Colton Undercover

by Marie Ferrarella

  It occurred to Leonor that between that first time and now, she had merely been sleepwalking, waiting to revisit the sheer ecstasy that she had experienced the first time she and Josh had made love together.

  To her sheer delight, she discovered that she hadn’t been mistaken. The passion, the desire, the thrill were every bit as wondrous this time as they had been the first time.

  And one other thing.

  She found that she wanted more. She wanted to experience it again and again.

  There was no satisfaction at the end of the evening. Oh, there was in the strictest interpretation of the word, but it was the feeling of having reached something, achieved something. It wasn’t an all-consuming satisfaction.

  She knew at that moment that no matter how many times she and Josh made love, she would find herself yearning for the next time, even while she was being gratified at that very moment.

  And that worried her.

  Even as exhaustion took hold of her, claiming her very last vital breath and secretly dictating that she seek rejuvenation through sleep, Leonor realized that she would never stop wanting what was happening. Never stop wanting Josh.

  And that, she knew, put her at a terrible disadvantage.

  * * *

  When she woke up the next morning, Leonor realized that she was alone in her bed.

  Bolting upright, she was about to call out for him to see if he was still somewhere in the house.

  His name died on her lips a second before she ever uttered it. Josh was in the corner of the bedroom, pulling on his pants.

  Sensing she was awake, he looked at her over his shoulder and flashed a smile at her.

  “Sorry,” he apologized. “I didn’t mean to wake you,” Josh said. “I’ve got to get back to my hotel room and into my tux for that gala you’re holding at the museum.”

  Leonor tucked the sheet around her as she remained sitting up. “You have a tuxedo?” she questioned, trying to picture him in one.

  He wondered just how uncivilized she thought the agents in the Bureau were. “I told you, we’re always prepared.”

  “Are you with the FBI or the Boy Scouts?” she asked, amused.

  He laughed at the image that created in his mind. “A little bit of both, actually,” he told her. Josh crossed back to her, pausing by the bed. “You going to be okay?”

  His concern was touching, even though she told herself it could all still be an act.

  “I’ll be fine,” she assured him.

  Looking around for his shirt, he told her, “I’ll come by and pick you up for this thing.”

  “I do know the way there,” she reminded him. The last thing she wanted was a keeper—or to have him think of her as helpless.

  He loved the way sleepiness still clung to her, loved the way her hair was mussed up, like a soft, red tornado. “Humor me.”

  The corners of her mouth curved. “I thought that was what I was doing last night.”

  “Oh, is that what you call it now?” he wanted to know. “Humoring me?”

  Leonor turned her face up to his, already feeling her pulse ratcheting up even faster. “Why, what would you call it?”

  Josh sat back down on the bed. “Sheer ecstasy,” he told her, punctuating his statement with a light kiss on her lips—which turned out to be his mistake. Because he couldn’t stop with just one kiss and he knew it.

  A second kiss only necessitated more, and suddenly, he found himself shedding the clothes that he had just put on.

  The next moment, he was crawling back into bed with her for just one more encore of last night.

  It turned out to be a very long encore.

  * * *

  “I should be there by now,” Leonor complained more than an hour later, hurrying into a particularly stunning silvery green cocktail dress that accentuated her small waist and clung to her supple hips with every step that she took.

  “We saved time by showering together,” Josh pointed out.

  “That did not save time,” she reminded him. It had been a first for her. The first time that she had ever made love in the shower.

  Josh’s grin was a bit crooked as he admitted, “No, I guess that it really didn’t.” He forced himself to think logically and stop picturing her nude and willing in his arms. “We just need to swing by my hotel room so I can get that tux. All I need is a couple of minutes to get into it,” he told her.

  She knew exactly where another state of undress might lead and she really couldn’t afford for that to happen again.

  “How about you meet me at the museum when you’re done?” she suggested, keenly aware of the minutes that were ticking away.

  “Just a couple of minutes,” Josh repeated firmly.

  “Nobody on earth can get dressed that fast,” Leonor protested.

  “I can,” he informed her. “Life-and-death situations can train a guy to do all sorts of things.”

  She knew she was destined to lose this argument and they were wasting time by even having it.

  “Okay,” she agreed reluctantly. “But if you’re not ready in a couple of minutes,” she warned, “I’m calling a cab. Better yet, I’ll confiscate your car and you call a cab,” she told him.

  “Careful,” he told her, a dangerously sexy look entering his eyes, “feisty women really turn me on.”

  “I’m not saying another word,” she promised, raising her right hand in a solemn vow as she used her other hand to help slip on her high heels.

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later, after first swinging by Josh’s hotel room for what amounted to the fastest change of clothing she had ever witnessed, they pulled up in front of the art museum.

  Leonor looked at her watch in disbelief as she got out of his vehicle.

  A valet quickly stepped up to take the sedan and park it for them in the structure.

  As if reading her mind, Josh said, “Told you we’d be here in record time.”

  “Arrogance is not a becoming trait,” Leonor pretended to chide.

