.

  “You’ve been following me,” Simon said.

  “I understand paranoia is one of the first signs that one is losing his grip on reality,” the Russian said.

  “You were driving the Kia that caused us to crash,” Simon said.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He glanced up the stairs. “Is Miss Matheson with you?”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  He shrugged, an overly casual gesture that didn’t fool Simon. “It would be good to say hello to an old friend.”

  “She doesn’t want to talk to you.”

  “How is it your business who she talks to?”

  Simon brushed back the tail of his shirt to reveal the gun in its holster and the badge clipped to his belt. “Agent Simon Woolridge. And you are?”

  “You may call me Victor.”

  “Is that your real name?”

  Again, the casual shrug.

  “Leave Ms. Matheson alone.”

  “I think you and I are interested in the same person, and it isn’t Miss Matheson,” Victor said. “I am looking for Metwater. I think you are too.”

  “Do you know where he is?” Simon asked.

  “No. But I think he will come for Miss Matheson. You think so too. That is why you are here.”

  Simon didn’t deny or confirm this. “When I find Daniel Metwater, I’m going to arrest him,” he said.

  “Not if I find him first.”

  “I could arrest you for interfering with police business.”

  “Unlike my homeland, this is a free country,” Victor said. “You may not like my being here, but I haven’t broken any laws. You can’t arrest me.”

  “Leave Andi Matheson alone,” Simon said again.

  Victor sat back down, and stretched his arms over his head. “I am tired. I would like to sleep now,” he said.

  “I’ll see you in the morning,” Simon said.

  “Good night,” Victor said. He lay back and closed his eyes.

  Simon waited a moment, then turned and started up the stairs. At the landing, he looked back, not surprised to find that Victor had raised his head and was staring after him.

  Upstairs, he knocked softly on the door to his room. “Andi, it’s me, Simon,” he said.

  Something scraped across the floor, then the lock turned. The door opened and Andi stood, one hand on the back of a straight wooden chair. Simon sent her a questioning look.

  “I shoved the chair under the knob after you left,” she said. “I figured it would make it harder for anyone to get in.”

  “I don’t think Victor will make any moves tonight,” Simon said. He shut the door behind him and turned the lock.

  “Is that his name? Victor? How do you know?” She followed him across the room.

  Simon removed his gun and laid it on the bedside table. “I introduced myself, and he told me his name is Victor,” he said. “I don’t know if it’s his real name—probably not.”

  “You talked to him? What did he say?”

  “As little as possible.” He sat on the side of the bed and began removing his shoes. “I let him know I was onto him, that he was to leave you alone or there would be consequences.”

  “Consequences?”

  “I promised to protect you, and I will. By doing whatever that requires.”

  He didn’t look up, but he could feel her eyes on him. She had a way of looking at him that made him feel stripped bare, as if she could see past any front he put up and tell what he was really thinking. It was both unnerving and oddly freeing, as if he didn’t have to pretend anything with her, because there was no point.

  The bed springs creaked as she sat on the other bed across from him. “Maybe it’s just a coincidence that he’s here,” she said.

  “He made you uneasy at the Brown Palace,” Simon said. “He knew your real name.”

  “Maybe I really did meet him somewhere before,” she said. “I went to a lot of public functions with my father. So many that I lost track of them all. I could have very easily met him and forgotten.”

  “He said he was looking for Metwater.” He hadn’t intended to reveal this to her, but saw no point in hiding the information now.

  Her eyes widened. “Why is he looking for him?”

  “I don’t know. But when I told him I intended to arrest Metwater, he said that wouldn’t happen if he got to him first.”

  “Does that mean he’s going kill him?” Her lower lip trembled.

  “Maybe. Or maybe he’s going to help him get away.” Simon didn’t think so, but he had been trained to look at every possibility in a case.

  “I doubt that,” she said. “Daniel didn’t like Russians. He was a little afraid of them, even. I always assumed it was because the Russian mob killed his brother.”

  Simon stifled a yawn. “I’m not going to worry about it now,” he said. “He’s downstairs, we’re up here and no one is going anywhere tonight. The best we can do is try to get some sleep.”

  Andi glanced over her shoulder, toward the door. He stood and checked the lock, then positioned the chair back under the knob. “I won’t let anyone get to you,” he said, before returning to the bed closest to the door.

  * * *

  THOUGH HER BODY ached with exhaustion, Andi lay awake in the darkness, every creak of a floorboard setting her heart thumping. In the bed across from her, Simon slept, his breathing deep and even. He must truly believe they were in no danger, to sleep so soundly. Yet her mind refused to let go of her fear. What did the Russian—Victor—want? Was he really the man in the Kia? Was his name even Victor? Why had he followed them?

  So many questions, and no answers.

