by Cathie Linz
This morning she still seemed intent on making him pay.
“You used up all the hot water,” he complained as he joined her in the kitchen. He was wearing jeans and was still fastening the top button.
She eyed his bare chest with disapproval. “I thought you could use some cooling off.”
Ryan leisurely tugged on his white T-shirt, very much aware of her gaze as he did so. He didn’t get to work out much, but chasing down felons had kept him in pretty good shape. He was glad of that fact, as he noticed the passion growing in her big brown eyes. “Still mad about the fact that you kissed me back yesterday?”
She thumped the cornflakes box on the table so fiercely that its contents almost jumped out the top. “I did not kiss you back.”
“You sure did. And I liked it. A lot.”
“Is that supposed to impress me?”
He shrugged. “I was just stating a fact.”
“Well, stop it. I don’t want to hear anything more about that kiss.” She was so rattled she grabbed a fork to eat her cereal with before realizing what she’d done and quickly switching to a spoon. “I want to know what you’ve done about ensuring my uncle’s safety.”
“There’s not much I can do until he contacts you. And I know that being concerned about his safety, if he were to call in, you’d do the right thing and notify me immediately, right?”
She blinked at him guilelessly. “You mean you don’t have a tap on my phone?”
“I’d rather not answer that question.”
“Then I’d rather not answer your questions, either.”
“Tit for tat?” His low-pitched voice was mocking. “Don’t you think that’s a little childish?”
“No more so than you stealing kisses when I’m not looking.”
“You’ve been looking plenty,” he murmured provocatively.
“There you go again.”
“Me?” His expression was innocent. The gleam in his eyes was not. “I wasn’t the one who brought up that kiss again. You seem to be fascinated by it.”
“And therefore fascinated by you?”
“Why don’t you tell me?”
“Forget it.” She splashed milk in her cereal bowl. “Because all I’m interested in is my uncle’s safety. And I don’t see you doing much about it.”
He wasn’t about to tell her what was going on behind the scenes. He didn’t trust her not to clue Anton in. He’d run a check on the names she’d given him yesterday of her uncle’s acquaintances and had called most of them. None had heard from Anton.
No airline tickets had been issued in his name, either. Ryan had a hunch that Anton wasn’t all that far away. And he hadn’t forgotten the other man’s early experience as an actor, which meant he had the know-how to change his appearance.
Ryan might not be an actor, but he knew a thing or two about changing appearances. He knew he’d done his job well by the double take Courtney gave him as he exited the bathroom a few minutes later. He’d changed clothes, and personalities to a certain extent.
She frowned at him. “Why are you wearing that strange-looking suit?”
“You don’t like it?” He tugged on the baggy houndstooth jacket and equally ill-fitting waistband of the slacks.
“It isn’t you.”
“That’s what I keep saying about your clothes,” he returned with a grin.
“Forget it.” She threw her hands up in the air. “Forget I said anything. It’s really none of my business. Just as what I do is none of your business.”
But Ryan aimed on making it his business. Which is why once they got to the bank, and Courtney was distracted by a conference with Francis, he headed for Fred’s glass-enclosed office. From there he could still keep an eye on Courtney while he took care of something that needed clearing up.
Fred eyed him warily, apparently no more a fan of Ryan’s new look than Courtney was. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“As a matter of fact, Fred, there is.” Ryan sank into the visitor’s chair with casual nonchalance. “I thought it would be best if we spoke man-to-man.”
“You’re not going to ask about my intentions again, are you?”
Ryan arched a brow. “That made you feel uncomfortable, did it?”
Fred’s expression was filled with disapproval. “Courtney tells me you’re a great kidder, but I’m not into that type of humor myself.”
“Trust me,” Ryan noted, “I’m not kidding about this.”
“I fail to see why you’re putting on this protective brother act now, after you haven’t paid much attention to your sister for some period of time. She told me you two had a falling out.”
That’s when Ryan dropped his first bombshell. “The thing is, Fred, I’m not really Courtney’s brother.”
5
“YOU’RE NOT HER BROTHER?” Fred repeated, enunciating each word with careful precision.
“Nope.” Ryan settled himself more comfortably in the cushy chair across from the banker, feeling much better at having told Fred the truth.
“Then who are you and why are you staying in Courtney’s apartment?”
“I’m a Deputy U.S. Marshall and I’m here to protect Courtney.” Ryan showed Fred his badge, which the banker looked over carefully before handing back, a somewhat dazed look on his nondescript face.
“Protect her from what?”
“From whom,” Ryan corrected him. “And I’m not at liberty to give you any further details about the case.”
Fred frowned at him suspiciously. “How do I know this is legitimate?”
“I work out of the district office in Portland.” Reaching into the pocket of his ill-fitting suit, Ryan pulled out a card, the same one he’d shown Courtney the night before. “Here’s the phone number. You’re welcome to call them and confirm my assignment.”
Ryan watched while Fred did just that.
“You believe me now?” Ryan asked, waiting for Fred’s nod before continuing. “Good, because I’d appreciate your cooperation with this matter.”
