by Tami Hoag
“What’s the matter, Faith?” he asked, his voice a menacing, silky purr. “Isn’t seducing a federal agent in your repertoire?”
His sarcasm cut her to the quick. She took a step back and started to turn, ready to run to the sanctuary of her room, but she stopped herself.
Who did he think he was, accusing her of wrongs she hadn’t committed, pushing her around in her own home, taking advantage of her and then blaming her for it? No more. She wasn’t going to put up with one more insult. When she had left William, she had vowed never to let another man manipulate or use her again. It was time to honor that vow.
“I’ve had it with you and your sarcastic insinuations,” she began. “Who are you to judge me? You don’t know anything about me except what bare facts you read in some file. Well, here are a few more facts for you, Mr. Callan.
“William Gerrard married me because he thought I would be good for his image. I stayed with him because I was fool enough to believe I could change him. But he was a cold, unfeeling son of a bitch, just like you. He used me when I fit his needs and ignored me the rest of the time. And when I accidentally found out what he was up to with the DataTech people, I left him, because I couldn’t keep a vow to a man who cheated on both his wife and his country.
“I went to the Justice Department because I believed it was the right thing to do, not because I was trying to protect myself from prosecution. I haven’t done anything wrong.” Tears flowed freely down her cheeks, and she reached up to wipe them away, never taking her eyes off Shane. Her mouth trembled, but she held her chin at a stubborn, defiant angle, refusing to back down from him. “The only crime I committed was believing William Gerrard ever loved me.”
Shane looked away, raising a hand to rub the back of his neck, his own anger thoroughly doused by shame. She was telling the truth. He could hear it. Her voice rang with it. He could see it in her eyes. It cut through the barrier of his cynicism and made him face the fact that he had wanted her to be guilty because it was easier for him to deal with lies and deception than with innocence. Lord, what had he become?
“I wanted my husband to love me. What’s the penalty for that, Mr. Callan?” she asked him in a voice soft with tears and pain. She sniffed and added on a bitter note, “Besides having to put up with you, I mean.”
“That seems to be punishment enough,” he murmured, turning to stare out the window.
Fog obscured the view, but he didn’t really care. In his mind’s eye all he could see was Faith standing there in her silky nightgown, her bare toes peeking out from under the hem, her full breasts rising and falling with each jerky breath, her eyes shining with tears, her mouth swollen from the kiss he had forced on her.
Glancing down, he could clearly see the imprint of her heart pendent on the skin of his chest where he had all but crushed her against him. His cheek still stung from the slap she’d given him, but it didn’t burn in quite the same way as the mark on his chest did.
Once upon a time he had been a man of honor and principles. Somewhere along the way he had stopped believing in innocence. He had submerged himself in a gray world where there were only the guilty and the less guilty. And his strongest motivation had become staying alive so he could put the worst of the lot behind bars.
Faith Kincaid wasn’t a part of that world, but when he turned to tell her so, she was gone.
“I’m not being a coward,” Faith mumbled to herself as she fussed with Lindy’s covers.
Her daughter had dropped off to sleep. There was really no reason for Faith to sit by the bed. Lindy had come down with a normal case of childhood chicken pox, not malaria. Now would have been the perfect opportunity to slip out for a while and get a few things accomplished in the house. Still, she lingered, as she had lingered all morning.
No matter how many times she told herself otherwise, she knew she was avoiding Shane. She had spent the night alternately reliving their kiss and reliving her fury. Much of her anger had been directed at herself for that brief moment when she had surrendered to him and her own desire. Shame burned in her cheeks every time she thought about it. This time, though, she headed it off at the pass.
What did she have to be ashamed of? It was Shane’s fault. He had taken advantage of her when she had been startled and confused. She had no reason to hide from him. This was her home. She was going to have to put up with him skulking around, but she’d be damned if she was going to jump behind a door every time she saw him coming.