  “I’ll be sure to work on that,” Josh promised.

  His hand against the small of her back, he guided her into the building she knew like the back of her hand. He scanned the area. It had become an ingrained habit with him, like breathing.

  “Looks like we’re practically the first ones here,” he observed.

  “Go grab yourself some champagne and stand around looking impressive,” she suggested. “That shouldn’t be hard for you to do,” Leonor added with an appreciative smile.

  He never found himself at loose ends for something to do. Besides, she was his concern at the moment. “What about you?”

  “I’ve got a thousand things to see to before this thing officially gets underway,” she answered, already walking away.

  Lengthening his stride, Josh fell into step right beside her.

  “I’ll help,” he offered. “That way it’ll go faster.”

  Leonor laughed. “You ‘help’ and I’ll really fall behind.” She gave it another try. “Do me a favor. Just stand around and look pretty,” she told him. Then, knowing what he was thinking, Leonor told him, “Nothing is going to happen to me here. Before you know it, dozens of people will be milling around. And then hundreds. I’ll be perfectly safe, right out here in plain sight.”

  Leonor patted his cheek, then rising up on her toes and leaning in, she whispered, “Relax, Special Agent Howard. Nothing’s going to happen.”

  He wished he was as confident as she was. But his gut was telling him otherwise.

  Guts, he’d been told by his superior, had no scientific data to back claims that they could reliably predict the way any particular thing would turn out. But there was no denying that he trusted his gut more than he trusted the word of a so-called informant or any stati
stical data he might be saddled with.

  While he was well aware that he couldn’t shadow Leonor’s every step today at the gala, he was still determined to watch her as much as was humanly possible. He intended to keep an eye on Leonor whether she was dashing off to talk to the caterer, or pausing to momentarily smooth Sheffield’s ruffled feathers. Or diplomatically reassuring one of the newest museum donors that his three Monets were as safe here as they were when they were hanging in his high-security monitored Swiss chalet.

  Safer, perhaps, and definitely far more appreciated.

  Though at times it was far from easy and a bit tricky, Josh managed to keep his eyes on Leonor at all times. Most of those times, he even found a way to join her, being at his most charming and mingling with the patrons, all of whom, he knew, Sheffield was hoping had brought their checkbooks and their generosity. The latter was being liberally plied with very expensive champagne and wines, all of which had been donated for tonight’s cause by local patrons.

  Josh smiled to himself as he once again shadowed Leonor’s movements. Maybe he was in the wrong line of work. And then again, he amended, watching Leonor, maybe he was just where he was supposed to be.

  Chapter 18

  Josh wasn’t sure just exactly how it happened. One moment he was standing right next to Leonor, struggling to keep his eyes from shutting as one of the museum’s more active—and generous—patrons, Baxter Ward, was droning on and on about how he believed that Jackson Pollock’s work didn’t hold a candle to that of some of the earlier impressionists.

  The man went on to heatedly rattle off names of artists that Josh had admittedly never heard of, talking about them as if they were beloved old friends.

  The next moment, Leonor was unexpectedly excusing herself for a moment to “check on something in the back room.” Josh thought it was code for escaping the droning patron and was about to volunteer to come with her, but Baxter grabbed his wrist. For a rather small man, Baxter had an amazingly vise-like grip.

  “Really,” Baxter stressed with feeling, “Don’t you agree that Pollock’s just overrated?”

  “Absolutely,” Josh agreed, thinking that was the best way to disengage himself from the man’s hold. It was obvious that he wasn’t about to stop until he had won over a convert. “Now if you’ll excuse me—”

  However, Baxter didn’t appear ready to release his captured audience, especially after having lost Leonor. Taking a breath, the man seemed like he was getting his second wind.

  “Oh, but I haven’t finished telling you about—” Baxter began to protest.

  “Hold that thought,” Josh said, finally managing to successfully wrench his wrist free from Baxter’s grip. “I’ll be right back.”

  In another life, Josh added silently, hurrying to catch up to Leonor. He’d seen her slip into the back hallway.

  Since it wasn’t to have a word with Sheffield—the director was right in the main room, holding court—he wasn’t sure why Leonor had suddenly darted away but he wasn’t about to risk having her wander off somewhere without him.

  Yes, the museum was full of people but things were just as likely to go bad in a crowd as they were in a back alley.

  Frustrated, Josh turned a corner. He wasn’t about to have anything happen to Leonor just because she insisted on being so damn pigheaded and independent.

  Turning a second corner, he saw her. Leonor was walking back toward the main room. Not about to wait for her to reach him, Josh hurried over to her.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, lowering his voice so that only she heard. There was enough of a din coming from the main gallery to drown out their voices. “You’re not supposed to run off like that, especially without telling me.”

  A fleeting, annoyed look creased her brow. “No matter what you think, you’re not in charge of me, Josh. And I certainly don’t need your ‘permission’ to go to the ladies’ room.”

  “Oh.” The ladies’ room? That temporarily took the wind out of his sails. He struggled to regain ground. “Well, you should have told me anyway, I would have walked you.”

