by Carol McPhee
Lori answered the door at Rand's first knock. Her hair askew, her complexion gaunt, she looked more tired than earlier. Deep hollows outlined her surprised eyes.
"What's the matter?” he asked. “You look like you didn't get any rest."
* * * *
"Oh, I'm just groggy.” Lori couldn't tell him she'd drifted off but dreamed only of him. Her thoughts went back to when she lay down for her rest. A heated rush had suffused her flesh and awakened her after a few minutes. She stayed on the bed picturing his image and speculating in her mind's eye what it might be like to yield to his kiss again. And feel his hands ignite her arousal.
Even though her common sense saw him as a criminal, his blatant maleness and air of command created a natural lure to a woman no longer in a relationship. The magnificence of that ocean view shouted romance with all the passion that went with courtship. Not what I need. She hadn't been immune to the power of it, though, and as the tingling arousal spread through her body, she had feared she'd make an idiot of herself with any overtures. Though her brain told her she could get information by using her wiles, her heart had rebelled and filled with distaste for the project. She remembered thinking, To hell with Sergeant McCormick. I should call him back and tell him to find out for himself what he wants to know about Rand.
After her futile outburst in court, her self-respect had crashed. Rand was probably toying with her in his advances, but it had felt good to be a woman again. A desirable woman. She snapped out of her reverie.
Rand backed to the deck railing. He seemed perplexed and jumpy.
"I'm sorry about what happened earlier, Lori. I was thoughtless and stepped out of line. I didn't consider that you might be afraid of me."
If he thought a serious display of regret would go a long way toward pacifying her, he was right. She especially liked the sudden shy grin that accompanied his apology. “You surprised me, that's all. I didn't know how to deal with you. Come in."
She stepped back and allowed him to move past her, aware she spoke more candidly than intended. She simply told the truth. She hadn't known how to deal with the intense stimulation that shot to her nether parts; she trembled inside at the thought of it even now. She'd been away from sexual stimulation for some time and he'd been communicating in a stronger way than her fiancé ever had. And with just one kiss.
"We've been invited to have dinner with Warner at six."
"We have? I don't think I'm interested, Rand ... Not with his reputation."
"In your book a man is guilty until proven innocent?"
"No, that's not fair."
"Fair would be accepting his invitation gracefully."
Now she had a serious dilemma. The possibility she might learn something extra for the RCMP while experiencing a simple meal with the creep competed with her preference to avoid contact altogether. Rand would be there for protection of a sort. What harm could there be? “Okay. I've changed my mind. I'll come."
Rand looked puzzled, but didn't ask questions.
What's wrong with me, Lori wondered, that even Rand's frown makes my heart rate speed up? The slight whiff of his spicy cologne, the way his brow furrowed when she confused him, and the compassionate gleam that sometimes entered his contemplative dark eyes when she talked openly with him conspired against her. Why did he have to be involved in anything that brought disaster to so many lives? Only by keeping centered on the resulting devastation of illegal drugs could she bring herself to carry on this ploy of Sergeant McCormick's.
Life at the resort was just as rife with problems as at home. “Would you like a glass of wine, Rand? We have an hour to kill."
"Yes, whatever you have.” He smiled at her improved mood and appeared more relaxed. She offered hospitality this time. Was he wondering what else she might offer if he played his hand right? The worst of it was that she wished there could be more.
Rand casually roamed the room, then seated himself on the sofa. She overlooked his study of her movements as she hobbled about the room. He'd never once hear her complain. Her determination would show she could accept some things that were unfair, why couldn't he accept the fact his involvement with drugs was wrong? Maybe he did and just didn't care.
Rand's eyes glistened when she served white wine in two plastic goblets, then pulled over a small wooden chair facing him. No way was she sitting next to him in the intimacy of the room where her bed was a few feet away. He looked like he belonged in this rugged setting—surrounded by the hewn walls of the chalet's interior and a picture-perfect scene of the rapids out the window behind him. Just like he'd looked on the shore when she'd let her self-control fall away—for a moment.
