Secret Lover

by Shawna Delacorte

  Her research was very thorough. She had notes concerning interviews with numerous people from the Chicago police, the U.S. Attorneys office and various federal government agencies. The notes referred to interview tapes. The next envelope contained newspaper clippings, including a newspaper photograph of him. He studied it for a moment. It was five years old, the paper frayed and yellowed.

  A certain level of anxiety jittered inside him. It was nothing too overpowering, but anxiety nonetheless. He reached up and scratched the beard he had grown to camouflage his appearance. He hated the beard but knew he did not dare shave it off. He had been able to convince himself that with the addition of the beard and mustache and his blond hair dyed brown that no one would be able to recognize him and certainly not from that old newspaper photograph—at least that was what he wanted to believe.

  He glanced up just in time to see her emerge from the office. He quickly replaced the notes, unhappy that he had not had time to see what was in the third envelope. His gaze darted around the cabin, his mind working quickly. He could not return to his cabin without her seeing him and she would be back any minute. He quickly stepped out onto the porch and grabbed the snow shovel, busying himself by clearing away the three-day accumulation.

  Andi looked up as she approached her cabin, the surprise on her face obvious. She offered a tentative greeting. “Good morning, Jim. Is there something I can do for you?”

  He flashed a charming smile, as if his being there was the most natural thing in the world. “Good morning, Andi. Your porch needed clearing and your firewood supply replenished, then I’ll be doing the path to the office and the parking lot. If you had waited a little while, you could have taken your walk without having to wade through this knee-deep snow.”

  She impulsively turned toward the office and started to speak. “Oh, I wasn’t—” She caught herself before finishing her sentence. “How thoughtful of you. I must admit I was just wishing I had a pair of cross-country skis, or at the very least some snowshoes.”

  The crisp, cold air seemed to heighten the electricity that crackled between them. It was a double-edged sword. On one side was a test of nerves with each participant unsure as to whether it was a solo contest or a competition. On the other side was the attraction each felt toward the other, a situation neither of them welcomed but one that could not be denied by either of them.

  He cocked his head and arched his eyebrows, her words having captured his attention. “Do you cross-country ski?”

  “Yes, cross-country and downhill both.”

  He leaned against the shovel and offered her an engaging smile. “If you feel in need of a break from your work, perhaps you’d join me for a cross-country run this afternoon. There’s a good hiking trail that starts on the other side of the parking lot, and it works just as well in winter for cross-country skiing.” He was not sure exactly who was asking the question, the man who desperately needed to protect the anonymity that the appearance of this stranger had threatened or the man who felt a very strong attraction to this desirable woman in spite of the danger.

  She reacted with surprise. “But I don’t have any skis.”

  “That’s no problem. There’re several pairs here. I’m sure we can find something that will suit you.”

  “I’d like that.” It would be perfect. If they were in a distracting environment, she could elicit some personal information from him without his being aware of what she was doing. She was a good interviewer, a talent she had developed while working with Steve Westerfall. She would get him to talk without his even realizing what was happening.

  She glanced at her watch. “I’d like to get a few hours of work done, then I’ll be ready for a break. Is that okay?”

  “Perfect.” He flashed her a dazzling smile that slowly faded as he reached his hand out and lightly touched her hair. He quickly regained his composure. “That will give me enough time to finish clearing your porch, the pathway and the parking lot.”

  Two PAIRS OF SKIS RESTED against a tree along with two sets of ski poles. All thoughts of surreptitiously prying information from each other had been totally abandoned. The ski adventure had quickly turned into a carefree romp in the snow when Andi had impulsively grabbed a handful of snow and squished it in his face. He had retaliated by shoving her into a soft mound of snow, then pinning her down so that she could not get away.

  His face hovered just above hers. His heartbeat increased and his breath came a little quicker. He moved his leg off from across hers. His voice conveyed a slight huskiness that surprised him when he heard it. “It’s...it’s getting late. We’d better start back—” he regarded her intently “—before it gets dark.”

  At that very moment, with his body pressing hers into the soft snow and their faces almost touching, her insides began to tremble. She knew the feeling had not been caused by the cold, but rather by the unsettling anxiety that welled inside her again—a strange sensation that she had been trying to categorize from the moment of their first handshake.

  Since her breakup with Nick she had thrown herself into her work full force. She had not dated anyone. No one had even captured her interest—until now. The snow may have been cold, but there was no mistaking the heat rapidly building inside her. Her gloved hand brushed the snow from his beard before coming to rest against his cheek. Her voice was soft and contained just a hint of uncertainty. “You’re right...it will be dark soon.”

  He looked into her eyes for a moment longer, his mind filled with uncertainty as he pondered a decision. Then he lowered his head and captured her mouth with his. His kiss started out soft, almost tentative, but quickly escalated. Her lips were soft and supple. Rather than satisfying a hunger, her taste filled him with a need for more.