As he’d suspected, the skinny banker puffed his chest out with self-importance. “What do you need me to do?”
“I don’t want to arouse unnecessary suspicions about my presence here in the bank. Did you tell anyone that I was supposed to be Courtney’s half brother?”
Fred thought a moment before replying. “No.”
“Good.” Ryan nodded with satisfaction. “That simplifies things. I want you to tell your employees that I’m with the government. Be deliberately vague, let them think I’m inspecting your bank and observing your procedures.”
Fred appeared flushed with excitement. Jeez, Ryan thought, the guy needed to get a life. Preferably one without Courtney.
“But you won’t really be inspecting the bank, right?” Fred asked, his voice quavering just a bit.
“Right. I just need to push some papers around to make it look real.”
“And how long will you be protecting Courtney?” Fred asked.
“Until she’s safe.”
Ryan had a tap on her phone, he figured it couldn’t be much longer before Anton called her. Then it was simply a matter of tracing the call to get an idea of Anton’s location. There had already been one suspiciously short call, from a pay phone outside of Portland, the one that Courtney had claimed was from her girlfriend. In his experience, women talked for hours not minutes and that time was multiplied tenfold when they were upset by something, like dumping a boyfriend.
Unfortunately the damn phone tapping equipment had mysteriously malfunctioned and instead of a recording of the conversation, all they’d gotten was a bunch of garbled noise. His gut told him the call had been from Anton, and that if he called once, he’d call again. This time Ryan, and the newly repaired equipment, would be ready for him.
“So can I count on you, Fred?” Ryan shot him a guy-to-guy smile.
“Sure thing.” Fred practically beamed. “I appreciate you taking me into your confidence.”
“No problem
.”
But Ryan knew there would be a problem once Courtney found out he’d gone over her head to speak to her boss. He decided it would probably be best if he told her himself, before Fred did.
She was sitting at her desk, wearing the sedate navy blue suit that he’d wanted to unbutton the second he’d seen her in it this morning. That was the problem with her conservative work clothes. All they did was provoke in him the urge to unpeel them and reveal the colorful woman beneath, the one he’d thought would stay with him forever, the one he missed.
“What do you mean you told Fred the truth?” she demanded, her big brown eyes flashing fire.
“I told him that I’m not your brother,” Ryan repeated without a smidgen of remorse. “Not even your half brother.”
“You told him about my uncle?”
“I’m not allowed to discuss the case,” he reminded her. “I simply said I was here for your protection. And he agreed to cooperate by telling his employees that I’m one of those government pencil pushers checking into banking procedures.”
Understanding dawned as she stared at him. “That’s why you’re wearing that suit and those funny glasses today.”
Ryan looked down at his clothing before casting a rueful look in her direction. “I thought you’d like this look, given your affection for Fred.”
She didn’t bite on that. “You didn’t tell him we knew each other before, did you?”
“Not yet.”
“Not ever,” she corrected him, aware of Francis’s frown in their direction. “I can’t talk about this now. There are customers waiting to open accounts. We’ll talk about this tonight.”
“I can’t wait,” he drawled.
Once he’d left Courtney, Ryan headed toward his desk, not far away from hers. There Francis hovered over him with an armful of files. Courtney hoped that would keep him out of her hair for a while. She just needed to keep busy, that’s all.
Her thoughts were interrupted by an elderly woman, dressed in a hot pink jogging suit, plunking herself down in the chair across from Courtney. Her hair was what Anton used to refer to as a poodle cut and it was a pinkish color that almost matched her outfit.
Courtney smiled. “May I help you?”
The woman laughed. She had a hearty laugh. “I’d like information about opening a savings account. I want to put something aside for my favorite niece.” In an undertone, the woman said, “You don’t recognize me, malenka?”
She tried not to do a double take. “Uncle Anton?” she whispered.
“I am good actor still, yes? You did not recognize me?”
“No way.” She blinked at him. “I can’t believe it.”
“The theater training, it has come in useful during these stressful times.”
“How have you been? Where have you been?” Her questions tumbled out one after the other.
“I am doing well, but I can tell you no more. It is better you don’t know where I am staying.” Turning his head, Anton shifted his eyes toward Ryan. “You did not tell me he was here. He has been bothering you?”
“He’s not happy about you giving him the slip,” she admitted. “He told me about you shimmying out that bathroom window.”
“I was not sure I could do it, but I was glad to see there is still plenty of life left in the old body after all.” Anton beamed at her.
“You’re not even sixty yet But still, you could have hurt yourself making your escape that way,” she scolded him.
“The Zopos, they would hurt me worse.”
His words chilled her heart. “Ryan is determined to track you down. He figures you’ll get in touch with me, and he’s staying with me until you do.” To keep up appearances, she raised her voice. “You can either open the account in your niece’s name or you can have a joint account.”
“He’s staying with you at work?” Anton asked softly.
“And at home,” she replied in a whisper. “Around the clock.”
“The rogue! He has been making moves on you again, yes?”
“Forget that.” She patted Anton’s hand, only then noticing he was wearing nail polish. “We need to worry about you.” Nibbling her bottom lip with her teeth, she tried to come up with a plan. “Maybe it would be safer if you left the state.”