  Seeking distraction, she focused on Simon. Having seen him in camp many times, she thought she had him figured out. He was a tough, by-the-book cop, prejudiced against Daniel Metwater and all his followers, quick to judge and loath to compromise. He was sarcastic, impatient and stubborn.

  Having spent most of the last twenty-four hours in his company, she now knew that he was all those things, but also much more. He had shown her nothing but kindness. He had a dry, subtle sense of humor and a compassion that ran deep. He was honest to a fault, and she believed she could trust him with her life.

  Beneath his cool, brittle exterior, she sensed a man who judged himself as harshly as he judged others—a man wary of relationships who had nevertheless revealed things to her she sensed he had not revealed to his coworkers or others he called friends.

  She was drawn to him, in a way she had not been drawn to any other man. Though not physically imposing, he had a lean, athletic grace that stirred her. Sometimes when his dark eyes met hers, she felt swoony as a lovesick teen—and aroused as only a mature woman could be.

  She felt safe with Simon. Not merely physically safe, but free to be fully herself without judgment. Though he had said
more than once that he thought she was beautiful, she sensed he looked beyond surface beauty, to something deeper. He had seen her pale from fear, hollow-eyed from lack of sleep, swollen from pregnancy, with uncombed hair and no makeup, yet none of that made any difference to him. He had touched her just as gently, held her with just as much strength.

  Did he know how strongly she was attracted to him? How much she wanted to feel his arms around her just now, to explore the hard plane of his chest with her hands, to trace the lines of muscle in his arms and shoulders?

  Clearly, she had found something to distract her from worries over her safety, but now she was anything but sleepy. Not that she expected Simon to do anything about her aroused state, but if she could only lie beside him, she thought she would be able to relax enough to go to sleep. Maybe he would appreciate the company as well. Or, exhausted as he must be, he might not even wake up.

  Carefully, she folded back the blankets and sat, wincing as the iron bedstead creaked. She tiptoed across to the bed where Simon slept, the bare wood floors cold against the bottoms of her feet, and lifted the covers, then eased herself in beside him.

  He immediately rolled over to face her. She lay on her back, scarcely daring to breathe. Any second now, she half expected him to cry out in alarm, or to send her back to her own bed.

  When he spoke, his voice was quiet, nothing like that of a man who had been in a deep sleep. “Andi, what are you doing here?” he asked.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” she said.

  He waited, saying nothing.

  Tentatively, she reached out and touched his side. He was naked from the waist up, wearing only a pair of boxers. “I thought I would feel safer if I was closer to you.”

  He rolled toward her and put one arm around her, pulling her to him. She turned on her side, spooning against him. His arm rested under the curve of her belly. “Is that better?” he asked, his breath soft against her neck.

  “Yes. It’s wonderful.” She settled more firmly against him, a breathy cry escaping her as his arousal poked against her bottom.

  “Sorry,” he muttered, and tried to shift away.

  “Don’t be.” She pressed more firmly against him. When he didn’t move away again, she took his hand and brought it up to cup her breast.

  He shaped his hand to her and pressed his head against her shoulder. “Have I done that lousy a job of hiding my feelings for you?” he asked.

  Her heart sped up. “You have feelings for me?”

  “Since the first day I saw you.”

  “I didn’t know,” she said. “I was afraid you would think I was being foolish. Or worse—manipulative.”

  He pressed himself more fully against her. “I deal with a lot of manipulative people in my job. You don’t strike me as one of them.”

  He didn’t mention Daniel’s name, but he didn’t have to. The more time Andi spent apart from the Prophet, the more she saw how he had played her, how he played all his followers. He was very good at figuring out what they needed and giving it to them. He had recognized how lonely and lost she had been, and had given her companionship and direction.

  It was as if Daniel had put her in a trance from which she was only now awakening. “No, I’m not trying to manipulate you,” she said. “I only want to be with you. Tonight.”

  When he didn’t respond, she reached back and took the hard length of his arousal in her hand. The soft hiss of his breath through his teeth encouraged her. She began to stroke him, gently at first, then with more firmness.

  Simon’s hand on her wrist stilled her. “You don’t have to do this,” he said.

  “Oh, but I want to,” she said. She rolled over to face him, and brought her lips to his.

  He didn’t hesitate to respond, his lips firm and caressing. He kissed her gently at first, as if gauging how far she would let him go. When she responded eagerly, he pressed more, teasing apart her lips with his tongue, angling his head to deepen the kiss, setting every nerve ending buzzing with awareness of him.

  Her lips still pressed to his, she began stroking him once more. This time, he didn’t stop her, but began fondling her breasts, the nipples beading at his touch. “Is this all right?” he asked.

  “More than all right,” she gasped. She licked her palm, then grasped him once more. He bent to draw one nipple into his mouth through the thin fabric of her gown and she moaned, need thundering through her, her muscles tightening, aching for more.