  She felt the demand of his too-long pent-up passions, demands that stirred a sensual excitement inside her. She responded to his kiss, allowing it to continue for several seconds before breaking it off. There was no mistaking the heat that existed between them, nor was there any mistaking the hunger and desire conveyed by his kiss. She held his steady, unwavering gaze for a moment longer before saying anything. “Jim...we need to—”

  “Yes, I know. It’s getting late. We need to start back.” He reluctantly rose to his feet and held out his hand to help her up.

  While she brushed the snow from her clothes, he retrieved the skis. The conversation was slightly strained and a little awkward as they attempted to make small talk while heading back. Neither made mention of the kiss. It was as if they had both silently agreed that if they ignored what had just happened between them then they could pretend that the heated moment had never existed.

  As soon as they got back, Jim returned to his cabin on the other side of the office from Andi’s cabin. He had lived there four years, venturing as far away as Victoria, on the south end of Vancouver Island, only a couple of times a year. He had managed to make himself comfortable and had eventually become fairly content with things as they were. The summers were busy, the resort always full of vacationers. The winters, however, were long and lonely. He had welcomed the news of a winter guest, but now he was not so sure. She posed a definite threat to him, but he was not sure which was more dangerous: the very real physical danger or the possibility of an emotional involvement

  Andi, too, had retreated to her cabin. She tried to concentrate on her work, but her mind kept wandering to that moment when Jim’s face was very close to hers, his body pressed against hers and his eyes searching into the depths of her soul, followed by the sensuality of his kiss. She forced the thoughts from her mind and turned to her research material. She had transcribed most of her interview tapes, bringing only her notes with her and leaving the tapes and complete transcriptions at home. She set about separating pertinent facts from useless information. She kept at it until her eyes grew tired and she turned in for the night.

  “MR. BUCHANAN, YOU’RE NOT going to believe this. That Wayne Gentry guy is really a woman.”

  Milo Buchanan’s head snapped
up to attention at Gordon’s words. “A woman? Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. We got the agent’s name. He’s in New York. I had a couple of the boys go through his files and this is what they found.” He dropped a file folder on the desk. “Her real name’s Andrea Sinclair and she lives in California.”

  Milo Buchanan leaned back in his leather chair, a slight smile coming to his thin lips as he picked up the file folder. “Well, if she’s a good writer then she must have research files.” He looked up at Gordon. “Let’s find out.”

  Gordon smiled, a crooked grin that suited his scarred face. “Right away, Mr. Buchanan.” He hurried from the office, closing the door behind him.

  Milo Buchanan reached for the humidor on the credenza behind his desk and withdrew one of the hand-rolled Havana cigars. He turned it over in his fingers, taking tactile pleasure from his illicit indulgence. He ran it across his upper lip, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled the rich and distinctive aroma. A contented smile turned the corners of his mouth. A good cigar and a snifter of excellent brandy were definitely in order. He closed his eyes for a moment. He had a positive feeling about this unexpected lead to James Hollander. At long last he would be able to close off that unfortunate chapter in his business dealings. He clipped the end from the cigar, then reached for his silver lighter.

  AFTER FINISHING HER breakfast, Andi picked up where she had left off the night before. She was not sure how long she had been going over her notes when she was interrupted by a knock at her door.

  “Hi.” Jim flashed a friendly smile as he greeted her from the front porch. She stepped aside, motioning for him to come in out of the cold. The outward awkwardness and embarrassment of the previous afternoon’s kiss seemed to have disappeared. “I’m going into the village a little later today for supplies and the mail. How is your food holding out? Is there anything you need?”

  “Well—” she turned toward the kitchenette “—I don’t think so. How often do you go into the village?”

  “During the summer season someone goes daily. During the winter when there’s no one here, I usually go once a week.”

  “I can’t think of anything I need—” she gestured toward the table and extended a weary smile “—except maybe a computer to replace this clunky typewriter.”

  An amused chuckle escaped his throat. “I don’t think I can do anything about that.” His gaze traveled across the mess of papers covering the table. “How’s it going?”

  “I’ve been working on getting the story line together. I think I’m going to start the book with the second attempt on James Hollander’s life shortly after he gets out of the hospital. From there I’ll go back and—”

  The look on his face stopped her in midsentence. She was not even sure how to describe the expression. It was a strange combination of total shock and absolute panic. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

  “Did...did you say second attempt on his life?” He forced his thoughts to focus, his mind reeling from the shock of what he had just heard. The second attempt on his life...no one knew about that, absolutely no one. He had not reported it to the U.S. Attorneys office, not told the Chicago police, not told the government agents assigned to his case, and not even mentioned it to the U.S. Marshals responsible for protecting him.

  The second attempt...he had been assured that no one knew where he was being kept until the time for him to testify. At that moment it became crystal clear to him that he needed to get far away from everyone connected with the case, and put a lifetime of space between himself and everyone and everything he had ever known. He knew it was the only way he would live long enough to see Milo Buchanan put away for good. Everything in his life, all he had ever worked for, had been destroyed and he had been left with nothing. The only purpose left in his life was seeing that Buchanan got what was coming to him. It was the one obsession that had kept him going from day to day even when things looked their darkest.