"You brought wine?” His eyebrows raised above his smoky eyes. “I thought you didn't drink?"
Bemused that she'd thought to include the unusual glasses in her supplies, she fingered the rim of hers. “I used to think it was special to celebrate new beginnings with a drink of wine. Coming here was such an occasion, but I haven't worked for a year. My budget doesn't allow for luxuries in the dining room. I brought my own."
"And two glasses?"
She laughed. “They're plastic and crack easily. I wasn't anticipating company if that's what you're wondering."
He couldn't hide his chagrin. She suspected his mental gears were in overdrive, thinking she was making a play for him and his money.
"What is it you do in the Justice Department?"
She sipped at her wine. “For one thing, I control the data base for convictions in Eastern Canada. I'm in charge of all criminal proceedings in the Provincial court as well."
His mouth dropped; he suspended his wineglass in midair.
"You seem surprised."
"That's a huge responsibility, Lori."
She shrugged. “It was."
He took a sip, then held his wineglass steady as he crossed one knee over the other. He looked intensely interested in the profession she had taken for granted and carried out with ease. Lori remembered how she'd loved the daily challenges and thrived with the organizational skills it took to have the courts run efficiently and on schedule. She looked out the window toward the stream. There had been much satisfaction at doing it well. She sighed and glanced back at him. “I took it seriously when I was there."
"You sound like you may not go back.” He cocked his head.
"I don't know that I'm able. I've had a lot to deal with."
"Surely working would take your mind off your problems?"
"That's what I don't know. It could make them worse."
Paying more attention to him than to her glass, she accidentally spilled wine on her blouse. She rushed to the sink and dabbed cold water on it before it could stain. She patted the wet spot with a towel then poured a little more wine into her glass and turned around.
"I suppose you had to watch out for those who tried to gain your friendship for their own reasons,” he stated matter-of-factly.
"What do you mean?” She lifted her glass to her mouth, then hesitantly lowered it. What was he getting at?
"Some people could try and influence you for their own benefit."
"My friends aren't that shallow, Rand, and anyone else wouldn't stand a chance. Confidentiality is vital. Interfering with the wheels of justice is a no-no. I'd be out of a job, or worse—in prison."
"This wine is good."
A diversionary tactic? She sipped her drink as she leaned against the sink. How come his eyes sparkled so? His slight smile made her think he might be making fun of her, until she followed the path of his vision—straight to the wet front of her blouse. The peaked tip of one breast poked at the fabrics hiding her from complete nudity. Her common sense told her she shouldn't let it matter, but her sense of modesty forced her to towel dry the spot vigorously. A brief flash of her body was no reason to get upset. Did he like what he'd seen? She had temporarily forgotten the importance of her pride—now he'd reminded her. She'd get whatever information possible for Sergeant McCormick at dinner tonight, then consi
der she'd done the best she could. Tomorrow, she'd retreat to a less challenging life by going home.
Lori tried to assume a lighthearted air in the presence of this giant who overshadowed her every moment's thought. She was almost certain that behind his questioning glare lay his own demons, and it showed in the way he strove for control. What was the cause of his distress? She'd noticed it when she had defeated him in the first two games of chess. He'd drawn upon every advantage he could muster to prove his mastery. Was it just because he didn't like being put upon by a woman? No. Rand might be many things, but he didn't strike her as petty. Something else drove him.
Aside from his sex appeal, she liked Rand's strength and determination as shown in the games, but the riches he shamelessly flaunted, and his lack of concern for the types he chose to hang out with, promoted her disdain.
* * * *
After Rand told Lori of the invitation, his mind revolved like a raging tornado. She had accepted too easily. Malcolm Warner had connections throughout the underworld. Warner would know already what information Lori could pull from the system that might be useful to him. For one thing, he'd be aware she could shred original court documents.
