“Oh?” She arched one eyebrow. “So what color do you think looks good on you?”
“Green.”
She gasped as he snatched her to him and rolled her underneath him. “It looks good under me, too.” He wiggled his eyebrows.
She laughed, but when he lowered his head to hers, she placed her hands on his chest and held him away. “Oh, no, you don’t. You distracted me last night, but this morning we’re going to talk.”
He sighed, then rolled to his side and propped his head in his hand. “Talk about what?”
“You know perfectly well what.” She sat, then blew her hair out of her eyes. “Tell me about Margaret.”
“Margaret Muldoon?” He screwed up his face and thought. “Gray hair, brown eyes. Sharp as a tack and quick as a whip. I found out we also have a close mutual friend named Jack.”
“Jack?” She stared incredulously at him. “Jack who?”
“Daniels.” He grinned at her. “She’s known him longer than me, though.”
Her eyes widened as his meaning sank in. “Killian Shawnessy! Shame on you.” She grabbed a pillow and smacked him with it. “Tell me you weren’t drinking whisky with your grandmother.”
“I didn’t tell you. That would be breaking a promise.”
“She can’t drink with the medication she takes,” Cara said firmly. “It’s not good for her.”
“That’s why she doesn’t take the medication.” Ian slid his hand slowly up her smooth leg, only to have his fingers slapped. “Do you know you have a freckle behind your knee in the shape of an apple?”
She started to look, then frowned at him. “I do not. And stop trying to change the subject. The doctor told Margaret she needs to take those pills. They’re for her blood pressure.”
“She says there’s nothing wrong with her blood pressure that a bottle of whisky and a few wild nights with a younger man wouldn’t cure. She even asked if I had any older friends, someone around fifty or sixty.”
She made a strangled sound. “I don’t believe you. She just met you last night for the first time. How could she say all that to you?”
“She’s seventy-eight years old, Blondie. She can say anything she wants. She also told me that when a person reaches her age, there’s no time to pussyfoot around.” He ran his hand up her thigh, watched her eyes turned smoky-green. “I happen to think that philosophy applies to any age.”
She sucked in a breath when he slid his hand under the hem of her satin pajama top. She covered his fingers with hers, stopping him, but not pushing him away, either. “Are you going to see her again?”
“We’re having lunch today. She wants you to join us.”
She started to shake her head, and he said, “I want you to join us, too. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be here at all, remember?”
She stilled, then glanced down at their joined hands. “And how do you feel about that, Ian? About being here?”
The bedroom windows rattled when a large truck drove by on the street below, also setting off a car alarm and a slew of barking dogs.
Wolf River was definitely a lifetime away from here.
How did he feel about being here?
He understood that she wasn’t asking about Margaret. She was asking about them. But he couldn’t go there, couldn’t give her, or himself, hope where there was none. He was leaving tomorrow, going back to the only life he knew, a life he could never ask her to share with him.
But there was now, and for the time they’d shared he would always be grateful.
“I’m glad I’m here.” He curled his fingers around hers, was amazed himself at the truthfulness of his admission. “But I haven’t lied to you before, and I won’t start now. You need something I can’t give you, Cara. I wish I could, but I can’t.”
She looked away, but not before he saw the hurt. He didn’t want it to be like this, dammit. He’d never wanted to hurt her.
“If you want me to leave now,” he said quietly, “I’ll understand. I don’t want to, but if you say the word, I will.”
He held his breath when she didn’t answer, afraid she’d tell him to leave, afraid she’d ask him to stay. Either way he was doomed. It felt as if he were watching his life pass before him while he waited for her answer.
Relief poured through him when she finally looked back at him and smiled softly. “So how much time do we have before lunch?” she asked softly, and guided his hand to her breast.
Not enough, he thought as he covered her body with his. Not nearly enough.