Her resolve sufficiently bolstered, Faith marched to the bedroom door and stepped out into the hall—directly into the path of Shane Callan. His arms went around her in an automatic reaction to save her from falling. The contact of body against body was brief, and yet Faith felt as if she had run directly into the sun, the heat was so intense. Sexual awareness exploded through her, shattering her sense of calm into a million shards.
“I’m sorry,” Shane mumbled. He felt knocked off balance. Not by Faith’s slight weight, but by the instantaneous rush of feeling their collision had brought on. It overrode even the burning pain in his shoulder. He shook his head to clear it, then fixed his gaze just to the left of Faith’s head.
Business. They had things to discuss that had nothing to do with the way she felt in his arms. “I need to speak with you about certain aspects of the surveillance. Agent Matthews has arrived to tap the phones. He’ll need an operations base, and I would prefer it be outside the main house. The caretaker’s cottage would be ideal.”
“You’ll have to take that up with Mr. Fitz. He owns the cottage outright,” Faith said, struggling not to notice how sleekly handsome he looked in navy trousers and a blue striped dress shirt, a silk tie neatly knotted beneath his square chin.
She knew for a fact that she looked like a bag lady. She hadn’t gotten a moment’s sleep and had been waiting on Lindy since before dawn. Her clothes were rumpled, her hair looked like a squirrel’s nest. It irked her that Shane didn’t seem to notice, and it irked her that she cared.
“We also need a list of the guests you’ve booked in advance as well as a list of any household help you’ve hired,” he went on.
Faith pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. “You’re going to check them all out? It was a man who called. With the exception of Mr. Fitz all the help I’ve hired are women.”
“That doesn’t mean they couldn’t be connected in some way. Someone had to tell him where you are.”
“Do what you have to,” Faith said tiredly, wishing with all her might she could just close her eyes and will all this mess away.
Something in Shane ached at her expression. She looked so small and fragile … and innocent. He cursed himself again for having been such a bastard toward her. Her life was complicated enough right now without having the man who was supposed to protect her harassing her as well.
He cleared his throat in a rare show of nerves. What the hell did he know about relating to a woman like Faith? “Um—how’s Lindy? Ms. Jordan mentioned she’d come down with something.”
Faith shrugged, glad for the change of subject and touched by his show of concern. “She’s resting for the moment. She’s uncomfortable. I’m sure you remember how it was to have the chicken pox.”
“Actually, no. I never had them.”
“Figures,” Faith mumbled.
“Faith.” Apologizing was something he’d never been good at. The words stuck in his throat like peanut butter. “About last night, I—”
“I think we said everything that needed saying.” Her voice was a little shaky, but she managed to look him square in the eye as she took another step back from him.
“Mama?” Lindy’s voice drifted out from her room.
“If you’ll excuse me, Agent Callan, my daughter needs me.”
Shane nodded, sighing in frustration as Faith went back into Lindy’s room. Maybe it would be for the best if he let her go on thinking he was an obnoxious jerk. Ordinarily the opinion of others mattered little to him. He conducted himself as he s
aw fit, and to hell with the rest of the world. But it bothered him that he had treated her badly. Deep down, in a place inside him no person had touched in a very long time, it mattered what Faith Kincaid thought about him.
Swearing under his breath, he stalked off down the hall.
It just wouldn’t do for him to become attached to her in any way, and still he could feel the pull, the attraction. He had felt it the instant he’d first seen her, even though he had believed she was involved in the DataTech scam. Now that he knew she wasn’t, the desire was only going to be stronger.
He’d lain awake imagining what it would be like to go into her room and take her gently in his arms, to hold her and kiss her fears away. Every inch of his body had throbbed as he’d thought of what it would be like to make love to her until she forgot she’d ever known William Gerrard. And he had cursed himself to hell and gone for being so foolish. Faith Kincaid was a job. For both their sakes she could be nothing more.