  She started to slide down the length of him, but he pulled her up again. “Just your hands this time,” he said.

  “Yes,” she whispered. She wanted that closeness too, that face-to-face, body-to-body contact—that feeling of being held and carried along with your lover to completion.

  She began to caress him again, sliding her fingers down to fondle his balls, varying the pressure and speed of her movements. He buried his face against her neck, his breathing increasing, until he was panting. She wrapped her free arm around him, pulling him against her until she could feel the pounding of his heart. She matched her breathing to his, her own desire winding tighter as he neared his release.

  When he came, she cried out as well, and he gripped her tightly to him, kissing her neck, her face and finally her lips, a deep, drugging kiss that left her light-headed and breathless.

  He leaned over her and pulled a handful of tissues from the box on the bedside table and cleaned himself. She lay on her side, her head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. She fully expected him to go to sleep now, as exhausted as he had been earlier. And that was all right. Maybe they would find another time for him to return the favor.

  But Simon had other ideas. He tossed the tissues in the trash, then traced his hand along the curve of her body, slipping down lower, until his fingers probed at her entrance.

  “Oh!” She let out a cry of both delight and surprise as he slid one finger into her.

  “Your turn,” he said, and kissed her cheek.

  “You don’t have—” But the protest died on her lips as he began to stroke and fondle, sliding in and out of her, teasing her with his fingers and thumb. She clung to him, gripping his back as desire shuddered through her. She sighed and gasped, unable to keep quiet as the urgency built. He kissed her lips, then along her jaw, hesitating a moment when he reached the diamond necklace, before moving on to her breasts, sucking and teasing her aching nipples until she was half-blind with need.

  She came hard, bucking against him, shutting her eyes tightly and riding the wave of pleasure that rocked her. Simon’s hand and mouth stilled and he held her, cradling her against him, strong arms wrapping around her. She kept her eyes closed, breathing in the scent of him, reveling in the pleasure of being surrounded by him, her senses overtaken by Simon.

  Eventually, he shifted, pulling his arm from beneath her. She sat up. “Going back to your own bed?” he asked. Was she imagining the disappointment in his voice?

  “No, I’m only going to the bathroom.”

  She returned shortly and slid beneath the covers beside him once more.

  “Your feet are cold,” he said, as she pressed them against his warm legs.

  She smiled, then laughed.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked.

  “Nothing.” She couldn’t tell him she had laughed because it was such an old married couple comment—or at least it seemed like one to her. In her admittedly limited experience, new lovers never complained about anything, intent on making the best impression. Only long acquaintance made people comfortable enough to voice objections.

  But Simon wasn’t like that. He never held back his honest opinion. Though neither did he move away from her and her cold feet. She settled her back more firmly against him, his arm draped over her ribs once again. “Good night,” she said softly.

  He slid his hand up and took hold of the necklace. “I didn’t notice th
is before,” he said. “Where did you get it?”

  She stiffened, groping for some lie that would satisfy him. But she couldn’t move from being so intimate with him to lying. “It’s Daniel’s,” she said. “I...well, I took it from him.”

  “Can I take a closer look?”

  “I guess so.”

  He sat and leaned over her to switch on the lamp on the nightstand. “It looks old,” he said.

  “I think it might be.” She had to hold herself back from wrapping her hand around the pendant, trying to hide it.

  “It looks like the one Michelle Munson described—the one she said belonged to her foster sister.”

  “Yes. I guess it might be. I thought maybe Cass gave it to David, Daniel’s brother, and that Daniel inherited it when David was killed. But if it really was Michelle’s sister’s, I’ll give it back to her.”

  His gaze shifted from the necklace to her eyes. “Why did you take it?” he asked.

  “I was angry with him for sending me away. I saw it when I was going through his motor home, gathering things to take with me, and I just took it. I wanted to get back at him, I guess. But it didn’t work.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He saw the necklace when he grabbed me in the hotel room last night. He actually seemed happy that I had it. He said I was his good luck charm.”

  Simon grasped the pendant. “Michelle said her sister’s necklace was a locket. That means it opens, right?”

  “Right. But I don’t think this one opens. There are no hinges, and I don’t see a catch.” About that time the front of the pendant sprang open. “Oh!” she cried. “How did you do that?”

  “There’s a hidden catch along the side,” he said. “See, there’s a shallow compartment here.” He leaned closer. “There’s a key.” He held up a flat brass key, notched along one side.

  “It’s an odd-looking key,” she said. “It doesn’t look like it fits a door or a car.”

  “I think it’s a safe-deposit box key,” Simon said. “Did Metwater ever mention a safe-deposit box?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  Simon fit the key back in the locket and closed it. “Maybe he didn’t know about it. It might belong to his brother. Or to Michelle’s sister.”