“Where are my clothes?” Ian asked an hour later when Cara came out of the bathroom, showered and dressed. They both knew they’d be late for lunch if they showered together, so he’d been sitting in the kitchen, wrapped in her dusky mauve sheet, reading the paper and consuming a pot of coffee while he waited for her.
“I ran them down to the laundry room this morning while you were still sleeping.” She smoothed her limecolored cotton sweater over her short white skirt, then slipped on a pair of white flats. “I’ll go get them while you shower.”
“Dammit, Cara.” He snapped the paper and tossed it on the table. “Someone’s trying to kill you, and you’re running all over the place without telling me. And you were wearing pajamas this morning.”
“I put on my heavy overcoat and I took my pepper spray.” She walked over to him and kissed him on the lips. “I appreciate the concern, but I’m a big girl, Ian. I can handle this myself.”
He didn’t think it was a good idea to tell her that he had no intention of letting her handle it herself. She’d find that out soon enough.
In the meantime he didn’t want her out of his sight. It was too dangerous.
“What do you mean, handle it yourself?” he said tightly. “We agreed you’d let the police take care of it when you got back to Philadelphia.”
“We didn’t agree to anything. I told you I’d report it to the police when I got back, and I will. But I’m not going to sit around while my file gets shuffled from one desk to another. I have to go through my computer records, then follow up on the leads.”
“Are you crazy?” He stood, then grabbed at the sheet as it started to fall. “You can’t go running around, chasing after some lunatic. This guy means business, Sinclair. He’s not going to sit around and wait while you’re running him down. He’s going to come after you, only next time it will be face-to-face, and he won’t bother to make it look like it was an accident. He’ll put a bullet in you from two feet away, then walk away without looking back.”
Her face paled at his description. He hadn’t meant to be so blunt, but she was so damn stubborn, she left him no choice.
“Well then,” she said, lifting her chin, “I guess I’ll just have to make sure he doesn’t get that close, won’t I?” She grabbed her pepper spray from a table beside her couch, then headed for the door. “I left a travel razor on the counter in the bathroom if you want to shave after you shower. I’ll be back in a minute with your clothes.”
“Cara! Get back here!” He started after her, tripped on the damn sheet, then swore hotly when she firmly closed the door behind her.
He considered going after her, but a naked man in a pink sheet wouldn’t scare a poodle, let alone a vicious killer.
Muttering curses, he moved into the living room and paced. He couldn’t just stand here naked and do nothing while Cara might be struggling in the laundry room with a maniac. Adjusting the sheet, he turned toward the door, then went still at the sound of someone working the lock. Cara? He hadn’t even time to move before the door opened.
It wasn’t Cara.
Two men, both with dark hair, stepped into the room. Ian guessed them to be in their thirties, at least six foot three. One man wore a navy-blue polo shirt, the other a black T-shirt. With eyes narrowing to slits of green ice, they stared at him.
Damn.
It was the green eyes that gave their identity away. No question about it, these two were Cara’s brothers. Ian gritted his teeth when they both took a long
look at the sheet draped around his hips, then glanced back up at him.
“You Killian Shawnessy?” the one in blue asked.
Ian nodded. “You Gabe Sinclair?”
The two men studied each other for a moment. They didn’t shake hands.
“This is Lucian,” Gabe said after a moment. Ian met the younger brother’s dark gaze, assessed the bend in his nose that suggested a previous encounter with someone’s fist.
“Where is she?” Frowning, Gabe looked around the apartment.
“Downstairs, in the laundry room. She just left.”
“How much time do we have?”
“Maybe five minutes.”
“Then I suggest you talk fast, Mr. Shawnessy,” Gabe said. “Real fast.”
She took longer than necessary, just to let him stew for a while. He’d started to sound like her brothers, for heaven’s sake. He had no right to tell her where she could go or what she could do. He had no claim on her.
No claim at all.
Blinking away the threatening tears, she stomped up the stairwell carrying his clothes. His shirt was soft and warm from the dryer, and she pressed the cotton to her cheek, then breathed in the clean scent. Blast it, anyway. What was she being so sentimental for? That wasn’t like her. She’d always learned to take her punches and still come out swinging. She refused to let this man turn her into some weepy, maudlin female.