Anton shook his head, the pinkish wig he wore bobbing ever so slightly. “That is what they think I will do.”
In an undertone, she confessed her fears to him. “They think you’ll stay in touch with me and I don’t want to be responsible for you getting caught. Ryan seems to think that the Zopo brothers will try to use me to get to you.”
“I fear this also,” Anton admitted. “But I will protect you.”
“It’s Ryan’s job to protect me. And to bring you back to testify.”
Anton shot another look in Ryan’s direction. “I heard them call him flypaper, because when he catches someone they stay caught. Until me.”
“Flypaper, huh?” Courtney had to admit that from the first moment she’d seen him, Ryan had caught her attention and she’d stayed caught. Until their fight in Chicago. Then her romantic house of cards had come crashing down around her ears, breaking her ace of hearts.
Aware of the charade she had to keep playing, she smiled and opened a brochure explaining the different types of savings accounts. Holding it up, she leaned toward her uncle to whisper, “I’m worried about you. Maybe it would be best if you turned yourself in. We could make sure that you’re protected properly. I worry about you being on your own.”
“I must go.”
To her dismay, Anton abruptly heaved himself out of the chair and with a high-pitched feminine laugh, hurried toward the exit
There was nothing Courtney could do to stop him, to help him. Or was there? Grabbing the banking brochure, she rushed after Anton. “Ma’am, you left your papers behind.”
But by the time she got outside there was no sign of her pink-haired uncle.
COURTNEY HAD A hard time concentrating for the rest of the day. And it showed in the number of typing mistakes she made entering new account information into the computer.
She kept wondering where her uncle was. If he was taking care of himself, eating properly. He seemed to get a kick out of dressing up and that made her worry that he might not be taking the danger as seriously as he should. The moment she’d suggested turning himself in, he’d taken off as if someone had lit a fire under him.
Maybe she should have waited before bringing up the subject, should have pumped him for more information about where he was hiding out. She made another typo. At this rate it would take her all day to finish this project.
Of course her concentration level wasn’t helped any by Ryan’s proximity. She kept experiencing flashbacks of their past, like the morning he’d taped his photo to their fridge. Beneath it was a handwritten message: “Have you seen my heart? It’s been missing since I met you. You hold it in your hands.”
Or there was that time he’d nursed her through the flu, going out at midnight in a cold rain to find an all-night market because she had a craving for mint chocolate chip ice cream.
Then there were the poems he’d write her. Well, limericks really. They all started with the lines “There once was a guy named Ryan, who found the girl of his dreams without tryin’…”
Along with the good times, there had been plenty of fights and lots of making up. Passions had run so high.
She couldn’t bear to talk to him about his work yet, ask him why he’d acted the way he had. To do that would be tantamount to admitting that she still cared for him deeply. She was a different person now, determined to go for security instead of passion. So what if Fred didn’t create fireworks inside her. At least she wouldn’t get burned.
The new Courtney was buttoned-down and proper. Her wardrobe reminded her every day of her mission. No more wild adventures. No more being ruled by her heart Maybe her problems with Ryan had been that she’d loved him too much. So when he’d done his own thing by joining the Marshals Ser
vice without telling her, she’d been devastated. This time she’d be the one who loved less in the relationship. That’s the way it was with Fred.
Shortly before closing time, Courtney happened to look up from her work to see a man standing at the door to the bank. This in itself wasn’t an unusual occurrence, as people came and went throughout the day. But this man was bundled up as if it were December not June.
And his face looked strange. She tried to get a better look at him, but the sunlight was shining right in her eyes. That must be what was making his features so blurred.
What really got her attention was the way he was practically pounding on the glass door with frustration as he struggled to open it.
As Jimbo yanked on the bank’s door again, he cursed the damn panty hose blurring his vision. It might disguise his face but he couldn’t read what was printed on the bank’s door. Was it closed already? He tried looking at his dinosaur watch but he couldn’t make out the time.
He pounded on the door again. Damn, why did things always go wrong for him? Just once, couldn’t they work out for a change?
Brutus had told him the plan was foolproof. All he had to do was pretend to rob the bank and kidnap Courtney. She worked at the bank. The one with the door that wouldn’t open.
Out of the corner of her eye, Courtney saw Ryan suddenly leap to his feet and charge toward the door, leaping around old Mrs. Albergast who came in every Monday to cash in her change. Pennies and nickels went flying as the startled elderly woman dropped her piggy bank. Ryan kept on moving toward the door and the man who was having trouble with it.
Her heart in her throat, Courtney belatedly realized that the reason she hadn’t been able to see the man’s face wasn’t because of the bright sunlight, but because of the fact that he was wearing a pair of panty hose over his head.
A bank robber? Who hadn’t known to pull the door open instead of pushing it?
Ryan was through the door in a flash. The wouldbe bank robber was on the run from Ryan.
Courtney didn’t know what to do. Call the police? And tell them that a man wearing panty hose on his head had had a hard time with the door? What if it was a false alarm? What if it wasn’t and Ryan got hurt? She dialed 911.