  She had to press her lips together to keep from laughing.

  “This is not preschool. Nobody goes to the restroom in pairs.” That was when she caught sight of two women walking into the facility she’d just vacated, talking animatedly about one of the paintings. She saw the smug expression on Josh’s face. “All right, almost nobody,” she amended.

  “You’re still not out of danger,” he reminded her. She was an intelligent woman; she knew better. Why did he have to keep having this same argument with her? Didn’t she want to stay safe?

  “The only danger I’m in is being smothered to death,” she informed him glibly. “Look, I know that you have good intentions, but—”

  He saw the flash out of the corner of his eye and reacted instantly. Grabbing Leonor, he pushed her behind him. He shielded her with his own body at the same time that he pulled out his weapon.

  Josh aimed and fired.

  It had become second nature to him, as had hitting what he aimed for.

  The assailant, a dark-haired man of medium height, dressed in a tuxedo which had allowed him to blend in with nearly half the population in the museum, dropped to the floor instantly.

  Blood flowed from the single bullet now lodged in his throat. It pooled beneath his upper torso, discoloring the tan travertine floor. The shooter sputtered for less than half a minute, then stopped, his eyes glazing over. He was gone.

  Still holding his weapon in case the shooter hadn’t acted alone, Josh bent over the assailant and checked his pulse.

  There was none.

  Rising again, he turned toward Leonor, who was standing less than six inches behind him. She was looking very pale.

  “Do you recognize this man?” he asked her.

  She took in a small breath. “No, never saw him before in my—”

  She didn’t finish her sentence.

  Turning even paler, Leonor’s knees gave way. She would have sunk to the floor where she stood if he hadn’t moved quickly and caught her. That was when he saw the bullet hole in the silver-green material in the vicinity of her chest.

  There was blood oozing out of it.

  Drawn by what sounded like firecrackers mixing with the din of sharply raised voices and sporadic laughter, several people had hurried into the rear hallway.

  The sight of the lifeless shooter between them and the man with the gun had them stopping dead in their tracks.

  “Call 9-1-1,” Josh ordered.

  Stunned, one of the women who had just come out of the ladies’ room behind them looked as if she was going to pass out herself.

  She stared at Leonor. “Is she—?” she stammered, unable to continue.

  “Call 9-1-1!” Josh repeated, shouting the words this time.

  Several people pulled out their cell phones, their voices talking over one another as they made calls to the police department.

  Josh knew he should put Leonor down on the floor as gently as possible, that any movement at all might be ill-advised for her, but he just couldn’t get himself to relinquish his hold, couldn’t get himself to take his arms away from her body. It was as if something told him that if he broke this frail connection between them, she was going to die.

  So he went on holding Leonor in his arms, unmindful of the blood soaking into his jacket and shirt.

  Her blood.

  “Open your eyes, Leonor,” he ordered. When her eyes remained closed, the same words he’d just uttered became a plea. “Leonor, c’mon, baby, open your eyes. You can’t just give up. You’re a fighter, remember? You can’t let whoever hired that thug to win, do you hear me?”

  He was raising his voice now, competing with the sound of an approaching siren.

  “It’s
almost here, baby. The ambulance is almost here. It’s going to take you to the hospital and you’re going to be all right, you hear me? You’re going to be fine. I’m not going to let you die on me.”

  Leonor’s eyelids fluttered and then opened, just for a split second.

  “You...are...the...world’s...bossiest...man,” she managed to whisper before her eyelids shut again.

  The sound of her voice gave him hope. “Say it again, Leonor,” he begged, holding on to her tightly. “Say it again.”

  The paramedics arrived at that moment. Before either man could ask any questions, Josh volunteered the crucial information: “She sustained a single bullet to the chest. The shooter’s dead. He needs a coroner, not an ambulance.”

  “Put her down gently,” the head paramedic instructed, steadying the gurney. Josh did as he was told. “Okay, step back,” the man told him.

  He and his partner secured Leonor onto the gurney, then immediately hurried back out to the ambulance.

  “What’s going on?” Sheffield demanded indignantly, then practically swallowed his tongue when he realized what was happening. “Is she—?”

  “No!” Josh all but shouted, quickening his pace to keep up with the gurney.

  “Steady,” the first paramedic warned his partner as they retracted the gurney’s legs and loaded it onto the ambulance.

  Once they had Leonor inside, Josh began to climb in, as well.

  “Sorry, buddy, but you’re going to have to follow us in your car,” the paramedic in charge told him.

  “The hell I will,” Josh snapped. He pulled out his FBI badge and ID. “I’m coming with you.”

  Spying Josh’s weapon, the paramedic backed off. “Fine, no argument. But we’d better hurry before she bleeds out,” the man told him.

  “Then start driving!” Josh bit off.

  The second paramedic scrambled into the driver’s seat.

  Josh held her hand all the way to the hospital, willing his life force into her.

  Josh didn’t remember the trip, hardly remembered getting off the ambulance, and then running beside it as the paramedics guided the gurney in through the electronic ER doors.