So he didn’t want her the way she wanted him, didn’t love her the way she loved him. She’d get over it.
She would, she told herself as she pried open the molding to retrieve her key. It was gone. Had she forgotten to replace it last night?
She never forgot to replace her key. Look what he’d done to her, she thought, gnashing her teeth. Her brain was mush. Furious at that thought, she pounded on the door. “Open the door, Shawnessy.”
When the door flew open, she threw the clothes at him.
“Hi, Sis.”
Gabe? Her jaw went slack as she stared into her brother’s eyes. Not Gabe. Didn’t she have enough trouble without him showing up, too?
Ian. Oh God. She’d left him in nothing more than a sheet. Casual, she told herself. Just act casual.
“This isn’t a good time, Gabe.” She snatched the clothes back from him and brushed past. “Why don’t I give you a call later and—
She stopped. Lucian leaned against the wall behind the door, arms folded while he stared darkly at her. Not Lucian. Anyone but Lucian. He was too much of a hothead to ever listen to reason.
She groaned out loud. This was a nightmare. A total nightmare.
Ian looked none too happy about it, either. He sat on the couch, his expression black against the pink sheet draped around his middle.
All three of them watched her. Ian, Gabe, Lucian. At least there was no blood, she noted. Yet.
The tension in the air, however, was thick enough to walk on. It wouldn’t take much for a riot to break out. She thought about starting one herself, just to relieve her own frustration, but they’d just make a mess of her place, and she’d be the one who’d have to clean it up.
She tossed Ian his clothes and he disappeared into the bathroom, dragging the sheet behind him. Any other time, she might have laughed at the sight.
But this was hardly any other time. With a sigh she turned back to Gabe and Lucian. Let’s just get this over with.
“Coffee, anyone?” she offered matter-of-factly.
Gabe scowled at her. “You have some explaining to do.”
She scowled right back. “I’m twenty-six years old, dear brother. If I decide to have male company, that’s nobody’s business but mine.”
“I’m not talking about him. We’ll get to that later.”
“We won’t do anything of the—”
“Why the hell didn’t you tell us someone was trying to kill you?”
Nothing he said could have as effectively taken the wind out of her sails. Mouth still open, she had to swallow the sudden knot in her throat before she could manage a word. “What did you say?”
“You heard him,” Lucian said tightly. “You could have called us from Texas. We would have come and brought you back. At least met you at the airport.”
“I didn’t need anyone to bring me back or meet me at the airport.” She looked from Gabe to Lucian. “How do you know about this?”
She turned abruptly at the sound of the bathroom door opening. Ian walked out, tucking his shirt into his jeans. She stared at him, then slowly narrowed her eyes.
“You told them,” she accused.
He nodded. “They’re your family. Cara. They can help you.”
When you’re gone, you mean, she thought with a mixture of heartbreak and anger. “When did you tell them?”
Her question surprised him. “I don’t really see why—”
“This morning, when I was in the shower?” She shook her head. “No, they wouldn’t have had time to get here this fast. So was it last night? After I left Margaret’s?”
He shifted uncomfortably; she was certain she saw a muscle jump in his tight jaw.
“Cara—” Gabe started toward her.
Eyes snapping, she whirled on her brother. “Stay out of this.”
With a shrug, he backed off. She turned to Ian. “Tell me.”
He pressed his lips into a thin line. “I called them from Texas.”
“From Texas?” she gasped. “You’ve known all this time that they were going to show up here, and you didn’t tell me?”
“Of course I didn’t tell you,” he returned. “We all agreed—”
“Stop.” She held up a hand. “Just stop right there. Don’t even tell me what you ‘all agreed.’ I might have to hurt someone if you do.”
She felt the thin thread holding together her shattered nerves begin to unravel, but she refused to break down in front of her brothers or Ian. That was exactly what they wanted, so they could step in and take over her life.