Shane wandered through the halls of the big silent house, trying to unwind. In one hand he cradled a snifter of cognac, the other hand he stuffed into his trouser pocket. His shoulder throbbed with hot, sharp pain that defied mere aspirin. He was bone tired, as if he had spent the day doing hard physical labor under a hot sun. And yet an aching restlessness snaked through him, keeping him from falling into his bed.
The situation was well in hand. After a royal battle with the querulous Mr. Fitz, Matthews had gotten set up in the caretaker’s cottage. The phones were tapped. The other agents were in place and inconspicuous. Background checks were being conducted on all inn employees, including the cantankerous Jack Fitz. All he had to do now was wait … and watch Faith.
He had seen little of her after their encounter in the hallway. Shane told himself that was for the best. Yet he had found himself at Lindy’s door not five minutes earlier, checking to see if Faith would speak to him. It seemed what was left of his conscience was bent on apologizing to her. He just had to remember not to let it go any further than that.
He had found her asleep, propped up against the headboard of Lindy’s narrow bed with one arm wrapped protectively around her sleeping child. Mother and child asleep in the golden glow from a small lamp with a teddy-bear base. The scene had easily, effortlessly breached Shane’s defenses and left an ache near his heart.
His world was so remote from theirs. Now, for a short time, their paths would cross. Then he would go on alone into the gray shadows. The thought left him feeling hollow. Hollow and so alone.
Without turning on a light, he crossed the polished wood floor of the ballroom to the grand piano that sat in the far corner, moonlight spilling across it through the large windows. He set his glass down and flipped on the brass light that illuminated the keyboard. Then he sat down and began to play, the music flowing from his memory and his soul.
Faith awoke suddenly from a sound sleep. She scratched absently at the place where her heart charm lay against her skin as she looked down on Lindy.
Lotion and baths with baking soda added to the water had soothed her daughter’s itching enough to let her sleep peacefully for a few hours. Her fever was down. Luckily her case of chicken pox wasn’t very severe.
Careful not to wake her, Faith eased herself off the bed and went to the door, stretching cramped muscles. When she stepped out into the hall, she stopped and listened.
Music. It was faint, but she was immediately stricken by the poignancy of the piece. Every note was filled with longing, with an aching tenderness. The passage swelled with the pain of dreams unfulfilled. Loneliness hung in the silences between the notes.
She followed the sound to the door of the ballroom. Her heart lodged in her throat as she leaned against the doorjamb. Shane sat at the keyboard of the piano, his fingers caressing the ivory keys with the care of a lover. He played with his eyes closed, his face pale in the glow of the piano light. And she could see in his expression every emotion she heard in his music.
The song went on, slow and sad, rising and falling, wrapping itself around her, drawing her into its sensual web. Faith’s eyes filled with tears. Whatever she had chosen to think of Shane Callan, she couldn’t discount what she was hearing now. He was a lonely, haunted man. Those feelings reached out to her and penetrated her soul. They filled her with a sense of abject emptiness so sharp, she nearly cried out from it.
She knew nothing about him. What she had seen thus far hadn’t been Shane, but his defenses. She realized it in a blinding flash, and the knowledge both comforted and terrified her. Knowing there was more to him than cynicism and machismo didn’t change the fact that he was a dangerous man.
His fingers slowed on the keys as the piece softened to its close, a low minor chord that echoed in the still room.
“That was lovely,” Faith said, her voice hushed with reverence.
Shane looked up, startled that she had been able to approach without him knowing it. He was startled too by how lovely she seemed, He couldn’t figure out why. She was wearing jeans and a blue sweatshirt that was much too large for her. Her clothes were rumpled. Her mop of rusty blond curls was in complete disarray, looking as if an impatient lover had run his fingers through the mass over and over.
Perhaps this was how she would look after making love—tousled, a rosy blush tinting the apples of her cheeks, her dark eyes sleepy. A fresh wave of heat swept over him at the thought.
Suddenly aware he was staring, he caught himself. Damn, he felt as awkward as an untried kid. Squelching the feeling, he said, “I hope I didn’t wake you.”