Rand had no doubt that Warner's quick mind was working overtime and he'd use every seedy tactic he could think of for his own end. Lori should never be placed within the criminal's grasp, yet now, because of him, she'd be keeping company with the slime tonight. Rand worried what she might say or do when Warner approached her. He hoped his warning that others could use her influence resonated in her mind and she applied it to the scumbag they were joining for dinner. Rand couldn't be more detailed without putting his own plans in jeopardy. He'd study the man at dinner and play offense as much as he could to protect her.
He shifted his gaze from Lori to scan the room, trying to hide his discomfort. Her wet blouse had become see-through, and he found the transparency too absorbing. His awareness of her sexual attributes worked against his need to have her accept him as a confidante. Good thing this hadn't happened last night. He'd been fighting his urge to do more than slip into a chair beside her. He'd wanted to hop in the bed and stay. He could feel the heat from his thoughts speeding up his pulse, but his sensible side warned he'd do better gaining her confidence away from the complications of a tumble in the hay.
Lori sipped at her wine, watching him like a hawk. “What is it you want from life, Rand?"
Her question forged into territory he didn't explore much, but the answer popped into his mind in the silence that followed. He knew he wanted to stay deeply involved in investigative work with the Force. But if he were honest, he would admit that he wanted to have the family life others had without the worries associated with the responsibility. She, most of all, would probably understand his reluctance to let emotions weaken his life. She had let her emotions explode before and was still suffering the repercussions.
"I want to be free to do as I please with no one to answer to.” Freedom of this kind sucked. It meant there was also no one to cling to for support when he felt discouraged.
"That can get lonely, don't you think?"
Very astute; was she into mind-reading? Her remark pierced his insides and the wound hurt. He did get lonely at times, usually when around George's happy home life. At times he could hardly hold back his despair. If she only knew how much he wanted to end that loneliness by spending time with her, investigating every facet of her personality and body.
"I suppose,” she said thoughtfully, “with all your wealth, you can never be certain whoever you settle on might not simply be interested in your money."
"Touché. I asked for that, didn't I?” He stopped short. Lost in his thoughts as he was, he'd stepped out of his playboy persona and had returned to being a cop in his mind. Damn. He also had to remember not to give out any sign that he was Sergeant McCormick. Hell, life couldn't get much more complicated.
Lori frowned. “It serves you right for thinking I might let others use me to influence a criminal case."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean you would let it happen. People can be sneaky, though.” He wanted to discover why his money hadn't attracted her. “My ‘wealth,’ as you put it, doesn't appear to hold more than a casual interest for you, Lori. You couldn't wait to get off the yacht.” Agitated, he shifted his feet and waited for some sign of denial or embarrassment. There was none.
"When you've come close to death, nothing is as important as life itself. I'm just trying to make mine a happier one and money won't do it. It's like you so adequately expressed—freedom is the key."
He hated having his words tossed back at him. She packed a punch when she wanted to, leaving him without a flippant retort. Everything about Lori Wheeler intrigued him, not the least of which was her acceptance of her handicap. Shit! He never noticed her limp or scar now; instead, her intriguing personality leaped out at him at every turn.
Rand leaned back in his chair, his thoughts making him think he must be going soft. Lori was a desirable woman, but he had to remember why he was here—to make a huge drug bust that would impact hundreds, if not thousands, of lives. He may not like putting her in Warner's vicinity, but he had done so. Making certain he hadn't raked up suspicion that he was other than a playboy, he leveled his gaze on her. “Money can't buy happiness, but it sure makes freedom easier to afford."
She looked in her wineglass and swirled the contents around as she spoke. “Some kinds of freedom, maybe, but I'm not greedy.” Her eyes lifted and locked with his. “I'm looking for freedom of conscience only. I wouldn't expect you to understand."
He was stumped on a reply. This was an opportune time for her to pry deeper into his life, yet she made no attempt. He wondered why she backed off from her questioning, and instead, simply studied him. He squirmed under her scrutiny, feeling uncomfortable and smothered. What was she thinking behind her penetrating stare, so intense it seemed as if she had burrowed into his psyche?