“Cara,” Gabe said gently, but firmly, “come home with us. At least until we catch this guy.”
She shook her head, drew in a slow breath to calm herself. “The only way for me to end this is to find out who’s after me, and the answer has to be in my files somewhere. Once I have something, I promise you, I’ll take it to the police. Until then, I’m not going anywhere.”
“I told you she wouldn’t listen.” Lucian pushed away from the wall to move closer to her. “Let’s do it my way.”
Cara wasn’t certain what Lucian’s “way” was, but she was certain she didn’t want to know. She also knew if this heated up to a shouting match, she wouldn’t win. No one ever won a shouting match with Lucian.
“I know you’re both concerned for me. I appreciate it, and I love you both for it.” She moved to the door and opened it. “But we’ll discuss it later. Right now, I need to speak to Ian. Alone.”
Her brothers hesitated.
She stared them down. “I mean it. Both of you, out.”
Lucian looked at Gabe, who sighed. When Gabe moved to the doorway and slipped her key back into place, Cara reminded herself to find a new hiding spot.
“We’ll call you in an hour.” Gabe kept his gaze steady with hers. “Just to be sure you’re all right.”
“She’ll be at lunch with Margaret and me,” Ian said.
“I’ll be at my office.” She looked right at Ian, dared him to argue, was almost sorry when he didn’t. “Call me there.”
Gabe looked at Ian, and something passed between them, some unspoken male understanding that she didn’t like at all. In spite of everything, she kissed both her brothers, then shut the door in their faces before turning back to Ian.
“You had no right to tell them.”
“Would you have?” When she simply pressed her lips together, he gave her a you-see-what-I-mean look.
“Listen, Shawnessy—” hands on her hips, she closed the distance between them and got in his face “—this is my life, my business. Just because we slept together doesn’t mean you hav
e any obligation or responsibility you have to fulfill before you waltz out of my life.”
His eyes narrowed to sharp slits. “This has nothing to do with our sleeping together. And I never waltz anywhere, Blondie.”
“Call it whatever eases your conscience then, buster, but I run my life and make my own decisions. I did just fine before you came along, and I’ll do just fine after you’re gone, which will be in about twenty-four hours from now.”
She grabbed her purse from the coffee table, and with her shoulders squared, walked to the door. “Let’s make it easy on both of us and just say goodbye now. I think it’s best if you stay at Margaret’s tonight. Tell her I’m sorry I couldn’t join you for lunch, and I’ll call her tomorrow.”
“Dammit, Cara, you can’t—”
“Yes, I can, Ian. You’re the one who can’t.”
She closed the door, amazed that she was able to walk out on legs that were shaking so badly.
“Damn you, Killian Shawnessy,” she said out loud, angry at herself for lying. She wasn’t going to be fine, not now, not in twenty-four hours.
Not ever.
Twelve
“You’ve reached Cara Sinclair’s answering machine. She can’t come to the phone right now, but leave a message and she’ll call you back…
Beeep…
Ian stood beside the bed in Margaret’s guest room, holding the phone tightly in his fist. “I’ve called six times,” he shouted at the stupid machine. “Stop being so stubborn and pick up the phone! I know you’re there, so pick up the damn phone. Cara, Cara! Dammit, pick up the phone!”
Beeep.
The machine cut him off.
Frustrated, more than a little angry, he slammed down the receiver.
He’d called her three times last night and three times this morning. He knew she was there; her brothers were keeping a close eye on her, following her to her office yesterday, then watching her apartment last night and this morning. Gabe had told him that no one had come in and no one had gone out.
Damn the stubborn woman!
Dragging both hands through his hair, he glanced at the fax lying on the bedside table. It had come in over Margaret’s machine last night from the Computer Resource Center at the Agency. There were six names on the list, four men, two women, who fell inside the circle of data he’d requested. But only two of the names interested him. One man, one woman.
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