Faith shook her head, then amazed herself by sitting down beside him on the bench. She faced the opposite direction, her thigh no more than an inch or two from his. It seemed tantamount to going into a cage to lie down beside a panther. But somehow, after hearing his music, she felt less wary of him. He didn’t look like a man to be frightened of now. He looked tired and bleary-eyed and lonely. If that was how he felt, then they had a lot in common.
“How’s Lindy?”
“She’ll be back to herself in a day or so.” She folded her hands on her lap to keep from fidgeting. “Is everything … in place?”
“Yes. Now we wait for him to make the next move.”
She shivered at the prospect of receiving another threatening call. Every time she let her guard down, she could hear the ugly menace beneath the silky, faceless voice that had promised death.
Unable to stop himself, Shane lifted a hand and brushed back a curl from her cheek. “He won’t get to you. I won’t let him.”
“I don’t mean to be a coward,” she whispered, trying hard to ignore the warmth of his knuckles against her skin. She told herself she had imagined the possessive tone of his words. She was romanticizing again. “This all just seems so … unreal.”
Shane nodded. He imagined it did seem unreal to her. The threat of death was something that belonged in his world, not hers. Chicken pox and pot roast should have been the extent of her worries. “You’re no coward,” he said. “I think you’re very brave.”
“A compliment?” She had to force the smile, but the surprise in her eyes was genuine, and so was the warmth that blossomed in her heart. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”
“Oh, I’m full of surprises,” Shane said with a wry, weary grin that made him look devilishly handsome. “Not all of them are unpleasant.”
Faith said nothing but rubbed her pendant absently between her thumb and forefinger as she looked down at the floor. He was full of surprises all right, just like Pandora’s box. And like the girl in the story, Faith knew an irresistible urge to open the box. Not smart, Faith, she told herself.
“You realize now you have no choice but to delay the opening of the inn.”
“I know. I’ll call everyone and tell them the plumbing isn’t ready. Nothing puts people off quite like the thought of malfunctioning commodes.”
Shane chuckled, ignoring the throbbing it set off in his head. He was surprised Faith had any sense of humor left. Sh
e’d been threatened and bullied and run ragged over the last couple of days, yet she seemed to have a reservoir of inner strength to call on when she needed it. There was a hell of a lot more to the former Mrs. William Gerrard than met the eye. And what met the eye held a lot more appeal than it should have.
“Faith,” he began, fighting the urge to touch her again. He was beginning to have trouble concentrating on anything other than the delicate shape of her mouth and the memory of how sweet she had tasted. He had to apologize now, just get it over with and get away from her. “I was out of line last night. I had no right to accuse you of anything. I’ve seen the worst side of people for so long, I guess I’ve just come to expect it. I’m sorry.”
“First a compliment, now an apology.” Faith shook her head. “Really, Mr. Callan, you’re making me giddy,” she said, teasing lights sparkling in her dark eyes as she fanned herself with her hand.
“Is the apology accepted?”
She nodded but didn’t look at him. Was he apologizing only for his belief in her culpability or for the kiss as well?
Overhead the sound began. Ker-thump … ker-thump … ker-thump …
Shane tensed. Faith smiled. “It’s Captain Dugan.”
He stared at her as if she’d suddenly begun speaking Portuguese. “Who?”
“The man who built the place.”
“He’s dead.” His statement held all the finality of the fact.
Faith rolled her eyes. “I know that. It’s his ghost. Ask anyone in Anastasia. They’ll all tell you the same thing. This house is haunted.”
“Californians,” Shane grumbled, scowling darkly.
“Skeptic,” Faith countered. A man like Shane Callan wouldn’t believe in anything that couldn’t be admitted as evidence in a court of law. She suddenly found the trait oddly endearing and decided she was losing her marbles. “Of course it’s Captain Dugan. He had a peg leg. The other ghosts here don’t make any racket at all.”