  And now, here was this woman who knew what no other living soul knew. No one, that is, except the man who had tried to kill him five years ago, the person who sold him out and Milo Buchanan, the man who had ordered the hit. He had not seen his assailant’s face, but he knew he would never forget the voice.

  He swallowed hard in an attempt to bring his rapidly building anxieties under control. He needed to be very careful in how he handled this. “The...uh...second attempt... I don’t remember reading anything about it in the newspapers. What makes you say there was a second attempt on his life?” He did not like the way his voice sounded, did not like the apprehension he projected.

  A wary look settled in her eyes as she spoke. “I was under the impression that you hadn’t followed the case that closely. Did I misunderstand what you said?”

  He attempted a casual manner, mustering all his reserve composure in order to maintain control. “You didn’t misunderstand. It’s just that I remembered thinking at the time how lucky he was to have escaped the car bomb. I can’t imagine that he would have been lucky enough to escape a second—”

  Too many memories, too much pain. He had finally achieved a feeling of relative security, the ability to function without jumping at every unexpected noise or being immediately suspicious of every stranger he saw. Only now, because of this woman, it had all come flooding back. Would it ever be finished? Would he ever be able to lead a normal life again?

  “Jim? Is something wrong?” Andi reached out and touched his arm, unable to quietly stand by ignoring the painful expression that covered his face and the overwhelming sadness in his eyes.

  “Jim?” Her voice was more urgent. She gripped his arm harder in an attempt to get his attention.

  He quickly tried to recover from his lapse, to offer what he hoped was a plausible explanation. He extended an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. I guess my mind just wandered. I was thinking about the things I needed to do in the village.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” He attempted to press on for more information. “You were going to tell me why you thought there had been a second attempt on this guy’s life.”

  She adopted a teasing attitude, hoping to put him off without making him suspicious of her motives. “No you don’t. If I tell you everything now then you won’t have any reason to buy the book when it comes out.” She gently turned him around and edged him toward the front door. “You have to make a trip into the village and I have a ton of work to do. We both need to get busy.” He turned back toward her, his eyes searching her face for something...but what?

  He reached out and brushed a loose tendril of hair away from her cheek. “Will I see you later?” He recovered his composure, straightening his stance until he reached his full height. “Maybe another cross-country ski run?” He attempted a teasing grin but knew that he had not been too successful.

  Her smile was open and easy. “Check with me later.”

  Jim left her cabin and went directly to the parking lot. Andi watched as he started the four-wheel-drive vehicle and pulled out onto the road. She returned to her notes and tried to concentrate on the work at hand, but was unable to give it her undivided attention. Her thoughts kept turning to Jim, an uneasy combination of her suspicions about him mixed with the very real sensation of the sensual earthiness of his kiss from the day before.

  She was not supposed to check back with Steve Westerfall until the next morning, but she needed to seize the opportunity of Jim’s absence and make the call. She hoped Steve had been able to gather some information in the short time she had given him. She slipped on her jacket and snow boots and hurried to the office to make her call.

  “Do you have anything for me yet?”

  “I don’t know what you’ve stumbled into, Andi....” Steve’s voice sounded too serious. She recognized the tone, it was the one he used when he knew something was amiss but had not figured out exactly what it was...yet. “But be careful. Jim Richards has been an employee there for the past four years. Prior to that...”
He paused a moment.

  “Yeah? Prior to that—what?” Her anxiety traveled the phone lines loud and clear.

  “Prior to that there is no record of this guy ever existing, either in Canada or in the States. It’s a cold, dead trail. Keep in touch, Andi. In fact, I think it would be a good idea if you phoned me every day.”

  Her voice was anything but enthusiastic. “Sure, Steve, if you think it’s necessary. And thanks for the information.”

  A hard knot twisted in the pit of her stomach. There could be several explanations. Maybe Steve had made a mistake; after all, she had not given him much time. As much as she would have liked to believe that, she knew it probably was not true. Steve was very thorough in his work. If he had felt the information was inconclusive or possibly suspect, he would have said so.

  That left only one plausible explanation. Jim Richards had created a false identity and tucked himself away in this remote location because he was hiding from something or someone. The question now was, Why had he chosen to hide away behind a false identity? She stepped out of the office and glanced at her watch. It had been almost an hour since he left for the village. She looked toward his cabin, then again to the parking lot. She made her decision.

  Her hand trembled slightly as she turned the doorknob. She was not sure if she was pleased or unhappy when she found the door to his cabin unlocked. She took one more look toward the parking lot, then quickly entered his cabin, closing the door behind her.

  He had told her that he did a lot of reading, but she had not expected anything like the sight that greeted her. Books and magazines everywhere—not strewn around in clutter, but neatly placed on the bookshelves that lined all the available wall space in the living room. There was a book on the end table next to the couch. A slight smile curled the corners of her mouth. It was the most recent Wayne Gentry mystery.