The tick of the miniature alarm clock on her bedside table echoed through the room in the conversation's lull. A half-hour remained before they were due at dinner. If he were smart, he would order her to leave the resort and help her pack for a quick exit. He'd lose any ground he had made with her, though, and was afraid of losing her altogether. He still needed to make her see the police in a different light, make her see him differently as well. All at once Rand understood how vital this goal had become, not only to his code of ethics, but to his faith in himself.
Unable to stand the strain any longer, Rand finished the last dregs of his wine, stood, and looked out to the front lawn. To his surprise, he saw Warner and his men walking full speed in the direction of the dock. He knew George was on alert, but he couldn't afford to leave matters to chance. Knowing where the gang was at all times played an important part in their security. What could he do about her?
"Ah, Lori? I need to check some things on the Destiny. Would you like me to pick you up at six, or could you meet us in the dining room?"
"I can meet you there."
He held back a groan. In her reply he detected resentment. Was she annoyed with him for cutting short their private time together? He wished he could read her more clearly. He'd never had this much trouble deciphering women's thoughts. He lingered near the door.
"Something wrong, Rand?"
"You aren't worried about dinner are you?"
"No."
"I could tell him you're not well if it's a problem."
"I'll manage."
Rand nodded and left. He reached the dock in time to see the men board the yacht from a large canoe. George wasn't in sight. He rushed down the ladder to the Zodiac and followed. When he climbed onto the yacht's deck, he heard a voice bellow from the wheelhouse. He caught George's distinct words, “I can't let you see it unless Rand is here.” Rand burst over the threshold.
"What's going on here?"
"Nothing.” The unwanted guest turned, his eyes slits of displeasure. “I simply wanted to take a gander at your ocean chart. It
seems your flunky here doesn't want me to have a look.” The two goons with Malcolm visibly bristled at their boss's irritation and stood with their backs to the window, no doubt waiting for a command to do what they were best at—pummeling sense into an uncooperative head, enforcer style.
Rand gritted his teeth, then spoke calmly. “Don't mind George. He's under my orders to protect the Destiny and everything on her. I can get the chart for you."
Malcolm's facial muscles relaxed, but his body stood rigid. An I-told-you-so smirk appeared when the crime boss glanced at George. For an instant, the thought crossed Rand's mind that George may have blown the whole mission by forgetting about the extra chart free of notations. If he'd passed that over, they wouldn't be under suspicion now. Rand quickly retrieved the unmarked version from a shelf and handed it to Malcolm. After a brief pause where the men stared face to face, Rand let go of his end and allowed Malcolm to spread it out on a ledge by the window. He was easily pleased once he got his way. The strain in the air evaporated.
Malcolm pointed to a spot on the map. “The freighter will be offshore near this small island the day after tomorrow."
Rand nodded, keeping his outside appearance calm. His heart's increased beat revealed his excitement to himself. The drug smuggler pinpointed the same island that he and George had marked on the secret chart hidden below deck. Because of its sheltered harbor, Rand's guess that this particular island was the drop off area now became fact; the informer hadn't known, and there were other possibilities.
"We'll get there in your yacht right at dusk, providing the coast is clear. If all goes well, we should be able to unload the cargo in less than an hour."
"Sounds good to me.” Rand smiled. “George and I will take a trip out tomorrow to get our bearings and scout any other craft in the vicinity."
"Terrific idea. I'd go with you, but I have business in Halifax and won't be back until after dark."
Rand exploded inside with the sense of urgency. Things were moving now. He'd have to notify headquarters that this guy must be going for the payoff money. The drug lord would be put under surveillance every step of the way with the express order that no arrests of those involved were to be made in the city until Malcolm was on his way back to the lodge. Hopefully, when this project came to a climax, the police would confiscate the freighter, round up Malcolm and all his men, and make a serious dent in Central America's lucrative trade.